Wednesday, June 26, 2024

Short Story Spotlight: “No Luck At All” by Rod Miller

 


“The only shot fired there had been the one that blew the hind leg off the donkey. Still harnessed to the cart, it appeared to have bled slowly to death, hobbling in circles hauling its grisly load until falling dead in the shafts.”

This tale of Texas Rangers by poet Rod Miller can be found in the anthology Texas Rangers edited by Ed Gorman and Martin H. Greenberg.

There are some other fine tales within but, to this reader’s eye this one stands tall.

Tall as the legendary Rangers themselves.

It packs a wallop in a tight page count and shies away from formula.

Well, worth seeking out.

Tuesday, June 18, 2024

A Frontier Phrase Worth Resurrecting: “He Bubbles Pure"

 


[Excerpted from our book The Frontier Stoic: Life Lessons from Those Who Lived a Life.]

He bubbles pure.”

·        Said of a man who stays solid, friendly, copacetic, capable in all situations.

·        In a land where water sources were few and far between and these were often muddied, slurried with cattle refuse, undrinkable alkali, or deliberately poisoned via a butchered animal left to rot in its depths…

·        Often water had to be reached via digging to the water table and filtering sand, silt and mud from the precious commodity using a shirttail as a filter.

·        In such a land, springs that bubbled pure clear clean water were valued at “a price above rubies.

·        In such a world, good companions were equally valued.

·        Men and women without grit, without merit without grace to face what was before them each and everyday added to the hardship.

·        In a modern world where a poor traveling companion who gets “hangry” on a long car trip…well, magnify that by 93 and put that “wannabe stalwart” under true pressure.

·        Can they be said to “Bubble pure” no matter the terrain?

·        Can it be said of you?

“He bubbles pure” can only be said of those whose dispositions who stay sunny even when it’s raining.

·        They don’t bubble silt and mud because of a spot of traffic, a news link to raise a fist at, a longish wait in the drive-thru line.

·        Springs bubble pure because that’s what they do, that’s what they are.

·        They may spring from the ground but they do not taste of it.

·        They do not take on its earthy qualities.

We find this sentiment likewise expressed in this phrase from Bacon’s The Advancement of Learning,

“The sun passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before.”

May we all be that capable Man or Woman of grit.

That affable companion still smiling heartily noontide or night.

Rain or shine.

May we all bubble pure!

Resources for Livin’ the Warrior Life and Not Just Readin’ About It!

The Black Box Store

https://www.extremeselfprotection.com/

The Indigenous Ability Blog

https://indigenousability.blogspot.com/

The Rough ‘n’ Tumble Raconteur Podcast

https://anchor.fm/mark-hatmaker

 

Wednesday, June 5, 2024

Lessons from Jim Bridger, Mountain Man

 


[All extracts taken from Biographical Sketch of James Bridger: Mountaineer, Trapper, and Guide (1905) by General Grenville M. Dodge.]

After the death of his father and mother Bridger had to support himself and sister. He got together money enough to buy a flatboat ferry, and when ten years of age made a living by running that ferry to St. Louis. When he was thirteen years old he was apprenticed to Phil Cromer to learn the blacksmith's trade. Becoming tired of this, in 1822 he hired out to a party of trappers under General Ashley, who were en route to the mountains. As a boy he was shrewd, had keen faculties of observation, and said when he went with the trappers that the money he earned would go to his sister.”

·        At the age of 10 purchases a flatboat and begins a ferry business.

·        At 13 apprentices to learn smithing.

·        Soon after that hits the frontier.

·        The wonder is not at the loss of independence and industry in the youth of today, but to look at the “grownups” we have become and ask ourselves, “Do we have the cojones to do anything as intrepid as this right now, well past the age of majority?”

·        I wager we all come up short.

·        If there are stones to cast, t’is the self that should be bruised.

One of the arrow heads which Bridger received in his back on this occasion remained there for nearly three years, or until the middle of August, 1835. At that time Dr. Marcus Whitman was at the rendezvous on Green River en route to Oregon. Bridger was also there, and Dr. Whitman extracted the arrow from his back. The operation was a difficult one, because the arrow was hooked at the point by striking a large bone, and a cartilaginous substance had grown around it. The doctor pursued the operation with great self-possession and perseverance, and his patient manifested equal firmness. The Indians looked on meantime with countenances indicating wonder, and in their own peculiar manner expressed great astonishment when it was extracted. The arrow was of iron and about three inches long."

·        Carried a 3” inches steel arrowhead in his body for three years and never stopped questing in the frontier.

·        How familiar is this or similar refrains, “I would go do such and such with you but my sciatica [insert “Not cartilaginous encased arrowhead malady” here].

·        Seems we have some mannin’ up to do.

[I offer the next lengthy extract as an example of observational prowess. Keep in mind, he is in the company of military men with no phones and candy crush to distract them, that is, fellow observers. When you get to the end, yes, marvel at Mr. Bridger’s abilities, but don’t mock the “blind” cavalry men; ask yourself honestly how you would fare? I wager most of us  would be distant third place to any man in a saddle that day.]

Captain H. E. Palmer, Eleventh Kansas Cavalry, Acting Asst. Adjt. Genl. to General P. E. Conner, gives this description of the Indian Camp on Tongue River, August 26, 1865. "Left Piney Fork at 6.45 a. m. Traveled north over a beautiful country until about 8 a.m., when our advance reached the top of the ridge dividing the waters of the Powder from that of the Tongue River. I was riding in the extreme advance in company with Major Bridger. We were 2,000 yards at least ahead of the General and his staff; our Pawnee scouts were on each flank and a little in advance; at that time there was no advance guard immediately in front. As the Major and myself reached the top of the hill we voluntarily halted our steeds. I raised my field glass to my eyes and took in the grandest view that I had ever seen. I could see the north end of the Big Horn range, and away beyond the faint outline of the mountains beyond the Yellowstone. Away to the northeast the Wolf Mountain range was distinctly visible. Immediately before us lay the valley of Peneau creek, now called Prairie Dog creek, and beyond the Little Goose, Big Goose and Tongue River valleys, and many other tributary streams. The morning was clear and bright, with not a breath of air stirring. The old Major, sitting upon his horse with his eyes shaded with his hands, had been telling me for an hour or more about his Indian life—his forty years experience on the plains, telling me how to trail Indians and distinguish the tracks of different tribes; how every spear of grass, every tree and shrub and stone was a compass to the experienced trapper and hunter—a subject that I had discussed with him nearly every day. During the winter of 1863 I had contributed to help Mrs. Bridger and the rest of the family, all of which fact's the Major had been acquainted with, which induced him to treat me as an old-time friend.

As I lowered my glass the Major said: 'Do you see those ere columns of smoke over yonder?' I replied: 'Where, Major?' to which he answered: 'Over there by that ere saddle,' meaning a depression in the hills not unlike the shape of a saddle, pointing at the same time to a point nearly fifty miles away. I again raised my glasses to my eyes and took a long, earnest look, and for the life of me could not see any column of smoke, even with a strong field glass. The Major was looking without any artificial help. The atmosphere seemed to be slightly hazy in the long distance like smoke, but there was no distinct columns of smoke in sight. As soon as the General and his staff arrived I called his attention to Major Bridger's discovery. The General raised his field glass and scanned the horizon closely. After a long look, he remarked that there were no columns of smoke to be seen. The Major quietly mounted his horse and rode on. I asked the General to look again as the Major was very confident that he could see columns of smoke, which of course indicated an Indian village. The General made another examination and again asserted that there was no column of smoke. However, to satisfy curiosity and to give our guides no chance to claim that they had shown us an Indian village and we would not attack it, he suggested to Captain Frank North, who was riding with his staff, that he go with seven of his Indians in the direction indicated to reconnoitre and report to us at Peneau Creek or Tongue River, down which we were to march. I galloped on and overtook the Major, and as I came up to him overheard him remark about 'these damn paper collar soldiers telling him there was no columns of smoke. The old man was very indignant at our doubting his ability to outsee us, with the aid of field glasses even. Just after sunset on August 27 two of the Pawnees who went out with Captain North towards Bridger's column of smoke two days previous came into camp with the information that Captain had been correct.

·        Name the color of the last car you passed. Do this whether it was just now or two days ago.

·        Ask yourself is there a difference between how Mr. Bridger saw and how you interface with the world.

While engaged in this thorough system of trapping, no object of interest escaped his scrutiny, and when once known it was ever after remembered. He could describe with the minutest accuracy places that perhaps he had visited but once, and that many years before, and he could travel in almost a direct line from one point to another in the greatest distances, with certainty of always making his goal. He pursued his trapping expeditions north to the British possessions, south far into New Mexico and west to the Pacific Ocean, and in this way became acquainted with all the Indian tribes in the country, and by long intercourse with them learned their languages, and became familiar with all their signs. He adopted their habits, conformed to their customs, became imbued with all their superstitions, and at length excelled them in strategy.

·        A man who immersed to learn.

·        He transcended culture by embedding in it.

·        If any us flatter ourselves that we may be made of such stuff, I offer that I see people who won’t mix with MAGA, or Progressives, or this or that fellow Citizen who speaks their same language and buys milk in the same store, and yet we are to believe that we would be an able traveler in new cultures in hostile land. Able to befriend the alien when we can’t even be loving on familiar ground over trivial “differences”?

Bridger was also a great Indian fighter, and I have heard two things said of him by the best plainsmen of this time; that he did not know what fear was, and that he never once lost his bearings, either on the plains or in the mountains.

·        Let us ask ourselves, when was the last time we went where we knew nothing?

·        Read without a guide? Tasted the unfamiliar? Sniffed the new fragrance?

·        Frontiers can be new in many realms, if our habits are landlocked in small realms, maybe we could bend a little and explore small before we go big.

·        Test the waters so to speak.

As a guide he was without an equal, and this is the testimony of everyone who ever employed him. He was a born topographer, the whole West was mapped out in his mind, and such was his instinctive sense of locality and direction that it used to be said of him that he could smell his way where he could not see it. He was a complete master of plains and woodcraft, equal to any emergency, full of resources to overcome any obstacle, and I came to learn gradually how it was that for months such men could live without food except what the country afforded in that wild region. In a few hours they would put together a bullboat and put us across any stream. Nothing escaped their vision, the dropping of a stick or breaking of a twig, the turning of the growing grass, all brought knowledge to them, and they could tell who or what had done it. A single horse or Indian could not cross the trail but that they discovered it, and could tell how long since they passed. Their methods of hunting game were perfect, and we were never out of meat. Herbs, roots, berries, bark of trees and everything that was edible they knew. They could minister to the sick, dress wounds—in fact in all my experience I never saw Bridger or the other voyagers of the plains and mountains meet any obstacle they could not overcome.

While Bridger was not an educated man, still any country that he had ever seen he could fully and intelligently describe, and could make a very correct estimate of the country surrounding it. He could make a map of any country he had ever traveled over, mark out its streams and mountains and the obstacles in it correctly, so that there was no trouble in following it and fully understanding it. He never claimed knowledge that he did not have of the country, or its history and surroundings, and was positive in his statements in relation to it. He was a good judge of human nature. His comments upon people that he had met and been with were always intelligent and seldom critical. He always spoke of their good parts, and was universally respected by the mountain men, and looked upon as a leader, also by all the Indians. He was careful to never give his word without fulfilling it. He understood thoroughly the Indian character, their peculiarities and superstitions. He felt very keenly any loss of confidence in him or his judgment, especially when acting as guide, and when he struck a country or trail he was not familiar with he would frankly say so, but would often say he could take our party up to the point we wanted to reach. As a guide I do not think he had his equal upon the plains.

He could make a map of any country he had ever traveled over, mark out its streams and mountains and the obstacles in it correctly, so that there was no trouble in following it and fully understanding it.

·        Could we?

He never claimed knowledge that he did not have…

·        Can we claim that?

His comments upon people that he had met and been with were always intelligent and seldom critical.

·        Can we say that? A brief survey of posts often reveals a seeming love of the critical.

He always spoke of their good parts…

·        Can we say that? Lord, I hope so.

He felt very keenly any loss of confidence in him or his judgment, especially when acting as guide, and when he struck a country or trail he was not familiar with he would frankly say so…

·        Do we freely admit the limits of our knowledge, or do we feel the need to pronounce on and on and on…

As a guide I do not think he had his equal upon the plains.

·        That is the evaluation of a pragmatic military mind.

·        May we admire and aspire.

To bucking up like Jim Bridger!

A Man to Match the Mountains!

T’SUH!!!!

Resources for Livin’ the Warrior Life, Not Just Readin’ About It

The Black Box Warehouse

https://www.extremeselfprotection.com/

The Indigenous Ability Blog

https://indigenousability.blogspot.com/

The Rough ‘n’ Tumble Raconteur Podcast

https://anchor.fm/mark-hatmaker

Whispering Wind: A Thriller Icon’s Only Western

The Day of the Jackal, The Odessa File, The Dogs of War, The Fourth Protocol , these are only a few of the volumes written by Frederick Fors...