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A Long Winter Ride
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Booshway
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Some mighty good reading right there Crossfox. I enjoyed every episode of it. It was worth all the wait to read the out come.

Thanks for the excitment.

L8R...Ken
 
Posts: 403 | Location: In the Hardwoods of Eastern Iowa | Registered: 15 November 2005Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Hiya, Ken!

Hit aint over yet, ol'coon. So, grab another cup o'Missouri Mud 'n' keep yor backside to tha fyar.

Regards, xfox


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
Greenhorn
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Great to know this ride isn't done yet!
Windriver
 
Posts: 29 | Location: Derby Kansas | Registered: 30 March 2012Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Hiya, Fellas!

In some ways I don't know iffen I'm entertainig you some or boring ya ta tears!

So, if you want to jump in here and comment on or ask about anything I'm written, that might have you cornfabulated, go ahead.

Regards, xfox


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
Greenhorn
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Your story reminds me of Terry Johnstons writings which I really enjoyed. Just keep it coming. WAGH!
 
Posts: 29 | Location: Derby Kansas | Registered: 30 March 2012Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
Picture of Walkingeagle
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Xfox,
I would prefer you kept them coming, these stories I find are rather entertaining. Also, I much enjoy the ribbin your getting from Sticks and Ol' Vol!
Gotta find out whats next for sure!!
Walk
 
Posts: 342 | Location: Alberta, Canada | Registered: 15 January 2005Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
Picture of volatpluvia
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Well, you are gradually eliminating them bad guys. I watched the 'Patriot' again this evening and there was a lot of pitching off horses in that movie.
I knew I used to be able to hit a steel target off the bench at 200 yards that was the size of a man's chest. But I never tried 300 with a ML...
Old vollie


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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The next morning, after Stitch and Josiah crossed the Clark’s Fork of the Yallerstone, the weather turns cold as the temperature drops dramatically, high mares tail clouds blew in from the west and lenticular clouds formed over the Absoraka and Bear Tooth Mountains. Winter wasn’t about to let go of its grip on the land just yet.

“Gonna be a poudrerie ahittin’ tis country afore nightfall, best we hole up ‘til it breaks,” Josiah commented.

By early evening the strong, cold wind came roaring out of the Clark’s Fork of the Yallerstone Canyon, roared across the upper Big Horn Basin and along the Big Horn River. With fine snow being driven horizontally, visibility dropped to nearly zero. They hobbled the horses and mule in a draw that would provide some shelter from the wind. Wearing their capotes, wrapped in their blankets, and with their buffalo robes draped over all, Josiah and Stitch managed to stay reasonably warm. Half drowsing, Josiah heard the wind rise fiercely. Any soul that ventured out in it this night would get one heck of a ride.

The poudrerie blew through the night and noonday, by afternoon it had subsided to a strong breeze, the wind chill still penetrating. The horses and mule had faired out the storm, but were hungry and thirsty. Stitch and Josiah shucked out of their coverings and moved down toward a creek drainage where they found water and some grasses for the mounts to eat. By early evening the temperature had risen enough that the mountain men had to shed their capotes. What snow that had accumulated was gone by nightfall.

That night they built a campfire using the buffalo wood that they had collected before the windstorm and enjoyed the last of the deer and antelope meat. After the fitful sleep they had endured during the windstorm, restful sleep came easy for both men this night.

Morning broke with a bright blue sky and with warmth the mountain men hadn’t felt in several months. The men felt well rested, as did their horses and mule, and all were eager to make for the Big Horn River. As they rode toward the Big Horn River, they saw many wild horses and elk herds in the distance. Fresh buffalo tracks were seen, but no buffalo. They crossed the Big Horn River late that afternoon. Josiah shot a yearling cow elk that had stayed in the brush along the river, and later camp was made in a stand of large cottonwoods.


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
Factor
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You fellers in 'Lasky country surely know how to freeze a feller way down here 'mongst these ol' hills. I was wishing for a buffler robe, myself, afore I got that read.

If my teeth'll quit chattering I'll g-g-g-git you f-f-f-f-fer th-th-this.

Shiverin'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
Free Trapper
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Crossfox; I feel like I'm there! Keep it coming. Have your thaught of publishing this story,I see a movie in the future.


" You do with your scalp as you wish and don't be telling us what to with ours."
 
Posts: 158 | Location: lake champlain, vt | Registered: 03 January 2013Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
Picture of volatpluvia
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Old zorro of the crossing,
It got a little warmer here today too. at our new house it was 82F this afternoon. Started out at 50F this morning. Teeth don't chatter so much as when the day starts out at 45F.
ole vollie


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Hiya Volie!

Its' been muy caliente here for the past week in the mid +40s with rain. Expecting 5F tonight with the possibility of snow. Our driveway and parking area is a skating rink. Had to put studded hoof boots on the horses front feet, too.

Oh! Thanks for the comments fellas.

Vt, I don't think it could be published in its present form. Some of the characters are "borrowed" (there'll be a list of sources and books[whose story lines]at the end of this tale), make it easy for me to blend them into my story line.

It would make a good movie! Hmmmmmm! Gotta think about who to pester about it.

Regards, xfox


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
Factor
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Muy caliente my foot! 'Course it'd be easier to keep warm if I had one of them leetle donkeys named El Esparendie (sp?) to push around . . .

'Tis a good story Sploosh'! 'Course some of these fellers ain't braced for the shockin' they've got comin' . . .

Watchin'tosee'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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Soon a hot fire was roaring, elk tenderloins skewered on sticks were roasting, as well as, whole muscle roasts from a hindquarter. As the roasts browned and swelled up from the heat, the men cut juicy slices from them. When fresh meat was readily available each man could consume upwards of fifteen pounds at a meal. A couple of days would be spent here drying and smoking strips of the extra elk meat into jerky.

Later, after their bellies were sated by the hot meat and Lapsang tea, Stitch examined his arrow wound, found it healing well and tried some conversation.

“Waugh! Thet war some fine eatin’ for shor……Buck,’twas wonderin’ why ya shot thet Ree back on tha Fork?……Just awonderin’ is all.”

Josiah looked at Stitch a short while before answering.

“Thet Ree buck caused ah heap o’trouble fer us ‘n’ tha ‘Shoni. It plum set in ma craw wrong……Ah wernt gonna spend tha rest o’my days watchin’ ma backtrail jest to keep’em from tryin’ ta take our hyar, ‘sides ah jest didn’t like tha way thet redstick talked……Leave’er at that, Stitch.”

The next four days were used in preparing the jerked elk meat, cleaning their guns, sharpening knives and hatchets, and making repairs to clothes and gear. The forth morning broke warm and clear, just like the previous three. With the mule packed and the horses saddled, Josiah and Stitch made one more quick check of the campsite for any forgotten gear. Finding none, they mounted up and eased off in a southerly direction along the Big Horn.

They were following the Big Horn River upstream on the eastern side of the Big Horn Basin. At some point in late winter, a Chinook had moved through the terra baldia sublimating the snow pack to just patches remaining with lots of open ground showing, over which they were making good time. The warm, sunny days heralded early spring on the high desert of the Basin as grasses sprouted anew and leaf buds popped in the sparse timber along the rivers. Red tailed hawks shrilled as they flew overhead, ever hunting for their next meal. A golden eagle circled on the rising air currents as formations of ducks, geese, swans and sandhill cranes flew northward to far nesting grounds. Owls hooted in the early evening hours, foxes barked, songdogs yodeled and in the distant mountain valleys, wolves howled. To the mountain men this was the sound of home.

Josiah and Stitch veered off from the Big Horn along Nowood Creek, traveling into its upper reaches, well past its confluence with the Tensleep. Here they would cross the low mountains into the upper Poudre River drainage and follow this water down to the foothills, turning southeast to the North Platte River. They would travel through a waterscape, a dry section of country before reaching the Platte. The lack of water would be hard on the horses and mule for a couple of days. Upon reaching the North Platte, Fort William would be just one hundred miles farther along down river; about four easy days travel. Both men were looking forward to their arrival.


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
Greenhorn
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Man Crossfox, you should write a book! You paint one smart picture..yes sir!
Great tale, great storyteller, please keep it up.
Del
 
Posts: 44 | Location: Independence, MO. | Registered: 28 September 2012Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Activities were in high gear at Fort William. William Sublette had built the old cottonwood stockade fort in 1834. It was an impressive sight, a large quadrangle with sentry posts on two opposite corners with a large cannon post over the main gate. Over the years it had deteriorated to such an extent that a whole new fort was being built of adobe across from the confluence of the North Platte and Laramie rivers. It, too, was a sight to see.

Pierre Chouteau, Jr. & Company, also known as American Fur Company, owned the old trading post fort and was intent on building anew. It was to be named Fort John, after John Sarpy, a stockholder in the “Company.” Howsomever, some called it Fort Laramie after a local French trapper, Jacques La Ramie. Others would still call it Fort William; no matter what it was called it was soon to be a very busy place with wagon strings stopping over on their way to Oregon country and California.

Thomas Fitzpatrick had decided to winter at the fort with other trappers that had nothing else to do and give them a hand doing it. He was taking a walk down to the new fort and had just reached the old fort’s gate when he saw the two riders approaching.

He squinted as he looked, a shallow grin formed on his lips as he muttered to himself, “Walna, I vow, thet shor is two ov tha sorriest lookin’ critters I’ve seen in a while.”

Glancing back over his left shoulder, he tells the pork eaters working a fur press near the gate, “Thar be Mountainmen fer ye ta gawk at fer shor ‘n’ sartain!”

“Howdy, boys! Welcome ta Fort William,” Thomas “Brokenhand” Fitzpatrick hollered to Stitch and Josiah as they were approaching the old fort gate, “I weren’t shor ye got my message, Stitch.”

“Moccasin mail still works some, Fitz. Yor message got passed over ta Jackson’s Hole late last fall. Took ah spell ta git ‘ere, tho. Ran inter some trouble over on Clarks Fork wit ‘Rees ‘n’ Snakes,” Stitch said.

“Walna, thets wet powder’n’ no way to dry it……unfork them cayuses ova yonder. Come on ta my camp after ‘n’ I’ll fill ya in on what we’re aboot,” said Fitz to Stitch, and then to Josiah, “Good ta see yer skelp’s locked on tight, Buck. Ya mighten wanna wander ova to tha post, ‘pears thar’s ah hivernan in thar thets been askin’ aboot ya.”

After settling the horses and mule, Stitch headed over to the cabin that Fitzpatrick was staying in and Josiah headed to the trading post.


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
Factor
Picture of volatpluvia
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phwewiiee,
glad they made it


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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“Walna, iffen I aint a ring-tailed panner! Ist tha’ you, ol’Buck?” Dick Summers exclaimed, squinting, as Josiah entered into the gloom of the trading post.

“Two Shoots? Wal, call me ah bisquit ‘n’ slather me with grease. Hows’ yer stick float, Dick!” Josiah grinned as he and Dick grabbed arms and danced a round jig, much to the amusement of the other men in the post, “ Been a passel o’ winters since these ‘ere ol’eyes has seed ya!”

“Wal, ol’hoss, it has been a few. Here, wet yer whistle ‘n’ I’ll tell ya my tale,” Dick said as he poured a goodly dollop of post whiskey into a tin cup from a small jug.

Dick is a tall, lanky man without an ounce of fat on his body, with a moderate growth of gray beard and shoulder length gray streaked hair pulled back in a queue. His stained buckskin pants has fringe from the knees down on the outside seam; he wears hard sole moccasins, and a dropped shoulder red wool pullover shirt. A wide leather belt encircles his waist and tucked into the belt is a large knife in an oiled leather scabbard. On his head he wears a badger skin hat with no tail, a bullet bag and powder horn is slung over his left shoulder, which fit’s them into the hollow just above his right hip.

Behind him, leaning against the post wall is his flintlock rifle-gun that gave him his camp name of “Two Shoots.” The upper rifle barrel is 31 caliber and the lower smoothbore barrel is 20 gauge, the very same rifle/gun that his long ago friend, now enemy, Boone Caudill, had brought to the mountains.

Boone Caudill and Jim Deakins were greenhorn country boys looking for adventure when they met the mountain man, Dick Summers, in St. Louis. They all came to the mountains with a French trader on an ill-fated keelboat trip many years ago. Caudill ended up killing his friend, Jim Deakins, in a rage of jealousy over a misunderstanding involving an Indian woman. Boone took off into the mountains never knowing that he had been wrong in his assumption. Dick, in turn, was dismayed at what had happened and swore to end Boones’ life if ever they met again. Summers had an easy laid back disposition that belied the quick and deliberate moves that he could call upon when needed. You did not want to be on the angry side of Dick Summers.

Dick took a long swallow of the post whiskey and starts his dissertation; it was three years ago; He had quit the mountains and traveled to Missouri, where he met a widowed woman, got married and bought a farm. His wife was a good woman, made his cabin a home and treated Dick well. Howsomever, Dick was a poor farmer from the get-go and struggled to grow enough to even feed his wife and himself. Then,unexpectantly, last spring a year ago, his wife became ill with fever and wasted away before his eyes. She had not lain dead half a day, when a wagon string agent, having heard that Summers had spent many years in the Rockies, came calling on Dick to guide emigrants to the Oregon country.

It didn’t take much persuading to get Dick to agree to take the job; after all, he no longer had a reason to stay since his wife was gone, and the urge to get to the mountains suddenly raged in his blood. Dick sold his farm that day to a neighbor farmer, who had brought his wife over to help prepare the dead woman for burial.

The next day, after the funeral, he headed out to meet up with the wagon string. He lead them over the Platte River Trail, then through South Pass, across the Green River and turned northwest toward Fort Hall, then on to the Oregon country. It was a long and arduous trip. After reaching the Willamette Valley, Dick retuned east, going to Fort Hall and then ending up at Fort William. He was heading down the North Platte to meet up with another wagon string to guide them on to Oregon.


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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Dick and Josiah were sitting on a long form out front of the trading post, sharing post whiskey and continuing their discussion.

“I swar’ Dick, I never figured you’d go ta guiding emigrants ‘n’ corncrackers,” Josiah said, shaking his head in wonder.

“Times er ah changin’, Buck. Trappers can’t make a decent livin’ no more ‘n tha skin trade, what with tha price o’beaver down ‘n’ tha critter scarce…… I’ll be dogged, iffen I end up bein’ a wolfer ‘er hide hunter. I’d druther go under ‘n’ leave my topknot onna braves lodge pole…..Guidin’ seemed ta to be ah bit betterin’ losing my hyar.” Dick surmised with a grin, continuing in a subdued voice, “Ah bunch of tha boys ere floating thar stick towards Oregon country ta settle down some.”

“’N’ quit tha fur country? Iffen thet doan beat all.” Josiah offered, after a pause, “ I aint cut out ter be no guide, Dick. Not tah ah bunch ov ignoorant emigrants, not by ah long chalk!”

“We’ll palaver some more on tha ‘morrow, Buck. Shor glad to see ya agin, ol’hoss,” said Dick, as he got up and headed out to the corral to check on his horses.

Stitch had joined Fitz in his cabin, gotten a hot mug of much needed coffee and waited for Fitzpatrick to talk about their upcoming trip.

“Walna, Stitch, Lets’ talk straight……We’ll be leaving Fort William in about five days and heading to Westport, where we are to meet up with Father Peter De Smet. He’ll have a fair size wagon string together. We are to guide him here to Fort William, then through South Pass up to the headwaters of the Green,” began Fitz.

“The Green, you say? I had thought it was to be the Poudre River we was aheading for,” Stitch queried.

“Father De Smet decided the Green instead, so that is where we will take him,” Fitz continued, “Tomorrow, see the factor, and get what plunder you need for yourself. He’ll put it in the books. De Smet will settle up the account when we get back here. I’ve gotten what we need for the trip together, plus a couple of packhorses. Your mule and horse can rest here and we’ll pick ‘em up on our return. Any questions?”

“ Nary a one……yet! ‘Spect there’ll be a few as we git along,” Stitch replied. With indications that the meeting was over, he finished with the coffee and bade Fitz good day.

“Stitch,” Fitz called, as he grinned, “glad to have ya with me on this ‘ere expedition, ‘ol coon. Hope you aren’t sorry ta be coming along.”

Stitch, grinning back, replied, “Not by a long chalk……ya jest mighten be!”


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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The next morning the three mountain men rode down to the Platte, where a number of the other trappers were discussing the current fur trade conditions. On the way over, Dick informs Josiah and Stitch that since Andrew Drips had announced the end to rendezvous, several of the trappers had formed their own trading companies and were going up into the Three Forks and Marias country. Others were either going to Oregon country or staying in the mountains to continue trapping.

After picketing out the horses the three men walked over to the large campfire where the trappers were straight talking. Each of the three accepted a cup of hot coffee; nodded to the men they knew and settled in to listen.

This was a motley looking bunch; some are dressed in worn, greasy buckskins, others in worn cloth shirts and pants, still others in new shirts of bright checks. Blue, red and black with white being the dominant colors; there are a couple of shirts in mustard and white checks; followed by solid colors of red and blue. Their headgear was just as varied; from wide brim low round crowned hats to fur hats made from the skins of coyote, fox, lynx, or otter, some with leather bills; and bandanas of blue, red and black clothe. Some wore their winter beards trimmed neatly, others scraggly and unkept, still others are clean-shaven or showing a light growth.

“Meek, it’s a fools errand to quit the fur trade now, and you know it. We don’t need rondyvoos’ any more; with all the trading posts being built it’ll be easier to trade our furs than ever before. And the costs of goods will be lower than what we paid the pack companies coming out of St. Louis,” LaClair states, “ Besides, I’ve no interest in seeing that wet Oregon country, so I’ll be staying in the mountains and make the best of it.”

Joe Meek replies, “Well, that might be, Ron. Howsomever, me, Doc Newell, Caleb Wilkins, Dougherty, Walker, Ebberts, and Larison are heading up to Fort Hall and then on to the Willamette to claim some land and settle.”

“Heard Wyeth has sold out Fort Hall to HBC, along with the other post he had on the Snake,” Josiah interjected, “Seems to me a majority of scoundrels run most of the fur companies nowadays.”

“Walna, that just might be, Buck. I aint never heard of a hivernant gettin’ rich in this trapping game,” Walker exclaimed, “One thing for sure, the frenchies in St. Louis has plum ruint the fur country with their brigades taking every beaver they could find.”

Throwing a chunk of wood on the fire, Caleb muses,“Even Don Berry and TC Johnston are quitting the mountains.”

“Well, I wintered in Jackson’s Hole with ol’Gabe. He was talking about building a trading post, southwest of South Pass betwixt Black’s Fork and the Muddy. Figures one is needed fer all of the wagon strings that’ll be heading to Californy and Oregon. Elbridge Trask and Osborne Russell were at the Hole, too. They were talking about heading over to Oregon country,” offered Stitch.

“What about you, Nesbitt? You were talking of going to Oregon country this winter. Still up to it?” Doc asks.

“I’ll get there sooner or later,” Whitehair replies, as he pours a himself another tin cup of campfire coffee, “That big timber country sure is pretty.”

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Crossfox,


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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