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A Long Winter Ride
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Booshway
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A fine pattern of hoar frost had formed overnight on the snow and about the gathered
blankets and buffalo robe that covered the traveler betelling of the bitter spring cold that had settled into the mountain bottoms overnight. The fire at his feet, long since having exhausted its supply of warmth and wood, now lay cold and gray. His horse nickered impatiently for its morning feed of shaved cottonwood and willow bark, as she pawed again through the snow looking for a bit of dead grass to grind. A slight movement, then another as the man made an effort to find a more comfortable position, not willing to abandon, just yet, the little warmth trapped by the blankets. Another impatient nicker from his horse brought a deep sigh from him. He arose, knowing it will be a chilling welcome in the morning twilight. He shakes the frost from the blankets and then wraps one about his shoulders. Silently he gathers duff to light a new fire. After several tries with his flint and steel, a small reluctant flame is coached into life. Even the cold dry twigs of tender seem to resist the heat of the flame at first.

“Waugh”, he mutters, as the fire catches and gentle warmth rises from the flames, “ Nyar froze fer warmth this hiya child wuz.”

His knees pop as he stands, his lower back aches from too many days in the saddle and way too many nights lying upon cold ground. Stretching, he looks first to Fetchumunder, his rifle and then around at his horse, Molly, and then ambles over to a skin bag stuffed with willow bark. Two heaping handfuls of bark are tossed upon the snow for the horse to eat.

“Walna’, Molly gal, its poor doings grindin’ on bark ta fill yore feed bag fer shor. ‘ Nuther day ‘er two ‘n’ we’ll be outen these mountains ‘n’ inta the foothills whar tha snow ain’t so deep. You’ll be able to chaw on some good hay grass then. ‘N’ maybe I’ll fetch up a fat cow elk fer my own feedbag ta worry some, that’d be some doings! This ‘ere ol’coon is plum tired o’skinny lowbush moose fer shor ‘n’ sartain,” he rambled as he melted snow water in an old copper boiler for tea.

A series of popping sounds came from the fir trees along the narrow mountain valley, as he mutters, “Dang cold, don’t reckon these ‘ere ol’bones o’mine’ll make ‘nuther winter like this’n.”

Chewing on a strip of old stringy jerky and sipping the hot Lapsang tea, Josiah Winford Buckner, casually observed that the day was going to be bitter with a wind starting to blow down the valley. Stretching once more to try to ease the backache, Josiah moves to fetch the birch bark basket that he uses to water his horse. With the small creek frozen solid and no overflow water to be had, Josiah has had to melt additional snow water in a tin kettle for Molly. Carefully he checks the warmth of the water, ready to cool it down some with a handful of snow if need be.

“Hyar, Molly gal, wisht it twer fresh living water fer ya. This’ll have ta make do fer now. Ga’won, drink up! We’ve a spell ta go today’n’don’want ya ta bow up on me.”

The sun had risen several degrees above the lower valley treetops as Josiah and Molly moved slowly through the knee-deep snow. It seemed as though months had passed since they had been at the wintering camp on the Madison River with the other trappers. Ol’Fraeb had been there regaling the boys with stories of St. Louis and of having sold out to Fountinelle, because as he put it, “A heap o’fat meat don’t shine forever!” At the summer ‘vouz beaver prices had fallen to an all time low of three dollars a plew, hardly making it worthwhile to trap them anymore. Josiah mutters to himself, “Waugh, buffler hides twer being traded at twenty dollars a robe. Buffler hides, ifen tha don’ beat all!”

And now that ol’Fraeb and Tyler was affixing to head off into Blackfoot country looking for some lost valley that a Crow chief in a drunken stupor at summer ‘vouz had said, “twer beaver many as the stars in the sky.”

“More’n likely they’ll lose their life and scalp ta some Blackfoot brave. Jes’plum don’ make sense”, Josiah mutters, “that Bugs Boys would have a valley liken tha’. They’d a trapped er dry jest ta trade with the Britishers ta spite the ‘merican traders.”

The long cold winter had proven to be hard on the wintering trappers, game was scarce, only a few scrawny elk and occasional white mountain buffalo was shot for camp meat. Fodder for the horses dwindled rapidly, several of the stock was eaten to stretch what hay grass, cottonwood and willow, was available. Josiah had figured it was time to leave, even if by all counts it was late March or early April. He reckoned that he would cross the Clark's Fork of the Yallerstone, head up stream on the Big Horn River, across the Basin to the upper North Platte and then down river to St. Vrain’s Fort for a spell, then down Taos’ way just to be out of the high mountains for a bit. Maybe find a Shoshone wife to care for him some.

Having come to the mountains as a lad of 19 in 1811 and now nearly 30 years later, he was in fact an old man of the mountains, a True Hivernant. He’d only been to St. Louis four times in that long span of years. Towns and large numbers of people just didn’t set right with his way of thinking and living. The last trapping pard he’d had was killed by a rampaging grizzly nearly nine summers ago over on the Snake River, and he never had another.

“Could it really have been so long ago”, Josiah thought back. Ol’Bart had been a faithful and agreeable companion for five years before going under. Bartholomew Pendenist had live a charmed life, what with four arrow wounds in his back and chest, not counting his left leg that had been shot through the calf by that renegade Metis breed Dumont Glade` up on the Red River. All that, onliest to be done in by a grizzly! Cuss that lock spring for breaking just as he raised his rifle on the bear!

Molly whinnied lightly and bobbed her head to Josiah’s words as he softly clucked to himself, “Ol’Bart was some, now.”

Josiah noted that the snow was thinning and patches of ground were showing through, as well as the trees spreading out. They’d be in the foothills by early evening tomorrow. Maybe he’d find some fools’ hens for a nice meal and his horse would like the change of fodder, too. As he came to the lower slope of the valley he thought he best gather some pinecones for the evening fire before leaving the timber. A small stream of flowing water was found, cheering him with its’ tinkling and burbling over the exposed rocks.

“Waugh! ‘Ere be a place ta rest weary bones ‘n’ it’ll be a nice change ta melting snow water tonight, Molly gal,” said Josiah as he looked about the nights’ camp site. Soon a small but cheering fire was dancing around the gathered pinecones and sticks. The copper boiler was set to heat water for a cup of tea. Molly was unsaddled and staked out to find what grass poked out of the thin snow cover here and there. A series of soft snuffles signified that the horse had found a few clumps and was happily chomping away.

With the bedding spread out and his saddle as a rest, Josiah leaned back and sipped a hot cup of Lapsang tea and gnawed on a piece of stick bread as he gazed at the deepening night sky through the scattered pines. Sleep was going to come easy this night. Coyotes could be heard in the distance to the east as Josiah closed his eyes in sleep.

(to be continued)


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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Crossfox,
¡Great way to answer my plea for an entertaining tale! I almost enjoyed the idea of waking up in wool blankets in the snow. Then I remembered that I had come to México to get away from snow, hee, hee. I'd still like to get comfortable enough in knowledge of the ways to camp safely here to be able to wake up in wool blankets some day soon.
Hombre del Bosque


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Pilgrim
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Couldn't survive without wool blankets.
 
Posts: 66 | Location: Big Lake, Alaska | Registered: 26 July 2009Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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As the early light of the false dawn appeared on the slopes of the mountains, Josiah was up and went about starting a fire to heat tea water and make more stick bread. The morning temperature was chilly but much more bearable now that he was nearing the foothills and prairie. His horse had found patches of dried grass for forage and needed no bark this morning.

Coming out of the mountains, the valley widened and went into the low rolling rises of the foothills as far as the eye could see. Josiah brought Molly to a halt and watched for the sun to break the eastern horizon’s long arc. Waiting and watching, Josiah spied movement far out on a slight rise; four…no five fleeting forms raced to the southwest. Squinting slightly, he was able to make out the shapes of the prairie goats, a buck, three does and a kid.

“Walna, praierer goat’d be som’ fine eatin’, fer sartain” Josiah said “Jes’hafta git close ‘nuff fer a shot.”

The heat of the rising sun felt good to Josiah and Molly as they moved out onto the prairie. Following along a southerly track that paralleled the mountains to the west, Josiah intended to intercept the antelope he had seen earlier. He was staying below the ridgelines to keep from being seen by the antelope…or unfriendlies that might be watching the prairie. This was contested country between the Crow, Blackfoot and Shosoni. Any of which would be tickled to catch a lone trapper out on this high desert basin.
Easing back up a tree covered slope on a mountain shoulder brought Josiah to a vantage point that provided a vast view. Molly munched happily on dried grasses not to far from where Josiah lay quietly looking out across the vista hoping to sight the antelope.

There…a slight discoloration in the grasses…then movement as an antelope doe lifted her head. Knowing now where the antelope were, Josiah checked that Molly was secure on her picket; made sure Fetchumunder was ready for shooting, and eased down the wooded slope to where the prairie started. Josiah crawled slowly through the high grass to a position that would put him in a good location to watch the antelope and hopefully draw one into shooting range. Reaching a likely spot, Josiah removed the wiping stick from the his rifle barrel, tied a strip of white cloth to the end of the stick and then slowly raised the wiping stick straight up so that the cloth strip was fluttering in the light up slope breeze. Pushing the stick into the ground next to him, Josiah settled in to wait for curiosity to hopefully bring at least one of the antelope into range.

The sun had moved several degrees through its arc past the noonday mark when three of the antelope were looking toward the fluttering white cloth. Finally after a long staring session, two of them started slowly moving toward the marker. They would graze for a short time then make a few steps in the general direction, then stop and stare for awhile, then graze some more. This went on for sometime before one of the does suddenly trotted toward the marker, stopping about 75 yards from it. Josiah had Fetchumunder in position, the sights aligned, the flint wiped and cock back. Waiting patiently for the doe to move closer, he set the trigger. The doe looked back at the other antelope, seem to hesitate and then turning her attention to the marker, walked forward.

With the rifle sights set on the center of the doe’s chest, Josiah gently touched the trigger as she stopped. The noise from the rifle shot seemed to be deafening as it rolled across the empty spaces, the breeze dispersed the smoke quickly. All the while Josiah reloaded Fetchumunder from his laying position quickly, then looked all around the prairie for unwanted movement of any kind. Not seeing anything that might mean danger, Josiah got up, grabbed his wiping stick and started out to the downed antelope.

Two Scars jerked his head up at the sound of the distant shot, putting his palms to his ears to try to pick up any other sound coming from the direction it seemed to originate. Black Feather and Thorn In His Foot had heard the sound of the shot, too. Both sent questioning looks at Two Scars, who in turn silently motioned for them to mount up and follow him.


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Awesome story man. I always like the loners of any story. So much more to think about


Wild as the wind
 
Posts: 404 | Location: Hittin the road | Registered: 10 October 2007Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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Keep it coming. I see some violence in the future.
Hombre del Bosque


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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I'm on the edge of my seat!! We need more, please!

Tony
 
Posts: 349 | Location: Kentucky | Registered: 14 September 2005Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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They slowly moved to the northwest, stopping often to scan the terrain before them and to listen. Two Scars and his companions weren’t about to let the presence of someone in their hunting ground go uninvestigated. Two Scars pondered who it could be; there were only a few fusees in his village and none of the men who held them were out hunting; perhaps a Crow hunting party was about, if so, he and his companions could be in great danger of attack. No, the sound of the shot was that of a heavy rifle, like the ones that a Bostonman would use.

Josiah had gutted the prairie goat; slinging the green meat over his left shoulder he made it back to where he had left Molly. The horse snorted at the smell of fresh blood. “Here now, Molly, you’ve smelt worst afore. Settle down some, it aint gonna kilt ya none,” Josiah muttered quietly to the horse. Mounting up, he draped the carcass across the withers of Molly and eased her forward, planning on moving back up into the foothills and camping near a rippling stream he had noticed before stalking the prairie goats.

Far to the south of Josiah, another man was watching his back trail carefully. He had a suspicion that his gunshot had not gone unnoticed. Stitch had cut sign of three mounted horses several days ago and felt for sure that he was not alone. Shooting the mule deer yearling may have been a mistake that he would regret later, but right now it was going to help quiet that empty gnawing feeling in his feedbag. He was making his way to a likely campsite over on O’Hara Creek and looking forward to fresh meat cooked over a warming fire.

Moving up Bennett Creek past its joining up with Little Rock Creek, Josiah found a good site for camping with cottonwood and willow trees offering shelter. And plenty of dry hay grass for Molly, who very much appreciated drinking her fill of water from the flowing stream. A hunk of antelope was skewered and roasting over a small hot fire. The smell of the meat cooking was almost overwhelming to Josiah and taking his knife from its’ sheath, carved a thick slice of the partially cooked haunch to sample. “Waugh, this ‘ere chile was plum greez hungry fer shore,” he said as he chewed the meat and savory juices dripped down his chin.

Back down on O’Hara Creek, Stitch had made a hot fire that he let burn down quickly, then moving the coals aside placed a chunk of deer meat in the hollow and covered it with the glowing coals to cook while he scouted about. A quarter mile from his camp was a jutting point that offered a good view across the valley and foothills. He lay still looking out across the terrain for better than an hour judging by the passage of the sun toward the western mountains. And much to his chagrin he spotted the three riders slowly making there way toward his location. They passed from view as they moved behind a low ridge about three miles or so away. Stitch knew that they were Indians at that distance by the way they sat their horses. He continued to watch for a short time and then scurried back to camp. He saddled his horse and packed the panniers on his mule, checked the priming in the pan of his rifle lock for the fourth time, dug up the cooked deer roast and then mixed several scoops of water with the ashes to kill any fire left in the coals. He then move out heading west away from O’Hara Creek to get into the steeper pine covered slopes that lay two miles away. With luck he could avoid contact with the Indians in the failing evening light.

Thorn In His Foot had cut sign earlier in the day and determined that a whiteman was the maker of the tracks from the shape and placement of the mule hoof prints. Two Scars praised his friend for finding the trail and had him lead them up through the hilly terrain toward the creek where he was sure the whiteman would be found. A slight smell of water-soured smoke could be sniffed in the air as the sun passed behind the mountains and the twilight blended in to dusk. Two Scars and his companions would cold camp this night.


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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Oh, the suspense. Hope those white guys can both get away.
Hombre del Bosque


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Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Greenhorn
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Well done story! Keep 'em comin' please.


"Be always sure you are right, then go ahed." David Crockett
 
Posts: 15 | Location: Texas | Registered: 03 November 2012Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
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Crossfox got frost in his computer--or some such--and his computer went belly up. He's having to reconstruct the tale. He apparently has some "whole cloth" remaining to help with the details. ;-)

Sparks


"I thought when you said you chased tornadoes, it was just a metaphor."
--soon to be ex-fiance in Twister
 
Posts: 247 | Location: Boise | Registered: 12 November 2011Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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That tale is keep us hanging, for sure. More!


*Young guys should hang out with old guys; old guys know stuff.*
 
Posts: 3559 | Location: Maine (by way of Georgia then Va.) | Registered: 26 January 2009Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
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Wal now, Splooshy! - ye've got more than a couple of fires stirred up, more than a goat haunch a'roastin'! You better get that new quill cut and sharpened or these fellers will be on your back with spurs. One of 'em will even be bad mouthin' you in a furrin lingo without mercy!

Good story fer sartain. Keep 'er comin'!

Readin'sticks


As long as there's Limb Bacon a man'll eat! (But mebbe not his wife...)
 
Posts: 4816 | Location: Buffalo River Country | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Two Scars had stood on a rise in the dark of night watching all around for the glimmer of a fire in the distance. With nothing seen or heard, he went back to their camp and curled up in his robe to sleep. Two Scars expected four other hunters from his village to join them. Earlier, he had asked Black Feather to awake before false dawn to watch the surrounding country for firelight and movement. Perhaps daylight would show them the one they were tracking.

White Hawk, Spotted Horse, Gray Cloud, and Runs With Horses had found the trail markers left by Two Scars and his companions, along with the signs of the man they were following. Gray Cloud and Runs With Horses were leading two pack horses each that were loaded with deer and elk meat for their village and this was slowing them down in catching up. Finally, after much discussion, it was agreed among them that Gray Cloud and Spotted Horse would take the meat on to the village. Runs With Horses and White Hawk would continue to follow the trail and meet up with Two Scars.

Black Feather had been aware of White Hawk and Runs With Horses approach for some time now. In the dim light he made out the two figures on horseback and rose to motion for them to join him. When they arrived at the camp, Two Scars asked about Spotted Horse and Gray Cloud. He agreed it was best to have sent the two young men, that were not yet old enough to be warriors, back to their village with the much needed meat. He then told White Hawk and Runs With Horses about the traveler they were following and asked that they join in on the hunt. All of the men agreed, a Bostonman in their territory was reason enough to be in a hostile way.

Long before false dawn, Stitch had packed his mule, forked his cayuse and moved out toward the northeast and the Clark’s Fork of the Yallerstone. He had spent the night fitfully catnapping with his buffler robe wrapped around him and was not of good humor this early hour. Stitch had loaded his other two long guns before breaking the cold camp as he was squamshus like that he would need them before the day was done.

The fair weather had proved to be favorable for Josiah as he arose from a good night sleep. Checking Fetchumunder, and then Molly, he was pleased with his choice of camp. What with running water, plenty of dry grass, and good meat, he felt right pert after all of the cold and heavy snows he had endured. He went about making a small fire to heat water for tea and to make up stirrup from his pouch of dwindling dumpling dust, to eat with some cold antelope meat. Josiah was in no hurry to traverse the Clark’s Fork of the Yallerstone this morning. The heat of the afternoon sun would feel good to his ol’bones after the crossing. With no concern of being troubled, he went about an unhurried morning.

Howsomever, that was about to change ‘n’ not to his liken!


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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Aaaaaarrrrgggghhhhh! Big Grin Eeker Roll Eyes Confused


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
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Psssssst! 'Foxie! That means Ol' Volie is building up a volcano flow of furrin lingo lava to spout at ye! Run fer the hills!!!!

And take your manuscript along with you so's you can keep working on it . . .

Coward'sticks


As long as there's Limb Bacon a man'll eat! (But mebbe not his wife...)
 
Posts: 4816 | Location: Buffalo River Country | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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I think that there really bad news for the boys and he just don't want to tell us! Wink

~Tony
 
Posts: 349 | Location: Kentucky | Registered: 14 September 2005Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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¡Por favor, Crucero de Fox, escribes el resto de la historia!


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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Uh, yeah, the interpretation.
Please, Crossfox, write the rest of the story!

Psst, 'Schticks, Am I off the hook now?

El hombre del Bosque


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
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Volie,
Nope. That wasn't furrin enough because even I could tell what it meant. Haw! Haw! Haw!

Fiddlesticks


As long as there's Limb Bacon a man'll eat! (But mebbe not his wife...)
 
Posts: 4816 | Location: Buffalo River Country | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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