Pig was certain that he had just fallen asleep when he felt the persistent prodding of Red’s foot. “You’re up,” said Red. Pig grunted, hoisting his body to a sitting position before working his way to his feet. The splash of the Milky Way was like a white river across the midnight sky. Pig looked up briefly, his only thought that the clear sky made it colder. He wrapped his blanket around his shoulders, picked up his rifle, and walked down the ravine.
Two Shoshone watched the changing of the guard from behind a clump of sagebrush. They were boys, Little Bear and Rabbit, twelve-year-olds on a quest not for glory but for meat. But it was glory that now stood before them in the form of five horses. The boys imagined themselves galloping into their village. They imagined the bonfires and feast that would celebrate them. They imagined the stories they would tell of their cunning and bravery. They could scarcely believe their good fortune as they stared into the ravine, though the nearness of the opportunity filled them with fear as much as excitement.
They waited until the last hour before dawn, hoping the guard’s attentiveness would fade as the night wore on. It did. They could hear the man snoring as they crept from the sage. They let the horses see them and smell them as they crept up the ravine. The animals stood tense but quiet, ears perked as they watched the deliberate approach.
When the boys finally reached the horses, Little Bear slowly extended his arms, stroking the long neck of the nearest animal and whispering soothingly. Rabbit followed Little Bear’s lead. They patted the horses for several minutes, gaining the animals’ confidence before Little Bear pulled his knife and went to work on the hobbles that bound each animal’s front legs together.
The boys had cut the hobbles from four of the five horses when they heard the sentry stir. They froze, each prepared to jump on a horse and gallop off. They stared at the dark hulk of the guard and he seemed to settle again. Rabbit motioned urgently to Little Bear—Let’s go! Little Bear shook his head resolutely, pointing to the fifth horse. He walked to the animal and stooped to cut the hobble. His knife had grown dull, and it took an agonizing length of time to saw slowly through the twisted rawhide. In growing frustration and nervousness, Little Bear gave a hard tug at the knife. The rawhide snapped and his arm jerked backward. His elbow bashed into the horse’s shin, eliciting a loud whinny from the animal in protest.
The sound jolted Pig from his sleep. He struggled to his feet, eyes wide and rifle cocked as he rushed toward the horses. Pig pulled up suddenly as a dark form appeared directly in front of him. He skidded to a halt, surprised to be confronted by a boy. The boy, Rabbit, looked about as menacing as his namesake, all wide eyes and spindly limbs. One of those limbs held a knife, though; another a length of rope. Pig struggled to know what to do. His job was to defend the horses, but even with the knife, the mere boy before him seemed a good measure short of threatening. Finally, Pig simply pointed his rifle and yelled, “Stop!”
Little Bear stared in horror at the scene before him. He had never seen a white man before that evening, and this one did not even appear to be human. He was enormous, with a chest like a bear and a face covered in fiery hair. The giant approached Rabbit, yelling wildly and pointing his gun. Without thinking, Little Bear rushed at the monster, burying his knife in its chest.
Pig saw a blur from his side before he felt the knife. He stood there, stunned. Little Bear and Rabbit stood there too, still terrified at the creature before them. Pig’s legs felt suddenly weak and he dropped to his knees. Instinct told him to squeeze the trigger of his gun. It exploded, the bullet launching harmlessly toward the stars.
Rabbit managed to grab a horse by the mane, pulling himself to the animal’s back. He yelled at Little Bear, who took one last look at the dying monster before leaping behind his friend. They had no control of the horse, which almost bucked them before all five animals galloped down the ravine.
Glass and the others arrived just in time to watch their horses disappear into the night. Pig still stood on his knees, his hands clutched to his chest. He fell to his side.
Glass bent over Pig, prying his hands away from the wound. He pulled back Pig’s shirt. The three men stared grimly at the dark slit directly over his heart.
Pig looked up at Glass, his eyes a terrible mixture of pleading and fear.
“Fix me up, Glass.”
Glass picked up Pig’s massive hand and held it tightly. “I don’t think I can, Pig.”
Pig coughed. His big body gave a mighty shudder, like the ponderous moment before a great tree falls. Glass felt the hand go limp.
The giant man gave one final sigh and died there beneath the bright stars of the plain.
TWENTY-FOUR
MARCH 7, 1824
HUGH GLASS STABBED AT THE ground with his knife. It penetrated an inch at most; below that the frozen earth remained unpersuaded by the blade. Glass chipped away for almost an hour before Red observed, “You can’t dig a grave in ground like that.”
Glass sat back, his legs folded beneath him, panting from the exertion of the dig. “I’d make more progress if you pitched in.”
“I’ll pitch in—but I don’t see much use in chipping away at ice.” Chapman looked up from an antelope rib long enough to add, “Pig’s gonna take a big hole.”
“We could build him one of those scaffolds like they bury the Indians on,” offered Red.
Chapman snorted. “What are you gonna build it with, sagebrush?”
Red looked around him, as if newly aware of the treeless plain. “Besides,” continued Chapman, “Pig’s too big for us to lift up on a scaffold.”
“What if we just covered him with a big mound of rocks?” This idea had merit, and they spent half an hour scouring the area for stones. In the end, though, they managed to locate only a dozen or so. Most of those had to be extricated from the same frozen soil that prevented the digging of the grave.
“These are hardly enough to cover his head,” said Chapman.
“Well,” said Red. “If we covered up his head at least the magpies won’t pick at his face.”
Red and Chapman were surprised when Glass turned suddenly and walked away from the camp.
“Now where’s he going?” asked Red. “Hey!” he shouted at Glass’s back. “Where you going?”
Glass ignored them as he walked toward a small mesa, a quarter mile away.
“Hope those Shoshone don’t come back while he’s gone.”
Chapman nodded his head in agreement. “Let’s get a fire going and cook some more of the antelope.”