Hugh Glass - Bruce Bradley

by Bruce Bradley

  "Let's hope not."

  Behind them, a couple of the indians had begun to beat rhythmically on drums. A moment later they began to sing. Some of the others began to dance. Neither of the two white men understood the singing or the reason for the dance, if there was one, but they enjoyed it anyway. The old chief smiled and offered them some more meat.

  Later, the two men were shown to a spot next to the wall, and were given mats to sleep on. Exhausted, both Hugh and Clint fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The indians, meanwhile, continued to celebrate.

  ***

  For the next two days, the indians treated the two white men like honored guests. Wherever they went in the village, the people smiled and spoke to them as though they were dignitaries. They were allowed to wander when and where they wanted, and no one tried to stop or molest them in any way. At breakfast, which consisted of the same fare they had been given the night before, Hugh tried to explain to the chief that they needed to get back to civilization, to St. Louis, but the old man didn't understand and merely offered Hugh more food.

  Hugh found life in the village to be not too unlike most white towns. In many ways it was more practical. Everyone in the village contributed to the betterment of the whole. Each of the earthen mounds housed several families, and each of these had their own section along the inside wall of the mound. They shared the fire in the center of the room for all their individual cooking, and all the women seemed to take turns at keeping the fire going.

  They were a curious people, and a curiosity to him. Almost all the men wore breechcloths, leggings, and moccasins, and went mostly bare chested. The leggings were fringed, and the fringes were often decorated with hair which, Hugh thought, must have been scalps. The women all wore dresses of what looked like deerskin, tivd at the waist and decorated with beadwork. The women wore their hair long or hraided. Hugh was surprised at how beautiful most of them were.

  Among the men, most shaved their heads, leaving only a narrow strip of hair down the middle of their head or a small scalplock. This was usually decorated with feathers. The faces of the men, along with their heads and their chests, were often painted with red, yellow, or white. Even in repose, they were fearsome to behold.

  Despite their frightening appearance, the indians seemed quite genial. Hugh saw evidence of kindness and affection between them. Children, especially, were treated with great tolerance and love. Hugh held all of this in contrast to the pirates, most all of whom were petty and vicious and mean.

  Among the children, the young boys went completely naked, while the young girls wore only a short skirt. The boys, Hugh noticed, constructed bows and arrows that were not unlike the one Clint had made. No wonder that the men who had capIured them found Clint's efforts so amusing. The bows that they carried were of much superior construction. That didn't negate the fact that Clint had used his bow successfully to help feed them.

  The morning following their arrival, Hugh and Clint were taken to a lodge that, while similar in construction to the others they had seen, was several times larger. Once more, they were the center of attention. A huge celebration ensued, which iuvolved everyone in the village. This went on throughout the day and into the night. It continued the next morning when they woke up and went on without letup through the second day as well. Hugh was puzzled at all the celebrating. Two days. And still going. For two white men. What could be the significance of that?

  He was sitting by the fire, listening to the indians who were nearby, singing and thumping on their chests as they lay on their backs. He looked across to the entrance and saw a young woman walking toward him, carrying a basket. A surge of excitement went through him as he recognized her. Hugh had noticed her the morning before, when he had risen, the morning after their arrival. He had been walking down to the river and he passed her. When their eyes met, something in him stirred. He felt it again, now, as she walked toward him. There was something about her that was different from the other women in the village. Hugh couldn't place what it was, but it was there. She wore her hair the same as the other women, and dressed pretty much the same, but there was something that set her apart. She looked like she must be in her mid-twenties. She was certainly no better looking than the other women he had seen in the village, but when she looked at Hugh, he could feel it all the way down into the pit of his stomach. It had been a long time ince any woman had that effect on Hugh Glass.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT WAS late into the evening of the third day. Hugh wanted to rest, but the indians would not let him alone. Whenever he tried to rise and go to get some sleep, one of the young indian women--or one of the men--would intercept him and pull him back to dance by the fire, accompanied by the never-ending drumming that went on throughout the night. Hugh looked for the woman he had seen earlier, but she was nowhere to be found.

  We must by nearing the end of the celebration, Hugh thought. This is the only night they've kept us up this late. He looked around for Clint and found him, droopyeyed, sitting by the fire. An attractive young squaw came and sat down next to him, letting her hand rest on his thigh. Clint woke up. A short while later, the drumming and dancing and singing seemed to increase in speed and intensity. Hugh noticed that nearly all of the indians had joined in. It got faster and faster, with the indians all dancing around, feverishly. Then, abruptly, it stopped. The few indians who were still sitting all rose. Hugh and Clint were ushered outside.

  It was nearly dawn. The entire village seemed to have been assembled. There were more people here than Hugh had realized before. Hugh estimated that there were at least a thousand, possibly two thousand people here.

  The indian that had led the party that captured the two white men suddenly appeared before them. Motioning for Hugh and Clint to follow him, he led the way through the village. The rest of the crowd of indians followed along behind. Together, they headed toward the eastern side of the encampment. Exiting through a large gateway, they continued on until they reached a large clearing. In the center of this, surrounded by twenty or thirty warriors, stood the old chief. Behind the chief, about twenty feet back, a sort of framework had been erected. This consisted of six poles, two of which were set into the ground, while the other four ran horizontally across the bottom, each about a foot apart, forming cross braces. The entire framework was about eight feet across, and about a dozen feet high.

  The chief looked magnificent. He wore a long wolfskin robe that fell nearly to the ground and was almost as white as his hair. He wore no headdress, but about his neck was a collar of feathers which spread down over his chest. More than all of this was the man's presence. There was a vitality and power in his old eyes that Hugh had not seen before.

  The two white men were led up to the edge of the clearing, the indians fanning out around and behind them.

  Hugh looked over at Clint. The younger man gave him a very worried look.

  "You know," Clint said, looking back at the chief, "I have had a really bad feeling ever since we left the ship..."

  "Just relax." Hugh tried to sound more confident than he felt. "We've done all right up 'til now. Maybe they just want to honor us, somehow."

  The old chief began to speak. For several minutes his voice droned on and on. Finally, he walked over and stood before the two men. He looked at Hugh, smiling and nodding. Then he looked at Clint. For a few moments he stood, regarding the two of them as if her were trying to make a decision. Suddenly, he pointed the end of his staff at Clint.

  Instantly, six of the surrounding warriors stepped forward. Like the chief, these men all wore feathered collars about their necks. They made no move to lay hands on Clint, but motioned for him to step forward. Clint looked at Hugh.

  "It's probably some sort of test of courage," Hugh told him. Even as he said the words, though, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach told him it was more.

  Nodding worriedly, Clint stepped forward. Hugh started to follow but one of the warriors stopped him.

  They led Clint to the cen
ter of the clearing, stopping just before the framework of poles. Two of the warriors climbed up to the top cross-pole and waited, each bracing himself on one of the two upright poles at either side. The other four warriors, using hand signals, indicated that they wanted Clint to strip. Reluctantly, Clint did what they wanted. A moment later he stood naked before the entire village.

  They now motioned for Clint to join the two warriors up on the pole framework. With leaden movements, Clint did so. Hugh could see the fear in his friend and it tore at him, adding to his own growing feelings of dread. Hugh had never known Clint to be afraid of anything.

  When Clint was at the top, the two indians who were there tied his hands to the two upper corners of the framework. Again, Clint allowed them to do this. They then tied his feet to the two lower corners, pulling his legs wide apart in the process rso that he half-stood, half-hung, spread eagle, from the framework. Watching from the edge of the crowd, Hugh felt a paralyzing numbness grow in the pit of his stomuch. He tried reminding himself that, up until now, the indians had treated the two of them like honored guests; that this was probably some sort of test of courage. It didn't help. Something about this didn't feel right.

  Without warning, several of the indians suddenly grabbed Hugh. He tried to fight back, but he had been caught off guard and from behind. There were way too many of them for him to fight effectively. Rough hands forced him face-down onto the ground, as his arms were pulled back and tied behind him.

  "CLINT!" he yelled. "GET LOOSE! GET AWAY! WE HAVE TO FIGHT...!"

  Something struck him hard on the back of the head. For a moment he blacked out. When he came to, he was being pulled onto his knees, so that he could watch the rest of the ordeal. Clint, meanwhile, was struggling with his bonds. His efforts were useless. The ropes held.

  Several of the indians had begun to pile wood at the bottom of the framework. One man, carrying a torch, ran forward. Climbing up next to Clint, the indian thrust the torch up under Clint's left arm and held it there for several seconds, searing his underarm. Clint screamed in agony and tried once more to free himself.

  Extending the torch, the indian then held the torch under Clint's right arm. Finally, he held it under Clint's groin, burning his genitals. When he was done with that, the indian climbed down and dropped the torch into the pile of wood that had been piled beneath the framework.

  Clint seemed to swoon for a moment, from the pain. When he realized that the wood beneath him had begun to burn, he became frantic. He strained at the ropes that held him. As the fire grew below him, he began to rock, forward and back, in a desperate effort to loosen the two upright poles and topple the framework. Suddenly, the indian that had led the party that captured the two white men ran forward with a bow and arrow. Standing on Clint's left, the indian drew the bow and shot him. The arrow passed completely through Clint, so that the point stuck out one side and the feathered shaft stuck out the other. Immediately, Clint went limp.

  As Clint's blood ran down into the fire, one of the indians ran forward and placed some sort of raw meat under it, so that the blood ran over the meat and then into the fire. A moment later, every man and boy from the village seemed to move into the clearing. One by one, they each shot an arrow into Clint's chest, until Clint resembled some huge, grotesque, pin cushion.

  Hugh felt something deep within him shrivel and die. He continued to struggle at his bonds, but he was in a kind of shock. He was looking at the ground as he fought, no longer seeing what was before him. His best and only remaining friend was dead, killed in a useless, stupid manner. They had been together for years, suffering the hardships and dangers of the sea, the pirates, the swamps. Again and again they had saved each other. Not any more. Clint was dead.

  The sun was just starting to rise. Two of the indians suddenly took hold of Hugh's arms, lifting him from behind. Expecting the same treatment that his friend had just suffered, Hugh fought back desperately. Instead of dragging him out into the clearing, however, they began half-dragging, half-carrying him back into the village. They took him back to the chief's lodge. Then, after tying his legs and checking to make sure that the ropes on his arms were still tight, they left him on his sleeping mat. For some time he laid there, shivering and in shock, teeth chattering, unable to close his eyes without seeing again and again the last moments of Clint's life, and his horrible, untimely death.

  Sometime later, he became aware that someone was beside him. He was surprised when he realized it was the young woman, the one he'd been interested in before. She covered his shivering body with a buffalo robe, then leaned low and whispered into his ear:

  "(N'avez pas peur.) Ne vous inquietez pas. Ils ne feront pas un autre (sacrifi) a 1'etoile du matin jusqu' a la lune prochaine - ce que vous apellez un mois." "--Do not fear. They will not make another sacrifice to Morning Star until the next moon--what you would call a month."

  Then she was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A HUNDRED questions raged in Hugh's mind--Who was this woman? How did she come to know French? Why had these indians treated them so well if they intended to kill them anyway? If, as the woman had said, it as a sacrifice, why had they chosen Clint instead of him? Hugh had always heard that indians respected strength, honored it. Clint was stronger than almost any man. It would have made more sense to have sacrificed Hugh--he was ten years older and, while not exactly weak, was not in Clint's league when it came to raw power. Why hadn't they chosen him instead? He lay for hours, thinking about it.

  Clint was gone. For the first time Hugh realized just how much he had depended on his young friend, and how much he had taken Clint's great strength for granted.

  And now it was much too late for Hugh to thank him.

  Hugh lay, no longer even bothering to strain at his bonds. He could smell the smoke from the fire and the scent of human beings resting in their lair. He could hear them snoring. Somewhere in the room, he could hear the sounds of a couple making love.

  All of it meant nothing to him. He had lost his friend, and much, much more. He had lost hope. For the first time in his life he was truly alone.

  Eventually, he dozed, but there was no rest for him. As soon as he began to drift off he found himself back aboard the Gallant. Tom Halpern was at the helm. Behind him stood Clint. Hugh was overjoyed to see his friend, alive and well again. Then Halpern looked over and realized he was there. When he saw Hugh his face became an almost insane mask of hatred and rage. Spittle formed at the corner of his mouth when he spoke.

  "Life, you asked for, and life you have. But it is not, and never will be, an easy life. You will NEVER know peace--you will know hardship and suffering and pain (if every sort. And when you die, you will die bloody!"

  "Didn't I tell you?"

  "Didn't I?"

  "DIDN'T I?"

  Hugh awoke, cramped and shivering under the buffalo robe. Nor did he sleep any more that day, but lay awake and staring until, hours later, the indians roused themselves and came around and untied him.

  Once more, they treated him with the greatest courtesy. As though the events of the previous morning had never taken place, they went about their business. If anything, they seemed in even greater spirits than before.

  But Hugh knew what they had done, and he knew what was in store for him if lie stayed.

  Hugh Glass had no intention of staying.

  He walked through the village, unhampered, aware that, for all their friendly greetings and apparent good will, he was being watched.

  It was hard for him to accept that Clint was gone. He found himself unconsciously looking for his friend wherever he went, half expecting to see Clint come walking around each earth-mound that he came upon. Clint would have a slight swagger to his walk, an easy smile on his genial face.

  But Clint was forever gone.

  Hugh moved through the village, observing the people in their daily routines. Looking at them, it was hard to believe they had taken part in the horror of the horning before. The children play
ed; wives cajoled their husbands; the men, once they had gotten used to Hugh's presence, had dropped their grim, stern looks and were actually quite open and friendly. He saw none of the petty callousness and suspicion that had dominated Campeche. He saw nothing at all to indicate the eager disregard that they had shown in the way they dispatched Clint. None of it made sense to him. For want of anything better to do, he began to count dogs. He counted about two dogs for every person he saw, which would figure out somewhere between two and four thousand dogs. That was a lot of dogs. they all looked half-starved, and indeed, he had never yet seen anyone feed any of them, but they were there.

  He passed a group of squaws, but none among them was the one he sought. One did draw his attention, though. She was taller than the others, by head and shoulders. Her hair was gray and stringy. When she turned to look at him, he was shocked by how incredibly homely she was. She looked just like a man.

  Hugh climbed up onto one of the earthen mounds and sat down. From here he was able to see the whole village. Hugh counted sixty-three earth domes, including the one upon which he sat. Across from him, on another dome, four young men were beginning their daily preparations, which they appeared to take pretty seriously. Hugh watched them for awhile. First, they rubbed themselves down with grease until their skin glistened in the sunlight. After that, they meticulously began applying red, yellow and white paint to their faces and upper bodies. One of them had a small mirror, which they took turns using periodically to check their progress. Hugh watched them for nearly an hour. When he finally climbed down off the earthen dome and went on his way, the four were nowhere near finished with their primpings, as far as he could tell.

  It seemed to Hugh that all of the work was done by the women, including the little girls. The men lounged around or went hunting. Young boys chased each other around, or sat in small groups and gambled for arrows, or played a game that consisted of throwing a feathered lance through a four-inch hoop that one of the other boys would roll along the ground. No one appeared to be unhappy with this arrangement. It seemed to Hugh that everyone in the village was quite content. Wherever he went, Hugh was met with friendly smiles and greetings that he didn't understand. Some of the older men would sometimes stop him and talk to him for several minutes at a time. Hugh would smile and nod, never comprehending a word and never forgetting that these smiling, happy people had brutally murdered his friend.