Several of the most famous Bridger yarns were embroidered upon a Yellowstone backdrop. It was this unique element that made them unconscious conservers of fact. A certain residuum of truth seems to be present in each of his tales if one searches carefully enough. There were occasional implications so freighted with the earmarks of reality that genuine curiosity was piqued. Amusement was often tempered by wonder; perhaps there was something in the old mountaineer’s ravings!
There was the celebrated Obsidian Cliff fiasco. Its perpendicular volcanic glass properties were advertised in this yarn: “Oncet I camp yonder in a purty meadow. Wantin’ meat I went lookin’ fer an elk. I seen a beaut a right smart spell yonder. Comin’ close, I let him have it. Bejabers, he didn’t make a move. I moved nigh onto him—took a dead bead. Same result. Says I, I’ll get so darn nigh the report o’ the gun’ll kill him. So I did. The blame critter didn’t look up. O’ course, I thought he was deaf, dumb, and blind. I was so bloomin’ mad I grab my blunderbuss by the shank an’ start runnin’ direct fur him, intendin’ to smash him slam-bang on the haid. Well siree, ye’d never believe it! What I act’lly hit was the side of a glass mountain ... crawlin’ to the top, what do I see but that same elk way yonder, feedin’ as peaceable as ye please.” Thus he gave a quaint representation of an interesting feature of nature.
Bridger boasted the knowledge of a choice campground hidden among the inner labyrinth of Yellowstone’s canyon. The marvel of this place was in its curious delayed-action echoes. “In fact,” said Jim, “it’s a natural alarm clock which I winds up so: when campin’ thar I beds myself down, and jist afor I goes to sleep I raises my haid from the saddle an’ hollers, ‘Time to get up, you sunuvagun’; an’ sure as shootin’, the echo comes a bouncin’ back at the crack o’ dawn!”
Still another extravaganza, with a basis in fact, had a bearing upon the northeast corner of the Park. Jim averred that the entire region was under the curse of an old Crow chieftain. All things became lifeless, plants, animals, rivers, and even the light of sun, moon, and stars had a petrified cast. “Yes, siree, thar’s miles o’ peetrefied hills, covered with layers o’ peetrefied trees, and on ’em trees air peetrefied birds a singin’ peetrefied songs!” Sometimes for the sake of spice and variety he used the word putrified instead of peetrefied.
There can be little doubt that he actually knew of a spot in the great lake where a cast hook and line would catch a cutthroat. Then a semicircular swerve would bring him slowly to shore. Upon taking the fish from the hook it would be found well-cooked and ready for eating!
Jim’s Alum Creek episode tips heavily on the ludicrous side. “We was ridin’ east o’ the river along the side o’ a creek. ’Twas boggy an’ goin’ was slow. When the cañon narrowed we guide our hosses into the stream. ’Twasn’t no time till the hosses’ feet shrunk to pin points, an’, by tarnation, we went twenty miles in a jiffy. Them thar waters was so strong o’ alum as to pucker distance itself!”
Is there any wonder that a classic mantle of exaggeration should invest Bridger with an enduring title of Münchausen? However, underneath Jim’s tough, frontier-beaten exterior, obvious self-esteem, and braggadocio, there was a genuine and picturesque sincerity. He was not only colorful in acting an interesting frontier role, in which the setting was fully exploited, but he was a reliable geographer as well. Captain J. W. Gunnison received such a precise account of Yellowstone from Bridger as to enable him to write the following vivid description without reference to any other source:
He [Bridger] gives a picture, most romantic and enticing, of the headwaters of the Yellowstone. A lake, sixty miles long, cold and pellucid, lies embosomed among high precipitous mountains. On the west side is a sloping plain, several miles wide, with clumps of trees and groves of pine. The ground resounds with the tread of horses. Geysers spout up seventy feet high, with a terrific, hissing noise, at regular intervals. Waterfalls are sparkling, leaping and thundering down the precipices, and collect in the lake, and for fifteen miles roars through the perpendicular canyon at the outlet. In this section are the “Great Springs”—so hot that meat is readily cooked in them, and as they descend on the successive terraces, afford at length delightful baths. On the other side is an acid spring, which gushes out in a river torrent; and below is a cave, which supplies “vermillion” for the savages in abundance.[118]
Surely this evidence speaks well of the great scout’s capacity to impart the whole truth to those who were prepared to receive it. Bridger was evidently an unconscious believer in the scripture, “I am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some.” He persisted in his way of life among the mountains until late in the seventies. He could not withdraw from the companionship of the free and generous spirits around a campfire. However, his demeanor became more subdued with age. There was upon him much of the dignity of an Indian chief. After all, to the red men he was Chief Big Throat, also the Blanket Chief.
Before retiring, Bridger managed a visit to Washington, D. C., where he was introduced to the President of the United States. After staring at him in amazement for a minute, he turned to the congressman and remarked, “Looks jest like any other man, don’t he?”[119]