|
|
We See Eye To Eye--I Think? |
 Wild Bill and I stood there in a scene looking as if it was straight out of a history book, two men, tired of the illusion civilization offers, appearing more Indian in our values than ever the white world could flavor. The older seasoned veteran of the mountain life and a young boy of twenty-two seeing where we stood, stating our views, palavering about the wilderness life, deeds we'd done, but I don't think the local mountains were mentioned once, other than him making it clear he considered them his sole domain. "Interlopers! Pilgrims don't deserve these mountains, they belong to those as live in them. FUCKING PISS ANTS!"
I had the feeling he was including me in that statement. As if I was a monsieur de lard, a term from the old trapper lexicon of the mountain men, roughly meaning, "Mr. Bacon," a pork eater, a new recruit, as yet unproven on the frontier still eating salt pork until they hit buffalo country after leaving Saint Louis on a trapping and trading expedition--a greenhorn in other words. I felt like I was in some aberrant time-warp trapper's camp where I had to prove myself as worthy.
 Ol' Makwi Witco (Crazy Wolf) was proud of what he had going on, of that there was no doubt. I couldn't blame him. I had trouble not looking like an awestruck kid as I tried to keep my eyes on his instead of all that was around me. The earthy smell of wood smoke, chickens pecking at our feet, the North Fork of The Flathead flowing just outside his door, hides here and there in various states of the tanning process, the weathered old barn with it's pleasant fermented odors tickling my nose... |
|
Read more... [We See Eye To Eye--I Think?]
|
|
|
A Slight Deviation -- I Meet Buckskin Bill |
When I'd started out of Kalispell towards the border to meet an old hermit mountain man named Bill, the last thing I figured would be to run into others of my own kind on the way there. And even more so to run into a man in full buckskins with a pretty young girl in a fringed buckskin dress. But there they were right in front of me--
We eyed each other in that northern Montana country store, none of us saying a word, the man and his woman buying ice cream, which I thought kind of ironic given the picture. Sneaking glances at the babe, I could tell she was curious. She was the first true mountain girl I'd ever laid eyes to, so I was just as intrigued. Hell by now I was thinking there must be a whole slue of mountain men around these parts, not everyday you come across people in buckskins, but I kept my piece and didn't say a word, acting like they were no big deal--
Yet I've got to tell you, thinkin' back, that hoss seemed bigger than life at the time with his big shaggy beard and  piercing blue eyes, full beaded buckskins and handmade knife on his belt with a cute squaw by his side.
It was pretty impressive to this coon, but then hell, I was no slouch myself, trying to act nonchalant, wearing my painted Ghost Dance shirt, full bat-wing leggings and breech cloth made of fine four-point blankets, my hair in long braids and feathers, medicine signs painted on my cheek and forehead... |
|
Read more... [A Slight Deviation -- I Meet Buckskin Bill]
|
|
|
|
The Lost Cache Journals (blog, life & times) 
