of the coterie, to President
Andrew Johnson was absolutely astonishing. When that chief magistrate,
in his "swinging around the circle," had arrived at St. Louis, and was
riding through the streets of that city in an open barouche, he was
pointed out to Bridger, who happened to be there. But the venerable
guide and scout, with supreme disgust depicted on his countenance at the
idea of any one attempting to deceive him, said to his informant,--

"H---l! Bill, you can't fool me! That's old John Smith."

At one time many years ago, during Bridger's first visit to St. Louis,
then a relatively small place, a friend accidentally came across him
sitting on a dry-goods box in one of the narrow streets, evidently
disgusted with his situation. To the inquiry as to what he was doing
there all alone, the old man replied,--

"I've been settin' in this infernal canyon ever sence mornin', waitin'
for some one to come along an' invite me to take a drink. Hundreds of
fellers has passed both ways, but none of 'em has opened his head. I
never seen sich a onsociable crowd!"

Bridger had a fund of most remarkable stories, which he had drawn upon
so often that he really believed them to be true.

General Gatlin,[51] who was graduated from West Point in the early
'30's, and commanded Fort Gibson in the Cherokee Nation over sixty years
ago, told me that he remembered Bridger very well; and had once asked
the old guide whether he had ever been in the great canyon of the
Colorado River.

"Yes, sir," replied the mountaineer, "I have, many a time. There's where
the oranges and lemons bear all the time, and the only place I was ever
at where the moon's always full!"

He told me and also many others, at various times, that in the winter
of 1830 it began to snow in the valley of the Great Salt Lake, and
continued for seventy days without cessation. The whole country was
covered to a depth of seventy feet, and all the vast herds of buffalo
were caught in the storm and died, but their carcasses were perfectly
preserved.

"When spring came, all I had to do," declared he, "was to tumble 'em
into Salt Lake, an' I had pickled buffalo enough for myself and the
whole Ute Nation for years!"

He said that on account of that terrible storm, which annihilated them,
there have been no buffalo in that region since.

Bridger had been the guide, interpreter, and companion of that
distinguished Irish sportsman, Sir George Gore, whose strange tastes
led