I made camp that night with Cletus Smythe, although I felt uncomfortable by the fact that he built us a huge fire. I sat far back from it but the heat didn't seem to bother Cletus, and neither did the fact that the fire could be seen 30 miles away by any one in the territory. Cletus cooked some portions of deer steak that he had buried under the pile of beaver pelts, many days ago by the smell of it. These steaks he encrusted with flakes of red pepper. I tried a bite and it was as if i had thrust a burning branch down my throat. I could barely see or breathe and finally flung myself belly-down on the bank and began to gulp the muddy water from the river to stop the pain. This all sent Cletus into a rapture of laughing and dancing and singing.

When I at last recovered, I watched Cletus wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes, and decided that this man was no ordinary white man, but a kind of shaman, and despite the fact that he was obviously demented, had been sent by the spirits to teach me something. I refused any more of the meat, and Cletus at last pointed at himself, saying "me Cletus. You...?"
"Tala-cho", I said. Then, my name meaning Horned Owl, I made the hoot of the owl for him.
"Owl!" he said. "AL! That's yer name, then, Al!"
"Tala-cho" I repeated, hooting, then shoving my fore-fingers up above my brow.
"Horns!" he said. Then his eyes lit up and he pointed in my direction and he said "why, hell! I know you! You're ol' Al Horne!" And he began laughing again.

For some time I had been glancing at the rifle he had propped against the forked branch of a scrub oak Suddenly, Smythe jumped up and he rubbed his hands together and said "you like gun, Al?" He plucked it out of its resting place, put the butt against his shoulder and seemed to sight at something along its length, saying "you watch buff'ler come runnin' by...BOOMMM!!..no more buff'ler! Jes' buff'ler meat!" He handed it over to me. "Here, Al. Takee a look."

The thing was heavier than I thought, more like a stone war club than a spear. It smelled tangy, bitter. I looked down the barrel as he had, sighting at a rock that shone in reflected firelight, then moving it in a sweep until I saw Cletus' astonished face behind the site. He ducked, grabbing his hat, then pushed the barrel up.
"Damn, Al! Ye wanna blow my head off? Ye don't never point it at yer friend." Of course, in those days, I hadn't the remotest idea what he was saying, but I could see he was upset. Soon, his goofy smile returned, and he said "ok, then. I'll let ye shoot her if'n ye want."

As I watched, he poured black powder into the barrel from a horn, tamped it in, then followed the powder with a round metal ball. "Now then," he said, and moving to the side, he handed it to me. "Sight on that tree trunk" he said, pointing at a thin pine near the fire. Taking a second smaller horn, he poured a bit of powder into the flash pan. "Now...on count of three...ye pull this here thing back." He stood back, then said "ONE..."
Not knowing the language, I assumed this was my order to pull the "thing" back, which I did. I wasn't prepared for the flash as the lock and striker hit the pan, and I was immediately blinded, just a moment before my ears were pierced by the loudest noise I had ever heard, outside of when lightning struck a lodgepole pine on the ridge where Wolf Brother and I had camped. Simultaneously, I was struck hard in the shoulder by something that made me drop the gun and rolled me backwards nearly into the fire. I sprung up to see a broken trunk where the pine had stood, and the rifle still smoking on the ground. I then looked over to Cletus Smythe, eyes huge with wonder and amusement, who paused for several seconds, then grabbed his head with both hands and tossed his hat into the air, shouting "yeeeeEEEEEE- HAWW! The tree fall'd over one way, he fall'd over t'other!! Al Horne done kilt his first pine!!!" Then more dancing and hysterical laughter. I sat down, rubbing my sore shoulder. Cletus stopped and said "ye hurt yer shoulder there, Albert?" with great concern. Then, rooting in the furs, he pulls out a clear container filled with something shining red in the firelight, comes over and sits close by me, a little too close, saying low and rumbling " little somethin' to help my friend Albert with his sore arm...." then, in the high voice - "Rye Whiskey!!!!"