Into the Savage Country (16 page)

“Will we waste the day idling? Which of you is not afraid to join me?”

“We are both afraid to join you,” Ferris said. “That is one of the great bears. What the men call white bears. Do you know what the natives do when they see a white bear?”

“I am sure you are going to educate me,” Layton said.

“They go the other way.”

“Well, I am not a native,” Layton said. “I am an American from St. Louis and we are three men armed with long guns.”

“Which will do little if the bear comes at us,” Ferris said. “There is no way to stop the white bears once they are enraged.”

“A well-placed blast will stop them.”

“Perfectly placed,” Ferris said.

“I was under the impression you had a fine shot,” Layton said.

Ferris began replacing the powder in his pan. “It is adequate,” he said.

“He has the finest shot in the brigade, if not in the mountains,” I said.

“Then his mettle is not so great as his aim,” Layton said triumphantly. “Perhaps if it were a contest to sketch the beast you would win that.”

Ferris finished with his horn and capped it.

“If we must approach the shrub we should spread out and keep a distance. And if the bear charges, fire at the nose. If you aim higher the bullet will deflect off the skull. If you have a view of the flank fire at the shoulder to incapacitate it.”

“Wyeth?” Layton said.

“It is foolish to get much closer,” I said. “But I will move with the rest.”

“Then let’s go.”

Layton stepped straight toward the shrub. There was a sharp clattering of rocks, as it was impossible to move furtively across that broken-up landscape. At each moment we expected the bear to burst from the shrub, but it did not, and as we neared we saw that at the back end of the ledge on which the shrub grew there was the opening to a cave. At first I thought it was only a grotto, but as I neared I felt the cool exhalation of moist, musty air. I saw the green plants all around the cave mouth. Layton stepped closer and peered into the darkness.

“We could fire into it,” Layton said.

“And if we managed to kill the beast, then what?” Ferris said. “Who’ll go in after it? You? Why don’t we just drop you in on a rope?”

“You can mock,” Layton said. “But I do not give up so easily as you. Perhaps we can dislodge the beast.”

“It is not a shallow cave,” I said.

“You don’t know that,” Layton said.

“I do know it,” I said. “I can hear the distant grumbling of the beast and feel the exhalation of air. See the liverworts.”

“The what?”

“The plants around the mouth. That is a large cavern that breathes.”

Layton tilted his head and looked at the fernlike plants around the mouth of the cave. He felt the cool, steady stream of moist air. He set his rifle on top of a flat rock and found a stone the size of a teacup, lifted it, walked to the opening, and carelessly tossed the rock inside. We heard the rock rattling and clattering inside,
the sound echoing out of the black mouth, growing fainter and fainter and then … Thump! It hit something. A loud huffing and growling drifted out.

It was indeed a deep cavern.

Ferris skipped some distance away, holding his rifle pointed toward the cave’s mouth. Layton stood right near the darkness, peering in. We all waited. The growling faded.

“Wonderfully idiotic,” Ferris said, after a long while.

“I am attempting to gather sustenance for the entire brigade,” Layton said. “If we dislodge the beast we can each put a ball in it. That will undoubtedly stop it. Are you afraid?”

“Yes,” Ferris said.

“I am not so timid as you,” Layton said.

“You are magnificently more foolish,” Ferris muttered.

Layton turned to me. “Are we trappers or are we sitting at the kiddie table at the cotillion? My God.”

Ferris checked his rifle again and took a few more steps away from the mouth of the cave and positioned himself so he had a clear shot. I had backed up and positioned myself on the uphill side some distance from Ferris. Layton glanced back at Ferris derisively, as he had positioned himself farther than the rest of us.

“I see you have found a suitable position for yourself,” Layton said to Ferris.

“He need not be so close as his shot is more accurate,” I said.

“So he says,” Layton jeered.

Ferris said nothing to Layton’s taunts, but I could see he trembled with barely contained irritation. He lay his pistol on a rock and aimed his rifle at the cave. Layton stayed at the mouth of the cave. He picked up his rifle and checked it. Then set it back on a flat rock and looked around the slaty landscape until he found a boulder larger than his head. He lifted it.

“You boys ready?”

“You know this is a bad idea,” I said to Layton.

“I know we need sustenance. And I am not weak-kneed like some of the men in this brigade. I do what is necessary.”

Layton duckwalked with the boulder to the mouth of the cave. He set the rock down in a mincing, self-righteous manner that anyone would have found irritating. He brought his rifle closer to him. He checked the powder one more time. Then he gripped the stone and checked to make sure we were in position and stepped to the mouth of the cave. He heaved.

The rock tumbled and rattled inside the mountain and then … Thump! It hit something. A guttural roar arose from the cave mouth. A mad thrashing of rocks. Layton had hardly reached his rifle when the bear exploded outward and tore straight through the small shrub. It was a very large bear and in its fury it passed right by Layton, spinning him to the ground. The great beast lumbered toward Ferris, who fired. The bullet struck the beast’s right shoulder and knocked it back, but it was up in a moment. Ferris fired his pistol. The beast was struck in the other shoulder but hardly paused. I fired and struck the beast in the neck. It reared and turned on me, but after an instant turned back on Ferris who was reaching for his knife, but too late. The bear swatted at Ferris who was knocked back as if he’d been made of straw. In an instant the bear was on top of Ferris and opened it’s great jaws and—BANG—I fired with my pistol.

I had not braced myself and both of my hands struck my forehead. I stumbled backward. When I recovered I saw the beast still straddling Ferris. It raised one great paw. The claws were as thick as my finger and curled downward toward Ferris’s face. It lowered the paw gently so the tips of the claws tapped faintly on the rock. A drop of blood fell from its mouth onto Ferris’s cheek
and then the thing tumbled sideways and rolled a few times down the slope and came to a rest with a clattering of rocks. Ferris leaped up, wild-eyed. Layton was standing near the cave mouth holding his rifle. I do not think he had ever seen a great bear up close. He had not understood that they are not at all the same creatures as the black bears. Ferris had fired twice and I had fired twice. Layton had his rifle and the repeating Collier but he had not fired at all. After a moment, Layton examined his rifle in a sheepish manner.

“Misfire. Damnable,” he said in a self-conscious way that was not natural for him. “Wonderfully accurate, Wyeth. Didn’t know you were up to it. I misfired.”

Layton moved past us and down to the great bear, slowing as he got close to make sure it was dead. I stepped over to Ferris.

“Are you alive?”

“I believe I am,” he said. Then, glancing at Layton, “Did he fire?”

“A misfire,” Layton said again, hearing the question. But his voice shook when he said it. His skin was pale, glistening.

We all joined in the task of dressing the great beast and hanging the meat we could not carry in the trees. During the whole procedure Layton was diligent, agreeable, and reserved, which was not at all his normal manner. Whether due to a misfire or nerves, his gun had not discharged. At first Ferris and I thought we’d keep the story from the rest of the brigade, knowing how it would be perceived and understanding it would only cause trouble, but Pegleg, who was also hunting at the time, had been high above us on a ridge and seen everything. By that evening everyone had heard about our encounter with the great bear, had heard that Layton did not fire his weapon, and put the worst interpretation on it.

• • •

Ferris, Pegleg, Grignon, Branch, Bridger, Glass, and I were sprawled out against our packs in a small enclosure of shrubs. Glass, a silent, taciturn man, the oldest in the brigade, gestured with the nub end of his fleshing bone, and said, “Thinking you want to face Old Ephraim and doing it—ain’t the same thing.”

“He was afraid,” Ferris said.

“Wasn’t fear that made him hold his shot,” Grignon said. “The two of you battle daily. So of course he didn’t fire. He set the whole thing up and thought the beast would do his work for him. Anyone else would do the same.”

“I wouldn’t,” Ferris said.

“Perhaps not,” Grignon said, looking at the others and grinning. “But I’d hardly take Layton to be such a psalm singer.”

“He could not have known the beast would charge me,” Ferris said. “Layton is a dandy and an irritating man, but he is not fainthearted. And he would not allow a bear to do his work when a pistol would suffice. He was frightened by the beast into inaction and afterward his vanity would not allow him to admit he’d been afraid.”

“Aye,” Pegleg said, who, though hard on greenhorns, was slow to believe anything ill of a member of the brigade. “Layton may have been flattened—as we all have been at times—but he did not purposefully withhold fire.”

“And it may have been a misfire,” Ferris said.

“You saw the flash?” Glass asked Ferris.

“The beast’s jaws were six inches from my nose,” Ferris said.

“Wyeth?”

“I was firing myself. Layton was behind me. I saw nothing.”

“You smelled powder?” Pegleg asked.

Ferris and I were both quiet.

“We were upwind. I smelled my own powder,” I said.

“Whether he fired his rifle or not he still had the Collier,” Branch pointed out. “He could have put eight balls into the beast. We’d do better to toss him and take our furs to Flathead Post. At least the Brits are men and not dandies.”

Flathead Post was the Hudson’s Bay Company’s fort north and west of the Tetons.

“Wouldn’t have to go that far,” Grignon said. “HB’s got a brigade on the Snake River. Would be glad to take any American furs.”

“And aid in the transference of this land to the Brits?” Ferris said. “I’d rather dump my furs in some drainage.”

“Didn’t know you were such a patriot,” Grignon said. “The rest of us will trade with the highest bidder.”

Pegleg was stitching a skin into a willow hoop. He motioned with his bone needle.

“If it was a question of no return or return from the Brits, I’d take the Brits.”

“Anyone would,” Grignon said.

“I wouldn’t,” Ferris said again.

“I wouldn’t either,” Glass said.

“If we must trade with the Brits, which none of us do willingly, we do it at the season’s end, not at the beginning,” Pegleg said.

There were nods and murmurs from all except Bridger. He was the youngest in the brigade, the most docile, and gave little thought to disputes in camp. He would go along with the other men.

“Even if we all decided to scatter, Captain Smith wouldn’t go along,” Ferris said. “We’d have to fight him as well.”

“Then we put a ball in him along with Layton,” Grignon said, but this was met with scowls from Pegleg and Branch.

“We will put a ball in your back before we put one in Captain Smith’s,” Glass said. “We will do nothing to Captain Smith. And you won’t, either.”

“Aye,” Pegleg said.

“Smith won’t buck once it’s done,” Branch said. “If the man is disposed of and the pelts remain, Smith will arrange matters to sell the pelts. Not happily, but he will do it. And I can assure you he has no love for Layton. But no one will touch Smith unless he wants to face me.”

“And me,” Glass said.

“That’s settled,” Pegleg said. “Quiet. Here he comes.”

Below us we could see Layton riding up the grassy drainage. “We do nothing for now,” Branch said. “We gather the pelts. We wait. Maybe the elements do our work for us.”

And then Layton was riding into camp.

Through the entire negotiations I had not spoken. As a part owner of the brigade I was against any mutiny. It would be disastrous financially for me. But if it came to the thing actually happening, I’d be damned if I’d toss my fortune into a river. Ferris could do that. He had a rich father. I’d take my furs to the Brits or attempt to transport them back to St. Louis.

As Layton arrived at the north end of the encampment, Ferris and I left to saddle our horses on the south end. When we were out of earshot of the others, I said, “Would you really toss your pelts?”

“What I told them is true,” Ferris said. “I’d not trade with the Brits. Though more likely I’d try to get them back to St. Louis.”

“As would I,” I said.

Ferris wrapped his picket in a dirty cloth and stored it in his saddlebag.

“But blast it, Wyeth. All my fortune is in this company. We must stay together. And Layton must hold his tongue.”

“He isn’t capable of it, even to save his life.”

“Well his life is what is at stake,” Ferris said.

We were silent as Layton was walking near.

“Hello, Ferris,” Layton called. “You are looking unusually diligent.”

“Wonderfully pleasant to see you,” Ferris said back.

Layton strode into camp in a boisterous manner, knowing we’d all been talking about him. Seven men and stony silence greeted him. A moment later we all rode out to check our traps. No one wanted to linger in camp if Layton was there.

Several weeks passed and there was little change in Layton’s unpleasant manner, but there was a change in the brigade’s organization which improved relations. Noting our extreme discontent, Smith, being a shrewd and able leader, began to send Layton out to set traps like the rest of us. Layton complained at first, saying he did not fund an entire brigade to be a common laborer, but Smith insisted that it was necessary to increase productivity. This change in organization had the effect of connecting Layton to the men in industry and in fatigue as well as in profit, and after a day on the march Layton was, if not more agreeable, at least less able to express his disagreeable qualities as he was half silenced by excessive fatigue, as we all were after fourteen or sixteen hours of wading through icy water and riding from creek to creek.