Winter Rage (Mountain Times Book 1)

by John Legg

  Four Horses trotted his horse forward and made a great show of staring at the bearded white man. “Yes,” he said in Sioux, “I know L’on Farouche. Many times we have traded with you and your French brothers. Who are these with you?”

  “Just a bunch of lads I be takin’ to the mountains lookin’ for beaver. We mean no harm to ye and your people.”

  “Where will you trap the beaver?”

  “West. In the mountains. Crow country. Absaroka. Mayhap in the country of the Pied du Noir—the Blackfoot.”

  “You are not afraid of the Crow? Or the Blackfoot?”

  Squire laughed and then spoke in Sioux. “Why should we fear those lowly peoples? The Crows are less than the droppings of the buffalo, unfit to be called warriors. And the Blackfoot are nothing but old women, with nothing manly between their legs.”

  The Sioux warriors laughed. Four Horses placed his right hand on the left side of his chest and then moved it forward and to the right. It was the sign for “This is good.”

  Squire did the same.

  “You come to the village,” Four Horses said. “We talk. Trade.” In English, he asked, “We drink? You have whiskey? We trade many furs for whiskey.”

  Squire chuckled. “Sure we got whiskey. And other things to trade with my brothers, the Lakota.”

  “You follow.” Four Horses spun his horse and loped off, the other warriors streaming behind him.

  Squire rode back to his men.

  “What happened?” Train asked, relief evident in his voice. “Nothin’ much, lad.”

  “Then we will be leaving?” Melton asked.

  “Aye.” He pointed northward. “We been invited for a parley.”

  “And you accepted?” Strapp snorted as if at the giant’s stupidity.

  “Aye.”

  “But why, Nathaniel?” Melton asked. “You have said we are behind on our schedule.”

  “Day or two ain’t gonna hurt us none, Colonel. Let the lads rest up a bit. Animals, too. But it’s more important that we be makin’ our peace with these Injins. I know this band, so we’ll be safe in their village. But we go’n refuse this, and they’ll like as not be gettin’ all riled up. Then we’ll be havin’ more trouble’n we can handle. There be a heap of Sioux, Colonel, and don’t ye doubt it. ” Melton looked skeptical, so Squire said, “Look at it this way, Colonel. It’ll be profitable for ye. Them boys got furs to trade. We can pick ’em up easy.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Melton nodded. “Then let’s go.”

  As they swung north, Melton said to Squire, “I have hoped all along to visit an Indian village under peaceful circumstances so that I might learn about them.”

  “Ye ain’t gonna have a heap of time for learnin’, Colonel, but it ought to be a pleasurable time.”

  “Where is the village?”

  “Ne’er can be certain. They move a heap. With as many horses as each Sioux band’s got, they need fresh grass all the time. ’Sides, an Injin village gets to stinkin’ after a few weeks.

  “I’d reckon, though, that they be up toward Blue Creek. This here be sand hill country, but Blue Creek be well watered, and there be plenty of cedar for wood. The grass be liked by both horse and buff’lo, so we should be eatin’ fresh hump and tongue agin this night.

  “And,” he said with a greedy smile, “after we be leavin’ here, the buff’lo’ll be so thick we’ll be ridin’ through ’em for days.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  THE men blinked in wonder as they rode slowly through the Sioux village, past buffalo-hide tipis, cook fires and tripods adorned with human scalps, horsehair decorations, feathered lances and colorful war shields. Wide-eyed bronzed children stared silently up at them while the often bulky buckskin-clad women who were tanning hides or stirring black cook pots gawked at them.

  The brigade passed through the village as if on parade. Colonel Melton’s men made their own camp about a mile to the northwest, where there was plenty of wood, clean water and grass for the horses. The work went quickly despite the half-buried fear that throbbed in all of them except Squire and Bellows.

  Squire walked to where Bellows and Ransom were supervising the unloading and caring of the horses and mules. “I want ye to be puttin’ some extra guards on them animals, Homer,” he said. “There ain’t no Injins in the world ye can trust with this many horses about.”

  “Yep. Planned to do it. Sure did.”

  “Bon. And be certain the lads ye pick for your guards is ones ye can be puttin’ your trust in. I don’t want none of ’em gettin’ failin’ down drunk or shuttin’ their eyes. And, they got to have enough sense to know what to do if’n some young Sioux bucks come sneakin’ round. I ain’t aimin’ to go to war just ’cause some hotheaded young bastard goes killin’ some Sioux horse thief.

  “It’s took care of, goddammit. Sure is. Don’t know who to pick, though, with these boys. Worstest goddamn bunch ever was, I’d say.”

  Squire grinned. “I reckon we’ll stay a couple nights so’s all the lads can get into the village for a spell if’n they be so inclined.”

  “I’m plannin’ to go myself. Yep.” Bellows smiled a gaptoothed smile. “Just might find me one of them there young squaws for dallyin’ this night—and the next.” He winked.

  Squire laughed. “Ye got any seed left in ye, ye ol’ fart?” Squire said chuckling.

  “This ol’ boy’s pizzle works just fine,” he said, laughing and grabbing his crotch. “I’ll show you. Goddamn I will.”

  “This ol’ chil’ ain’t got no hankerin’ to see that,” Squire said, still chuckling. “But I wouldn’t be wagerin’ agin ye.” He paused, letting the chortles fade. Then, “I’d be pleased if’n ye was to be leavin’ Abner, Hank, Li’l Jim and Benji free for this night.”

  “Reckon I can do it. Yep. Them boys ain’t no goddamn use nohow.” Squire wandered through the camp, sensing the fear-tinged excitement of the men. It tickled him, almost. Satisfied that the camp was in fine shape, he, Train, Carpenter and a few of the others loaded some trade goods on two mules.

  “Fetch up two jugs of that whiskey, lad,” he said to Train. “And a couple empties. Fill them empty ones about halfway with water from the stream.”

  “What for?”

  “You’ll see. Just do it.” As Train left, Squire felt a sense of pride in the youth’s behavior. Train had maintained some distance from Carpenter. They were close, but most of the men had, by now, teamed up with another, and the relationship between Train and Hannah seemed little different from that between each of the other men and his “partner.”

  When the youth returned, Squire took the jugs of water and poured into each a small handful of gunpowder, a small twist of chewing tobacco and a little boiled coffee. Then he filled them with whiskey.

  “You aim to drink that?” Carpenter asked in amazement.

  “Aye. Some. But not too much. Ye get enough of this in ye, and you’ll be sick for days. Like as not kill ye. Keep that in mind.”

  “I certainly will,” Train said with emphasis, with the others nodding fervent agreement. “But why did ya do that?”

  “First off, we save us half the whiskey. Second, I doubt them Injins’d think it were for real if’n it didn’t have the extra kick to it. It be how they sometimes test it, lad. They’ll sprinkle a bit on the fire. If’n flames shoot up, they know it be good. Crazy idea to my thinkin’, but if’n that be the way they want it, I ain’t fixin’ to argue over it.”

  He did the same with the other jugs. When they were corked and packed away, Squire gathered his men. “Ye lads best remember that we be guests here. These people’s ways be diff’rent from ours, but if’n ye plan to keep your hair, ye’d best not be causin’ no trouble.”

  The men nodded, excitement and fear bubbling just below the surface.

  “And ye’d best be careful round their women. They can be pretty free with their favors”—most of the men grinned—“but ye might be makin’ enemies quicker’n shit if’n ye try to shame ’
em, or if’n they have husbands or suitors. Of course,” he added with a smile creeping across his beard-surrounded face, “they usually figure a white trapper be a good catch, e’en if’n only for a night. ” The men buzzed and mumbled among themselves. It had been a spell since they left St. Louis, and damn, most of ’em, even as young as they were, were planning to make the most of this. Even the fear that percolated just beneath the surface could not dampen their excitement.

  “I can’t be sayin’ no more ’bout it to ye, ’cept ye should be usin’ your sense. If’n ye do talk some of ’em into jumpin’ into the robes with ye, make certain ye be givin’ ’em some foofaraw. They’ll be expectin’ it. Homer’ll be seein’ to it that any of ye boys headin’ o’er there be gettin’ a few geegaws and such ye can use for such purposes.”

  He paused, then said, “And I don’t want ye lads to be fightin’ o’er any of them squaws, neither. One of ’em wants to be spreadin' her favors around amongst ye, just accept it. Ye ain’t marryin’ ’em.” There were some cheers, and lewd suggestions shouted out, and much elbowing of ribs and boasting.

  “They gamble any?” one of the men called out.

  “Aye. I’ve knowed some who’d be bettin’ e’erything they own. Includin’ their women, their horses—and e’en once, his hair.”

  “Damn!”

  “Ye be free to wager with ’em, if’n ye got the itch. But ye best remember ye ain’t got a heap of possibles to be losin’. Ye be losin’ your weapons or anything else the Colonel supplied, and I’ll have your hide tanned and made into a parfleche. We got no use for any man who can’t keep his traps and weapons, ’specially when they ain’t really his.”

  He let that sink in, then said, “One last word, lads. It would be wise for ye to be on your best behavior as far’s treatin’ them Sioux with respect. The Sioux be about the best warriors and hunters you’ll e’er meet. And they be a proud people. They’ve earned respect, and ye’d be wise to give it.” He paused. “It also just might be allowin’ ye to keep your hair.”

  The sun cast long shadows across the land as Squire and his men rode slowly into the Sioux village. The temperature had dropped all day, and now thick clouds bunched overhead.

  Four Horses and Sky Hawk, an older Indian who was head chief of the village, stood regally near the chief’s lodge. They wore long deerskin shirts, which were heavily fringed at the bottom and down both sleeves and decorated with beads and horsehair tassels, and soft deerskin leggings. A few feathers fluttered from the long, dark, braided hair, and their faces were plucked clean of any stray hairs. Each had a blanket wrapped around his chest.

  Squire greeted them in Sioux. Then he grinned and spoke in English, “Good to see ye, Sky Hawk, goddammit. We brung beaucoup whiskey. And many things to trade. I reckon we’ll be celebratin’ a spell.”

  Sky Hawk and Four Horses grinned, and signed, “It is good.” White men and red ambled toward the center of the village, where a space had been cleared big enough to allow all the men to sit in a circle—Indians mostly filling half the arc, whites the other half. The women and children formed a larger circle behind them.

  The men sat, Squire face-to-face with Sky Hawk; only a few feet separated them. Train sat beside Squire, facing Four Horses. As always, the pipe ceremony preceded other events. A puff by each man, a nod to east, west, north, south, earth and sky. And after that, amiable talk in Sioux, French and English.

  Sky Hawk entertained the assembly with tales of Sioux prowess, making some of Squire’s men, who understood little, edgy. Some, like Strapp and Willis, made snide comments to each other about their hosts.

  Squire, in fact, was surprised that Strapp had come along in the first place, considering the way the prissy easterner loathed the rough life on the trail and Indians in general.

  Carpenter was quite uncomfortable, fear crawling around in her belly at the close proximity to the Sioux. And the portions of tales of warfare and mutilation that she could understand served to unnerve her further. Pale and frightened—but unwilling to show it—she sat as close to Train as she possibly could, hoping to draw on his size and strength.

  Sky Hawk stopped talking when a light snow began to fall, and looked up at the dark sky. Squire seized the opportunity to speak. In Sioux, he said, “Sky Hawk, my friend, brother to the hawk that flies the wind, I have this to give to you.”

  He held out a fusil, which had been in his hands all along. “And these.” He set a small can of powder, a thin bar of lead and a bullet mold on the ground in front of him.

  The old Sioux nodded in pleasure. “You are a true friend to the Lakota. Yes, the one called L’on Farouche is welcome in the village of Sky Hawk.” He smiled.

  Squire also smiled, then said to Train, “Fetch the whiskey, lad.” The jugs were brought forth and passed from man to man. Then came the food: fresh buffalo tongue and ribs, elk, deer, antelope, berries, nuts, wild onions and the delicacy, roast dog. A few of the men gagged when they found out what the last was, much to the amusement of their hosts.

  Soon the surfeited men began to break ranks and head off for games of chance or to drink with friends, new and old, or to sing and dance. Some of them wandered off to try to talk to the young women, who seemed willing enough at a distance. Train and Carpenter disappeared, as did a few of the others, as Bellows arrived.

  Sky Hawk’s old face lighted up. “Le Garde des Chevals. Horse Keeper. Bonjour, mon ami,” Sky Hawk exclaimed happily. “Comment allez-vousl”

  “Bien. Bien,” Bellows chuckled. “Et toi?”

  “Tres bien aussi.”

  Squire absorbed the conversation. “I’ll be damned, Homer. I knowed ye was out here afore, ye old hoss thief. I just knew it. Ye had that look about ye. Knew first off.”

  “I know ya did. I seen it in your eyes.”

  “Horse Keeper came to us many winters ago, ” Sky Hawk said in Sioux. “With the French he came, much like you, L’on Farouche. We thought Horse Keeper was touched by the spirits, so strange was he. My people were afraid of him, but soon we learned that he was just different, and that he knew horses as well as the Lakota. When we saw this, he was welcomed in our village.”

  “’Tis so,” Bellows chortled. “Yep. They thought I was slow, but I fooled ’em, I did.”

  “Were ye a trapper, Homer?”

  “Nope. Never took to such. Just a handler for some traders. Like now. Never brung no traps nor tradin’ things of my own.”

  “Well, I ’spect ye lads got a heap of tales to be tellin’ to catch up on the times. I reckon I’ll just be roamin’ about a bit, see what I can see. ”

  Sky Hawk grinned. “Star Path has no husband now. She is a fine woman. Strong. A little fatter than when you first saw her, even more pleasing.”

  Squire grunted. It had been more than three years since he had last seen Star Path. Even then she had been squat and fat, but she had her ways about her. It was easy to overlook her plump bottom, her heavy breasts and her broad, fleshy face. She would be in her late twenties now, he figured, not quite showing the signs of age that beset Indian women much too early.

  But there was time for that later. She would know he was in the village and would wait for him, if she was so inclined. If she was not, rushing to her would do no good.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  SQUIRE wandered around in the flickering light, through the soft, light snowfall, taking pleasure in the raucous jumble of sounds that engulfed him, letting the noise of talking, laughter and shuffling hooves wash over him. He enjoyed the odors of horses, unwashed bodies, decaying meat and cooking food. Drums began, their rhythmic throbbing boring into his soul. And the dancing started, adding to the spectacle.

  He stopped several times to greet warriors he knew or to play for a few minutes with the laughing children who were totally unafraid of the shuffling giant with the huge hands and long, rough beard. He strode out a little past the ragged rim of tipis to breathe the clean night air with its curtain of soft snow. He grinned when he heard a rustli
ng in the bushes, thinking one of his men had met up with a willing Sioux girl. But then the whispering voices made him pause.

  “Merde,” he muttered.

  Without a sound, he glided through brush until he hovered over them, silent, like a gigantic shadow. They did not know he was there until his calloused hand touched Train’s shoulder. “Ye goddamn fool,” he said softly.

  Train lay frozen atop Hannah. Both were fully clothed. The girl’s green eyes expressed fright.

  “Ye goddamned idiots know what kind of trouble’d be brewin’ was someone to see ye two like this?”

  “I can explain,” Train stammered as he rolled off of Hannah.

  “There ain’t no call to explain, boy. Just use some goddamned sense. Now get up, the both of ye.”

  Hannah’s eyes were large with fear as she stuttered, “This ain’t . . . it’s not . . . it’s . . .”

  Squire smiled at her, his eyes softening in the dusk. “There ain’t no call for ye to be scared, girl.”

  “You know?”

  “Aye. For several weeks.”

  She looked at Train, anger quickly replacing her fear. “You promised not to tell,” she hissed accusingly.

  “Just calm down, girl,” Squire said. “He tried his damnedest to keep from tellin’ me, but I made him do it. Ain’t nobody knows but me ’n’ Abner.” And one other, he thought, remembering that someone had hid in the bushes that night, and the sign of it that had been wiped away by the rain. But he would not tell these two that. “Your secret be safe with us, girl. But it ain’t gonna be for long if’n ye two keep choosin’ your beddin’ places like this.”

  Train hung his head. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel,” he said contritely. “It’s just that my feelin’s got the better of me.”

  “It’s as much my fault,” Hannah said defiantly.