My Guest Author is my granddad. He was a kind gentleman. He never met a stranger and never turned his nose down on anyone regardless of color, status, or even smell. Meet “Old Stink” who was one of the many characters my granddad met along his prairie wanderings.
Old Stink earned his name. He lived in a cave in the Little Rockies not far from the mining town of Zortman. He didn’t speak good English. He was probably a French Canadian Half Breed. Rumor had it he had got in some trouble with the law in Wyoming, maybe killed a fellow or robbed a bank or Post Office, who knows, but he seems to have had some money when the mail carrier came by to visit with him. Old Stink had worked for the Flying L and when the old foreman was in charge, he furnished him with staples. Stink had a hide tent in front of his cave, used it in the summer and always slept outside for fear that someone would surround his cave while he was asleep. Never did, he was too old, and you couldn’t get that close to him for the smell. I know. One time I stopped by and saw Old Stink.
One day, after hearing rumors about the old man’s diet, the sheriff came by and asked Stink what he lived on. He pointed to some of the neighbor’s cattle running on the open range. When asked what he did with the hides, he led the sheriff to the edge of a cut bank above the Missouri and pointed to the river. He lived off of antelope, too. The folks didn’t mind his eating their beef. Someone had to keep the old rascal.
One day a rider came by and didn’t see him sitting in the fresh air. He told some of the folks that the old man was missing. They came out and found him in the cave about half dead. They talked over what they should do with him. He couldn’t live 24 hours like he was, but if they got him to town he might last 36. The sheriff came out and got him and put him in a little house behind the jail. The old fellow got so he liked it and he lived on a while. They said he was 101 when he died.
He was an old man, Indian and Frenchman. Strong! Strong smelling feller!