The Horse Trader makes the long trip back to camp as night falls on a long day of dealing. When he reaches camp, he lifts up a beat up old guitar. “I got it for a song!” He chuckles haughtily and tosses the instrument and a small wad of cash over to his pals as he leads what’s left of a string of horses to the makeshift posts they’ve wedged between a cluster of rocks. “A song.” One of the others repeats the words as his hands meet the strings. He pieces a few chords together and the traders begin to sing. They sing stories about the travels. They sing ditties and dirges and ballads until each is too tired to go on. As the night sky stills with his boots propped up and a hat covering his face, one of the traders quietly mutters “what a deal” and nods off.

The Horse Traders are dealers. They deal in songs and stories. They deal in good luck and heartbreak. But they don’t stop dealing.

Products of the hills of West Virginia, The Horse Traders (Travis, Taylor, Patrick and Mooney) can be found on any given night trading songs, instruments and verses as they play their hand-quilted brand of Southern Americana Rock & Roll.

The Horse Traders are hitting the road, trading their songs for a memory of each town they come across along the way.

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