Legends, poetry, and stories surrounding Yellowstone Horses

AROUND the turn of the century there were plenty of characters like old Geyser Bob in every Western community. Too "stove up" to take their .place in the rigorous life around them, they eked out a living chopping firewood, swamping out saloons, or doing whatever odd chores they could lay a hand to.
   Most of them, like Bob, were the perennial targets of the somewhat crude frontier humor, but the chances are that few of them ever managed to turn to turn are that few of them ever managed to turn the tables as neatly as he did. As a means of getting even with his tormentors, that berserk elk of Geyser Bob's was probably in a class all by itself.
The winter of 1905-06 had been a bitter one in Montana, and Geyser Bob, a gnarled little banty rooster of a man, was "sitting out" the bad weather doing odd jobs around the Cottage Hotel in Yellowstone Park, in exchange for a little grub and the use of an empty cabin.
When, shortly after the New Year, the skies opened and dumped three more feet of sticky wet snow on top of an already abundant supply, the old man developed a bitter attitude toward a snow shovel that wasn't helped any by the heavy-handed joshing of the hotel people and the soldiers from the Fort.                ^
One morning got off to a particularly bad start when a couple of soldiers spent a busy hour kicking wet snow all over Bob's newly-shoveled walks, It didn't get any better when a group of drummers joined in the ensuing fracas, on the side of the soldiers.
Forced to retire in poor order under a barrage of icy snowballs, Geyser Bob yearned for revenge. If only he could come up with one good "josh" that would wipe out all the indignities heaped on him daring the long winter!
As he neared the end of the long walk in front of the hotel, the old man glimpsed movement in the shadows under the dark lodgepole pines beyond.
"Now what?" he muttered. "What're those jokers up to now, out in the woods?"
Then he saw this was no joker, but a large lean bull elk pawing for stray blades of grass under the deep snow. It was probably the same half-starved animal whose tracks he'd noticed around the horse corral for nearly a week now. A man who knew only too well how hard an old fellow had to dig for his grub, Geyser Bob's sympathies were all with the hungry beast.
"Just you stick around, Mr. Elk, till I finish this damn shoveling, and you won’t need to go scavenging fer a few wisps of hay this night," he muttered. "Danged if I'm not going to see you get a good bellyful of the company's hay to chew on."
Maybe the old-fellows understood each other. At any rate, when Bob got back to the lodge-pole pines with a big forkful of fodder, the elk drew off a few yards, but he was still waiting. The old man scattered a few mouthfuls around, and then began to lay a trail up to the hotel. Along the newly-shoveled walk, and up the steps, his trail led. Finally, in the corner farthest from the front door, Bob left a good night's feeding.

"There you are, Elk," he said, "have one on the house. And just let's see how those jokers like it when they come down for their evening's drinking and meet up with a full-grown elk on the front piazza." Leaning the fork against the wall, the old man headed for his cabin. FOR a long time no one approached or; left the hotel. As dusk drew on, Bob sat by his window, smoking and waiting. At last be caught a movement in the pines, and a bit later made out the form of the elk as it moved out into the open, picking up the scattered hay. Presently it was licking at the wisps scattered on the steps.
   "Now," whispered Geyser Bob fervently, "when some of those danged soldiers show up, we'll see who's most scared, them or the elk!"
   But no one came, and the animal began cautiously working up the steps. Finally it made it to the porch, and stood eating the hay in the corner there. Again Bob prayed for just one soldier to appear—or even a drummer—so he could watch what happened when the frightened bull plunged past him, down the steps. But no one came and the elk, having found a comfortable camp, filled his belly and lay down in the hay pile.
   Bob returned from stoking the stove little later, to see three soldiers from Fort Yellowstone swinging up the path. Anticipating the joys of a free evening, they were in a gay mood as they hurried toward the bar. There was a quick commotion on the porch, and a yellow-brown apparition rose up before them on the steps.
With one accord the soldiers broke ranks and fled for the side door of the building.
   This was as much as Geyser Bob had hoped for. But now the elk gave it that extra something that was to make the old man's revenge complete. Instead of taking off for the woods as fast as his knobby big-jointed legs would carry him, Mr. Elk bounded off the porch and gave chase. As the three soldiers rounded the corner the animal stopped running but, instead of cutting for the timber, he returned to his bed en the porch.
   "You're crazy!" the barkeep told the three when they accused him of harboring vicious wild animals on the porch. “Where would I get an elk? What kind of Forty Rod have you boys been drinking anyhow?"
   "Bet you the drinks you aren't man enough to step out on the porch to see," one of the soldiers taunted.
    "Taken!"
   The barkeep stepped out quickly—and stepped back twice as fast. White-faced, he slammed home the bolt and stood listening to the thud of the big antlers against the door, as the elk served notice that the porch was his domain and he didn't welcome strangers. Without a word, the bartender turned back to the bar and set out the drinks.
   Huntley Childs, owner of the hotel, and his friend, Roger Pryor, tried it next. They made somewhat better time back around the building than the soldiers had; they had to, for the bull elk followed them clear around to the side door. Next came the assistant park superintendent, Joe DeBarr. Through the window they saw him approaching, caught his attention, and told him to circle around and come in the back door. Joe did, but the elk was onto that one, too, and charged around the corner just as Joe dived into the woodshed.     Inside the barroom they held a council.

   "You reckon that animal's locoed?" somebody wanted to know.
   "Not likely. An old granddaddy elk is mighty mean-tempered and cantankerous once he makes up his mind to protect something be figures is rightfully his. This one seems to have staked out his claim on that hay pile."
   "Who the blazes left it out there, anyhow?"
   "That's what I'd like to know, and I'd sure like to get my hands on him," the hotel's manager, Campbell, said.
   Someone came up with the suggestion that the elk, wearied with eating snow, must crave a drink of water to settle all that hay. It seemed a reasonable surmise, so men jostled each other for vantage points in the windows while manager Campbell slipped out the side door with a big bucket of water from the kitchen well. The elk heard the door open and came pounding off the porch.
   Step by step Campbell advanced. "Here you are, boy," be soothed.   "Here's a nice warm drink of water. Come and get it."
The elk came, with a rush. Campbell tarried not, but jumped for the open door. In seconds, all that remained of the big wooden bucket was the iron rin and the bail, which had somehow became entangled on the animal’s rack. Haughtily, the elk returned to his bed while Campbell went upstairs for dry clothing.
   "This is too much," De Barr said. "That elk is locoed. I'm going to call headquarters and get permission to shoot him.” This was easier said than done. "What's the matter with you?" his boss roared, when De Barr phoned headquarters. "That hotel is within the boundaries of the park, isn't it? And that elk is the property of the United States Government, isn't it? You can frighten it away, if you like, but under no circumstances is it to be harmed. I'll have the hide off anyone who takes a shot at it."
   The elk, however, was in no mood to he frightened out of his warm bed, so after considerable more cranking of the old wall telephone, a squad from Fort Yellowstone was dispatched to take over the task. Smartly they marched down the road, their guns loaded with blanks. The elk heard them coming and stood up to watch the show.
   In the cabin Geyser Bob, who'd enjoyed his revenge but had been about to give it up in favor of a little sleep, tossed a couple more chunks of wood on the fire and decided to stick around a while longer too.
The squad deployed to face the veranda.
"Ready, aim fire!" barked the sergeant.
The volley rattled the windows and made Mr. Elk shake his head until the bucket rim banged his forehead. Lightly he stepped to the veranda's edge and stood waiting. The next volley brought him in one graceful leap to the ground.
   "We've got him now," the sergeant exulted. "Give him one more and he’ll head for the tall timber."
   A fourth volley rang out—and the elk made up his mind. He charged, and the Army of the United States scattered like quail. His enemies dispersed, the elk ambled leisurely back to his bed.                .
   Periodically, as the night advanced, someone would open the side door. Instantly there would be a clatter of hoofs and the bull elk would flash into view around the corner. He had them cornered, and he knew it. No one cared to make a run for it to get away; the nearest shelter was too far and the snow too deep. The animal's temper seemed to grow shorter each time his rest was brokenly the necessity of having to chase his captives back indoors, so along about midnight Campbell finally gave up trying to close the bar and started assigning bed rooms.       "And since nobody is exactly free to leave," he said reluctantly, "I guess this time they'll have to be on the house."    During all the excitement of the night the old bull elk must have sprained a foreleg, for when dawn broke, cold and clear, he was observed limping morosely back into the forest. Whether it was that, or whether he decided a little tame hay wasn't worth such a fracas, he never came back.
   Maybe he didn't have to. Maybe, as some folks claimed, a lot of company hay disappeared that winter, usually about the time Geyser Bob made those mysterious treks of his back into the pines. But that was well onto fifty years ago, and stories get a mite twisted in the years.
   But one thing all oldtimers around the Yellowstone will tell you for a fact: down-and-out and working for bed and board or not, Geyser Bob was probably the most respectfully treated man around the park that year. Soldier or civilian, nobody ever dared josh the old man again.

A Great Western Vacation For All Ages!