This is Dean Reynolds, a good friend of mine. Dean is in his 80's and has seen some interesting things in his life. He has written about some of these experiences. This is one of his stories.

Gottum Bisquit by Dean Reynolds
I put foot into the stirrup and swung up onto Grey Bird and turned his head around to the east and rode out of Wild Horse basin where I had been repairing a water trough at Hornet spring. It was about two in the afternoon. It was hot and I was hungry. The trail was steep as we headed towards the cabin which lay just around the point of the ridge below us. I was giving Grey Bird his head as he picked his way through the rocks on the trail. He was always a better horse when we were headed towards camp.
As we came out of the trees where the cabin came into sight Grey Bird picked up the pace and we trotted up to the hitching rack. I swung down and pulled the saddle off and laid it on its side on the ground. I tied a hitching roped around the horses neck using a bowline knot and tied him up. I pulled the bridle forward off his ears and let the bit drop out of his mouth. Then I hung the saddle on a nearby quakie knot. I picked up a stick and scratting his back where the saddle had rested, I spoke to him and said. "I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to let you stand here while I fix and eat me some dinner. Then aftr I do that we are going to ride over to Willow Springs and check on the situation there." Grey Bird didn't say nothing, he just swithed flies off his butt with his tail and shook his head to scare more flies away.
I stepped up onto the porch of the cabin and stepping inside I picked up the water bucket and headed out the back door and made my way up the path north of the cabin to where the spring was located. It is in an ideal spot, shielded from the sun in the shade of quaken aspen trees. That spring is a dandy. It never goes dry and the water is ice cold. Below the spring where the water pushes its way through the grass is some of the sweetest watercress you could ever imagine. Sure makes a tasty sandwich when combined with bread and butter. Well, anyway, I dipped the bucket in the water and as I straightened up and turned toward the cabin, I glanced down to see if I could see any hair snakes in the water. Seems like there has always been hair snakes in that spring and sure enough I could see some now. I'm not lying to you. There are such things as hair snakes. Ask any old cowboy. They'll tell ya. A hair snake is about three to four inches long and has a distinct tiny head. As you look closely at it, it will slowly wiggle back and forth. I've drank a lot of that spring water and I wouldn't be surprised if I have swallowed a few of them in my time. Guess they won't hurt you. I'm still around.
I walked back to the cabin and going inside I set the bucket of water on a wooded bench and turned and picked out a stick of quackie wood from the wood box back of the cook stove. I picked out a stick that was about ten inches long and as big around a one of the old alka seltzer bottles. I pulled my pocket knife out of my levis and opened the blade. Then resting the end of the stick on the floor in front of me while holding the other end in my left hand I pushed the knife blade down into the stick so as to shave off a thin slice of wood. It pays to have your knife blade really sharp. As the knife blade goes down the piece of wood a thin strip of wood will be sliced off and it will curl away from the stick. Now stop the blade before it reaches the end of the wood which will leave the shaving attached to it. Now go back up the piece of wood and start another shaving stopping the knife before reaching the first one. Keep repeating this until you have four to eight shavings curling out away from the wood but still attached to it. Now, what your have ended up with is what we call a fuzz stick. It is a neat fire starter. All you gotta do is touch a lighted match to it then pile on some small pieces of wood and your fire is lite. So, after I had the fuzz stick burning in the stove and had several larger sticks of wood on top. I closed the lid and opened the stove draft half way.
While the stove was warming up, I went into the back room where there was a large bundle laying on some old bed springs. A couple of days before I had dressed out a buckskin. The first thing I had done after bringing it into the house was remove a front leg which I cut in strips to make jerky out of it. I don't like jerky that has all of those spices in it. For me, all those spices hide the true taste of the meat. There are two ways I like my jerky made. One way is to keep adding salt to a pan of water until it will float an egg. Then I dip the meat into the mixture for one minute then hang it out in the sun until perfectly dry. As I didn't have an egg, I made it the other way. You salt each piece with about four times as much as if you were going to fry it up. The salt will draw a lot of the juices from the meat then, put it in a container to marinate along with the juice for a couple of hours. Then when you hang it out in the sun and breezes, the juice on the meat will quickly dry forming a coating on it that is almost fly blow proof. After the jerky is dry and ready to eat, I don't like to chaw off a piece and try to chew it before swallowing. I like to take my pocket knife and shave off thin pieces of it and pop it into my mouth....HMMM Each night I would hang the deer carcass out in the air to cool off and then the next morning I would bring it inside and slide it into a meat sack. Then I would wrap a quilt around it and roll it in a tarp to keep the cool in. I unwrapped the bundle and rolled the meat sack back far enough so I could cut off a front leg. After doing so I rerolled the bundle planning to unwrap the meat and hang it out after sundown that night. I took the front leg into the kitchen and laid it on the table. I took a butcher knife out of the drawer and taking the meat saw off the wall behind the stove. I had just started to cut myself a few slices of meat to fry up. It was at that moment that I heard Grey Bird whinny.
Knowing that a horse just doesn't whinny for the fun of it, I stepped out the front door on to the porch. This was in the year of ninteen thiry nine and I was sixteen years old.
What met my eyes coming up the grassy flat a hundred yards from the cabin were three Indians on horseback. If you have ever swallowed a live gold fish that was how my stomach felt right then. All three of the Indians appeared to be around my age or maybe a little older. They were wearing tight fitting britches and were bare from the waist up. They could have been straight out of the movies of cowboys and Indians that I had seen. Their black hair was braided and hung down on both sides of their heads. Neither of them wore a hat but were bare headed. Two of them were riding pinto ponys and the third was on a bay horse. They were all riding bare back. I don't recall what kind of a bridle they were using but I do remember how thin their bodies were. The door was open and I could tell from the sound coming from the stove that I should close the damper. Two of the Indians stayed with the horses while one of them came walking towards the house where I sood on the porch with my heart pounding wondering what their intentions were. He stopped ten feet in front of me and looking up toward me said, "You gottum biscuit?" He didn't need to say more as I instantly knew he was asking for something to eat.
His tone of voice wasn't demanding. I could tell that he and his friends were really hungry and they showed it. I knew thay were from the reservation and that the town of White Rocks on the reservation was at least twenty miles away to the west. I lost my fear of them and felt what you might call compassion and sympathy on their behalf. I indicated with my open right hand for him to come up on to the porch with me then beckoned toward the other two to come on to the house also. Which they did.