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A Long Winter Ride
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Booshway
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By mid morning, Josiah had unhobbled Molly and moved her into a makeshift corral that he had made from dead and down limbs and logs. He had notice her staring off to the southwest earlier, turning her ears from south to southwest and snorting gently. A sure sign that something or someone was off in that direction. Josiah was sitting near the low fire mending a hole in the sole of a spare moccasin when Molly had started a hard snorting, tossing her mane and tail, all the while looking white-eyed through the bare trees lining the creek area at something that she did not like at all.

“Easy Molly gal! I kin smell’em, just can’t git aholt of it yet,” Josiah quietly said as he set the moccasin down and reached with his right hand for Fetchumunder’s stock. He continued to watch in the direction Molly was staring as his hand slid from the cresent buttplate to the wrist of the stock, gripping it and thumbing back the cock in one practiced motion.

Stitch had picked up the light smell of wood smoke sometime ago and knew there was a camp nearby. But, was it red injun or whiteskin camped along the creek bottom? He had scouted about the area and not finding sign, decided to approach the camp.

“Halloo! Tha camp!” Stitch called, waiting for a return greeting, hoping it would be in ‘merican.

Josiah had heard the camp call, howsomever, being cautious, he had moved into a better position and shouldered his rifle. “Best ye come in slow ‘n’ easy like iffen ye don’t want galeeny ’n yor lights!” Josiah called back. On the far side of Bennett Creek he could make out a mounted figure ponying a pack mule.

Waugh, it wer a whiteman! “Don’ git yer bristles up, ol’coon! I’m comin’ in friendly,” Stitch called back as he eased horse and mule across the creek toward the camp, his rifle cradled in his left arm. Entering the campsite, and catching sight of Josiah, Stitch exclaimed “ Wal, ah’ll be et fer a tater, I dang nar took ye fer an injun! That’d soured my milk fer shor iffen ye had been!”

Stitch sat his horse and continued to look at Josiah, taking in his braided hair that had been folded back on itself, wrapped with red wool trade cloth and otter fur strips, the wool calzoneras covered by well worn and greasy leggings and the dark blue blanket shirt.

“Who be ye?” Josiah asked, watching Stitch through the sites of Fetchumunder, still not sure of the man.

“Why, I be Joe Bass, known as Stitch to hiveranno’s in tha mountains. What be yor handle, ol’hoss?”

Easing Fetchumunder down from his shoulder, Josiah replied “ I be Josiah Buckner, ol’Buck to those thet tramp these ‘ere rocks.”

Stitch climbed down off his horse, offered his hand in friendship to Josiah. Both men’s grip was strong and sure. Stitch was tall and lanky, standing nearly a head taller, but considerably lighter in weight, all muscle and younger than Josiah.

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
Booshway
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Hola, Volie!

No te pongas los pantalones en nu nudo y mantenga su sombrero! La historia hace cuando se hace!!

Respecto, Zorro de la Cruz


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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“Cut any injun sign to tha south?” Josiah asked as he helped Stitch settle his horse and mule in the corral.

“Heap! ‘Rees, got a winterin’ squa’ camp jest southeast o’Heart Mountain, down alongst tha Shosoni River. Cut sign of a huntin’ party nyar O’Hara crick, seed’em at a distance. Four at tha time, mighten be more na, aheadin’ thisa ways. Aint gonna be joyous findin’ us’n hyar. Mighten hafta fort up, lessen ye wanta pull foot.”

Josiah looked hard at Stitch before answering, “ This ‘ere chile ist up ta beaver ‘n’ aint one ta holler calf rope, by a long shot. How fer behind, ye reckon?”

“Maybe a jornada, maybe lessen. I led’em onna merry trace.”

Stitch knew a fight was coming when the ‘Rees caught up to them. He felt better for having run into ol’Buck, at least he would have a partner in the fray. Josiah punched up the fire to heat water for tea, share some grub with Stitch and catch up with the doings of the country.

“Ye say yer a Bass? Any kin ta Zachery ‘n’ Titus Bass?”

“Yepper! My uncles! Zach came ta tha mountains with Henry ‘n’ Scratch came a little later.”

“I ‘member Scratch killin’ thet no good Streak back ronnyvoo sum yars back. Streak was a mean’un for shor. Had thet forelock o’white hair, he did. Say, whatever happened ta Zach? Heard he usta tell stories round tha fyar o’his whalin’ days.”

“After he war fotch a good one by thet she bar ‘n’ abandoned by Henry’s party ta turn beaver, he made it ta tha big muddy ‘n’ fetched his rifle ‘n’ possibles ‘n’ then set his stick fer back east. He had a boy yonker back thar in New England, New Bedford maybe, thet he wanted ta raise proper. Doan know iffen he’ll ever see tha shining mountains agin.”

“He had a tough bark, he did. I hyar o’ Scratch oncet inna while, thet he took onna greenhorn named o’ Paddock ‘til tha green wor off, took up a squaw wife ‘n’ has a passel o’yonkers.” Josiah mused.

“Yepper, thet he did. Getting’ plum civilized. Still awanderin’ this ‘ere country som’mers.”

“Where yer headin’ Stitch?”

“ Ova ta Fort William. ‘Posed ta meet up ta Brokenhand thar ‘n’ then trapse ova ta tha Black Hills country with’im ta guide a Black Robe by tha name a Dee Smith ta tha upper Powder River. ‘Es gonna preach religion ta tha heathens.”

“I heered ol’Fitz had quit tha fort ta AMF, didna knowed he’d gon’ ta guidin’.” Josiah muttered.

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
Factor
Picture of volatpluvia
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'Schticks,
¿Te acuerdas con Zorro de la Cruz?

El Hombre del Bosque
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
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Can't say fer sure. Looks like something about his britches and hat. Or your britches and hat. Anyhow, don't go out in that heat down there without your britches and hat; remember how uncomplexioned and palish your are. Haw! Haw! Haw!

Took a lot of work to come up with that.

Exhausted'sticks

P.S. Good story, Zorro de la el-sploosho!


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
Factor
Picture of volatpluvia
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'Schticks,
What he said was: Don't get your knickers in a knot and keep your hat on your head!
Hee, Hee!

Ole whiteface, readbeard replaced with whitebeard, big bellied, chicken legged donkey jockey


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
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And then an arrow went thru his chest.......WHAT? I recall when ole Crossfox did thet to one of Fiddlesticks tales an Mz. 'Sticks tore him a new one! Smiler Hope all are doin' well and sorry for bein' tardy so long. Audie....the Oldfart...
 
Posts: 2155 | Registered: 31 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
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Audie,

Ol' 'Fox was kinda nervous about that when he started this story. He called to fill me in on it. Kathy began screaming to me, "Kill 'em off! Kill 'em ALL off!"

So far I've resisted the temptation.

Good to see ya!

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
Factor
Picture of volatpluvia
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¡Audie!
¡Glad to see you are alive! ¿Did you get my messages on your phone?
Que tengas una buena caza.
León


pistuo deo lalo
 
Posts: 3714 | Location: Acatlan de Juarez, Jalisco, Mexico | Registered: 22 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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That afternoon the two mountain men turned their horses and mule out of the corral to graze, hobbling all and setting pickets. Stitch stood watch as Josiah pulled Fetchumunders’ charge, cleaned the barrel with hot water and wiped it dry. He gave Fetchumunder a looking over to make sure the barrel keys were set in their escutcheons, the sights tight in the dovetails and no wiping patches left in the barrel. Having put his wiping stick down, Josiah poured a fresh charge of powder into his carved elk horn measurer, dumped the powder down the barrel, and gave the rifle a shake to settle it. He then placed a galena ball on a thin patch of greased deerskin, and pushed the patched ball into the barrel muzzle with his thumb. Taking the ramrod, he pushed the patched ball down the barrel until it contacted the powder, gave the ramrod a bit more pressure to firmly seat the ball, and withdrew the ramrod. . His final tasks were to make sure the hammer was halfcocked, prime the pan of the flintlock from his powder horn and close the anvil. The rifle was now ready for what may come.

At the rendezvous of ’29 on the Upper Popo Agie, Josiah had sent an order with Bill Heppner, a blacksmith and gun repairer traveling with the fur traders, who took the length of pull measurement and other pertinent information. Josiah wanted the rifle to be built at the Hawken brother’s gun shop in St. Louis. He had heard that Sam Hawken made a fine fullstock rifle that was skookum enough to survive the harsh life of the mountainmen. And he wanted one with the barrel in 24 caliber, that way he could shoot just about any ball that most of the other mountainmen carried or cast. Since most of the rifles carried were 52 to 30 caliber all he would have to do was vary the thickness of his greased deerskin patches to make do in a pinch. Josiah had also ordered a spare lock to be fitted, along with extra springs, screws, fly’s and cocks. The rifle was to arrive with the trade string at the next years’ set rendezvous site near the headwaters of the Wind River in ’30. Josiah had given Heppner trade script worth $48 dollars to cover the costs, which was nearly 2 1/5 times the cost of a good Leman trade rifle.

Stitch cleaned and recharged his three long guns while Josiah stood watch. He had a Leman trade rifle and a well-used Jacob Deckard Lancaster, both in 37 caliber, along with a cut down Mexican escopeta in 11 gauge.

“ Ol’hoss, ye best take tis ‘ere Mex’ ‘speta as a spare gun iffen tha fat hits tha fyar onna ‘morrow, since I took notice tha’ yor short armed.” Stitch said, “ Ye kin load’er with jest aboot anything thet’ll fit inna’ bore.”

“Walna, thank ye kindly. I been short armed since I loss horse and beaver crossing tha Yallerstone awhilst back.”

“Wal, what ‘appened ta ye crossing tha’stone, ol’coon?” Stitch asked.

“ I had a pack hoss thet war a real jughead fer shor. Thet dang critter spooked at everthang thet seemed ta come along. Got it from a Palouse at winter camp. Wudda been better ta make camp meat outer it,” Josiah exclaimed, “Shor wudda saved me from a heap’o’ trouble!”


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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Josiah continued his tale of woe; seems he, Molly and the jughead, which had all of his camp possibles and Nor’west gun packed on him, had to cross the lower Yellowstone River, which was frozen over in most places. The place he chose to cross appeared to have good ice covered by a foot of snow that would afford the horses’ good footing. Just to be safe, Josiah had picketed the jughead and then rode Molly across. After reaching the eastern shore, he picketed Molly, and walked back across the river in the tracks to fetch the jughead. All was going well as he lead the jughead until about a quarter of the way across when the ice cracked with a loud noise, spooking the horse, which flung itself back and to the left. The jerk of the lead rope threw Josiah into the snow, but he hung on to the rope and was pulled through the snow, heading downstream and toward the west shore. His hands were growing cold and he could not hang onto the rope any longer.

The jughead was now kicking, crow hopping and bucking, shaking some of the pack contents off its back, when it abruptly plunged through thin ice into the river. The horse thrashed about, whinnying loudly trying desperately to get back up on the ice. In a few moments the river current suck the hapless horse under the ice. Josiah sat there cold and dumbfounded, trying to make sense of what had just happened. After he regained his senses, found his blanket mittens, and warmed his hands, he went about trying to salvage what items he could find in the snow.

After getting back to where Molly was picketed, Josiah made a small hot fire to warm-up and to take account of what possibles he had to survive. He had lost most of the jerky, flour, coffee beans, salt, fishing gear, traps, the trade gun, pemmican, spare moccasins, five pounds of Du Pont and three pounds of lead, plus miscellaneous other items, when the jughead went under. At least he still had his Hawken, hawk, knife, strike-a-light kit, two horns of powder and a couple of bars of galena, in fact he felt right rich.

“Ya got tha hyar o’tha bar in ye, Josiah!” Stitch acknowledge.

“Say, Stitch, ya said that tha injuns ya seed wer ‘Rees. This ‘ere country is abit west ‘n’ south o’ther range aint it?” Josiah asked.

“Yepper, it tis in fact! Heered tell theys down ‘ere tryin’ ta stir up the ‘shonis’ agin us mountain boyz. “ Stitch replied.

“Waugh! Ever since tha Army chased’m outen thar Missoura River country ‘n’ out on tha plains theys aint been sociable ta whitemen atall. Reckon we’ll find out on tha ‘morrow.” Josiah mused.


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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Jugheads! Seen a few of 'em back in the day.

Might've been one a time 'er two, m'self . . .

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
Booshway
Picture of Josh Crain
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Crossfox: You've got a talent there. You're able to capture and re-tell every detail the way the old authors used to do (i.e.: Winston Churchill, R.L. Stevenson, James Fenimore Cooper, etc...) Good work! I'm lookin' forward to the continuation!

And to you, Fiddlesticks and Volatpluvia: you guys make me laugh. Keep it up! lol. Big Grin

~Josh


"Return unto me, and I will return unto you," saith the Lord of hosts.
~Malachi 3:7b
 
Posts: 297 | Location: MI | Registered: 18 August 2012Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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“Best we git them cayuses ‘n’ mula back in tha corral fer tha night. Hits better ter count a horses ribs then ter count his tracks,” Stitch offered.

After an evening meal of penole gruel, deer and antelope strips, followed by hot Lapsang tea, Stitch offered to take first watch of the night.

“Tis cold doings this night,” Josiah said as he watched the fog of his chilled breath drift away. Fetchumunder was cradled across his chest as he spread his blankets and robe about him. Before long a soft snoring indicated he was in a deep sleep.

“Waugh, it’ll be a crimpy day fer shor,” Stitch replied as he lit his pipe to help pass the time.

Well past midnight Stitch gently nudged Josiah’s foot, “Easy ol’coon, time fer yor watch. All’s quiet, nary er critter stirring. Thars a tin o’fresh tea a brewin’.”

Josiah stretched, mumbled thanks to Stitch, cradled Fetchumunder, and began his watch. He eased over to the corral to let the horses and mule get his scent, checked their hobbles and ran his hand along each ones’ neck to keep them calm. Looking to the east the light of the false dawn was just starting to silhouette the Big Horn Mountains ridgelines.

Spotted Horse had told the Shoshoni village leader, Winded Bull, about the Bostonman’s trail and that the Arikara hunters were following him. Winded Bull gathered four other braves with trade guns, to accompany him and Spotted Horse would lead them back to where Two Scars and White Hawk were believed to be headed. Hopefully they would join them before evening tomorrow.

Meanwhile, up near Bennett Creek, Black Feather had scouted ahead and had found the camp. He was mildly surprised to find that there were now two Bostonmen to contend with and watched quietly from a distance for some time before heading back to report his findings to Two Scars and White Hawk. By the time Black Feather got back to the cold camp, Winded Bull had arrived with the additional braves. A council was being held to discuss the situation and Black Feathers’ findings brought grunts of approval from the braves. It was finally agreed that they would press the Bostonmen’s camp just as the sun broke the eastern mountains. Meanwhile the acts of purification and applying their war paint would begin in anticipation of the morning. Spotted Horse, being the youngest and not yet a brave, would wrangle the horses. He was disappointed to be left out of the attack, but was assured by Winded Bull that his care of the valued horses was to be much appreciated.

As the false dawn light blended in to twilight with the sky to the east brightening, Josiah had noticed Molly looking and listening to the south. She would occasionally lift her muzzle and flair her nostrils, a sure sign that the ‘Rees were out there. Josiah tossed a pebble onto the wide brim of Stitches hat to wake him.

“Best grab yor smokepole ‘n’ git set fer ah hoofarraw. Molly smells’m nyar,” Josiah quietly informed Stitch.


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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A thin fog was forming along the creek causing Josiah and Stitch to squint and look ascant through the bare trees at the darker forms of the brush on the south side of the creek. On the south side of the creek Two Scars and his companions were positioning themselves, using what cover they could find from the sagebrush and scattered willows, as Winded Bull approached the trappers camp on horseback. He was going to pull a ruse while his warriors got set.

“Bostonman! Bostonman! Come parley!” Winded Bull called. He had limited knowledge of English and intended to use hand sign once the trappers answered.

Stitch and Josiah were well placed to defend their camp, howsomever, one of them was going to have to expose his position in order to deal with Winded Bull.

Josiah stood and spoke in words and sign answered, “Welcome to our camp great Shoshoni warrior! What is your name and why have you blacked your face? We are no threat to a brave man such as you.”

“I am called Winded Bull and you are not wanted here,” Winded Bull said.

Stitch quietly asked “Did ‘e sign ‘is name is Buffalo Bull Snortin’ With Funk?”

“Na, his handle is Winded Bull,” Josiah said, “’n’ I knowed this ‘ere redstick. He aint gonna take it well when he knows its me here.”

Winded Bull was puzzled for a moment, but he knew that voice. Nearly twenty winters had past since he last heard it. He was young then, as was his cousin Dull Knife, and this man that he knew as Wakinu, the Gray Bear. They were proud, full of self and very competitive, especially for the eye of Yellow Flower, a pretty 16-year-old young Shoshoni woman. She was eligible for marriage and each of the three young friends wanted her. After aggressive courting by all three, it became obvious that she favored Winded Bull and Gray Bear, by ignoring Dull Knife’s advances. Dull Knife became jealous of Gray Bear and after a very disappointing visitation with Yellow Flower, he became very angry. That anger surfaced during a three way-wrestling match and Dull Knife tried to strangle Gray Bear. But, Gray Bear fought back like his namesake and overcame Dull Knife. It was only as Gray Bear was walking away confused by Dull Knifes act, that Dull Knife pulled his sheath knife and jumped Gray Bear from the rear with the intention of burying the knife deep into Gray Bears’ back. Gray Bear blocked the attack and in doing so turned Dull Knifes’ arm up under him, causing the blade to pierce Dull Knifes’ heart. Even though it was Dull Knife that initiated the attack and lost with his life, he was the cousin of Winded Bear and this killing drove a wedge between he and Gray Bear. As Gray Bear was leaving the village under duress, Winded Bull threatened Gray Bear with death the next time they met.

As the mist of fog drifted about Winded Bull, Josiah asking, “You know me, I am Wakinu, Gray Bear. What do you want Winded Bull,” brought him back to the present moment.

“Give us your medicine dogs and we will leave you to pass through our lands,” Winded Bull signed, glaring at Josiah.

“Hit won’t wash!” Josiah muttered, as he signed, “No medicine dogs to you. You dug up and placed the war hatchet between us long ago, not me.”

“Give us your medicine dogs or I will set my young men on you. I will give you a good death this day, Gray Bear!” Winded Bull signed.

Josiah signed an answer, “Keep holt of your young men or I’ll lift their hair and make wolf meat of them.”

Winded Bulls’ pride and anger was building as he signed, “Come out then and fight me alone.”

“He ‘as tha look of ah curly wolf, ta me Josiah! ‘N’, ya notice tha redhand on ‘is hosses’ chest, it means ‘es run down enemies afore. Ya shor ya want ta take ‘im on?” Stitch asked.

“I knowed what it means, ‘n’ this ol’he-coon is gonna hafta dance wid this’ere redstick, henyways ye lay yer sights,” Josiah said. He move outside of the logs he had stood behind and then signed and said, “Make your move Winded Bull!”

Winded Bull raised his trade gun and fired it at the sky, threw it to the ground and as he heeled his horse into a galloping charge, grabbed his pagamoggon, and swinging it about his head, let out his war cry.

“Be ready ta make smoke, Stitch!” Josiah cried, as he brought Fetchumunder up to his shoulder, lined up the sights on the chest of Winded Bull and tripped the trigger.

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
Factor
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What'n'thunder is a pagamoggon???? And how did he get one plumb up on his horse? Seems kinda dumb to bring one to a gunfight . . . as the old saying goes . . . I reckon . . . depending on what it is . . . I s'pose . . .

Scratchin'myhead'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
Picture of Josh Crain
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A tomahawk mebee? ya gotta help us out here Crossfox! Confused


"Return unto me, and I will return unto you," saith the Lord of hosts.
~Malachi 3:7b
 
Posts: 297 | Location: MI | Registered: 18 August 2012Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Factor
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Maybe he was tryin' to spell 'bag-a-noggin', but you can't whirl that around your head until you scalp it.

Hmmmm . . . mebbe ol' Volie snuck one of his furrin words in there, secret like . . .

Grinnin'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
Picture of Pilgrim
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PAGAMOGGON: A very effective Indian weapon made by attaching a 2- foot long leather-covered handle to a 3-pound stone. Used as a club. (A Glossary of American Mountain Men Terms, Words & Expressions). Seems to me his trade gun would have been a sight more effective. Crazy injuns!


"Any day you wake up on the right side of the dirt is a good day"
 
Posts: 428 | Location: Northwestern California | Registered: 05 May 2006Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
Picture of Pilgrim
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Crossfox, just an observation from an OCD proofreader. That rifle that Joshiah ordered; you wrote that he ordered it in 24 caliber. I think you meant 24 gauge in order to do what he wants it to do. Big Grin


"Any day you wake up on the right side of the dirt is a good day"
 
Posts: 428 | Location: Northwestern California | Registered: 05 May 2006Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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