The year was 1844. Two mountain men were sitting around the campfire. They were way high up in the Rockies, trapping for beaver. The older guy was Fremont Chisolm. Widely known for his frontier wisdom and trapping skills. They say he could smell beaver twenty miles away. Upwind. No one knows for sure. No one had the nerve to call him on it. The younger guy was fresh out of the St. Louis unemployment line and went by the name of Randy Burnett. The campfire died down and the air grew cold as the hours ticked by. Chisolm sat on a log on one side of the campfire, and Burnett sat on a log across from him. Suddenly, Fremont raised his head and sniffed the air. His eyes shifted about. Slowly his good right hand slid along the log and his fingers wrapped around his buffalo gun. He grabbed his rifle and rolled over behind the log he'd been sitting on. Burnett, watching him, did the same. Minutes ticked by. Burnett whispered quietly " grizzly?" Chisolm raised his head and sniffed the air: "nawp" A few minutes later Burnett whispered: "Puma?" Chisolm raised his head and sniffed the air: "nawp" The impatient youngster, after a few minutes, whispered:" savages?" Chisolm raised his head and sniffed the air and said "yup" Burnett tightened his grip on his gun. "Paiute?' Burnett whispered. Chisolm: " no, I think it's his armpits"