Fred was one of the last, an anachronism, a throwback to an earlier time.
He had seen it in people's eyes as he stocked up at the old trading post they now called a supermarket; their suspicious looks, wary and unbelieving. Small children would hide behind their mother's legs. Fathers would glare with suspicion, unused to seeing a fur-clad, bearded trapper in their midst. Young people larking about having fun would go silent as he ambled past. What once was commonplace, was now an oddity.
Now, looking back at where he just came from, Fred knew that after him, there would be no others following this hazardous trail up the treacherous mountain pass. Soon, the lifestyle he led would fall into the forgotten realms of the history books.
In his mind's eye he could see the village of his memories now gone, replaced by a heaving town. The bustle of carts and horses given way to shiny cars and noisy lorries; all speeding down roads that once wouldn't take a horse, let alone a cart. Roads, now all black and smooth, provided for columns of vehicles going back and forth.
The hills below, currently too steep to drive vehicles up, provided an insurmountable barrier between the 'when' of his life and the 'now' of theirs; a barrier that within a few years would probably disappear.
Fred sighed. It saddened him to see the world he loved being eroded as progress ate away the no-man's land between them.
He looked at the black weather ahead, feeling the change in the air and knew he needed to press on. Winter was almost upon them. The Rockies tended to become impassable after the first snows. He turned and headed up the trail towards home.
Donkey, so named because it was not an ordinary pack mule, with their winter supplies stacked to almost overburden, doggedly followed him up the steep mountain trail, not having the intelligence in its head to do differently.
As he walked along the trail Fred worried, he was a born fretter. It was in his nature to take everything seriously. Things were important to him and everything mattered. He worried now because he knew Bert would be waiting.
Bert's broken arm and fractured leg confined him to the cabin for most of the summer. Hunting hadn't been as good this year with only one of them able to trap. It was left to Fred to get the supplies from the valley to enable them to survive the winter.
Bert's crook leg would be healed by Spring. He would then be able to make his own way down to the valley and get himself checked out, maybe getting some additional supplies while he was there. Still, Fred had got most of what they needed, they wouldn't want for anything while Bert was stuck on his 'gammy' leg.
Fred would never let Bert down. They had been best buddies for the whole of their lives, rare because their parents were mountain people and tended to live secluded lifestyles.
Fate or chance had pulled them together during a particularly harsh winter. Bert nursed Fred, keeping him alive while his Dad buried Fred's parents to stop the wolves from eating them.
His parents had frozen to death in the deep snow; the boy snuggled between them, barely alive. Only pure chance led to him being discovered. Bert's hound sniffing out the drifts while hunting for carrion, as Bert and his Dad skirted the recent avalanche, had picked up their scent.
The avalanche ripped and tore its way down the mountainside during the previous evening, taking out the log cabin with all their supplies. Fred and his parents heard the deep rumbling sounds, felt the tremors and realising what was coming, had run for their lives, avoiding the worst of it.
Unfortunately, with no warm gear or supplies and no gun to hunt with, they could only cling together while the mid-winter night continued to freeze around them.
Their body heat faded fast, sucked away by the rapidly dropping temperatures. They died sometime before daybreak. The child huddled between them benefited from the residual body warmth of his parents. He managed to survive, but only just.
That was how the hound found them.
Bert saved Fred's life that day, brought him back from hypothermia, using his own body to pull his temperature back from near freezing. The hound laid alongside them both.
By morning Fred was back in the land of the living. From then on Fred and Bert grew up like brothers. He owed Bert his life and never forgot. He took his debts very seriously, like everything else in life, a Mountain Man rarely survived otherwise.
Now the last two Mountain Men left in the Rockies roamed where they pleased. They knew the whole territory like the back of their hands and could walk the length and breadth blindfolded. They shunned visitors, preferring to keep to themselves, not liking, or feeling obliged, to mix with the society that evolved in the valleys below.
Neither of them ever bothered with women. Not that they were, you know, funny, but they never thought about stuff like that. For them a bottle of home-made moonshine and a fresh haunch of venison cooked over a log fire, sliced with what the valley people called a 'Bowie' knife; followed by a quiet smoke of their 'valley baccy' in their whittled pipes after their meal, was a real party.
Fred mused on his past as he absently broke trail. He always used a slightly different route going up than coming down. Keeping the trails alive was important as they became quickly impassable due to the rapid growth of trees and shrubs.
So it was he came upon a hidden gully formed from a rock slide a while back. The shrubs had grown back up, covering the break in the path.
As he cut away the overgrowth, he stepped through, cut away some more then stepped again. He came too quickly to the overhang causing him to stumble at its edge.
As he pulled on the only thing he could, the lanyard tied to the donkey's halter, he partly recovered himself before sliding again. It wasn't Fred's fault that the halter broke causing the donkey to rear up.
It wasn't the donkey's fault that the bales of supplies it was carrying on its back swept Fred off his feet, causing him to lose his already precarious balance.
As he lost contact with the ground, he thought only of Bert, and as was his way, worried for his friend if he wasn't able to deliver the supplies to their mountain cabin.
When Fred landed after being thrown backward into the gulley, he didn't feel much after the initial impact. He decided the numbness was just the shock setting in. There had been a sharp pain at the back of his head in the beginning, but it faded away almost as soon as it began. It seemed a while though, before he regained his senses.
He wasn't sure how long he laid there, but when he finally staggered to his feet he noticed it was neither dawn nor dusk; the sun had gone. There wasn't much in the way of weather and a mist was formed up around him so he couldn't see more than a hundred feet or so, in any direction.
Nonetheless, he struggled out of the gulley and then looked for the ass of a donkey that had sent him flying. He found it, but every time he got close, the damned stupid critter would run off, obviously spooked by something Fred couldn't see.
This happened four or five times before Fred finally managed to corner the animal, leaving it no space to pass him. The donkey, still spooked, reared trying to get away. Fred, having grasped the halter, hung on regardless with a strength he didn't know he possessed.
Eventually, after taking a considerable battering from the animal, he fought it to a standstill; the beast calmed sufficiently for them to resume the journey up the mountain and through the pass.
Every now and again the beast of burden, more burden than beast sometimes, Fred thought to himself, would rear up and attempt another run for freedom.
Each time Fred would be ready and would hold on for dear life as he was dragged along, pulling himself up the reins until he could take hold of the donkey by the halter; his full weight pulling the animal back onto all fours, as he struggled to regain control.
Fred tried talking to the donkey, but words wouldn't form. His mouth and lips would make the actions, he would think what he wanted to say to calm the beast, then nothing. His voice wouldn't come. Somewhere back there in the gulley he'd lost it, danged if he wasn’t never going back for that. He cackled silently to himself.
All the time in the back of his mind he worried about Bert waiting on him, and now, darn it, he was running a day late, or maybe even longer. He couldn't tell until he got some idea of where the sun was.
Fred continued to clamber through the impenetrable grey haze that seemed to envelop the mountain pass. Although he dimly realised he should stop and rest, or drink and eat something, he felt a deep compulsion to continue. The donkey, when behaving, also seemed oblivious for the need to eat or drink.
Without further thought, Fred walked on, idly pulling a piece of jerky from his pocket, thinking to chew on it to keep his energy up. He wasn't a young man anymore and he could lose strength quickly on a harsh journey such as this.
Still, he felt good and his ticker wasn't bothering him. Nor was his bad knee, which was good news.
He broke off and chomped on a piece of dried meat. It would slowly moisten from the constant chewing and the saliva in his mouth until it was soft enough for him to swallow. It was a piece of venison from the summers game. Not that he could taste anything, his mouth suddenly lacking moisture meant he gained no satisfaction from his favourite snack.
Often unsure of his position, he tried hard to work out where he was as best he could. His memory of his location was a bit shaky, but he thought he recognised this path. With the landmarks hidden from him by the grey mist, he couldn't be one hundred percent positive.
He vaguely remembered camping somewhere close on the way down. If so, that would put him only three days away from Bert.
Fred continued to fret. The winter, it seemed from this mist, was coming much earlier than anticipated this year, which meant he couldn't afford to dally. So, instead of searching around for his old fireplace and settling down to rest, he decided to keep going until he could no longer see from the darkness, or the mist cleared and he could check his location.
It seemed like hours later he was still chewing on the jerky, which appeared to be taking ages to moisten. His teeth he knew, were not what they were, but he was still on the first piece and he'd usually polished off three or four chunks by now.
Finally, he came to a familiar ridge. He knew his way for sure now. It was a couple of up's then a down and half a day's hike and he would be there. Not though, if this donkey had its way.
He noticed the animal was happier when Fred walked along beside him, but out of direct view. As long as he held on tightly to the reins he knew he could stop the stupid thing from bolting again.
He watched as the donkey's nostrils dilated. Its ears were now flat against it's neck, it's eyes wide open, looking spooked. Fred wondered what it was. He didn't notice the unhealthy pong reminiscent of putrid flesh coming from him.
Something bothered him. He should have stopped at least twice along the way and yet he wasn't in the least bit tired. He even felt fitter than he had recently. He noticed his usual breath that sounded like a pair of bellows in a forge, was not bothering him in the slightest. In fact, he wasn't even breathing heavily.
He crested the final ridge and the blizzard that had been threatening all day caught up with him. The snow hit him full in the face and chest, making it impossible to breathe.
Before long the trail started to disappear under a white carpet. He relied on memory and the height of the bushes on either side to guide him. He hoped there were no more gullies, but at least the darned donkey was quiet while it was blowing.
He continued to worry in case Bert took it on himself that he wasn't coming. Starving to death eating your own leather coat wasn't a way to depart this planet, Fred thought to himself as he yanked harder on the donkey's halter, dragging him level with him on the path.
He looked at the poor critter, it didn't look happy at all, but darned if he was going to stop just so it could rest itself. If he could hammer through then so could the blessed donkey that carried their supplies.
He stopped suddenly, ignoring the blizzard blowing around him. Something was wrong. He felt bloated, like he had gas in his stomach. He wondered just how he could have gas when he was still chewing the jerky.
The pressure inside him built rapidly until he had no choice. He strained briefly as he passed a great gout of wind, just as the mountain gale dropped to nothing. The donkey, which had up to then been settling, now took the jitters and tried to mince away, not liking the sudden change in air quality.
Fred wondered if maybe he should really try and eat something. The jerky he was chewing was still dry and not working. Fred took out some water and sipped it to wash down the dried meat.
His throat wasn't having any of that. It closed up, nothing getting past it. Spitting out the jerky, he rinsed his mouth again, but still couldn't swallow. No matter, he would be on the home strait shortly.
He took a guess at where he was. He reckoned there was only one more climb then another half day through the forest to the other side where the cabin was located.
He pushed his hat harder on his head. He must be losing hair, it didn't seem to fit as well somehow, seeming a tad looser.
Fred pressed on, but the donkey wanted to go the other way. Fred determined it wasn't going, wrapped his arm tighter than ever around its halter. If it did go, he decided, it was going to have to drag him with it.
The weather worsened, forcing the pace to slow, yet he forced himself forward. Pushing through three to four foot of snow was no easy task, but he just didn't seem to tire. In fact, the more he fought the snow the easier it became to push through it.
The donkey, still keeping to the longest length of halter it could, followed ever reluctantly behind, as if sensing something ahead that it wanted nothing to do with.
Fred had no idea how long he trudged, stopping several times to brush away the ice building up on his face. He could no longer see, or feel the fingers on his hands, which were now numb. His eyesight must be getting bad, but he was determined to keep going.
Suddenly, he broke through the final ridge and in the space of a few steps, walked into the mountains' protection. The air pressure dropped as the ridge, behind them now, provided shelter from the blizzard.
The angle of the path changed from up to down making the going immediately less strenuous. The pressure of the howling wind continued to roar over the top of the pass; although, where Fred now walked the noisy wrath of the storm had eased. Instead, the wind gently pushed them forward.
The donkey, previously keeping as far behind as possible, now seemed a tad friendlier. At least it wasn't pulling away.
After two more hours, it might have been longer, a light from the cabin shone, like a searchlight guiding sailors through treacherous seas, brightly through the grey mist that had persevered through the whole of the journey.
Fred now felt his bones begin to ache as if his body had held back the tiredness. The aged tendons finally began to rebel as, reaching their limits, they seemed intent on collapsing.
Home was now in sight and coming closer with every agonising step. When he came level with the corral he saw Bert had already dropped the bar. Fred stumbled; feeling much weaker, and with increased difficulty, he completed the remaining few yards.
The donkey, as if sensing it was home, brayed loudly.
His hand came away from his neck, it felt sticky. He knew that it somehow related to the pain in his head but he continued to walk right up to the front door, just as Bert came out on his sticks to see what all the noise was about. His eyes were screwed up from the weather blasting him in the face as he slowly took in the scene in front of him, then hobbled down the few steps towards Fred.
Closer up Fred watched as Bert's look of pleased astonishment at seeing his friend, changed to a worried frown. The light from the porch cast shadows turning the scene into a surreal black and white movie.
They both nodded at each other knowingly. They were like that, the pair of them, sometimes not needing words to say things. Fred knew he understood that he would not let him down.
Bert studied Fred cautiously. His eyes moving down Fred's body to his hands then to his feet. Fred saw his friends face reflecting concern before he finally moved towards him.
Fred stood motionless now having achieved his singular objective and watched puzzled as Bert very gently reached out to his now stiff frozen hand and carefully unwrapped the halter.
As he did, bits fell off! Neither of them could see well, but Fred thought it must be frost and ice; the look on Bert's face indicated otherwise, but Fred wasn't concerned. He felt nothing.
Seeing Bert shudder and retch, Fred worried that he wasn't well and tried to ask him if he was all right, but the words wouldn't form. Bert looked away briefly then hesitantly continued to unwind the halter from Fred's arm as he stood there no longer able to move.
Taking the donkey, Bert walked the beast to the corral and, not bothering to unload the animal, put up the bar and quickly returned to Fred. He had no desire to do so. He was home and now that he was here his body didn't have any idea what to do next.
Bert had already decided for him. Taking hold of Fred by the arm, he led him one very slow step at a time to the wooden terrace. He then guided, turned, then sat Fred down gently on the wooden bench they kept for the summer evenings when it was too warm to work, or sleep indoors.
As his friend sat him down he felt pain temporarily as Bert removed the hat which was stuck to the back of his head, it quickly dulled returning to the previous level. Fred realised now that the pain, that throbbing ache, had always been there; he had obviously hurt himself in the gulley but his over-riding desire to get back to Bert had suppressed it until now.
He had a sudden longing to lie down, the weariness in his body pulling at him to let go. Leaning backwards, he felt Bert's good hand move to support him from behind. He closed his eyes smiling, finally content in the knowledge that his friend was now safe for the winter.
Realising he had kept his promise and paid his debt, Fred relaxed his hold on the pain and tiredness that he had held back and felt himself slide blissfully into peaceful oblivion.
Bert looked down at the grey waxen body of his friend stretched out on the bench, and, unashamedly shedding manful tears which froze to his bearded face, he gently laid a large bearskin over him only covering his face at the last as he said goodbye.
