At this point his voice would choke up with emotion. Finally, someone would make bold to inquire, “What did they do next, Jim?” Whereupon he would earnestly reply, “Them danged cussed Induns kilt and sculped me!” What did Bridger actually know about Yellowstone? Probably his first visit was in 1829. He was also a member of a trapping party that worked the Bighorn Basin north, then passed over to Three Forks, and trapped to their sources during 1830. Therefore, they were in the western part of the Park. Dr. F. V. Hayden called Bridger the best mountain man the West had ever produced and said he learned of the marvels of Yellowstone from him in the early fifties. It is reasonable to believe that the old scout saw and appreciated all of the major features of Wonderland, with the possible exception of the Upper Geyser Basin. His descriptions of spouting springs, strange to say, fall far short of the standard set by the Old Faithful group.[117] Several of the most famous Bridger yarns were embroidered upon a Yellowstone backdrop. It was this unique element that made them unconscious conservers of fact. A certain residuum of truth seems to be present in each of his tales if one searches carefully enough. There were occasional implications so freighted with the earmarks of reality that genuine curiosity was piqued. Amusement was often tempered by wonder; perhaps there was something in the old mountaineer’s ravings! There was the celebrated Obsidian Cliff fiasco. Its perpendicular volcanic glass properties were advertised in this yarn: “Oncet I camp yonder in a purty meadow. Wantin’ meat I went lookin’ fer an elk. I seen a beaut a right smart spell yonder. Comin’ close, I let him have it. Bejabers, he didn’t make a move. I moved nigh onto him—took a dead bead. Same result. Says I, I’ll get so darn nigh the report o’ the gun’ll kill him. So I did. The blame critter didn’t look up. O’ course, I thought he was deaf, dumb, and blind. I was so bloomin’ mad I grab my blunderbuss by the shank an’ start runnin’ direct fur him, intendin’ to smash him slam-bang on the haid. Well siree, ye’d never believe it! What I act’lly hit was the side of a glass mountain ... crawlin’ to the top, what do I see but that same elk way yonder, feedin’ as peaceable as ye please.” Thus he gave a quaint representation of an interesting feature of nature. Bridger boasted the knowledge of a choice campground hidden among the inner labyrinth of Yellowstone’s canyon. The marvel of this place was in its curious delayed-action echoes. “In fact,” said Jim, “it’s a natural alarm clock which I winds up so: when campin’ thar I beds myself down, and jist afor I goes to sleep I raises my haid from the saddle an’ hollers, ‘Time to get up, you sunuvagun’; an’ sure as shootin’, the echo comes a bouncin’ back at the crack o’ dawn!”