That had been two years ago. Jim had learned a lot since then. He'd grown tall and strong from blacksmithing--far stronger than most sixteen year old boys. His lack of schooling in other matters, though, led him to be painfully shy. He felt inferior to the other young men who lived in St. Louis, boys whose social position and advantages seemed to put them a step above him.
During the long, cold days of winter, the blacksmith shop was a good, warm place to be. When spring came, though, it brought the wanderlust to him. Jim missed the freedom of the river, the mystery of it. Every day men came into the shop and spoke of the wealth and adventure that lay to the west. Soon, things would begin to open up out there. Then a flood of men, all looking for the same things Jim wanted, would go surging out into the wilderness.
His apprenticeship would end on March 17, 1822, on Jim's eighteenth birthday. As yet, that was still two years away. If things broke loose too soon, all the wealth and adventure would be taken before Jim got a chance at it.
He prayed that the tide of events would be slow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE CHIEF of the Arikaras had come into the village, along with several others. Among these were Kills-The-Whites, and two other principal warriors, Little Soldier and Elk's Tongue.
The chief's name was Gray Eyes. He treated Hugh with the utmost courtesy, but there was something in his eyes that belied it, a subtle hint of amusement and malice. Hugh's own response to this surprised him. He was as polite as the Arikaras were, but inside he was wary and tiredly angry. That the Arikaras carried a hatred for all white people was obvious.
As usual, they stayed but a short time and then moved on. And, as always, Hugh Glass was both happy and relieved to see them go.
***
Hugh was convinced that Big Axe had to be a magician. The indian could appear or disappear, seemingly at will. At least, in the woods, anyway.
At home, in his lodge or around the village, he seemed almost as any other warrior. In the woods he was supreme. There was a silence within and about him, a stillness, that was like the forest. It allowed him to blend in and become a part of his surroundings almost without effort. Then, in an instant, the stillness would end explosively and Hugh would know exactly where Big Axe was.
At least Hugh was learning from the best.
That was, if he would just learn. They had come into the woods the day before. Big Axe was determined that they would stay until Hugh learned to "soften his eyes". They had spent the day doing exercises that Big Axe had designed to help Hugh "see". Hugh thought he had the idea--Big Axe was trying to get him to focus on the outside edges of his vision in order to soften the focus in the middle, somehow. Hugh thought he had it once or twice, but whenever he tried to use it to see tracks that Big Axe said were in front of him, Hugh automatically focused on the area and, as a result, couldn't see a thing. Maybe it was something you had to learn when you were young.
Finally, at the end of the day, Big Axe had left him. It was nearly sundown. Big Axe walked to the edge of a small meadow near their camp.
"Look close at this spot that I leave from," he told Hugh. "Tomorrow, you start here. Come find me." Then he disappeared into the woods.
Now, having spent the night alone, Hugh was back at that same spot, looking for some trace of his friend.
Hugh knew this was where Big Axe had gone back into the woods. The area was glistening with dew. Any tracks recently made through the leaves should have been obvious. Hugh could make out nothing. Try as he might to soften his eyes, all he saw were leaves.
Some indian you are, he thought.
After trying for a good half hour without any luck, he decided to stop and give himself a break. He stood, staring, wondering how to proceed. He knew that he was in the right spot. The tracks had to be there, but he couldn't see them. Hugh also knew that if he didn't find them he would risk losing face with his friend. Big Axe had shown incredible patience with Hugh on this. Now it was time for Hugh to learn to see.
Unfortunately, he just couldn't.
He'd been standing there for some time, pondering and not really looking any longer, trying to decide what next to do, when he suddenly realized the tracks were there, before him, as clear and obvious as wagon tracks through a muddy field. Hugh blinked and looked. The tracks disappeared. But he had done it. Finally, he'd done it! And, having done it, he would do it again.
***
It took only a few minutes for Hugh to "soften" his eyes a second time, so that he was able to begin following Big Axe's trail. At first it was tricky--his eyes kept wanting to focus--but Hugh kept at it with the enthusiasm of a child with a new toy. As he began to get the hang of it he realized that there was so much more, right there in the leaves, that he had never seen before. He likened it to someone who had never seen hues, but was now suddenly able to see all the different shadings of color. The difference was incredible.
Big Axe had intentionally left him an easy trail, although it would have been impossible for Hugh to have followed it the day before.
After awhile Hugh decided to rest a bit. This was a new thing to him, a new skill. He delighted in it, but the strain of keeping his eyes in soft focus was giving him a headache.
They were in the hills, a little farther north than Hugh had been before. It was lovely here, by far the most beautiful country he had ever seen. He had stopped in it stand of trees with white bark and small leaves that quivered constantly in the breeze. Big Axe had told him the indians called the tree "Woman's tongue, woman's tongue. Always shaking, never still."
One day, a white man would tell Hugh that the tree was called a "quaking asp". Hugh Glass would always prefer the indian name.
Finished with his rest, Hugh began to track again. This time, his eyes autornatically went into soft focus when he wanted them to. What he saw disturbed him. He could see Big Axe's tracks ahead of him, moving through the leaves. Several feet ahead of Hugh, a second pair of tracks joined them. The second pair of tracks had come in after Big Axe had passed this way, for they obliterated some of the tracks the indian had left.
What bothered Hugh even more was that the second set of tracks were not made by human feet.
They were bear tracks. Hugh was certain of it. He had still never seen a bear, but he had seen the claws and the skins. Those claws--and an animal big enough to fill a bearskin--was the only thing he could think of that would make a track like this.
Hugh's eyes searched the trees around him. He had an eerie feeling that the hear might be here, hidden by the trees, watching him and ready to strike at any moment. Checking the load in his rifle, he continued forward.
Hugh felt a sense of urgency that he found hard to contain. Big Axe had left these tracks yesterday, the bear sometime after. Looking closely at the bear track, he noticed that the edges were still sharp and crisp. Some of the leaves in the tracks were turned over, so that the bottoms of those leave were wet, while the tops were dry. The wetness was from the dew. The tracks had definitely been made only a short time earlier. Dry mouthed, his heart pounding heavily in his chest, Hugh kept going.
Hugh suddenly realized that his palms were sweating. He kept remembering the dream, the one he'd had again and again since leaving the pirates, and from before he'd ever had any thought of being in bear country. It created in him a lethargy, a heaviness that he fought hard to control. The bear was following his friend. He had no time now, to let his fear stop him.
He passed the place where Big Axe had made his camp. The bear had been there, possibly only moments before. Hugh kept going.
He smelled the bear long before he saw it. It was a musky, unwashed dog sort of smell, only more stronger and more foul. Once he noticed it, the smell seemed to grow with each step he took. Suddenly the woods fell away and Hugh found himself in a clearing. Thirty feet in front of him and moving away, was the bear. Hugh gasped at the sight of it.
Instantly, the bear turned. When it saw Hugh it raised it's massive body up onto it's hind legs and began w
alking toward him.
Hugh stared at the bear, unable to move. It was enormous, terrifying, and at the same time, magnificent. It's long, shaggy brown hair was tipped with silver, giving it the appearance of being a ghostly white. Hugh judged it to be at least eight feet tall. As it drew closer he could see that it's teeth and claws were at least three inches long. Hugh knew those claws well, both from the necklaces that some of the warriors wore, and from his dreams.
Woodenly, he raised his rifle and fired. Almost simultaneously, a second shot rang out, from somewhere off to Hugh's left. The bear took two more steps and sprawled, face forward, in front of him, coming to rest only three feet from where Hugh stood.
Appearing next to him, Big Axe said, "Tu-ra-heh! -It is good! The white bear wanted you, but now he is yours!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MARCH 20,1822
THREE DAYS after Jim's eighteenth birthday-three days after his apprenticeship was complete and he was free of obligation--and there, before him, was the notice he had been waiting to see. If there was such a thing as fate, it was working for him now.
"To Enterprising Young Men: The subscriber wishes to engage
one hundred young men to ascend the Missouri River to it's source,
there to be employed one, two, or three years.
For particulars inquire of Major Andrew Henry, near the lead mines,
in the county of Washington, who will ascend with and
command the party; or the subscriber, near St. Louis.
-William H. Ashley"
The notice seemed personally written for Jim. After all, he was young, although taller and stronger than men he knew. He had a familiarity with traps and guns, and had just finished a four-year blacksmithing apprenticeship. If anyone was a natural for this trip, Jim was.
The notice didn't say what work there was to be done, or what the wages were, but anyone who had spent as much time as Jim had, listening to gossip in the blacksmith shop, knew that they would be trapping and building a fort. He really didn't care what the wages were. He just wanted to go. Getting rich would be a bonus.
James Baird had seen the notice, too. He knew Jim's mind. Jim had been a good apprentice in his shop, always eager to learn and to help. Baird would be sorry to see the boy go, but then, the boy wasn't really a boy any longer. Jim Bridger was a man now, and a damned good blacksmith.
***
"You're a blacksmith?" The skepticism in Major Andrew Henry's voice was obvious.
"That's right, sir. I finished my apprenticeship at Baird's Blacksmith Shop four days ago, on my eighteenth birthday."
"And you say you've hunted and trapped, too?"
"Yes, sir. After my Ma and Pa died there was just me and my sister. I had to fend for both of us. I got my supplies at Pierre Chouteau's. I sold my furs there, too. You can ask Mr. Chouteau about me, sir. He'll vouch for me."
Henry looked at the young man in front of him. He seemed awfully young. He was tall, though, and well-built. The boy had the arms of a blacksmith. If what he said was true, he would make a valuable addition to the expedition, more so than many of those who had already signed on.
Henry looked over at Jedidiah Smith, his chief hunter in the outfit. Smith was young, too, only twenty-four. He was highly educated, though, and had spent time in the woods. Smith was standing in on the interviews, but said little unless his opinion was requested.
Smith gave a slight nod. The Major turned back to the young man that stood before him.
"Well, Mr. Bridger," he said, "assuming that your references check out, you're in." He put out his hand. "Welcome aboard."
"Thank you, sir," Jim said, shaking hands. "Thank you. I won't let you down."
"I'm sure you won't, son. Just be at the St. Louis wharf at 4:00 AM on April 3rd. We'll be leaving at sunup."
"I'll be there, sir."
The boy left. When he was gone, Jedidiah Smith looked at Major Andrew Henry.
"Unless I miss my guess," Smith said, "he'll be one of the best that we take on this trip."
***
So, on April 3rd, Jim was back on the river again. It hadn't changed, the river hadn't, but Jim had. He was older now, a man, and able now to appreciate the things of men. As the boat was leaving the pier he could hardly contain the excitement within himself.
The keelboatmen were doing their work, pushing the boat upstream with their poles. Leading these men was a legend.
Mike Fink had been a famous riverman long before Jim Bridger was born, ranked in notoriety with Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie. Half-horse, half-alligator, according to legend, Fink had been barred from shooting matches from the age of seventeen, because no one could compete with him. He was a big man, a brawler, with heavy bones and hams for fists. Jim found him a little loud, but as rivermen went, he was said to be the best.
Only one of the two keelboats left St. Louis on that day, and this was commanded by Major Andrew Henry himself. The second boat would be brought upriver later by Jedidiah Smith, as soon as they received a shipment of rifles that they were waiting for.
The keelboats themselves were something to see. Sixty-five feet in length end fifteen feet wide, each would carry more than twenty tons of cargo. The two boats combined would carry more supplies than an entire train of wagons, put together.
As they were pulling away from the dock, some of the trappers were passing around a jug of corn whiskey. When it came to Jim he took a big swallow. The whiskey burned his throat, but he managed to not choke on it.
After the burning stopped, the whiskey seemed to add to the excitement he felt. Jim liked the feeling.
This was going to be a great trip.
The adventure of a lifetime.
***
After three days on the river, the excitement Jim had felt turned to monotony. There was nothing to do but sit on the deck with dozens of other men as, hour after hour, the rivermen slowly pushed them upstream. Nor did the scenery offer any relief. Aside from an occasional bluff or a stand of timber, the area they passed through was essentially the same-flat, unbroken prairie. To add to all this, it began to rain. The rain swelled the river, making it impossible to continue upstream. The keelboat was tied up, and the men were forced to remain on shore, huddled in their tents.
For all their planning, and for the great capacity of the keelboat for carrying supplies, the one thing they hadn't counted on was the rain. It was their plan to feed the company off the land, hunting for their food as they went.
When it rained, game became scarce. Henry was forced to resort to strict food rationing, which did nothing for his popularity with the men, and was forced to use food stores that were meant for much later on in the trip.
Three weeks after leaving St. Louis, the keelboat stopped for a short time at Fort Osage. The fort had been ordered closed years earlier. Some of the Osage indians were still there. The young women were definitely interested in thc trappers, but Jim and the others would have nothing to do with them.
Jim felt there was something unclean about these people, something that went beyond their dirty clothes and unwashed hair.
"Try not to judge them too harshly, Jim," Major Andrew Henry told him. "Their way of life--all they knew and almost everything they believed, has been destroyed. Where we're going you'll see less and less of this." He nodded toward the West. "Out there," he said, "you'll see Indians that will show you what these people were like, before they were contaminated by white people. Don't be surprised if you learn to respect them."
The monotony of the river grew even more tiresome as the days passed Sitting on the deck of the keelboat day after day was hard for Jim. After four years in a blacksmith shop, his body was not accustomed to inactivity.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE PAWNEES lived for war. Through war they attained honor and riches. When a young man wished to take a bride, he went to war to win the gifts he would give to her father. Nor did any of the tribes around the Pawnees think of this as murder, for it was a practic
e that was accepted by all.
Hugh Glass had seen enough killing to last a lifetime. Having finally learned to "soften his eyes", he became fascinated with tracking. Even without going to war, he did quite well among the Pawnees, just hunting and trapping. Not that he was better at it than they were, for he wasn't, but the indian men rarely applied themselves to anything that was not either religious or war related. You could win honor as a great hunter, but it was nowhere near as important as war, and not nearly as interesting to them.
Fortunately, after killing the three Kansas who had come to steal horses, no one doubted his bravery or his skill as a warrior. As time went on, he helped to defend the Pawnees from attacks by Sioux, Cheyenne, Kansa, and Osage war parties.
Besides all that, he was a white man. They accepted that his ways were different from theirs. Learning those ways was one of the reasons they wanted him among them.
***
It was almost planting time again. Once more the Pawnees were getting ready to move back to their permanent village of earthen domes. The snow was melting off the hills and was already gone from the flatlands. The streams and rivers were swollen, but not completely impassable.
And Hugh Glass was the happiest he had ever been.
He stood on the side of a hill, overlooking a lake. To his right, in an area next to the lake and sheltered by three mountains, the women were striking the teepees. Hugh hated to go. It was beautiful here, and it had been the most wonderful of all his winters, but where the tribe went, he would go.
There was still a bite in the air. Hugh felt it in the wind as he watched the scene below him. The wind carried something else, too, a strange feeling of anxiety and concern. Hugh shrugged it off. He would miss this place.
To look at him, he seemed as much a member of the tribe below as any of the Pawnees. His hair was long, and had feathers in it. He'd managed to trade for a razor, so his face was cleanly shaved. He did not, like the Pawnees, pluck the hair from his underarms and groin. Those differences, and the fact that he was light haired and light eyed, were almost the only things that set him apart from them. They were differences that Little Feather didn't seem to mind too much. She had been married to a white man once before. This would be his third spring with the Pawnees. Hugh was content living with the indians. Too long had he lived without a woman at his side, and the Pawnee way of life offered a freedom that restrictive "civilization" lacked. Warlike, they might be, but the Pawnees were honest almost to a fault, and were more deeply emersed in their own religion than nearly any white man Hugh had ever met. Overall, theirs was a good and happy life.
Hugh Glass - Bruce Bradley Page 13