Did ju ever reckon how a mountain man conversed with another bout which hoss, er mule, er ridin pardner ,er gun was gonna go ta the trappin line wid im?

Cuz theys all got names!  An ever man in the mountain knows whos stuff is whos.  Take fer instance my ol gun—got its name frum a job I done long time back—“Ol Missouri”—some say it shoots so straight they aint got no chance to win no bootie and they calls it –“Ol Misery”—but nun the less it be Butts and she is sweet.

I aint the only one what got a namer fer his rifle tho—some may amember some hoss out East name O’Dannel—what done named his long gun “Betsy”.  Shot true as true till the time at the crossin of Blue Crick when the red skins put him under.  Some say the barrel was too long—he coud’nt load er fast nuff.  Oh well-aint gonna find no long guns in my lodge.

One among us we call “Ol Dry Dog” had hisself one purdy side by side we dun called “Sunflower” cuz whenst he made er, he used sunflower oil to finish the stock.  She was a purdy one and shot true.  He coudn’t hang on ta her tho an now some other hoss dun come along an took er rite offin his hoss.  I feel reel bad fer that dude should Dry Dog come upon him.

Speekin of Dry Dog—wid  rondeevoo comin fast I been thinkin—he needs a bit ‘o help.  He loses stuff rite reglar ‘an ifn I got some leather ‘an a piece ‘o chain I could build a nice harness fer him what would keep him close ‘an we wouldn’t havta look far fer his stuff.  Only in the circle where he is tethered.  Corse we’d be obliged ta let ‘im  out a couple times a day ta visit but then right back ta the tether.  I’ll work on that one.

Since I’m such a nice guy deep down, I also been thinkin bout building him a mobil tent.  One that folds up ‘an rides in a mule pack on his back.  When he gits all drunk up ‘an falls down fer the night, alls a guy gota do is roll ‘em on his front side ‘an undo the pack tent around ‘em.  He be safe an dry till time he wakes, wanders back ta camp ‘and gits tethered.  We kin then foller the tent drag marks in the dust, back ta where he spent the night ‘an pick up all his droppins.

Man ‘o man—kin hardly wait till rondeevoo.  Hope ta see ya there!  I’ll be gone now—it be a long ride ‘an I don’t wanna miss no fun.

Bears Butt

Summer-Fall 1994