Dearest Motheaten Mangemules, Griz here an' I hates ta break it tew ya but this here episode is actchooly the wrap-up of a ‘mazin’, epic tale a the life an' deaf ordeal what happened ta me. An', in order fer ya ta make hide ner hair of it, ya gots ta go back an' read Grizzly Files, Nos. 30, 31 an' 32, those a ya what hasn't. Sorry y'all, jus' tew many words agots in the way an' I lost ma haid thar fer a spell.

"WATER WUNDERS" - GRIZZLY FILES, NO. 30
"OH, BUZZ OFF!"-GRIZZLY FILES, NO. 31
"WUNDER WATERS" - GRIZZLY FILES, NO. 32

Yep, Griz here as unb'lieveable as that is. I reckon sum a ya is even happy ma sorry ass is back with ya. Won't swear tew it tho, ‘cause me an’ the preacher kinda let ya down, thar. Almost bought the farm, I did. But I tol' ya in ma last letter what happened ta me out thar, the miracle what it was. But, none a ya I has talked tew b'lieves me...ceptin' the preach, bless his heart. An' preachers don't lie...a, well...

An' the followin' account’ll probly, bring ma crudability back up ta the best a ya. A well, maybe not, but I gots ta tell ya what all happened, anyhow.

After four days a sleepin', agittin' ma strength back an' amakin' certain them bodily functions what had ashut down durin' them ordeals was all back ta workin' agin, I 'spressed ma deep thanks ta Horatio an' Martha fer them’s kindness. An'I haided off down the road on a borrowed mule. Yessir, back ta that ol' minin' town ta try ta make sinse a all a what ahappened ta me 'afore agittin' back ta find the preach an' the boys.

Wy, them tew genteel folks even laughed out loud now an' agin at the notion a me ahavin' three 'maginary friends: a phony preacher an' tew dang buzzards fer sidekicks. But, I larnt quick that it gots a feller further ta not dew much talkin' an' jus' try ta be neighborly back. Nuthin' I could say could convince 'em that ma brain didn't git addled out thar, what with that huge ol' purple lump on ma forehaid. But y'all knows that aint "addled", it's jus' "reg'lar" with me, heh, heh... No less, no more.

Apassin' unner that arch inta the town squar, I came up on that thar well agin, full a water an' acovered with the ol' bucket back ta whar I had aleft it an' I walked 'round town asurveyin' the damage. But look as I did, I didn't see no signs a no water damage a flashflood woulda done...no whar. Jus' the shabby ol', awornout buildin's mosta which was aleanin' in the same di-rection as the drivin', afternoon winds.

Then, I saw it. What used ta be a tew-story buildin' down on the end a the row a buildin's acomin' this-a-way up ta the well, had afallen over on it's neighbor an' apushed that one offa its foundation inta tha one next tew it. But what was interestin' was that that end buildin' wadn' jus' no tew-story buildin', neither, as you'd s'pose. It was a watertower disquised ta look like a house with livin' quarters on the first floor.

That huge barrel-of-a-tank had done crushed in the roof next door an', appar'ntly aburst its walls out asendin' tons a water down the roofline a them rowhouses. An', whaddyaknow, right inta that well an' all over the place aroun' it. Wy, it musta been a secret water source in case the ol' well went dry sos them townsfolk could have enuf till they dug another, I dunno. Makes sinse, tho. An', looks like they built them buildin's tew allow a trickle a water from the tank ta flow down the lowpoints a them roofs ta fill the well when it was low.

Possibly tew, them city fathers coulda used a dried up ol' well as a 'scuse ta keep that whole raft a gold miners down ta sump'um what was manageable. Heh, them same folks probly had a cornder on the water business here, years back. Purty smart a them ol' boys.

Anyhow, t'weren't the miracle I thot, but a miracle it was, nonetheless. It gots a natcheral explanation what kin keep God in er outa the pitcher dependin'...sos folks, I 'spose, have a choice as ta how they chooses ta look at it. Jesus aint agonna force no one ta b'lieve 'acause a sum cheap, sideshow trick, nosir. Don't git me wrong, now, Red Sea partin's an’ such wadn’ no cheap, sideshow tricks an’ had them's place back then an' I fully b'lieve He coulda give me ma own private flashflood ifn He had wanted tew.

What's still amazin' ta me is that He done put jus' enuf stoopidity in that plug-nickle preacher's haid fer him ta pull an' pry only enuf wood slats an', probly, a support beam er tew from the leeward side a that already-aleanin' buildin' ta near topple it, not knowin' the weight it was acarryin'. Then, all it took was the next big wind. Wyyy, that answers everthing.

Amazin'...how God aworks things out. Wy, He's geenyus suttle, aint He, an' shore works in mysterious ways? Saved ma sorry ass, He did. Three times here now. An' a forf time even 'afore I was born, 'cordin' ta the preach. But why? Musta been His dad what passed on down ta Him that great sinse a humor-a-His. 'Spose it could be all ma charitabull deeds er sweet disposition,heh,heh?

But, really, don’t it seem like I had a peace about me twinty feet down in the sewer thar? I had that feelin’ an’, tho I hasta say, ifn the preach never made it back er not in time, MA time was up an’, I’m shur, no one woulda knowed I was down thar. Amazin’. Even with that fat ‘ol eel er whatever it was I was shore was down thar with me, I wasn’ skeered much…’acause I was hungry an’ tharfore dangerous as his slimy self. But, actchooly, it was my new, best friend, Jesus, abein’ down thar with me what agive me the courage, a’course.

But fer those a ya what haint heard what happened ta the preach, Captain Ball an' the boys in that desert aboilin' ta deaf awaitin' on us ta bring back water, I'm afixin' ta tell ya.

Preach did git caught ba Injuns alright, but, instead a spittin' an' aroastin' 'im, they sumhow, mistook 'im fer a great, white medicine man. Yessir, an' atook 'im back ta camp an' alistened tew his preachin' over sum of OUR salted-down, ol' steaks an' OUR whiskey. (I kin jus' see that ol' grin on his face as he's aplayin’ that obnokshusly overdone ol’, object-a-worship, that tew-bit huckster, God luv 'im.)

Then, he ahaided out next mornin' with the tribes best trackers alookin' fer me, bless his bones. An' afindin' me gone from a wellfull a water an' aseein’ faint tracks out ta the buckboard, he afiggered me ta be safe, ahaided South agin, an' apicked up the trail a our Muleskinners, aloaded down with fat ol' waterskins.

Turns out, when we didn' show usselves that night, the Captain, afeelin' purty much right in his reckonin' that the tew a us was woorfless an' ever one a them boys was in danger a dyin' a thirst, asent out tew more in search a water by night with a big, ol' full moon ta see by. He also had tew more lads ahaid out ta bag a deer er sump'um an' adrag it back ta camp ta stave off starvation. Fer as y'all knows, hungry Muleskinners is pissed off Muleskinners an' pissed off Muleskinners is brawlin' Muleskinners. An' Cap, I 'spose, didn't want no bloodshed 'tween friends er nuthin'.

Caint imagine what the hail the rest a them mangy varmints did ta keep 'emselves ocyoopied while awaitin' us "water wunders" an' "meaty marvels" ta show up. Caint bullshit an' aswap stories ifn ya aint got no spit. Caint dance er even akick eack other in the ass, as was shorly earned, with no energy. Them cowboys jus' asnoozed in the shade an 'casionally bitched at us anot knowin' the mount a shit we was up aginst. So sorry, fellers, ya good-fer-nuthin' sons-a-bitches.

Now, White Hoss an' Judge Geraldo is the best dang critter-baggers we gots, them tew aspindin' much a them’s lives in the woods, like they has. An' natcherly, them tew was the designated night-stawkers fer meat, dontcha know. Wellsir, as ill fortune would have it, all them tew acame upon was bar tracks, a medium-sized brown, they figgered. An’, thems hadn’t the time ta look further.

An' as reg'lar with bars, the stawkers bacame the stawked. An' that bar breaf ablew the hats offa bofe a them silly, s'prized sons-a-bitches afore they knew it was right up on 'em. Wy, ol' Hoss gots hisself a new asshole aripped in him 'afore ol' Jerry could plug the varmint down the ear. An' now, Hoss is ahavin' ta dew his business North a whar he usta. ...Naaa, that aint 'zactly true. He jus' acts like it. He didn' really lose nuthin' important, heh, heh.

An' agittin' the dang carcass back ta camp was a chore, by golly. Wy, ta hear them tell it , that was the biggest, fattest ol' brown bar them tew ever saw what had probly astuffed itself up thar in the mountains an' then amozied down here whar it's warmer ta hibernate fer the winter.

Anyhow, that thar critter had ta be cut in tew jus' sos the hosses could atrudge it all back ta camp. By the time it woulda took them boys ta butcher the dang thing an abury the waste, them Muleskinners woulda starved, probly, they reckoned. 'Course, them tew hosses was all spooky 'wide-eyed an' nostrils" over them bar-halves' innerds awigglin' outa bofe ends an' aflappin' in the wind, agreasin' up the landscape, like they was. But, hosses is alweez nervous 'bout ahavin' fresh-kilt critters aroun', don’tcha know? An’, ifn the sight of it didn’ dew it ta the poor varmints, the stench shorly did. Even them boys’ eyes was awaterin’ sump’um fierce an’ they couldn’ hardly breathe.

Well, them tew "outdoorsmens" had cut 'emselves four narrow tree trunks from yonder dried up crickbeds an' alashed 'em ta them's saddles "Sioux style" ta drag the barmeat. Problem was, nobody done talked it over with the critters, first. Hail, with White Hoss apullin' an' the Judge apushin' that bar's fat ass up onta them poles, Hoss done ahooked a pruned branch stump thru the armhole a his vest jus' as his hoss was arearin' up afixin' ta bolt from the scene a that grim business an' up he went right offa his feet.

Annnn', as you'd probly guess, the huge hunk a bar aflipped over, asoakin' down Gerry with blood an' I hate ta think what all. Then off went hoss an' Hoss in a cloud a dust with jus' his tin cup aclangin' on his guns an them poles ta warn the rabbits an' the rat'lers that they was afixin’ ta roar on thru.

An' Judge Gerry was ashakin’ his arms an’ acussin’ up a storm. He was pissed alright, lit'rally, 'cause he done his britches in tew, alaughin' hisself near ta deaf at the sight a the hoss aspeedin' away in one di-rection awhile White Hoss was atryin' ta run in t'other, his skinny laigs achurnin' like a windmill with hims atryin' like hail ta minimize the hefty damage ta his carcass by them cruel hind hoofs. Musta been a sight fer shur.

Wy, Gerry was still ahavin' hisself a coughin' fit when the TEW "hosses' asses" come astumblin' back. An' Ger's poor ol' hoss what wasn' sa skiddish, ended up ahaulin' that whole ton a bar on HIS tew poles. An', t’other hoss would only put up with supportin' White Hoss’s busted up ol' bones. 'Course, needless ta say, it was a mighty slow trudge. So slow, in fact, that Gerry finally had ta sweet-talk Hoss's mount inta allowin' a good-sized chunk a barflesh awrapped in burlap ta be aslung 'cross its withers an' Hoss aride on ahaid sos the group wouldn' starve completely. Also, sos tore up ol' White Hoss could dew sum serious lyin', atellin' his side a the bar-killin' story ta gain sum sympathy an' respect till the judge showed up ta set things straight, apissin' on Hoss's parade good an' proper, heh, heh.

An', that aint the end of it, folks, heh, heh. Nosir. After it was roasted, agittin' that thar barmeat down musta been a real chore, I'll tell ya. An' they will tew, I'll wager...not ta mention asittin' thru the cookin' process achokin' an' agaggin' 'acause a the smell an' alosin' all the more precious moisture, like they was. Has yew all ever ate barmeat durin' er after the trout season? Ifn yew has, yew knows. In the spring berry season, that barmeat is sweet. Not so in the fall an' winter, heh, heh. An', far be it from me ta tell ya what it compars tew.

An' Deadeye an' Colorada, asittin' thar 'bout ta witness them's great, gold-diggin' expedition go down the torlet, ajumped up an' volunteered ta be the third pair a "water-fetchers". An' Captain Ball agreed 'cause at least, them boys had on 'em them three gold nuggets batween ‘em ta bargain ifn they had ta.

Well, shore 'nuff, them tew finds water, alright but it did cost 'em. Sum time 'afore daybreak, they stumbles onta a tiny outpost shack on a out-a-the-way, minin' trail thru the hills an' awakes up the rickety, ol' fart, ancient Injun inside. But, that ol' boy was deaf, dumb, blind, stoopid an' maybe even daid when they found 'im till they whipped out them three nuggets. Then, jus' like a puppet when the curtain goes up, he comes alive like a kid at Christmas an' aleads 'em right tew a waterin' hole.

At sunup, them tew come aridin' inta camp proud as peacocks an' awaters down all them out-a-sorts, Muleskinnin' sons-a-bitches. Then, Smokey Jack gits up an' sez, "Well now, we gots ta haid out ta find the Preacher an' Griz." All haids aturn ta Smokey an' them mangy muttonheads, all water-logged an' full a barmeat, alooks at the sun amovin' up the East sky an' then back ta him.

Then, after a bit a silence, one a them idiots sez, "Ya know, them boys may be late in agittin' back tew us but we need’nt worry none. The preach gots Almighty God, hisself, ta look after 'em out thar an' God, they say, takes car a His own." He kin save them's lame asses a whole hail-of-a-lot better than we kin, right boys?” "Right…Right…Quite so…Right," they echoes.

Turns out he was right tho (whosumever that selfish, soggy son-of-a-bitch was), but what could make him athink the likes a us could b'long ta God. Preach fer one, is shur he don't. (Hmmm, ‘bout that time, the faint aroma a fertilizer woulda been afillin' MA nostrils, I’ll tell ya.) "Sides," he sez, “unless we knows whar we's agoin' an' zactly whar thems is, we won't git far atryin' ta carry 'nuff water fer usselves an' our mounts an' fer them an' them's mounts.”

("Now aint that a turd-in-the-punchbowl?" I sez when I hears all that. "God is weak er barly thar when ya don't need Him. But alla sudden, when ya dew, He's the almighty, creator a heaven an' earf what kin come down an’ squish His big ol’ self inta a “earfsuit” jus' ta walk aroun' ahealin' an' asavin' folks. Funny how that is. An, after bein’ kilt good an’ proper, abringin' hisself back ta life. Haint seen none a our dearly departed dew that. Aside from that, whatever happened ta loyalty AN' honor 'mongst thieves?")

“No… Nope,” sez the Captain, “I caint leave any tew ones-a-us out thar ta die in the heat er at the cruel hands a them Injun “barbers” er from red hot pokers up thems’ asses by the dang cavalry awantin’ the full details on Muleskinner business. Better fer them ta meet up with them buzzards, I reckon. Least thar won’t be no questions asked. But, nope, caint risk it. ‘Sides, I fer one aint agonna allow it ta be on ma conscience that we coulda done a hail-of-a-lot more than we did ta rescue them sorry sons-a-bitches. Could any a yew?” No one aint asayin’ nuthin’ an’ alla them over-stuffed varmints was amumbiln’ an’ agrumblin’ but was eventually won over ta the Captain’s thinkin’.

Wellsir, Cap alooks left over his shoulder at a coupla real idiots an’ ashakin' his fist, sez, “'Course as as you'd 'spect, Deadeye an' Colorada, when adickerin' with that ol' Injun, done plum fergot ta git HIS services as guide athrowed in an' now they tells me they don't know how ta git back ta that rusty ol' fart, damm'em." Them tew's back ta kickin' 'emselves in the ass.

“We’ll haid out jus’ afore sundown. When all the light fails, we’ll still have a big ol’ moon agin tonight ta see by. Should be back, I figger, ba mid-mornin’ tomorra bafore the sun gits tew high.”

Now, all afternoon, certain ones a the boys was ahowlin’ an’ agroanin’ an’ aholdin’ thems’ stummicks ‘acause that bar meat thems ate ‘pparently didn’ sit tew well. An’ differ’nt ones of ‘em was a-askin’ 'emselves jus’ what in the hail that bar had ate (er what the fish that the bar had ate ate) ta put all them's innerds in that thar fix.

An’ after ‘bout eight miles out, astoppin’ ever tew hunderd yards er so, an’ one er ‘nuther a them Muleskinners dismountin’ an’ arunnin’ off inta the brush, the Captain finally out a patience, araises his hand an’ ayells, “Whoa! This aint workin’,” he sez. “At this rate, we’s agonna find nuthin’ but bleached bones an’ that devil-sun's agonna find us. Hail, I hates ta say it but we best haid back an’ spind the night agittin’ over this here ‘grunge’. Then, tomorra, we’ll back-track an’ try ta pick up our own trail back ta the encampment. ‘Course, we’ll leave lots a signs sos Preacher an’ Griz won’t have no trouble afollerin’ our tracks once they’s back hereabouts,” he sez grimly.

Caint really blame the Captain none, tho, considerin' what the tew a us has abeen thru. Cap, I has ta say, was jus' alookin' out fer the whole bunch like he's 'sposed ta as Captain. An' I aint agonna hold it 'ginst 'im.

Well, I'd say, that awraps up another adventure in stoopidity we gots usselves intew. Wyyy, that ol' Injun knew all about us Muleskinners, alright. An' Deadeye an' Colorada was abeamin' with pride when he said we was famous in these parts... That is, till he sez we is known as "The Fifty-Three Stooges".

Oh, I might add that Deadeye an' Colorada never did find them’s gold claims, only civil-lie-zation. (An', whaddaya 'spose the tew a them is adoin' now?) Jus' as well, tho, what with alla that greed settin' in an' all, we'd mess that one up tew an' git us all shot...probly.

Yores,

Griz

P.S. Oh, Annn', by an' by, Preacher shows up with alla his water ahavin' left them Injuns scouts back ta whar thems apicked up the trail a yew boys. An', he gits ta tell a our hair-raisin' adventure. Does me a lot a good, tho. Sympathy, wunder an' respect aplenty an' me not thar ta suck none a it up. A dang shame, I say. Maybe, nobody done b'lieved him anyhow...'bout God agittin' Hisself inta the mix an' arescuin' us over an' over. Wy, ifn I was thar right now an' had a Bible in ma hand, wy, I'd beat 'em all ta deaf with it, I would.

---

---

HOME>

© 2003 Mojave Muleskinners^TM-ALL rights reserved.
webmaster