Charles Johnston - Jim Bridger: Founder of Bridger, Wyoming and Famous Indian Fighter

By

CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON

Author of Famous Cavalry Leaders, Famous Indian Chiefs, Famous Scouts, etc.

IN THE LOWER CORNER OF the mighty state of Wyoming is a town named after one of the most noted of the trappers of the WestJim Bridgerwho not only fought Indians but also traded and trapped in many an unexplored portion of the once unknown regions near the Rocky Mountains. Fort Bridgera strong stockade near byreceived its name from this famous plainsman, who hailed from Illinois, and who was not only of humble, but also of somewhat unrespectable parentage. Young Jim ran away, when quite young, in order to escape the hard usage which was his lot at home. On the border he soon made his mark, for he was not only a great rifle shot but also a man of unusual strength and agility.

One day the scout was in a block-house, with a number of other frontiersmen who had recently been attacked by a band of Blackfoot warriors. These were encamped at no great distance, and a truce had been declared whereby neither side should molest the other. Jim Bridger wandered into the camp of the red men, and walked down the main street, looking, with an interested eye, at their tepees, their squaws, and the little papooses.

Ugh! Ugh! grunted some young bucks. Paleface he look like pig. Ugh! Ugh! He no fight. He run away.

Bridger grew crimson, but said nothing.

Paleface waddle like duck, continued one of the Blackfeet. Paleface have nose like black dog.

This was too much for the usually calm and collected Jim Bridger. Spinning upon his heel he rushed up to the nearest redskin, hit him a blow between the eyes and sent him reeling to the ground. Immediately the whole camp was in an uproar. The trapper was surrounded by a yelling, screeching mob of savageswas made a prisonerand was carried, struggling, to a lodge upon the outskirts of the village. Then the Indians gathered in a dense throng in order to decide upon the fate of their captive.

There was much discussion as to what was to be done with the scout. Some were for a light punishment, as the trappers in the block-house were numerous, and their rifles were accurate shooters when held by the steady hands of the frontiersmen. No! No! shouted many others. He should be carried to the mountains and there tortured. He has struck one of our braves. The paleface must suffer death!

Three older chiefs listened to all of this wild talk and then gave their decision.

The Paleface shall suffer death and torture! Let some of the young men go to his lodge and bring him to us.

With a wild whoop, a number of the youthful warriors rushed to the tepee in which they had shoved the trapper, stoutly bound with deer thongs. As they threw open the flap which hung over the doorway surprise and dismay marked their features, for the bird had flown. All were chagrined and angered at the loss of their quarry. Whooping savagely, they dashed back to their companions, many of whom favored an immediate attack upon the block-house; but the counsel of the older chiefs prevailed.

The paleface warriors have sticks which shoot very straight, said they. We must go away, or they may attack us.

Packing up their goods, and loading their travois, they fled to the mountains.

But how had the daring plainsman escaped? Hush! It was a dusky-hued maiden who had set him free, and love will always find a way.

Jim Bridger, in fact, had met a young Indian girl in the village who had returned the sudden affection of the young trapper with much interest. With sadness and dismay she watched his capture, and, when she saw him thrown into the lodge, at first she determined to run to the block-house in order to notify his comrades of his predicament. She knew that they would then demand his release, but, fearing an attack in which some of her relatives would be killed and her lover would be doubtless assassinated, she decided to say nothing to the trappers. Instead, she determined to set him free by her own hand. While the savages wrangled over what was to be his fate she determined to creep to his tent, cut the deer thongs, and point out the way to freedom.

Two sentinels watched the lodge where Jim Bridger lay, and, as the Indian maid approached, one of them moved towards her. She stooped almost to the earth, darted behind a neighboring tepee, and crept stealthily towards the rear of the tent. As luck would have it, there was no sentinel at this point, and she cut a long slit in the buffalo-skin curtain. Bridger was lying upon a robe endeavoring to snap his bonds, and as he saw her uttered an exclamation of surprise. At this, the girl clapped one hand over his mouth. With the other she cut the raw-hide thongs, and beckoned to him to follow her.

The scout wormed his way out of the side of the tent, crept upon all fours to a safe distance, then rose and faced the Indian maiden.

Dearest, said he, you have saved my life, and Jim Bridger never forgets the kindness of such a one as you. You shall be my wife.

The Blackfoot maiden blushed, and answered that whether there was peace or war between her people and his, she would meet him in a certain grove of pine trees, at the base of a distant mountain peak, after two full moons. She counselled him how to avoid the sentinels, how to elude any pursuers by darting through a certain canyon, and then, as he pressed her to his heart, their lips met. A moment more and she had torn herself away, and had vanished down the steep cliffs upon which they had clambered.

The scout did not tell his comrades how he had escaped, for he feared that they would laugh at him. And as the days passed by his brother trappers noticed that he was cutting notches in a stick in order to mark the time elapsing before some important event. At length the stick was almost filled with little triangular marks, and Bridger, saddling his horse, led another by a long lariat, and set off for a certain towering peak in the mountains. His companions little guessed what was his real destination. Five days elapsed before they again laid eyes upon him, but all were startled and much surprised to see him ride into the camp, one brilliant morning, with a dusky, Indian maiden by his side. A broad smile was upon his face, while the bride looked radiantly happy. As they rode up, the joyous trappers gave three times three for Mr. and Mrs. Jim Bridger.

From now on the pioneer had an adventurous career, and, although away from his home for months at a time, was always devoted to his Blackfoot bride, although he often had passages at arms with her kinsmen. Not long after his marriage he was in the Medicine Bow Mountains, with a party of trappers, when they were surrounded by hundreds of the Blackfeet. Crying to them to surrender, the savage warriors circled about upon their ponies, screeching like so many devils, for they were sure that they had the white men cornered. It looked dark for the adventurous trappers.

We must fight desperately, men, cried out the gallant Jim. And must make our way towards the mountains near the Yellowstone. There we can stand these pesky varmints off from behind the boulders. But now we must break through their circle. Are you all ready? Thencome on.

The trappers cheered as Bridger led a charge against the wild riders of the plains, who scattered before the resolute attack. By alternately fighting and retreating, the frontiersmen gradually made their way towards the distant hills, andalthough a few were badly woundedat length they reached the protection of some giant boulders which afforded them excellent protection against the bullets and arrows of the red men. Seeing that it was now impossible to get them, the savages fired a parting volley and retired. The last shot proved to be an unlucky one for Jim Bridgers best frienda man named Milton Subletteas a ball from an Indian rifle struck him in the ankle and tore through both flesh and bone.