Writing the West: Episode 18(030926)

0:00This episode is brought to you by Redfin. You're listening to a podcast, which means you're probably multitasking. Maybe even scrolling home listings on Redfin, saving homes without expecting to get them. But Redfin isn't just built for endless browsing. It's built to help you find and own a home. With agents who close twice as many deals, when you find the one, you've got a real shot at getting it. Get started at Redfin.com. Own the dream. One day, Matt Mays began right here on the Mutual Audio Network. The following audio drama is rated PG for parental guidance recommended. Writing the West. Reds and poems by Rick Steer. Red by Michael Messner and Friends.

1:03Dolbeer's Donkey John Dolbeer came west in the gold rush of 1850. After a few months searching for gold, he found greater potential for wealth in supplying the miners with lumber. He and a partner began a logging and sawmill operation in the Redwood country of Northern California. John's contribution to the partnership was his ability to engineer machinery. In the sawmill, he replaced the slow up and down gang saw by inventing a high speed circular saw and later further streamlined the cutting operation with a band saw, an endless steel belt with razor sharp teeth capable of cutting at a high speed with minimal waste. John's greatest innovation occurred in 1881 when he brought mechanization to the woods by inventing a small, maneuverable steam engine that provided power to turn a drum.

2:05A steel cable was attached to the drum and logs were winched to a central landing. This device became known as Dolbeer's Donkey and later the name was shortened to just Donkey. By the turn of the century, every logging operation of any size had replaced the oxen and horses that had been employed to drag logs over skid rows with a Dolbeer's Donkey. The machines remained powerful until the 1930s when the internal combustion engine made the Donkey obsolete. White Feather In the early 1800s, the English language had numerous clichés and sayings that gradually went out of fashion. One such phrase came from the competitive game of cock fighting, where a white feather in a bird's tail was considered a sign of inferior breeding. The phrase showing the white feather came to be known as a sign of cowardice.

3:10In his reminiscences, James Neal related an experience he had on the Oregon Trail in 1848. His party was coming down through Buffalo country along the Platte River when James wrote that he... A large Buffalo bull coming down on the opposite side of the river, making for a low range of hills some half-mile distance on our side of the river. As I had never killed a Buffalo entirely by myself, I was seized with the idea of killing him in order to say that I had indeed killed a Buffalo. Well, with this in view, I took an English smooth-bar flint lock musket instead of my rifle of small bore on account of its carrying a larger ball to execute my fell purpose. Having taken note of the direction of the bull, it was taking towards some hills, I laid my course so as to intercept him and proceed about three-quarters of a mile as I raised

4:12up on top of one of the ridges. And there was Mr. Bull about twenty yards off broadside on, and I raised my musket and pulled the trigger and down came the hammer with a crash. But as the wind was blowing fresh right in my teeth, Mr. Fire. Now, the sound made Mr. Bull aware of my presence, the Shaggy Monster stopped and glared at me. Instantly, a thousand recollections of peels of a wounded bull in pursuit of a bad marksman flashed through me. Neal said that he doubted he would be able to run the three-quarters of a mile between himself and camp. He apologized to the bull, said it had all been a mistake, and that he intended no insult. Neal went his way, and the buffalo went its own way. He confessed that that day he was guilty of showing the wipe feather.

5:21No never mind. He pays absolutely no never mind to the clumsy fly walking the window glass. To the flag snapping at attention, tugging at the line on the pole, fluttering and flapping in the wind. To the flash of ultramarine blue as the stellar J settles on a branch, making it swing back and forth. To the skunk poking its nose from the warm, cozy din an anxious for meal and a mate. To dusk come early this day. To the pickup truck creeping over the hill, headlights bouncing up and down like confused thoughts. He is up early to meet a bright new day. Once more inertia fails and he tumbles back into bed. He figures it is all, no never mind.

6:28Hugh Glass It is believed that Hugh Glass, with once a pirate on the Spanish main, that he jumped ship traveled overland and lived with the Pawnee. He made his way to St. Louis, Missouri, and joined Ashley and Henry's Rocky Mountain fur company in 1823. Glass was already in his 40s, he was much older than most of the other mountain men. On his first trip into the mountains, Glass was mauled by a grisly. There was little his companions could do for him, except to make him comfortable. They waited for him to die, but Glass wouldn't give in. Henry told his men, Now he's going to die, now we all know that. If we stay with him, we eat into our fall trapping season, and we can't just leave him. Now I'm asking for volunteers, and I need two men who will stay with him until he dies. Give him a decent burial, and then catch up to us.

7:29Two men volunteered, young Jim Bridger and Fitzgerald. The trapping party departed, and after a few days Fitzgerald grew restless and talked to Bridger into abandoning Glass. Glass refused to die in camp and began crawling. When he came to a stream, he drank. He dug roots and picked berries. Slowly he began to regain his strength. He used a branch as a cane and was able to walk. Glass made his way several hundred miles to Fort Henry where he confronted Bridger, but he could not bring himself to kill a boy. He turned his attention to finding Fitzgerald, tracking him to council bluffs. Once again, Glass was unable to satisfy his revenge. Fitzgerald had joined the army, and Glass refused to kill a United States soldier. Glass returned to trapping.

8:31He was working a tributary of the Yellowstone River when he was killed by natives. His luck had finally run out. Old Man's Story Louis LaBonte was an old man when the wagon emigrants began to arrive in the Willamette Valley of Oregon. He enjoyed sitting in his rocker on the porch of his cabin, spinning stories for the pioneer children. One day he told, I came by a township to the mouth of the Columbia River in the employ of John Jacob Astor's Pacific fur company, my token Indian bride, Little Songbird, and I was one of the first farmers west of the Mississippi. I remember the way Indians hunted deer in order to get close enough to kill a deer with

9:31an arrow, the Indian hunter would get down on all fours, drape the head and hide the deer over his body. He would come up on a herd of deer, acting as if he was grazing, and even would occasionally jerk the deer's head from side to side as if driving away flies. Before long the buck would spot the intruder in, commence the stamping, and all the while the Indian would be working his way closer and closer. Finally, the buck, shaken with excitement, would offer a challenge to fight. The imposter would move in the buck's direction, and within maybe 60 feet, the hunter would rise up, throw off his disguise, release an arrow. Yeah, you don't see Indians around much anymore. Nope. The country's getting way too dang civilized.

10:32La Bonte lived to witness Oregon become the 33rd state admitted to the Union. He died the following year in 1860 and was buried in a cemetery near his farm. You've been listening to Writing the West. The stories and poetry in this podcast are by Rick Steber, and appear in Books By Him. Log on to www.ricksteberauthor.com to find out more. This program was produced by Michael Messner by permission of the author, special thanks to Michael Tucker, Rachel Pulliam, and Art Schingler. Thank you for listening. Thank you for listening to Monday, Matt Neh, right here on the Mutual Audio Network. Please consider subscribing to other days of the Mutual Feeds, including Tuesday Terrors

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