Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  “Maybe so,” Hawk replied. “Have you been outta that chair since I saw you last?”

  “A time or two, maybe,” Luther said with a chuckle. “Come on inside and I’ll pour you a drink, and you can tell me what brings you up our way this time.” He got up from his chair, banged his pipe on his boot heel to knock the ashes out, and led Hawk into the store. “This got anythin’ to do with those folks gone missin’ on their mules?”

  “Matter of fact,” Hawk answered. “I left a cavalry patrol about half a mile back up the river, sent up here from Fort Ellis to see if we could find out what happened to those folks. They’re goin’ into camp now, gettin’ ready to eat supper, so I thought I’d give you some warnin’ that you’re liable to see some of ’em here tonight.”

  “’Preciate the business,” Luther said as he poured Hawk a shot of whiskey. Fully aware of the real courtesy the big scout was extending, he added, “It’s a good time for the army to call. There ain’t no riffraff hangin’ around right now. Always happy to do business with the U.S. Army.”

  Hawk downed the shot of whiskey and paused a moment to feel the burn. Then he waved Luther off when he started to pour another. “That’ll do,” Hawk said. “I’ve gotta get back to camp for supper. Like I said, you might see some thirsty souls in here tonight, but the lieutenant and I’ll be back in the mornin’, for sure.”

  “There ain’t a helluva lot I can tell you about those Mormons,” Luther claimed. “I don’t know any more than everybody else around Great Falls knows. A party of religious folks left Fort Benton, headed this way, but they never showed up. End of story.” He threw his hands up and shrugged. “Maybe they can tell you somethin’ more than that up at Fort Benton. Looks to me like, whatever happened to ’em, your soldiers are too late to save ’em.”

  “Everybody’s pretty much figured the same thing,” Hawk said. “We’re just hopin’ we can find out just what did happen. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

  When he returned to the campsite, Hawk pulled his saddle off Rascal and turned the buckskin loose to join the cavalry horses at the edge of the river. There were three healthy fires going, all with coffeepots and a few frying pans resting in the edges. He got his coffeepot and some deer jerky from his packs and joined Conner at one of the fires. “What did you find out?” Conner asked when Hawk walked up.

  “I know every bit as much as I did before we got here,” Hawk answered. “Luther hasn’t got any idea what happened to those people, because they never got this far.” When Johnson got up to tend to some bacon he was frying, Hawk asked, “Are you goin’ to tell the men about Trotter’s place right down the river?”

  Conner grinned. “No, I’ll let ’em find out in the morning when we ride by there. I’ll let ’em get one good night and a little food in their bellies before they start sneaking off to get drunk.”

  “Hell, you might as well let ’em go and get all their money spent tonight,” Hawk said. “Then you won’t have to worry about ’em the rest of the time we’re up here.”

  “Mr. Hawk,” Conner announced grandly, “your wisdom is always appreciated, but I think I’ll settle for one more sober night before I turn ’em loose.”

  * * *

  As Conner had hoped, the patrol’s first night in camp by the Missouri was a quiet and peaceful one. At Conner’s request, Hawk didn’t inform any of the men of the existence of a saloon a short distance down the river. At sunup the next morning, the fires were revived and breakfast was under way. Although Hawk had already established the fact that Luther Trotter was not in possession of any information helpful to their mission, Conner planned to stop there briefly before heading to Fort Benton. He figured the distance from Great Falls to Fort Benton was about forty miles, one day’s march up the Mullan Road. “Might as well start where they were last seen and go on up to Fort Benton,” he said to Hawk.

  “I don’t see as how there’s any other place to start,” Hawk replied. “Maybe somebody up there can tell us a little bit more about these folks we’re tryin’ to find. Right now, we’re not even sure of the exact number of folks in that train. But if they were all ridin’ mules and, I expect, leadin’ pack mules behind ’em, they can’t have just disappeared.’ Course, you said they were a religious group of folks, so I reckon we have to allow for the possibility that they were suddenly called home to heaven. And that’s gonna make trackin’ ’em that much harder.”

  “Maybe I shoulda brought one of the other scouts and left you back on the Boulder to work on your cabin,” Conner responded in like sarcasm. “We might as well get started.” They walked over to where the men were preparing to saddle up and Conner informed them of the day’s schedule. “We’ll make a day’s ride up to Fort Benton. There’s a trading post about half a mile downstream from here, and we’ll stop there briefly while I talk to the owner. If you want to, and if you have any money, you can take that opportunity to buy any food or whatever to supplement your rations.” It took a moment of silence before his soldiers thought to add two and two to realize they could have used that information the night before. Some low mumbling could soon be heard near the back of the column. Conner looked at Hawk and grinned.

  “Ain’t you afraid you’re gonna ruin your reputation as the most popular patrol leader at Fort Ellis?” Hawk asked.

  Conner suddenly looked serious. “I’m afraid I’m not gonna lose it,” he said, and Hawk realized that he meant it. He was glad to see his friend was aware of the importance of maintaining military discipline. It was something that Mathew Conner had little respect for. At the present time, when there was no real fighting going on, it was especially important to maintain a strong command. Hawk had often worried that Conner might not realize that he ran a very loose command, and one day it might cost him. As if to reassure his friend, Conner called out a command to Johnson, loud enough for everyone to hear it. “Corporal Johnson! Order the men ‘To Horse.’ I don’t intend to spend the entire day dragging ass around here.”

  As he promised, Conner gave the men twenty minutes to go into the store while he and Hawk talked to Trotter. When they walked in, Trotter met them with a wide smile for Hawk. “You shoulda hung around and took that second drink last night.”

  “That so?” Hawk responded. “Why is that?”

  “Not thirty minutes after you left, Barney Mayfield rode in, drivin’ a freight wagon, headin’ for Helena, and you and the lieutenant there would be tickled to hear what he was talkin’ about.”

  “You reckon you could get around to tellin’ us what he told you?” Hawk asked.

  “He said some of them folks on that missin’ mule train showed up day before yesterday back at Fort Benton.” When Trotter saw that he had both Hawk’s and Conner’s complete interest, he went on to expound on the news. “He said they said they was robbed, and most of ’em got killed.” Other than that broad statement, Luther had little additional information with which to answer Hawk’s and Conner’s questions. More anxious than before to get started, Conner ordered the men to get mounted and they were soon under way again.

  * * *

  Originally built as a trading post, primarily for the Blackfoot Indians, the American Fur Company sold Fort Benton to the military after the demise of the fur-trading industry. The army moved into the fort in 1870, but in the years since, the number of troops were reduced to the present-day skeleton garrison of custodians, commanded by Lieutenant Robert Sessions. The fifteen-man patrol from Fort Ellis arrived in Fort Benton at suppertime. It had been several years since Hawk had actually been inside the gates of the fort. Even so, he found it hard to believe the decline of what had been the most important fort on the upper Missouri for so many years.

  Checking his railroad pocket watch, Conner commented that it was five o’clock on the nose, but there was no sign of a bugler sounding out mess call. Surprisingly, the appearance of a fifteen-man patrol attracted very little interest from the soldiers casually walking toward what Hawk guessed was the mess hall. Conner pointed out the headqu
arters building and led his patrol directly toward it. The troopers were still dismounting when an officer walked outside to meet them. “Robert Sessions,” the lieutenant greeted Conner, and extended his hand. “What brings you to Fort Benton?”

  “Mathew Conner,” he returned. “We’re out of Fort Ellis, trying to find out what we can about your missing mule train.”

  Sessions didn’t hide his surprise. “You came up here from Bozeman to investigate the trouble with those Mormons? You must not have any more to do than we do up here.”

  “Well, we haven’t run outta work to do at Ellis, but your problem with the mule train was of interest to our post commander.” He went on to explain Major Brisbin’s personal interest in the welfare of his nephew, prompting the major to extend a helping hand to the Fort Benton garrison.

  “We sent a patrol all the way down to Great Falls to look for those people and we couldn’t find a clue as to what happened to them. But a few days ago, six survivors showed up here and said they were ambushed, the rest of the party were killed, and the outlaws got away with all their money for the church.”

  “Six survived?” Conner asked. “How many were killed?”

  “Twenty-eight, counting women and children,” Sessions answered. “They said the only reason they got away was because they got pushed in the river when they started shooting. There was no warning, they just suddenly started executing everybody.”

  “Who was it?” Hawk asked. “Indians, white men, who?”

  “They said it was white men, there weren’t no Indians.” He paused while that sank in. “Listen, those six survivors are staying in town at the First Baptist Church. Why don’t you go talk to them? The fellow you want to talk to is Donald Lewis. He’s the man who organized the whole trip.” Hawk and Conner exchanged glances in reaction to the mention of the name.

  It didn’t take long to determine there was not much more information to come from Lieutenant Sessions. And it was obvious that he had no interest in following the matter further, so they thanked him for his help and bade him a good evening. Outside the gate, Conner decided to let the patrol go into camp, so they could cook their supper while he and Hawk went in search of Donald Lewis. Conner had hoped to have the men eat supper in the Fort Benton mess hall, but Sessions said there would not be food enough for seventeen extra men. “If I’d known you were coming, I could have made provisions.” Conner was not pleased with the lieutenant’s lack of hospitality but thanked him for his information. In the saddle again, they rode upstream from the town until a suitable place to camp was found. Then, leaving Corporal Johnson to take charge of the camp, Hawk and Conner rode back to town.

  The Baptist church was easy enough to spot, even from the edge of town. It was sitting on a grassy bluff close by the river, with a well-traveled wagon track leading up to it from the main street. When they got up to the churchyard, they could see a large fire burning behind the church and a small group of people gathered around it. “Looks like they’re fixing supper,” Conner commented. They stepped down and tied their horses at the hitching rail in front, then walked around back.

  “Evenin’, gentlemen,” the Reverend Henry Bridger greeted them as he walked to meet them. “Can I be of service to you?”

  “Evenin’,” Conner returned. “I understand the survivors of that tragedy with the Mormon mule train are staying here. Are you Donald Lewis?”

  “No, sir, I’m Henry Bridger. I’m the pastor of this church.” He turned to point toward the fire. “Those people around the fire are the people you’re lookin’ for. The tall, thin fellow is Donald Lewis. I oughta point out one thing. Ever since this terrible thing happened to these poor folks, everybody’s been callin’ them Mormons. They ain’t Mormons, they’re Quakers, or Friends, as they refer to themselves.” He smiled broadly. “Other’n that, they’re just like you and me. I hope you’re bringin’ good news ’bout the evil scoundrels who took their money.”

  “Well, thank you very much for telling us,” Conner said. “I don’t wanna start off on the wrong foot, but I’m afraid I don’t have any good news.” He and Hawk followed the preacher over to the fire, where four men, one woman, and a young boy were gathered. There was a large iron pot on the fire, and the woman was tending it.

  “Donald,” Bridger called out. “This officer here was lookin’ for you.”

  The tall willowy young man looked up from the fire and immediately came to meet them. “Have you come with any news about those men who murdered our people?” Donald asked at once.

  “No, sir, I have not,” Conner answered. “I’m commanding a patrol out of Fort Ellis to try to find out what happened to you folks. But we just arrived here this evening. I’m hoping we can be of some help, but I need to have you tell me everything you can remember about your attack. Hopefully, you can take us to the place where they did the executions.” Donald was plainly confused that a single patrol had ridden all the way up there from a fort on the Yellowstone, when the soldiers there at Fort Benton decided there was nothing they could do to help. Conner told him that his uncle, Major Brisbin, the post commander, had received word of the tragedy that had befallen him. This, too, came as quite a surprise to young Lewis and he admitted that he knew that his uncle was now a major, but he had no idea where he was stationed.

  While Conner and Lewis were talking, Hawk studied the other folks at the fire. When there was a pause in the conversation, Hawk commented, “The preacher said the survivors were around the fire. I make it seven, countin’ you.”

  Lewis glanced back at the fire. “You musta counted the little fellow sitting on that side by himself. That’s Frog. He came back from the river with us, but he wasn’t in our original party.” Hawk took a closer look at the little, elflike man, dressed in animal skins, sitting close by the fire. His knees pulled up under his chin, he seemed fascinated by the flames that licked the iron stewpot as he rocked gently back and forth in time with some rhythm obviously he alone could hear. “Don’t mind him,” Lewis said. “I don’t know where he came from. He’s tetched in the head, but he’s harmless.” He paused a moment before deciding to say, “As a matter of fact, I kinda believe Frog was placed in our path by God.” When that statement caused Conner to raise an eyebrow, Lewis continued, “I don’t know how he wound up with us after we floated down that river, but when we came out, he was with us. I was pretty much confused after half drownin’ in that cold water. I don’t think any of us knew for sure which way to go and we started in the wrong direction. But he came up and kept tuggin’ on my shirtsleeve and pointin’ in the opposite direction, till I gave in and went the way he pointed. We didn’t walk a quarter of a mile before we came to a farmhouse and the people who took us in and cared for us till we were all well enough to go back to Fort Benton.”

  Hawk and Conner both took another look at the little man huddled by the fire. Conner saw fit to say, “The Lord moves in mysterious ways.”

  Hawk asked, “Why do you call him Frog?”

  Lewis shook his head as if apologizing. He nodded toward the young boy. “Lemuel started callin’ him that because he hops around like a frog. Like I said, he’s tetched. We don’t know his real name.”

  “How far from here is that place where you went into the river, where they shot all the rest of your party?” Hawk asked. Lewis said he wasn’t sure, but that he would guess about halfway to Great Falls. “How did it happen that so many of you were ambushed? How many were in the gang that attacked you?”

  “You have to understand,” Lewis stressed, “we were deceived by one we had welcomed into our family of Friends. David Booth had been coming to our Sunday meetings since the beginning of summer. He wanted to know more about our religious beliefs and soon became a member of our society. When we talked about our plans to take our church to some other part of the country, David was the one who urged us to build it in the new lands west of Great Falls and told us that he had seen these unclaimed lands, ripe for farming. He even talked of dreams he had when he was sure that
Jesus was telling him to find us and lead us to our new home.”

  The rest of the story was not hard to assume. “So this fellow, Booth, acted as your guide and led you to a place where a gang of outlaws were waitin’ for you,” Hawk summed it up. “And that’s when you found out he was one of them.” The outright robbery was easy enough to understand, but the massacre didn’t make sense to Hawk. “Why did they start shootin’? Did some of your party put up a fight?”

  “No,” Lewis replied. “Brother Adams was leading the mule with our money, and when he saw what was about to happen, he tried to keep them from stealing the money we had saved up to buy our land and build our church. He turned and tried to escape. That’s when the shooting started. They shot him, then everyone started shooting, especially this one fellow with them. Men, women, the children, even the mules were massacred. We survivors escaped only because our brothers in front of us pushed us back until we fell into the river.” He shook his head slowly as the pain of that memory returned.

  “How many were the bandits?” Conner asked.

  “I don’t know for certain,” Donald apologized. “Five, I think. Right now, I find it hard to remember for sure.”

  Conner looked at Hawk and shook his head. It was a tragic picture of highway robbery gone bad. At worst, the religious group should have lost their money but not their lives. Instead, it turned into a senseless massacre of innocent folks. “I don’t know how much we can do after this amount of time,” Conner said to Lewis. “But if I can rent a horse and wagon, can I ask you and maybe the other four men to take us back up the river to the place where all this occurred?”

  “If it will help you to catch those men and maybe recover the church’s money, of course we will,” Donald replied.

  The Reverend Henry Bridger, who had been listening to the interrogation, volunteered then. “You can take my wagon and horses, Lieutenant. You don’t have to rent one.”