You Asked About The Bear Tooth Pass

I had an inquiry from Sharon about one of my Emails

Sharon asked about being "blasted" with the cold weather that hit me here in Montana from the friggin North Pole, I presume, also the uniqueness of the name Bear Tooth Pass in my last correspondence to her.

 

Oh Sharon: "blasted", all I can say is f--k the global warming saga. There is no such thing. I'm thinkin I wish those piss ants were out here this morning when I am freezing my fingers and a*s off trying to put 5 more lbs of air in my front tire at 22 below zero. What is behind their cursade except maybe money.

 

The Beartooth Pass is named for the Beartooth Mountain which can be seen from the road going to that pass out of Red Lodge. Some ol' cowboy probably had a few cocktails while coming to town on his mule and decided the spiked mountain looked like a bear's tooth. By the time he got to the nearst town, Cook City Montana, he had exhausted his mobile supply of ol' Red Eye, and sought out the nearst waterin' hole.

 

He summoned himself up to the bar realizing that his buzz was wandering, and ordered not a shot or two, but the whole bottle of fire water. The bartender obliged him because he produced a gold nugget the size of a green pea for payment.

 

Instead of refurbishing his canteen in his saddle bags he held on to drinkin the whole bottle at the bar. By then things were lookin good, through his eyes, and he beckoned the barmaid over to his chair. She was a mid age dark skinned maiden with plump breast that were displayed nicely by a fourteen hole girdle that pushed them up far enough for coins to be inserted in her cleavage, her method for acquiring tips from the ordinary patrons.

 

"Wat's yer name honey" the mule skinner asked, the ol' waitress smiled showing she was missing one of her front incisors, "Little Running Bear" waz what my father told me back when I was a kid. But as I grew up amongst the white folk it some how just became Ruby. " Well Ruby, I am going to call you Running Bear from now on when I am in these parts. Further more when I ride up this way, from now on, and have to look at that spiked peak over East a little, I will forever call it the Beartooth Mountain.

 

Ruby thinkin he was funning her, turned from red to purple. So infuriated, she turned away for one moment, then turned back, grabbed the ol' cowboys six iron from behind him as he faced the bar. He spun around on his bar stool, even though it was not one of those rotating ones, just in time to receive a direct blast from his own .44 Colt to his last remaining testicle.

 

"Next time yer in these parts you'll remember "Ruby" is my name, that is if’n you bring your love to town.

 

Sharon excuse my rambling you simply asked about the “Beartooth Pass” and after two cocktails I just could not resist conning this story.

Author's Note

If you like it say so, if ya don't slide on.