Just One More Spring

The old cabin creaked and shuddered in the harsh winter wind. It was late November, 1857 and Jesse Tucker sat slowly rocking in the big pine chair he had made so many years ago. He was wrapped in an old buffalo blanket, but was still shivering. The small one room cabin was warmed by a fire burning in a large hearth made of river rock and rough slabs of slate rock. The fire was burning down somewhat, but old Jesse made no move to feed or rekindle it. His breathing was rattling and uneven.

Across the room sat his partner Tracker Sam, at least that’s the name that had stuck when Jesse had started calling him that as a joke, way back when they first began trapping together. That seemed so long ago now. The glorious days of the Mountain Man had come and gone, a glorious but brief era in history. The two had walked and rode literally thousands of miles together, seen harsh bitter winters, blooming warm springs, blazing summers and the beautiful shades of autumn in these mountains and plains. They had hunted and fished and trapped. Eaten together, camped together and kept each other company through long periods of otherwise utter isolation. It was what they preferred though. Neither of them had much use for anything other than being left alone up here in these beautiful mountains. People, or civilization on the whole for that matter was something they preferred to live without, as those things seemed to only bring trouble with them. All they had ever needed from each other was a little company and friendship. As it all turned out, they had both gotten so much more out of the deal.

Jesse Tucker had chosen this life at the age of fifteen, after his father had decided to settle the family in Denver. Jesse decided that he could not just stop, not with so many places yet to be seen. His family were done traveling west, bone tired and disappointed – broken in spirit. Jesse on the other hand, felt he had to keep going and not necessarily just westward, he just had to keep going. His parents noting his age and what they had called wanderlust, had at first denied him, but finally had decided to let him go his way. It was a different day in those hard times and it was not unheard of for a fifteen year old boy to be out and on his own. They gave him what supplies they could and wished him luck. His father simply shook his hand and put his hand briefly on his shoulder. His mother gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, handing him some fresh biscuits she’d made and wrapped in a small cloth. She looked sad and tired as she held his youngest brother tight to her apron. The last time he ever saw his folks and his siblings, they had been waving at him from the front porch of their cabin.

Tracker Sam had run away from his family near the border of Nebraska and Colorado, as they made their West in a bedraggled wagon train. He had snuck off one night without anyone knowing and struck out on his own, following the same urge that Jesse had. About a month after Tracker Sam had made his getaway, he had run into Jesse at the Rendezvous that was taking place in a small valley on the South Platte River. The Rendezvous, as it was called, was a yearly get together of Mountain Men, fur traders, trappers and guides. Their meeting and resulting partnership had come just in time for Tracker Sam for he had been having a rough go of it. He was hungry, tired and he hadn’t really found what he was looking for yet. Jesse had taken him in right away, had asked no questions and when they had decided to partner up he’d agreed to split everything he had with Sam, 50-50. Jesse was already trapping for the Missouri Fur Trading Company, and they had set out heading due west, immediately after trading in furs and re-supplying.

For years after that, they had enjoyed high adventure, dangerous times, grand vistas and landscapes that took breath away. They had met up and traded with or fought against Blackfeet, Comanche, Utes, Crow and a host of other tribes cheating death on more than one occasion. They had traversed rivers such as the Columbia, Snake, Colorado, Green and Platte. They had enjoyed the acquaintance of meeting famous trappers and Mountain Men such as Jim Bridger, Henry Fraep, Captain Bonneville, Alexander Culbertson and Jedediah Smith. At one point they had even enjoyed a little notoriety themselves, having been mentioned by name in a book published back east. They had walked and rode the Overland Trail and every trail in between, looked down on the clouds and tree lines from peaks so high they seemed to touch heaven itself. Trapped and fished mountain lakes that were so smooth, so clear and so pristine that you could not distinguish the real landscape from the reflection. Season after season, year after year, it had gone on and on seemingly destined to last forever.

And now, it was finally coming to an end. All of it. Sam had no regrets though, and as he looked over at Jesse, he knew his partner didn’t either. Hell, they had lived spectacular lives when you came right down to it. It was still sad for it all to be ending though, he thought as he stared into the dying fire. Just one more spring, if they could only have just one more spring ….. Sam mused, thinking what a prize that would be. The wind shrieked a little stronger outside and he turned his head toward the noise for a second, but then returned his gaze to the fire which popped and cracked from time to time. Sam stared, mesmerized by the flames. His face reflected nothing of what he felt right now, he just watched and listened, with his customary sober expression.

A short time later, he heard Jesse take a sharp breath in, causing him to look over again at his old partner. Jesse’s head fell to one shoulder and Sam stared at him hard waiting for him to rouse back up, finally trying to will him back up, but Jesse didn’t move. He never took another breath. Sam waited some more anyway. Sam, despite his wanderer sounding nickname, had always been close around Jesse, never far off at all and he sure wasn’t going to leave him now. Jesse had taken him in as a partner, had always made him feel wanted and given him years of loyal friendship. No, Tracker Sam would not be going anywhere, now or later.

Jesse’s rocking chair had creaked to a stop. Sam could see and hear that he was not breathing anymore. Sam got up stiffly, looking around the small dark cabin, lighted only by the fire and a small candle by the wash pan in the corner. Scanning the room slowly and sadly, he looked at the familiar sparse contents; a bunk, small table, a gun rack made from antlers, two shelves, an ancient cook stove, and some old pots and pans. He walked unsteadily over to the fire as if to do something about it, then paused and looked back at his old companion.

This was the end he thought simply and with finality. His head was low as he hobbled slowly over to Jesse’s chair and put his paw softly on the old man’s foot, letting out an almost silent moaning whine. For a minute or two he stared into Jesse face, intently looking and hoping for any kind of reaction, any small trace of life. Finally convinced of what he knew already, Tracker Sam painfully shifted around and rested his head on his old friend’s lap. He whined softly just once more, which was his way of saying a sorrowful goodbye. As the big pale yellow dog slowly sunk down to the floor, leaning against Jesse’s leg, his eyes drooped and his head sank to rest on his paws. It wouldn’t be long now, he had been waiting and trying to hold on, but now Jesse was gone, so he could go…..

Just minutes later as the fire died, the weak orange blue flame sputtered out and as it went, Sam went with it. His last thought was of him and Jesse walking through a lush green valley that was exploding with clumps of spring flowers. There were mountains in the near background and there was a river running fast nearby. The last sounds he heard were one last weak pop from the dead fire and the winter wind that was whistling relentlessly, forcing its way through the cracks of the old cabin walls. Almost immediately, the cold crept in claiming its victory, but the old man and his dog were already gone.

They were walking through a lush green valley, warmed by a spring sun.