University of Virginia Library

21. Fight with a Bear.

At Independence, Missouri—that grand rendezvous for
traders, trappers, travelers, emigrants, Indians, and, in
short, for all going to, or returning from, the Far West—
I once met an old mountaineer by the name of Glass—
John Glass—though he looked as little like glass as any
substance I can think of. In fact, John clearly showed, in
his weather-beaten, scar-disfigured face, that his had been
“a hard road to travel.” Indeed, on second thought, I
hardly know as I am justified in saying that John Glass
had any face at all; but he had a head, and the front part
of that head much resembled one side of an overgrown,
badly-whitewashed gourd—a portion of the nose and
original skin having been removed, leaving in place a kind
of cicatrized surface, which a great amount of weather, and
a total abstinence of soap and water, had turned to a color
that I find comparable with nothing except the aforesaid
vegetable.

I was not at that time acquainted with John personally;
but being somewhat fascinated by his appearance, I

begged an introduction, which was readily accorded by
one having the honor of some familiarity with this nondescript
specimen of the wilderness.

“I say, old hoss, hyer's a settlement chap as wants to
know you a few,” were the words which brought the
attention of John Glass fully upon myself, and was my
only form of presentation to the scarified mountaineer.

“Wall, stranger, you kin know me a heap, ef you're
civil,” was the reply of my new acquaintance, spoken in a
tone that sounded not unlike the gurgling of water from a
jug. “Chaw, hoss?” he added, inquiringly, having, like
many another individual I wot of, an eye to the profits
which might accrue from my acquaintance.

I instantly took the hint, and a plug of tobacco from
my pocket, and handing the latter to my new friend, I
observed that he had better keep the whole of it, as I had
a sufficiency left.

“Hurraw!” cried the old trapper “You're a trump,
you ar, and I'd play you agin any amount of dandified
jimcracks I ever seed. You're a hoss as has bottom, or
else I'm a wolf—hurraw!”

I saw I had made a good impression on my outre friend
of the wilderness; and I naturally argued, that if a plug
of tobacco could do that much, a little whiskey would do
more. So, after a few exchanges of civilities, in which I
endeavored to compliment John as much as he had

me, I mildly suggested that we might as well take a
drink.

“Hurraw!” he cried, in his broadly accented dialect;
“you're one on 'em, stranger! and old peeled Jack is one
as likes to know you. Drink? In course I will—and ef
you kin jest find the fellow as says John Glass ever was
knowed to refuse to drink when ax'd, you'll see a fight.”

Accordingly, we adjourned to one of that kind of institutions
in which these rough borderers most do congregate;
and having called together a few of John's friends,
we chartered a corner of the shanty for that especial
occasion. The whiskey having been brought forward, in
due proportion to the number and quality of the guests,
who at once paid their respects to it, pipes were next in
order; and each man having loaded, prepared to fire—and
did fire—and such a volume of smoke I never before
beheld except at the discharge of a regular battery.

My sole object in this operation was to hear from the
lips of John Glass himself how it had happened that his
figure head had become so seriously damaged; and so,
seizing the first favorable opportunity, I broached the
subject in a quiet way.

“Wall, stranger,” said John, “that was one o' the
scrapes. Hey, Bill,” he added, turning to one of his companions,
“you remember that thar, I reckon?”

“Wall, I does, hoss,” returned the other; “and ef I

didn't think you war dead that time, may I never see the
Rocky agin!”

“Yes, Bill,” pursued Glass, “you thought as how I war
dead: and it's like you wern't glad to find it different, for
you'd got my hoss and gun all snug enough. But you see,
when John Glass goes under, thar's gwine to be an 'arthquake;
and thar warn't nary 'arthquake then. Stranger,”
he added, filling his glass and turning to me, “I'll just tell
you how it war, for you're right decent for a settlement
feller, and decency ought to be encouraged. You see,
stranger, it war a good many years ago—I don't exactly
remember how many—that me and a party war gwine out
to the mountains. Wall, we'd fixed up for a reg'lar
trapping expedition, and had our hosses and mules, and all
the rest o' our kit along, for a reg'lar three months' hunt.
We got over onto the Black Hills without any accident,
which war some'at to talk about for us, kase we didn't
often go fur without them things. I say we got over onto
the Black Hills, and pitched our camp in one o' the
purtiest places I ever seed, whar we kind o' spread ourselves
to make beaver come. Me and Bill, here—the old
hoss—paired off, kind o' partner like, and did business in
our own way, and that thar way war some.

“One day, as we war off that thar way together, setting
our traps along a stream whar the beaver rayther seemed
to like the fun—for they allers kim smelling round and

looking pleased and curious—we got kind o' tangled up
in a thicket o' wild cherry, which growed along the stream.
I war pushing along a leetle ahead o' Bill, when all at
once't, as I kim to a kind o' opening, I seed a big grizzly,
as quiet as a kitten, turning up the arth with his nose for
the roots as laid below.

“ `Hurraw, Bill!' says I, `hyer's fun, and thar's meat.'

“ `What's the muss, Jack?' says Bill, hurrying up to me.

“I showed him the b'ar about twenty yards off, and we
agreed as how we'd draw his blood.

“Now, stranger,” continued the old trapper, turning to
me, “them thar grizzlys is some.”

“In a bear fight?” I quietly suggested.

“Exactly—haw! haw! haw!” laughed the mountaineer.
“They're some in a b'ar fight—just so; and you're some
punks, any whar. Wall, as I was a saying, we fetched our
rifles to an aim, and both spoke together. We both hit
old grizzly plum centre: but them is critters as don't mind
hitting, and our shots didn't seem to do no more nor jest
kind o' rile up his dander. He kind o' started up and
looked round, as savage as Old Nick; and then, seeing
our smoke curling up from the thicket, he know'd thar
was some'at for him thar, and broke for us like a streak o'
greased lightning.

“ `Hurraw, Bill!' says I; `we're in for't now. We'll
be made meat on, sure as shooting.'

“ `Wall, we will, old hoss,' says Bill, `onless our legs is
longer nor the b'ars.'

“ `It's a run now, any way,' says I, as we both on us
made a break through the thicket.

“Bill was behind me afore, but he was ahead o' me
now; and ef he didn't do some tall walking then, I never
seed snakes. Hey, Bill?”

“Wall, I did, Jack,” grinned Bill, who was himself
nearly as pretty a specimen of the wilderness as the
narrator.

“We both on us tore through the bushes like mad,”
resumed the old mountaineer; “but they was awful thick
together, I tell you, and we didn't get along not nigh so fast
as I has afore now, tumbling down hill; and we didn't git
along not nigh so fast as the cussed old b'ar, who kim
plunging arter us like a mad bull, gaining on us at every
jump. Maybe as how I didn't swear some at them thar
old bushes, which stuck into me at every leap, and kind o'
kept me from gitting any war, with old grizzly puffing up
close behind.

“At last we got to t'other side o' the thicket, whar thar
was a patch o' prairie, and a big steep bluff on t'other side
on't, about a hundred yards off.

“ `Hurraw, Bill!' says I; `it's bluff or die; for old
grizzly has got kantankerous; and he ain't so fur behind

but what he mout hear us holler. `Leg it, Bill!' says I;
`let your pegs do their duty.'

“And Bill, here, he did leg it, for he'd got the
legs as could leg it; and I didn't keep a great ways
behind. But the old varmint, he gained on us all through
the bushes; and when I struck that thar prairie, I hadn't
more'n twenty feet the start o' him. I'd hev cleared
old Bruin, though, easy enough; but jest as I got half
way to the bluff, I struck my infernal foot agin a stone,
and kim down headlong. I got up agin right sudden;
but it war too late for running now; for jest as I got on
my feet, the old seamp stood straight up alongside o' me,
and reached out his paws for a hug, like some o' the old
Frenchmen I've seed out thar. I know'd old grizzly's hug
warn't for any good, though; but seeing as thar warn't no
help for't, I kind o' made up my mind to it, and gin him
the contents o' the only pistol I had, at the same time
yelling to Bill to load up and settle him.

“I'd jest got the words out, when old grizzly got his
paws onto me, and, with one infernal rake downwards,
tore off skin enough for a leather apron. I drawed my
knife, said some'at o' prayers, and pitched into him with
all my might; and we went rolling over and over on the
grass, sometimes the b'ar topmost, and sometimes me.

“That thar, boys, is purty much all I know about the
fight,” pursued Glass; “but some time next day I opened

my peepers agin, wiped off the blood, and found I war the
wust-looking human you ever seed. My old scalp hung
clean over my face—the skin o' my face, and the most o'
this here nose, war spread out all around me; I'd been
dug into clean down to the ribs, which looked as ef they'd
been peeled; and more'n all that, some thieving scamp—
(Bill, here, kin tell you who that war)—had stripped off
the most o' my clothing, and tuk my pistol, and rifle, and
every_____thing away.”

“Yes,” said Bill, “I'll jest tell you how it war, boys—I
jest thought as how Glass war dead, and I run down to
camp and told 'em so, and old Sublette told me and Rube
to go back and bury him. We went back, and tuk his
things; but concluding thar warn't no use o' settling him
into the turf, we put back and told the boys as how we'd
done it; but we hadn't, and Jack warn't dead, he
warn't.”

“No, sir-ee!” chimed in Glass—“nor I didn't want to
die, nuther. Wall, I kind o' looked around like, and seed
as how old grizzly had got rubbed out, and that thar was
some satisfaction, anyhow.”

Here Glass took still another glass, smacked his lips,
and continued.

“Ef I war to tell you all that happened arter that, I'd
keep you here till morning—so I won't. The short on't
is, I jest tore up my shirt, and did up my wounds as well

as I could; and then lay round thar, feeding on old grizzly
for a good many days, till I got strength to crawl away.
The boys, I reckoned, had changed their camp, and so I
sot out for a fort as I knowed was about ninety miles off;
and I tell you what it is, that thar war one o' the wust
tramps as ever this hyer old beaver seed; for I war all cut
up, almost skinned, and had to feed on roots and berries
all the way.

“At last I got to the fort, and some jimcrack of a
doctor sot to work on me; and, stranger, I kim out as
good as new, as you kin see for yourself. I managed to
git another hoss, and then started for another fort, whar I
knowed the boys would be coming in to winter. We both
got thar about the same time; and a skeerder-looking set
o' white niggers nor them war, when they seed me, as they
knowed war dead and buried, coming up astraddle o' that
thar old hoss, this hyer child never put his eyes on.

“ `Hurraw, Bill!' says I, as I seed him quaking, and
trying to git out o' sight—for the scamp knowed as he war
guilty, and I guessed it—`I'll jest kind o' trouble you for
that thar hoss, and gun, and the rest o' my fixings.'

“Bill handed 'em over, and I tuk my place amongst the
boys, ready for the next thing as mought turn up.

“Thar, stranger,” concluded the old mountaineer, “you
knows now why I looks so purty; and so now let's liquor
agin, afore we spile.”

I subsequently ascertained that this story of John Glass
was true in every particular; and I give it as a specimen
of what human nature—and especially human nature as
found in the wilderness of the Far West—can endure and
survive.