It were at a late year rondeevoo back in ’91 ‘an like most rondeevoos we was a havin fun.  Muskrat were booshway ‘an was pullin off one great time.

White Trapper even done shode up ‘an we all pulled tagither ‘an got him a real woman fer ta spend some time with.  We figgered he needed one, cause he weren’t feel’in real good ‘an barrowed some white water frum me ‘an Wine Maker.  Had a whoop-tee-do round the council fire ‘an was found by Tracker ‘an No Grimace early in the morn, stuck to a big rock.

Any who, we was  havin fun as usual when all of a sudden there was this awful yellin.  We looked up and what we seed was a big cloud of dust a com’in fer camp.  None got too skeerd cause the cloud weren’t as big as a buffler stampeed ‘er noth’in like that.  It looked like a “one man” stampeed.

In ta camp it come; round ‘an round ‘an round till finally the man fell with exhaustion.  He weren’t thru tho cuz he was still a holler’in.

A couple runned over ta help him and seed right off it were Mr. Burt, Flying Feathers oldest youngen, what was a yellin.

After a bit when things got all calmed down we done realize that that there cloud weren’t no ordinar cloud, nor dust, nor nutin but a whole swarm ‘o bees—Yeller Jacket bees!!

Mr. Burt had done his self right proud leadin that swarm away frum the little kids a playing just outside ‘o camp, an kilt many of the critters with his bare hands, sepen one what got stuck twinx a couple of his fingers and gave him a welt the size of a buffler eye.

He was patched up ‘an feelin real good when ‘ol Muskrat got the talkn stick and called fer Mr. Burt ta come.  Mustrat said these here words: “He done fought the battle of the bees, an made his self proud.  So wherever in these here Rocky  Mountains this here hoss shall go, he will be knowed as ‘Yellow Jacket’”.

Bears Butt

Sept.-Oct. 1991