their prophet and his god. Titus Bass wondered how folks like Brigham Young and his Mormons could act so self- righteous when they sure as hell hadn’t acted as if they possessed a single shred of honor. How was it that the First Maker could let these false prophets and their followers get away with hurting good folk?
How was it that the Creator could stand idly by while not lifting a hand to help decent men who were willing to right a terrible wrong?
But that’s just the way things turned out when their bunch hurried over to Fort Laramie that fall of ’53, eager to talk with Major Chilton about using his army to retrieve the stock and goods stolen from Bridger’s post.
“I’m sorry, but there’s not anything I can do,” Chilton sighed after Bridger presented his case before the major and some of his officers.
“N-nothin’ you can do?” Titus roared, lunging forward a step before Jim snagged his arm and held him in place.
Gabe said, “What’re you tellin’ us?”
The major ran fingers through his graying goatee. “I haven’t got the authority to take any action against the duly constituted government of Utah Territory.”
So Bass said, “Maybeso we ought’n go ahead on an’ do what Mary Bridger suggested we do in the first place, Major.”
Chilton turned to him with a stony, disapproving gaze. “And start an Indian war?”
Setting his jaw, Scratch snarled, “No Injun war. Just takin’ a li’l revenge on some Marmons—”
“You can’t do that!” Chilton snapped.
Glaring at the officer, Titus said, “It’s Jim’s right. His family’s been hurt. An’ his wife is Washakie’s daughter. Best you soldiers l’arn it’s the way of Injuns to hurt back them what hurt you. Likely them Snakes are north of here right now, huntin’ buffler, makin’ meat for the winter. Jim’s father-in-law could put ten times the warriors on the war trail than you got soldiers here.”
Chilton turned from Bass to Bridger and pleaded, “I haven’t got enough men to stop that sort of bloodshed if you get it started. Nonetheless, my superiors will order me into the field to put down the Indian troubles, which means I will be forced to fight Washakie and you too.”
Bridger appeared to chew on that a long moment. Finally he said, “You’d have brung your soldiers to fight us?”
“Brigham Young is governor of Utah Territory,” Chilton explained. “If he screamed and hollered that Washakie’s warriors were killing and plundering Mormon settlements, the Department of the Army would send me into the fight … against the Shoshone, and against you.”
Then the major leaned forward on his crude desk littered with sheets of foolscap and maps, saying, “Besides, Mr. Bridger, you ought to think about who you would be leading Washakie and his warriors against.”
Jim glowered at the officer, saying, “Mormons: the folks what stole ever’thing from me an’ burned down the rest.”
“No,” Chilton argued. “Those Indians would be murdering and plundering the settlements of innocent farmers and their families. You wouldn’t be taking revenge on the men who robbed you and murdered your employees. You and Washakie would be taking your revenge on innocent folks … folks just as blameless as you claim you are, Mr. Bridger.”
Gabe twitched in anger, “I ain’t to blame for gettin’ robbed of everything—”
“Damn you!” Bass snarled.
Chilton jerked aside to stare at Titus, saying, “Mr. Bridger, maybe I should go ahead to arrest you and your two friends here and now before you incite more trouble than we could ever put a stop to.”
“Trouble with you, Major,” Titus growled, “your preachin’ words about hurtin’ innocent folk only works on the hearts of good men like Jim Bridger here. That’s why I damn you—because one way or ’nother, you know the sort of men you have standin’ afore you right now. We’re men what got a code of honor … honor what wouldn’t ever let us hurt no innocent women an’ children—not even a man innocent of what his leader’s done to Jim.”
“Like havin’ his gunmen murder some of our friends,” Shadrach said as he finally stepped out of the shadows at the corner of the room. “Bastards cut us down without givin’ ary a one of ’em a fighting chance. That’s cold- blooded murder!”
“To my way of thinking, that business at the ferry is an entirely different matter than the one involving how they seized Jim’s fort,” Chilton argued. “But bringing in the actual murderers would be a hopeless task. Who is to say which of those Mormons killed your friends, which of them are to stand trial for murder?”
“You can’t even make a try to bring ’em back here for a trial?” Bridger demanded.
“No,” Chilton said. “Not when those men were acting with what is called duly constituted authority. I would be undertaking a fool’s errand.”
“We’re the damned fools,” Bass growled, “fools for thinkin’ this here army ever gonna help us do what’s right.”
Chilton arose from his chair. “Mr. Bridger, it’s far better you worry about what crimes you’ve been accused of.”
Gabe stared at the major in disbelief. “My crimes?”
“From the sound of things,” the major expounded as he inched around the side of his desk, “that posse was operating with a writ to arrest you and bring you back to Salt Lake City for a trial on charges of inciting the Indians against the outlying Mormon settlements.”
“Like hell I did!”
Chilton glared at Bridger, saying, “I’m not so sure of you anymore, Mr. Bridger. You might well have incited those Indians against the Mormons … because you’ve stood right here in front of me and talked about leading Washakie’s warriors against Brigham Young’s Mormons!”
“He claims I armed the Bannocks,” Jim protested. “They was the ones been causing trouble with no help from me—”
“The army can’t help you,” Chilton cut off the debate. “And if you give me any reason to believe you’ll cause problems in the future—any of you—I’ll have you sleeping in the guardhouse until you can whistle a different tune.”
Titus leaned in. “You threatenin’ to arrest us, army boy?”
Chilton wheeled on him. “You’ll be the first, you arrogant, disrespectful scalawag.”
Bridger seized Bass’s arm, but Scratch didn’t move. Instead, he looked at Jim for a moment and said, “That ain’t necessary, Gabe. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to get throwed in their jail. I may be a scalawag—just like the soldier says—but this here scalawag is smart enough to know this here’s a empty stretch of stream, boys. No beaver comin’ to bait here. I say we go.”
“Go where?” Chilton demanded, his voice surly.
“I say we go back to Fort Bridger,” Scratch suggested.
“Why would you want to do that?” the major asked.
Turning to Gabe, Titus said, “Because that’s where them Marmons gonna go first when they come back lookin’ for Jim Bridger.”
The major asked, “Why are you so sure the Mormons will send another posse to arrest Bridger when they’ve failed once already?”
“Because I know Brigham Young ain’t gonna sit still till he’s got Bridger locked up down in his City of the Saints,” Titus explained. “He’ll send ’nother war party to find Gabe awright.”
“And?” Shadrach asked, a smile growing huge on his face as he stepped forward to join his two friends.
Bridger laid a hand on Bass’s shoulder, another on Sweete’s, then said, “That’s when they’ll find us waitin’ for ’em.”
“I think you’re a damned fool, Mr. Bridger,” Chilton said, wagging his head.
“A fool what’s had nearly his whole life stole from him by some God-spoutin’ bastards,” Jim growled. “Now, I’d sure appreciate it if’n you’d tell me where I could find this Mr. Hockaday you told me about when I first got here to see you.”
“The surveyor?”
“Yeah, him. Where can I find this surveyor?”
“We’ve put him up in the barracks,” Chilton answered without enthusiasm, starting back to his chair. “I don’t really think he can help you, since that would involve him going back with you into Utah Territory to survey your
