Time Traveling Mountain Man : An Interview with Thomas Bear Steps

Thomas Bear Steps made his living in the old west as a mountain man, a trapper and Indian fighter, long before he became a time traveler. He'd been lifetime cursed with the curiosity of a cat, though, so when he found the time machine hidden deep inside a cave tucked somewhere he's not about to reveal, he jist had to investigate.

Trouble was, that particular time machine was a bit miscalibrated. Turned out, as he discovered the hard way, that punching a few buttons and twisting a couple of dials didn't jist launch him forward a century or two--it pitched him some sideways as well. He come a-tumbling out of the air, eyeballs wide as anything, landing cat-footed in them moccasins, right out in front of our storage shed. Lucky for him, he didn't hit anything, not even mesquite stickers, but he was a bit frazzled and ready to shoot whatever come at him with that long barreled .50 caliber smoothbore that'd saved his life a thousand times already.

Lucky for me, I don't git all that excited about such happenings. There be more things in Heaven and Earth than be in your philosophy, Horatio. Or something like that. I happened to be taking out a bag of kitchen trash when he come busting outa the sky, so I seen him land and all, but I didn't freak out or anything. He cranked the barrel of that big shooter around so's the muzzle stared right at me, but I jist stopped where I was, tipped the front of my hat up a bit, and drawled,

"Time travel much?"

He grunted, all five-six and two hunnert pounds of him, raised one shaggy eyebrow, and answered like he wasn't shook up even a little bit, "Mebbe shifted space a hair too, looks like."

We became friends on the spot.

Turns out his name is Thomas Bear Step. He's made a living on the trapline, beaver in particular, and he's seen more of the world back in them times when men was men and sheep was scared than any ten men would care to tell. He could remember how them machine dials was set when he got launched, and it didn't work like them science fiction kind you supposedly ride in. Nuh-uh. The thing just tossed you out butt-naked, or rather wearing whatever you brought on your back, but it didn't come with you one little bit.

Nah, instead it had a timer on it. Thomas was purty sure it'd be yanking him back to that hidden cave in a couple of hours. They was, he told me, other dials that mebbe would send the machine someplace or some time else, but he already figgered he didn't much like the idea of tamperin' with 'em.

Which I understood rather well.

After a bit of chit-chat and more coffee than any human man should be able to swallow, he'd spilled a bit of his back-then life fighting bucks and chasing squaws, and I'd shared a bit of my relatively tame existence in the Here-Now. When he found out I was plumb jealous of a Hubber named BreakfastPop who had this politically observant alien fella named Scotty helping her out, he volunteered his services.

"Cain't stomach some of what you and yer wife eat," he admitted, masticating a mass of pemmican he'd snagged from his belt pouch, "But that coffee alone is worth me bein' yer time travel source. I ain't no alien, but I knows common sense when I sees it, and a pile of folks in yore time seem to lack it something fierce."

We set up our interview for three weeks later, so he'd have time to observe and report.

Ghost: You've had time to study up on us a bit?

Thomas Bear Steps: That I have, old son. That I have. But I'm tellin' ya, there's way too much for me to spit out everthin' in one shot. You'd best be askin' the questions, and I'll do my best to answer 'em. After I get me another cup of that coffee, that is.

G: Sounds good. Help yourself to the coffee. My first question, then, do you think our Speaker of the House, John Boehner, will be able to negotiate with President Obama and Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid during the coming battles over the Debt Ceiling and the 2012 budget?

TBS: (*Snorts*) Trying to deal with them fellas is jist pounding sand down a rathole, old son.

G: Pounding sand down a rathole? You're saying it's a futile effort, then?

TBS: Beating a dead horse,

G: Not worth doing--

TBS: Kissing a rattler.

G: Okay, I'm pretty sure I understand your take on that one. Now, let's see--

TBS: Bedding down with an old tom cougar what ain't et in a coon's age.

G: All right, then. Now, about--

TBS: Whistlin' past a graveyard.

G: Are you done yet, oldtimer?

TBS: (*Snorts*) Yeah, I reckon. Iffen you say so. What--

At that moment, Thomas Bear Steps, mountain man with strong opinions, a bottomless bladder, and plenty of common sense, disappeared in a sudden, blinding flash of light. He'd obviously set the timer wrong on his time machine. Again.

I hate when he does that.

Remember in November 2012.