Cut Bank pioneer press. [volume] (Cut Bank, Mont.) 1909-current, 1916-11-10
A Montana Trapper's Story

"I'm gettin' mighty weary of hol-
in up in this line camp" said Long
X Wilson, scratching the frost from
the window and gazing d~iscontentedly
out at the storm. eff the snow ever
let's up it'll be fine trackin' weather,
n chances1l be good for a blacktail
ovel on Painted Ridge"
"Tracks'd do you a whole lot of
good, old scout" said Bowlegs, sit
ting up cross-legged in the bunk and
rolling a cigarette. "You couldn't
track a bed-wagon through a boghole.
I amt forgot last winter, when
you're lost on Dog creek. You're
riding in a circle, follerin' your own
trail, N you'd "a been there yet if
the Cross Ell boys hadn't found you.
You re a tracker, I don't think"
"Speakin' of trackin',' u broke in
old Dad Lane, the wolfer, "reminds
me of a cripple I knowed who goes
by the name of Reel Foot. He's one
of natures mistakes, a born deform-
ity. It looks like when Old Lady
Nature built him she starts from the
top n does good work till she gets
to his legs, N then throws off the
job to somebody that's workin' for
fun.
"This cripple was before your time,
but he's well known on the lower
Yallerstone in the early 70's. The
first time I ever see Reel Foot I'm
sittin' in a poker game with him.
Now lookin' at him across the table,
he'll average up with any nan for
shape N looks, but at this time I amt
acquainted with him from his waist
band down.
"For weeks I've been eatn' plenty
of booze, n Pm at that stage where
I see things hat amt there. Old
Four-ace Jack, that's handin' us the
beverage, looks like twins; my sights
doublin' up on me. The games goin'
along smooth enough till 1 reach for a
pot on a pair of aces, N Reel Fool
claims I only got one. There's quite
a little argument, N while he's on
vincin' me I spill some chips. While
I'm gropin' round for 'em under the
table, I run on to them hoofs, warped
n twisted, N it rattles me till l see
feet enough for four men, N there's
only two of us playin'. This ends
the game for me, so cashin' in, | tell
Four-Ace to pour my drink back in
the bottle. I'm that shaky l couldn't
empty it into a barrl with the head
out, N I don't swaller no more booze
that trip.
"The scare wears off when I get
acquainted with Reel Foot, but / new
err do look at him without wonderin'
which way he's goin' to start Off.
His right foot's straight ahead, ma
tural; the left, pointin' back on his
trail. It's an old sayin', "a fool for
luck n in this case I guess it goes
with the cripples, fol it's these twist
, ed him legs of his'n that saves his
hide , hair for him once.
cit happens when he first hits the
country from Nebrasky. He's camped
on the Porcupine, N as trappin' s
. GOOD n he's figurin' on stayin'
awhile, he's throwed up a lean-to OF
brush. He's one of these kind that
t don't get lonesome, N lows it you
} don't mix with no worse company
than animals you re all right. Livin'
: so long with his cayuses, he savvies
: 'em, n they understand him. They
even seem to know what he's talkin'
to 'em about.
some mornin' Reel Foot leaves
camp to visit his traps. He's on
his pony, but about a mile. down
I the creek, the brush bein' thick, ne
quits the cayuse n goes afoot. After
visitin' his traps Reel Foot circles
round n doubles back on his old
| trail a couple of hundred yards below
! where the boss is tied. When he
reaches the cayuse he climbs on n
rides into camp. 49,.
"Now, there's a bunch of Ogallaly
! Sioux in this country, led by Blood
Lance. They're runnin' buffalo, n
| one day they find where some white
| men had made a KILN N TUX nothin
| but the tongues. This waste Of meat
] makes their hearts bad, N it wouldn 7
be healthy for no whites they run
| across. Their feelin's re stirred up
| this way when they strike Reel Foot s
| tracks, which causes 'em to pull up
! their ponies, N every Injun skins his
gun. There's snow on the ground.
| SO the readin's plain. He's wearin
! ~moccasins, but that don't fool ZEN
none; they see where he's shuk out
| his pipe while he's walkin'. This
| tells 'em he's a white man, cause
! Iniuns don't smoke while they're
! ~travelin'. Whenever a redskin lights
! his pipe, you can bet he's down on his
| hunkers, talkin' comfort.
| "But it amt what he is that's got
these people guessin', but which way
he's goin'. They all get down of
their ponies N smoke, talk N make
! medicine.
"'My brothers, says n wise OLD
buck, who's been sittin' wrapped II