Many of you that don’t know much about the lives of Mountain men, trappers, traders, and adventurers of the mid 19th century, tend to think that they didn’t have much to do when they were hanging around the fort. That they had little responsibility and no one to answer to. After all they had turned in their hides, made their trades, told their stories and were free to just be shiftless and no account if they felt like it and some of them did. However for the more seasoned among them nothing could be further from the truth.

They had responsibilities. Big ones some times. There were plenty of things that had to be seen to and followed up. Take walking around the inside of the fort for instance. Someone had to be on the look out for tripping hazards such as drunken trappers, trappers were notorious for drinking themselves legless and thus just collapsing where they happened to be, or those with bullet holes in them, an irregular but unfortunate occurrence, and unclaimed burro droppings that could be stepped on in the dark of night. They didn’t have to clean those up, they had staff for that but they needed to be on top of it so that it was handled, so to speak.

And what about making sure the neer-do-wells hogging up all the space in the bar, sitting on all the best stools like they belonged there, were dispersed in a timely manner. Some of those guys would be in there from early morning until late in the afternoon when the professional drinkers got there. That was just uncalled for. Someone had to spell out the rules for these Johnny-come-lately’s before the whole place went to rack and ruin. That’s where seniority came into play. Being old timers and regulars they could just toss them out on their keesters with impunity.

But the single most important duty they had, without question, was making certain the liquor served was the best possible stuff that could be obtained. Many a bartender thinking to make a little extra cash at the expense of the regular hardcore visitors would tinker with the spirits, adding turpentine or rattlesnake squeezing’s to the bottle to top them off to make a few extra bucks, who then soon found themselves at the displeasure of these brook-no-nonsense senior patrons and minus a nose tip or ear.

That’s why several of the most senior, dedicated and experienced drinkers among the current residents would take it upon themselves to sample all the latest fine spirits that had arrived to test them for purity and remarkability. Here we see a couple of them fulling their duties and making sure the spirits were not only up to snuff but safe for others to drink. Think of them as early Food and Drug Administration inspectors. After sampling several bottles to make sure of their findings they pronounced Ol’ Whistlebutt No. 39 to be an excellent choice and safe enough for the less experienced drinkers to partake. Just another example where they fulfilled their responsibilities when they were in residence at the fort. I think we all owe them a round of applause for their steadfast adherence to the health and safety of all. Thank you men.