Lord Grizzly, Second Edition (27 page)

The major relented a little. “I suppose at that I am asking too much.” The major brooded over his gray ledger. “Tell you what. We'll take up a collection. As a reward.”

“I don't need no reward,” Jim said.

“Nor do I,” Fitz said. “I'd never take it.”

“Yount,” the major said, “take up a collection anyway. And Fitz, since you're the oldest, and you've had the most experience in these parts, I'm putting you in charge. You're to stay until Old Hugh dies, and then you're to bury him decent. Or, if he lives, until he's well enough to be moved.”

Major Henry and the rest of the party rode off for Henry's Post on the Yellowstone and Missouri, heading almost straight north to bypass Black Butte and the Little Missouri Badlands. The major gave Fitz and Jim a last wave of the hand from the top of the brown bluffs across the north fork of the Grand. And then Fitz and Jim were left behind with sad Old Hugh Glass and their sad thoughts and their wondering horses, Fitz's, Jim's, and Hugh's Old Blue.

They waited.

By turns they wetted Hugh's lips with brandy, with water, with bearmeat soup. They took turns standing guard on a nearby brush-cropped high point. This time neither came close to falling asleep while on watch.

Twice the first day they were sure red devils had spotted them. Each time, they had mounted their horses and set off after the major, when they discovered it was only buffalo and not a war party. Each time they got down off their ponies ashamed.

Hugh's old body hung on stubborn.

The second day Hugh seemed to sink a little. They made ready to go. Jim even worked up a prayer to say over Hugh, a prayer such as Diah Smith might have said.

But Hugh's old torn carcass hung on.

The third day Hugh looked better, and Jim began to hope that maybe they could move him after all, take him along to Henry's Post up north. Toward evening, however, after a terrible hot day, Hugh turned pale purple and began to sink again.

Still Hugh's old ripped-up hulk clung to life.

The fourth day Hugh began to stink, and white wolves and gray coyotes padded in silently from the hills. This was the worst day because Jim couldn't stand the thought of the old man being torn up and eaten by the wolves and coyotes, which was what surely would happen to him no matter how deep he and Fitz might bury him.

And yet Old Hugh's body hung on stubborn.

The fifth day, in the evening, around a campfire, small flames jumping in the rusty dusk, Fitz and Jim broke out into a violent argument. Jim was a young lad and Fitz was a realist.

Fitz said, “We've been waitin' five days now for him to die. We've done more than our duty. I say we move on.”

Jim said, “But we can't leave him like this! He's still alive, man!”

Fitz said, “There's sign all around, Jim. We're wolfmeat tomorrow for sure if we don't pull out now. And you know yourself we still can't carry him.”

Jim said, “But we can't desert a live man, Fitz! He's still alive.”

Fitz said, “Better that two get out alive and him what's gonna die anyway left behind, than all three of us die. Every day we wait the major's gettin' farther and farther away and it'll be that much the harder for us to catch up.”

Jim said, “But we can't desert Old Hugh! We can't! Not as long as he's still alive.”

And then, for the first time, though he was still unconscious, Old Hugh spoke up clearly. “Lads, don't lose your topknots over this child. I'm dead, I am. Or as good as dead. Which is the same thing. Run for your lives. Every day the major and his party're gettin' farther and farther away. Run, lads.”

Both men turned pale at the sound of his voice.

“By that time this child was past bawlin',” Jim said. “Lookin' at him torn there, and groanin' and him not knowin', just couldn't make me cry no more. But I felt worse.”

When it came time for one of them to turn in, Fitz and Jim had another wrangle.

Fitz said, “Jim, I tell ee, he ain't got the chance of a whistle in a whirlwind of livin'. He's a gone goose. There's nothin' more we can do for him except bury him. C'mon, lad, grab holt his toes there and let's lower him away.”

Jim said, “But, Fitz, he just talked to us less'n an hour ago.”

Fitz said, “Jim, lad, that was the death rattle. I know that anywhere. I've heard it a hundred times if I heard it once. He's gone under. He ain't breathed for at least a half-hour. Hurry, grab holt his toes or it'll be too late. The Rees are breathin' down our neck.”

Jim said, “I'm sorry, Fitz, but I can't. You bury him then. Old Hugh was good to me. I ain't sure he's dead, and until I am, I can't.”

Fitz said, “Well then, be damned to you and your sentimental hide, I'm leavin'. Ye can bury him by yourself.”

Jim said, “But, Fitz—”

Fitz said, “Jim, I know this: if we stay another five minutes, the three of us are gone under. If we go now, right now, two of us've got a chance to get out of this alive.”

And once again Hugh spoke up. It was as if he'd heard all their wrangling, though of course he was still out of his head. “No, lads, no! Don't leave me here to die alone in this gully! Don't let me die the hard way!”

“See!” Jim cried triumphantly. “See! he's still alive!”

They stayed.

Later that night Hugh began to talk more. He talked so much both Fitz and Jim believed he was about to come to at last.

Hugh's talk was religious, which surprised them. He talked about Esau and Jacob, about how he was Esau, the first, who'd come out red all over like an hairy garment, while the other fellow was Jacob, the second, a smooth man, Rebekah's favorite. He talked about how he too had sold his birthright in Lancaster land.

He also talked about a Mabel and two boys and about how a lowlived coward had deserted them back in white diggings.

Fitz said, “Don't it sound to you like he's talkin' about himself?”

Jim said, “If he is he won't be the first then.”

Fitz said, “Meanin' what?”

Jim said, “Meanin' we've already done it a dozen times in thought with him.”

Fitz shut up.

Toward dawn Hugh talked again, this time quite clearly. “Now, boy, I'll soon be under. Afore many hours. And, boy, if you don't raise meat pronto you'll be in the same fix I'm in. I've never et dead meat myself, Jim, and wouldn't ask you to do it neither. But meat fair killed is meat anyway. So, Jim, lad, put your knife in this old nigger's lights and help yourself. It's poor bull I am, I know, but maybe it'll do to keep life in ee. There should be some fleece on me that's meat yet. And maybe my old hump ribs has some pickin's on ‘em in front. And there should be one roast left in my behind. Left side. Dip in, lad, and drink man's blood. I did onct. One bite.”

Both Fitz and Jim shuddered at the awful words.

Fitz managed to say, “You're a good old hoss, Hugh, but we ain't turned Digger Indian yet.”

Hugh said, trying to sit up in his delirium, “Where from, stranger? What mout your name be? I'm Hugh Glass, deserter, buccaneer, keelboatman, trapper, hunter, and one-bite cannibal. Anyway what's left after an old she-rip had her picks a him.” Hugh's wild glazed eyes stared at them from between puffed up eyelids.

Jim said, “What—did—he—say?”

Fitz said, “He said ‘one-bite cannibal.' An' he asked us to dip in.”

Jim said, “Oh! that sounds terrible. Hellfire if it don't. The thought of it makes the eyes stick out of a man's head.”

Hugh said in his delirium, “One-bite cannibal. That's what I said. ‘Twas on the Black Prairies by the Brazos. ‘Twas this way. I'd come back from a hunt and there sat my companyero Clint eating meat. ‘Dip in,' he says. ‘I shot us a wild goat.' I took a bite. ‘Twas the toughest meat this child ever set teeth to. Couldn't seem to swallow it. Then I saw the butchered feet ahind a bush. Ten toes. Clint'd killed our guide, a miserable red-devil Comanche who couldn't get along with his people. I shoulda knowed there was no antelope on the Brazos. Ae, and Clint paid the Lord for that too. In full. With his life. The Pawnees stuck him full a pine splinters and made a torch out of him.”

Fitz said, “‘Cannibal.'”

Jim said, “He didn't know it! You can't help what you don't know! Clint lied to him!”

Hugh shouted up, “Hurrah, Jim! Run, lad, or we'll be made meat of sure as shootin'.” Again Old Hugh tried to sit up, glazed eyes staring at them.

Fitz held him down. Fitz said, “‘Cannibal.' ‘Tis hard to believe. ‘Cannibal.'”

Jim said, “He didn't know it, Fitz! And he said he had trouble swallowin' it! Even when he didn't know it! That's as deep as it was set in him.”

“‘Cannibal,'” Fitz said.

Hugh tried to sit up again. “Hurrah, Jim! Run, lad, or we'll be made meat of sure as shootin'. The red devils is everywhere. Ahind the hills and down in the sloughs.”

Fitz pushed Hugh down once more. “‘Cannibal.'”

Jim said, “He didn't know it, Fitz. He couldn't help it, Fitz. You heard him.”

Hugh shouted, “Set your triggers, lads.”

Jim said, also trying to hold Hugh down, “Now, now, Hugh, old hoss. Hold still till we get the bridle on.”

Hugh said, voice suddenly fallen, confidential-like, “Jim, lad, let me tell ee somethin'. When the net falls on ee, there's only two things to do. Set still ontil they take the net off again. Or run off with the net and all. And never come back. Because if you make the littlest move, you just entangle yourself all the more in the law. No, lad, do like I did. Run off with the net and all.”

Hugh slept.

The next morning Fitz saw them. A war party of some hundred Ree braves. They were well-armed and loaded for bear. They were led by ancient Chief Elk Tongue and the ferocious brave Stabbed. They were across the river. There was no time to lose. The two of them just didn't have a tinker's chance in a hot tin pan against them. Their only chance was to make a run for it and hope their ponies were faster than the Ree mounts, for once they were caught they were in for horrible tortures. The red devils were fiends for knowing just where the tenderest parts of a man were. Looking at the Rees across the river and at Hugh beside him, Jim was so terror-stricken and conscience-stricken, both, he couldn't move.

“Let's go, Jim,” Fitz said.

“I can't,” Jim cried.

Fitz's hazel eyes were calm. He looked down at Jim; then at Hugh. Then Fitz reached down and took Hugh's guns and skinning knife and possible sack and flint and steel.

“Hey there! What're you doin'?” Jim cried. “Gonna leave him without any way of pertectin' himself?”

Fitz said, “You don't think I'm so foolish as to leave them guns and possibles for the Rees, do you? To kill us with later? Only a fool'd do that. You've got to be hardheaded about such things, Jim.”

Jim cried, “But the wolves?”

Fitz said, “C'mon. We've done our full duty. Only a fool'd want to do more. You've rubbed the fur the right way long enough. C'mon.”

Jim said, hiding his face, “I can't, Fitz. Hugh was my friend. He stuck up for me.”

Fitz clambered his pony and grabbed hold of the lead rope to Old Blue. All three horses were snorting at the Ree Indian smell coming toward them on the wind across the river. “C'mon, Jim, get aboard that horse.”

Still Jim couldn't get up.

Fitz held a gun on Jim. “Dammit, Jim, get aboard that horse. That's an order. Somebody's got to have horse sense around here.” Fitz waggled his gun at Jim. “Don't you see, Jim? If we go now, the red devils'll chase us and so maybe even leave Hugh in peace.”

“In peace for what? The wolves and the vultures?”

“Get! That's an order!”

Then Jim got up on his horse. Jim's face was white, numb.

They rode off lickety-split, the Rees chasing after them. And, just as Fitz said, in chasing after them, the Rees missed finding Hugh. . . .

Jim's young hoarse voice quit. Silence. Hearts beat quick and fast. Pineknots snapped in the fireplace.

Major Henry's eyes, Jim's young eyes, Yount's eyes, Silas's eyes, Allen's eyes, all were on Hugh.

Hugh said in a low monotone, “Major, did Fitz really sew me up?”

Major Henry nodded slowly, solemnly, blue eyes grave on Hugh.

Hugh trembled. The single arteries down each side of his nose pulsed dark in the light from the red pine fire. “I feel mighty queersome,” Hugh said.

Major Henry grimaced, baring white teeth. Major Henry took up pen and gray ledger and prepared to make another entry.

Hugh rubbed his sore nose. He knew that every man there was thinking about his confession that he was a one-bite cannibal.

Hugh said suddenly, “He that is without sin in this matter, let him be the first to cast a stone!”

No one said a thing.

“The first. Because, not knowin', you'd've taken that first bite too.”

“Suppose we admit that,” Jim said, looking Hugh square in the eye. “Ain't we even all around then?”

Hugh said, rubbing his nose some more, “I still think what you and Fitz did the most littlest thing I ever heard anybody do to a friend.” Hugh gave Jim a searing look. “And tellin' the major here that you'd buried me decent when you knew it was a lie—that was littler still.”

Jim glared right back. “Littler'n what you did to Mabel and the boys? Littler'n all the killin' you did when you was a buccaneer?”

Silence.

Hugh couldn't hold his eyes up to Jim's. He said slowly, “All right, Jim. I'll let you go for now. But remember. Your life is mine on loan until I hear what Fitz has to say about your black treachery.”

Jim jumped up on his side of the table as if he meant to take another swing at Hugh.

“Now, now,” Major Henry said, getting up too. “Now, now, we still ain't heard Hugh's story yet, Jim. How he managed to get here.” Major Henry smiled at both Jim and Hugh. “And I'm oncommon curious to hear about that.”