FROM THUNDER TO BREAKFAST — Chapter 6 — Silliness
In this memoir we have covered a trip from Oklahoma to Arizona by covered wagon, adventures along the way and throughout Hube Yates’ life, his humor, practical jokes, heroics and a trip to the Hopi Indian Reservation. It’s time for silliness.
The setting was a thicket of oak on a hunting ranch near Heber, Arizona. As Hube rode his horse past it he was surprised to see a big bull elk lying in the middle of it. Here’s his description:
“As I came by he came out of there, CRASHITY-BANG-BOOM-BANG! It sounded like he was movin’ hell and takin’ two loads at a time. He crash-banged with his big old rack. He spooked my colt and he started buckin’. Land o’livin! I couldn’t do nothin’. It was such a surprise party. I rode this colt out and by the time he quit buckin’ and bawlin’, the elk was long gone. I told him in two or three different ways that I was against him, but the damage was done.”
The same thing happened four or five days in a row.
The evening before the last day of the hunting season Jake came up from Phoenix to go elk hunting.
“We put him up and turned in. I got to thinkin’ in the night about that little thicket. What I decided to do was to commercialize on that and kill the darned elk.”
He told Jake and another fellow, Bob, his plan. He would show them where to wait, and Hube would approach from the other side. This would force the elk to head for Jake and friend who would be waiting for him.
There was such a CRASHITY-BANG that it even spooked the horse Hube was on. “Out come the big gentleman. I watched him go and started ridin’around a little knoll. I heard some loud talkin’ and heard BOOM! Look at that! He powder-burned him, I’ll bet. BAM! There went another. BOOM! WHAM! Jimminy Christmas, what were they tryin’ to do? I just rode up behind a big pine tree and waited until the shootin’ was all over.
“When it stopped there was a lot of loud talkin’ and such profanity as you ever heard in your whole put-together. The sight that I saw was worth the price. Out there on this cold mornin’ on the last day of elk season, standin’ in grass about knee-deep was Bob, with his pants down around his ankles. He’d been runnin’ about thirty or forty yards that way. He lost all of his shells, his tobacco, his pipe and his pocket-knife. He had lost everything, but he held onto his gun. His legs were blue. He shouted to the other guy, ‘Jake, why didn’t you shoot him?”
“Jake was laughin’ so much he could hardly talk. The tears were runnin’ down his chin. Bob was so mad he couldn’t see straight. He was so mad he forgot to pull his pants up.
“It was a strange evening back at the ranch. One guy was laughin’ until he got sick.
“The other guy was so mad he couldn’t eat.”
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Gene K. Garrison, Author
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