Rondeevoo comes slowly here in the Rockies.  We done spend all winter  tryin ta  servive ‘an when the ice flows start jamm’in the rivers it’s a time ta start fancy’in up fer rondeevoo!

Rondeevoo takes the worst ‘o winter ‘an turns them near death times in ta stories of adventure ‘an citment.  Round a crackl’in fire the stories is told ‘an re-told.  Names be made, ‘an lots of powder burned down on the shoot’in range.  Se ya at rondeevoo—end ‘a May in the Blacksmith fork drainage.

It were at rondeevoo of ’92 as I recollect.  We was gathered as usual, it seems there weren’t none of the group gone under.  It were good times.  We even had a few pilgrims share the fire light.  It were shin’in times.  The old forts done kicked butt down on the fir’en line ‘ore the young forts.  An seems ta me we done had near a wheel barrow full ‘a winnins!

The Bears Butt aint usual ta speek fer long times, but this rondeevoo he done a lot—even sang fire songs with a hooter named “G-String”—fine music man.

Bears Butt was asked by the Booshway to come to the council fire and give one of his talkins so down there we all did go.  It was a time what found him ‘an  a  pilgrim down neer the booshway, down at the main camp rondeevoo council fire.  The booshway was talk’in ‘an even mak’in sense  whenst he suddenly turns ta me an says—go down yonder and fetch me one of the geese!  Wall dang—the Butt will do what the Butt’s been asked—I headed out, with my pilgrim friend ‘an down the trail we goed.

Now just  soes  ya  knowed—me ‘an them long neck goose critters aint never been too close ‘an they can read it in the eyes whenst fear is stand’in in front of ‘em.

Me ‘an the pilgrim round a bend in the trail ‘an there they is—must ta been a hunert all corralled up.  Now we is standen there look’in trying ta pick out a perty one, when the pilgrim says “Jump in there Butt ‘an grab one”!  “No way fella I aint about ta git in there-you git in there”!

The pilgrim says –“I don’t know nuthin bout these things”.  I says—“Jjust go ‘or ta tuther side ‘an I’ll skeer ‘em to ya—then just reach out ‘an grab the closest one”.

So he dos, but them geese did not see no fear in his eyes and here they come straight fer me—all 3 hunert of ‘em—chargin—wings flappen and them big ‘ol beaks a tearin flesh.

The first one hit the corral as fierce as could be ‘an the rest just kept comin and pushin.  Purty soon ‘or the corral came the biggest, orneriest, meanestes one and latched holt of my left arm.  Down I goed, knowin full well it were over for the Butt.  I tried pertectin my vitles.  Rollin on the ground, wonderin when the final blow of the knashin beak would do me under—when sudden the weight of the beast was off a me!  I peered out frum under my arm and there stood the pilgrim holdin that fierce goose.

He said – “What’s a matter Butt?  It’s just a goose”!

“Just a Goose”!  I say—“Look at my arm, hardly any fringe left ta a-count fer”!

“Come on Butt—they be a waitin fer us down at council”.

An we start on our way down the trail, the pilgrim leadin and me dust’in off ma dirty leathers.

Just afor the last turn in the trail I say “Pilgrim, let me see that there goose.  The Boosh wanted the Butt ta fitch it, I kint have no pilgrim bringin in the goods”.

So the pilgrim hands over that mean critter ‘an into the light ‘o the fire we went.  I could’nt unload it fast nuff.

Later, or at the little council fire, mungst the Willow Creek Free Trappers, I called the pilgrim ta the fire, cuz I had the talk’in stick.  I told ‘em as best I could recall ‘bout the gitt’in  ‘o the goose, then with the help of past trappers gone under ‘an the great spirit of fair play.  I done raised the talking stick ‘an said—“James, fer the deed ‘o help’in the Butt gather up a goose ‘an from here till eternity, where ever mountain men shall meet—you be called “Goose Snatcher”!

Bears Butt

Jan-Mar 1993