Hugh Glass - Bruce Bradley

by Bruce Bradley

  The barber at Fort Kiowa was also the doctor. In looking over Hugh's wounds, he could only shake his head.

  "My friend," he told Hugh, "it is a miracle that you are alive."

  "That seems to be the story of my life," Hugh answered tiredly.

  ***

  On October l lth, three days after his arrival at Fort Kiowa, Hugh joined five other men and headed back upriver. The group was headed by Toussaint Charbonneau. Having helped lead Louis and Clark on their famous journey, nearly twenty years earlier, Charbonneau had spent more time exploring the American wilderness than probably any other white man. He was known by almost all the indian tribes and spoke many of their dialects.

  The second in command of the group was named Antoine Citaliux, but every one called him Langevin. The morning they left, he arrived at the boat looking worried.

  "Something is wrong," He told one of the others.

  "What is that?" the other man asked.

  "I don't know--something about this just doesn't feel right. I think, perhaps, we should not be going on this trip."

  The others chalked it up to a case of the jitters.

  The party set sail. They were in a mackinaw boat, carrying a fair amount of sail. Fortunately, the wind was with them and they made good time. By evening, they had gained considerable distance from the fort. Shortly before sundown, they tied the boat up and made their camp next to the river. The following morning, as they made ready to continue on their way, Langevin made nearly the same statement that he had before they left, the day before.

  "I have a bad feeling," he told the others. "I don't know what it is, but I think this trip will not end well. I think maybe we should turn back."

  "My friend," Charbonneau told him, laughing, "calm yourself. You'll make us all nervous!"

  Langevin just looked worried.

  The next day was no better, nor the day after that. They traveled upriver in the mackinaw, making good time, but Langevin's mood was starting to get on everyone's nerves. The small boat, loaded with supplies and goods to be traded with the Mandans, left little room for anyone to escape Langevins brooding pessimism. Each day he would start with the same litany, "I have a bad feeling..."--and would continue to express those sentiments throughout the day, whenever he opened his mouth to speak.

  Hugh could see Langevin's words affecting the others. Langevin irritated them with his whining, but he was also starting to spook them. As for Hugh, he found it increasingly difficult to sit in the mackinaw, hour after hour, all day long. This was only in part because of Langevin. Hugh's wounds made it difficult to remain in one position for very long, and there wasn't a lot of room to move within the confines of the small boat.

  On the morning of October 15th, Charbonneau suddenly told Langevin, "My friend, I think you have a good reason to have a bad feeling today."

  "Why?" Langevin asked, suddenly alarmed.

  "Because if I hear you say one word today about having a bad feeling, I am going to shoot you."

  Langevin didn't find this amusing. Not knowing if Charbonneau was serious or not, he kept silent throughout the day.

  That afternoon, they reached Simoneau Island. A small trading station had been set up there. The men in the mackinaw, accepting the hospitality of those who were stationed on the island, camped there for the night, then moved on the following morning. Langevin, true to form, spent the evening writing his last will and testament, which he left with the traders.

  The next morning, as they were making ready to leave again, he started in once more.

  "Oh," he began, "I wish I hadn't come on this trip!"

  That did it. Taking his rifle, Charbonneau informed the others that he was walking the rest of the way to the Mandan village and would meet them there.

  The weather had turned cool overnight, giving them the first hint of the coming of winter. Sitting in the boat, the chill added to Hugh's discomfort. He hated to see Charbonneau go like that. He had only known the Frenchman for a couple of days, but Charbonneau had a sureness in his manner and a sense of humor that Hugh liked. His decision to leave them and walk to the Mandan village made sitting in the boat and listening to Langevin even less tolerable than before.

  They had reached a part of the river that he was familiar with. Shortly after noon, they approached a spot where the river made a long, narrow loop and doubled back upon itself. Knowing this, and feeling the need to stretch his legs, Hugh asked to be let out. He would walk across the narrow strip of land and meet them on the other side.

  Before he was halfway across the strip he heard gunshots coming from the direction where the river made its loop. Moving as quickly as he could, Hugh went to investigate.

  He arrived too late--not that he could have been of much help. Staring down from a rise that overlooked the river bend, it looked to him as though the entire Arikara nation had taken up residence in that spot. All four men in the mackinaw were dead and had already been scalped. Some of the squaws were desecrating the bodies. Others were busy taking the supplies from the boat. One of them looked up and saw Hugh Glass standing on the ridge.

  Screaming, she raised the alarm. Rifle shots came in Hugh's direction, almost before he could turn and run. Scrambling as fast as he could, Hugh headed back in the direction he had come from. There was no way that he could hope to outdistance them, running on a broken leg that hadn't yet healed, but to wait for them would be worse than suicide. The Arikaras wouldn't just kill him--their torture would be slow and painful.

  Long before he was safely away, he heard the Arikaras top the rise behind him. They came on, moving much more quickly than Hugh was able, yelling and shooting at him. Hugh felt the bullets whiz by, striking the brush and the earth around him. All he could do was keep running. Crossing a low spot, he started up another long, slow rise. Bullets continued to strike near him. His injured leg felt as though it might break again at any moment.

  Suddenly, over the top of the rise, two more indians appeared on horseback, rushing down toward him. Hugh's heart sank. They had him.

  Continuing to run and angling away from the two horsemen, Hugh brought his rifle up. Just as he was about to shoot, he stopped himself. The two indians on horseback weren't Arikaras. They were Mandans.

  Dropping his aim, Hugh kept running. The two Mandans rode down in a halfloop and came up behind him, one on either side. Working together, they managed to pick Hugh up without ever breaking stride. As the three men rode over the crest of the hill and out of range of the Arikara's gunfire, the two indians moved their horses together, helping Hugh into place behind the man on the right.

  For the two Mandans this was quite a coup. For years they would be able to tell of how they had ridden into gunfire and taken the Arikaras quarry away from them, and how they had saved a white man named Hugh Glass from certain death.

  This took on even more importance for them when they realized that Hugh GIass was actually White Bear of the Pawnees, and that this was the second time Arikaras had had him in their sights only to lose him. On top of that, Hu encounter with the grizzly--which the Sioux had already begun to spread word of--made him seem, first to the Mandans and later to the other tribes of the plains like a being that was half-man, half-magic.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  THERE WAS much celebrating on the part of the Mandans, with Hugh Glass and Toussaint Charbonneau as honored guests. The two white men were less than festive, though. Four of their party had been slain, and Charbonneau had lost all of his trade goods to the Arikaras.

  On top of that, the weather had begun to turn cold. The morning after Hugh reached the Mandan village it snowed. It was a light snow and it melted quickly, but it was a portent of things to come. Winter was closing in, and Hugh Glass still had far to go.

  Charbonneau told Hugh that his best chance for finding a boat that would take him up the Yellowstone was at Fort Tilton. Hugh didn't know where this fort was, but the Mandans did. They agreed to take him. This didn't happen right away, though. The Mandans were
too busy celebrating their new guests to just stop and leave. Before they would leave the village, October would nearly be at an end. Hugh Glass didn't know it, but his story was starting to spread among the indians of the plains. The Mandans considered him to be something of a celebrity. They were in no hurry to let him go.

  ***

  By the time Hugh Glass reached Fort Tilton, it was well into November. A foot of snow lay across the countryside. Fort Tilton was a small fort that belonged to the Columbia Fur Company. It had been built by William P. Tilton and boasted a garrison of only five men. As it sat near the site of another Mandan village, the Mandans who escorted Hugh dropped him off, then immediately went to visit their cousins. Hugh went to see Tilton, where he learned right away that any hopes of finding a boat to continue his journey were in vain.

  "Mr. Glass," Tilton told Hugh, "I'd like to help you but I can't. I've got five men here, besides myself. I can't spare any of them. We're under danger of attack here night and day by the Arikaras. I need every man I have to keep them away. Even if I could spare anyone, I doubt they would go. We're watched constantly. I had one man who left the fort for only a few minutes. From out of nowhere, that devil Stanapat rode up and killed him, practically on our doorstep. If you hadn't had the Mandans escorting you, don't think for a moment that you would have made it in here. Those damn Arikaras would have gotten you before you even came within sight of the fort."

  Disappointed, Hugh exhaled heavily.

  "Stanapat," he said ruefully. "-The Little Hawk With The Bloody Hand..." Tilton looked at him.

  "You speak Arikara?" he asked Hugh.

  "Pawnee," Hugh said absently. "The two languages are almost identical." Tilton continued to stare at him. Slowly, a look of dread came over his features. "Oh no," Tilton said. "Oh, Christ, I should have known by your scars--you're the one the indians call White Bear."

  Hugh gave him a puzzled look.

  "How did you know?"

  "Mister, you're the talk of the plains. Big medicine. Went one on one with a grizzly, left for dead by two white men and still managed to crawl to Fort Kiowa. The Arikaras have tried to kill you and can't, that's what they say. Oh, I know about you. So does every tribe from here to the Rockies. As soon as Stanapat finds out you're here--and he will--he'll tear this place down to get to you. News travels real fast in these parts, mister, and the news here is that the Arikaras want you real bad."

  Hugh was silent for awhile. He knew that what Tilton said about news traveling quickly between tribes was true. Like people everywhere, indians loved to gossip. They had no newspapers, nor did they need any. Their word of mouth was every bit as fast as the white man's convention, and at least as accurate. What he hadn't realized until now, though, was that he had made their version of the "front page". Far from helping him, this new development would hamper his efforts. Where the Arikaras were concerned, it made it infinitely more dangerous for him, or for anyone who tried to help him.

  Finally, he spoke.

  "Mr. Tilton, I didn't come here to bring you trouble. After it gets dark, if you could get a couple of your men to take me across the river, I'll move on."

  "I think that would be good," Tilton told him.

  At midnight, two of Tilton's men ferried Hugh across the river and let him out, and he began walking toward Fort Henry.

  Despite the fact that his wounds had not yet completely healed, he carried a pack of nearly a hundred pounds. Although Hugh was a member of a rival fur company, William P Tilton had given him some of the things he would need to survive the trip he was going on. Hugh would still have to hunt for most of his food, but Tilton provided him with blankets, tools, and some emergency stores for those times when he could not find game. Hugh had already gotten those items from Joseph Brazeau at Fort Kiowa, but had lost them to the Arikaras a month earlier. Tilton also gave Hugh a crude map of the area. According to Tilton, it would take Hugh about a month to get to Fort Henry. Hugh consoled himself grimly with the fact that his wounds would heal, and that his pack would get lighter before he reached his destination. A lot lighter.

  Actually, it wasn't too bad. It was cold, but not bitterly so. A crescent moon and a hundred thousand stars lit up the snow covered landscape. Hugh figured that as long as he had a star to follow, he could find anyplace.

  ***

  There were no trees along this part of Hugh's journey, no timber of any kind. The wind blew from the north, almost directly into his face. Nor did the river offer any protection. It's bank sloped only on one side, while the other side dropped off straight into the water, so there were no cutaways or overhangs to crawl under for relief.

  A week after Hugh left Fort Tilton, the weather turned bitterly cold, the sky dark and threatening. Hugh trudged on. There was nothing to do but keep moving.

  After awhile it seemed to warm a little. Then snow began to fall-light at first, then heavier. The wind blew the snow into Hugh's eyes and made it nearly impossible to see where he was going.Hugh knew he was in trouble. If he kept going he would almost undoubtedly get off his course. He might walk in circles, even stumble into the river if the snow blinded him enough. He had to stop. There was still the problem of shelter. There were no trees, no brush of any kind, only snow-covered grass that stretched on for miles in every direction. The snow was a foot deep. For the first time, Hugh wished it was deeper.

  Walking into the hollow between two low hills, he took off his pack. Then, using his pack-board, he began to push and pile the snow into the center of the hollow. In about an hours time he had a hill of snow that was about six feet high and a dozen feet across. Starting on the south side, the side that was away from the wind, he began to tunnel into it. By the time his snow cave was finished, Hugh had to hunt for his pack, for it was buried under a blanket of white.

  After facing the constant onslaught of the north wind for several days without relief, the little cave seemed incredibly warm. Hugh slept the night away, more comfortable than he had been for what seemed like a very long time.

  When he awoke, it was still dark. Hugh lay for a while, listening to the storm. Then he drifted off again.

  When he woke a second time, it was to a strange, eerie silence. A filtered twilight filled the tiny cave. Hugh realized the sun must be up. Snow had sealed the entrance to the cave. Hugh kicked it away and crawled, backward, out into the light. It was midday. The sky was gray, and it was a lot colder than he remembered it being before.

  Disgusted with himself for having slept half the day away, he readied his pack and moved on.

  Hugh had faced rough weather before. He had wintered on the plains with the Pawnees and had sailed around the horn of South America four times. On one of those voyages, it took six tries to make it around the horn. High winds and incredibly foul weather kept pushing the ship he was on back to their starting point. Each time they got close, the sails and lines, and the deck of the ship all turned to ice. As a sailor, he had been forced to work in those conditions. But there he had others to depend on for support and to help him with difficult jobs. He'd been able to go inside occasionally and catch a measure of warmth.

  Here he was alone, with hundreds of miles of frozen wilderness stretching in every direction. And here there was no relief. There was only the bitter cold.

  But the cold, like the pain he had endured before, only fueled the anger and hatred he felt for the two men whom he would kill.

  And later, as Hugh Glass left the plains and began moving upward into the mountains, it grew colder still.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  A WEEK AFTER Hugh Glass left Fort Tilton, a boat arrived from upriver, carrying three men. These were Black Harris, Jack Kellum, and John Fitzgerald. They were on their way to Fort Atkinson, having decided they'd had enough of winter in the high country.

  William P. Tilton wasn't surprised that they had gotten past the Arikaras. The weather had turned cold again. When the temperature dropped, the indians, like most whites, remained in their lodges. He was, however, quite cur
ious about them-when he learned where they were from.

  "So," he said genially, "you men are down from Fort Henry. There was a Henry man through here several days ago, heading up. "I'm surprised you didn't see him. He was following the river. You must have passed each other by."

  "Oh really?" Black Harris said. "Who was it?"

  "Hugh Glass."

  Harris and Kellum both looked at John Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald stared blankly at the floor, not meeting either man's gaze. Or Tilton's.

  "He'd been tore up pretty good," Tilton went on, watching the three men. "He'd gone at it with a grizzly. Then he got left for dead by two men from your company, who took his fixin's. Ended up having to crawl three-hundred miles to Fort Kiowa without so much as a knife to protect himself with. He didn't say who the two men were, but he was headed to Fort Henry to even the score. I surely don't think I'd want to be them when he gets there!"

  Harris and Kellum continued to stare at Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald looked down at the Hawken rifle he carried in his hands, and said nothing.

  ***

  Two weeks after leaving Fort Tilton, Hugh reached the mouth of the Yellowstone. Here he was met with his first great obstacle--the Missouri River. His path lay beyond it and up into the hills that still sat in the distance. Tying two logs together, he made a raft and floated himself across. Then he continued onward.

  He had begun to build snow caves almost on a daily basis, to use for shelter. Even with that, though, his life became a continuous, ongoing, freezing pain. After awhile, he and the pain became one. He could no longer imagine what it was like to be without it. As it had from the beginning, that pain continued to feed his anger, pushing him ever onward.

  Hugh tried to think of other things--he thought of Little Feather, and of his two boys. The boys would be men by now, with their father only a memory long lost at sea. He even thought of Willie Brandt, the genial young pirate from the Madalaine. Hugh couldn't help wondering if Willie was still alive...