“Three Bulls didn’t say we wouldn’t go with you,” Lame Coyote spoke up then. “He just asked if you knew how many horses they had. We will go with you.”
“Good,” Pike said. “We should go now before darkness hides their tracks. If there is no one else with the two white men, we can kill them and maybe stay in their camp tonight. When we drive the horses back to your village tomorrow, everyone will see how brave we are.”
Three Bulls and Lame Coyote both liked the thought of that, so they got their horses and weapons and were soon loping along the riverbank, following the obvious trail left in the snow for them. In a short time, they reached the place where the two white men left the river and took a direct course into the Little Belt Mountains. From this point, they would have to pay attention to the tracks they followed. For, while there was snow in the mountains, the streams were not frozen any longer, and the three horses they followed rode up the first stream they came to. Pike and his friends rode up the stream as well, searching for tracks that led out of the water. They could find no trace of the horses coming out of the stream by the time they came to a fork where two smaller streams joined to form the one they had been following. Still, there were no tracks leaving the water, so they had to choose which fork to follow. One fork appeared to come from a mountain, while the other came from a wide canyon. They all agreed that the fork from the canyon was the most likely, so they followed it. It turned out to be a stream that branched off from a creek that ran down the middle of the canyon, heavily forested with willows and pines.
Lame Coyote was the first to spot it, the tell-tale stick stuck in the bank to hang over the water, with a willow sprig at the end about a palm’s width above the water. He didn’t say anything but held his hand up to stop Pike and Three Bulls. Then he pointed, and they immediately saw what had stopped him. Looking farther along the creek, they spotted another stick and then another. The men they hunted were there to trap the beaver. “They lied when they told my father they had come looking for lost horses,” Pike snarled. “They trap beaver.” The reaction of his two friends was much the same as his, for the Blackfeet held a deep hatred for the white trappers who came to their territory to trap beaver, robbing them of the trade value of the furs. There was no question now regarding the question of killing the inhabitants of the camp, or just running off with their horses. They had to be killed.
“We must find their camp and see how many of them there are,” Three Bulls said, thinking of the typical American Fur Company trappers who worked in squads of at least four men but usually more.
“I think it is not much farther from here,” Lame Coyote speculated, “but there are still no tracks on this creekbank. The snow has not been walked on.”
“They do not walk on the bank when they set the traps,” Pike said. “They do not want the beaver to get their scent and stay away from the trap.”
“What do they do,” Lame Coyote asked, “fly to the traps like buzzards?”
“They wade in the water,” Pike answered him. “Somewhere up ahead we’ll find their tracks. I think it’s best that we tie our horses in the trees here and go the rest of the way on foot.” The other two were in agreement with that, so they rode over into the trees and tied their horses. Then they cautiously made their way through the pines for a distance of approximately one hundred yards before they stopped when they saw a thin column of smoke drifting up through the trees ahead. Pike, the only one of them with a rifle, made sure it was ready to fire.
“There!” Three Bulls whispered and pointed to the temporary shelter nearly hidden under the trees. The smoke was coming from a fire in a small clearing beyond the shelter. “Look,” he whispered again when he saw the horses near the creek. “They have many horses.”
“Yes,” Lame Coyote replied, “but where are the trappers?” There was no sign of anyone around the camp.
“Why don’t we just go ahead and take the horses?” Pike asked. “They must be off minding their traps. We can be gone before they come back.”
Lame Coyote looked at him as if trying to excuse him for his white blood. “It would be too difficult to ride up here and try to drive them back down the creek. We would be in a bad spot if the trappers came back and attacked when we were in the midst of turning their horses around. I think we must kill the white men first. Then we can make the horses do what we want. They surely will be coming in to eat before it gets dark. While we can, we should move up closer to the shelter, so when they come back, we will have clear shots and strike them down, all at the same time.” Pike and Three Bulls followed him as he moved up closer in the trees.
They had no sooner gotten to their new position when Willow came out of the hut and went to add wood to the fire. “A woman!” Pike exclaimed in a whisper, already thinking of pleasures beyond the shooting of the menfolk. “We don’t have to shoot her.”
“We must shoot them all,” Lame Coyote insisted. Judging by her dress, he said, “I think she is Crow. These white dogs insult us further by bringing this Crow trash into our lands.”
At that moment, Jug appeared, coming from beyond the horses. “Willow,” he called to her, “where’s Luke?”
That was enough to convince Pike. “There ain’t nobody else but the three of ’em! Shoot ’em!” He stood up, bringing his rifle up as he did to aim at Jug. But he grunted painfully when the arrow struck him in the back, causing him to fire his rifle up in the air. Lame Coyote spun around in time to feel the solid thump of Luke’s second arrow in his throat. Luke turned to see Three Bulls stagger backward and fall, the result of Jug’s rifle shot.
“That’s all of ’em!” Luke called out. “There weren’t but three of ’em!” He quickly moved up from his position behind them to finish off the two he had put arrows into. A shot to the head of each one, one with his rifle, the other with his pistol, then he took a look at Three Bulls, and there was no need to end his misery. “Nice shot, partner,” he said to Jug who hurried over to join him. “You all right, Willow?” He turned to see her frowning face as she stood wringing her hands.
“Partner,” Jug declared with a shake of his head, “I didn’t know where you’d gone off to when we split up to scout the creek.”
“I saw ’em when they left the fork of the two streams and headed up this way, so I just got in behind ’em and followed ’em up here to the camp. It gave me a little fright when I saw Willow come walkin’ out to the fire.” He turned toward her to give her a stern look. “After we told her to stay inside behind that half a pack of pelts.”
“I had to keep fire going, if I gonna fix you food,” she replied, still trembling. “You sure no more Blackfoot?”
“I’m sure. There wasn’t but three of ’em. When I saw ’em come up the creek, I waited a little while to see if there were any more behind ’em. Then I followed ’em on up here.” He looked back at Jug and said, “I reckon we were right about Pike Jolley. You wanna ride back down the river and tell his mama and papa why he ain’t comin’ home?”
“Hell, no,” Jug replied, not sure if Luke was japing him or not. “If Nate’s got any sense, he won’t question anybody about it. He’ll just be thankful for it.”
“Well, we’ve got ourselves another problem now,” Luke said, shaking his head.
“What’s that?” Jug asked.
“We’ve got ourselves three more horses to add to our herd,” Luke answered. “And I reckon I’d best go back in the pines and bring ’em up with the rest of our herd.”
“Damn, that’s right,” Jug said. “They won’t be no problem, though. We can use ’em for protection against the Injuns.”
“How’s that?” Luke wanted to know.
“We’re gonna be leavin’ here in a few weeks and have to ride all the way back down to Wyomin’ Territory. When the Injuns see us, they’re gonna come after us, so we’ll just cut the herd loose and the Injuns will forget us and go after the horses.”
“I know you’re japin’,” Luke replied, “but you might be speakin’ the
truth. It’s gonna be hard enough as it is, just to get back to friendly country with us and our plews without havin’ to drive a bunch of horses with us.” He shook his head as he thought about it. “Maybe we shoulda tied up the horses we need, hid ourselves, and let Pike and his friends drive the loose horses off. They mighta been satisfied with just stealin’ a few horses. I swear, though, I don’t wanna just go off and leave good horses. That’s like leavin’ money on the table after the game’s over.”
“You say you know where they left their horses?” Jug asked, and Luke said he did. “Then there ain’t no use in talkin’ about throwin’ away good money. Might as well go get ’em and bring ’em up here with the rest of the horses.”
“We can use ’em to drag these three bodies away from our camp,” Luke said. “I don’t think we’ll see any more visitors on this night, but I expect it’d be a good idea to move on to some other part of the mountains tomorrow. The two bucks with him might have families that worry about ’em.”
Jug had no better idea, so that’s what they decided to do. After supper, they checked their traps and reset them. Before daylight the next morning, they collected all their traps. They lingered long enough to skin and prepare the pelts before striking camp and leaving the canyon with some of their herd already carrying packs of made beaver. It was to become a familiar routine over the next few weeks, weeks that saw the gradual disappearance of the heavy snow. For the most part, they managed to remain in the mountains, moving from one valley to another, trapping the streams that wound their way down to the valley floor. To say their season was successful beyond what they had figured on would be an understatement of huge proportions.
It was the realization of the dream of a lifetime for Jug. He had always believed the Little Belt Mountains were teeming with beaver but had always been hesitant to trap them alone. They were in the heart of Blackfoot hunting country and under the control of Hudson’s Bay Company, and the company depended on the Indians to catch the beaver and bring the furs to their forts. Sadly, Jug found that he was getting too old to continue many more years of the hardships of living in the mountains. He had been trying to decide if he was ready to make this season the year he would test that theory of his and set out to trap in the Little Belts. When Luke Ransom appeared out of nowhere to save his bacon from being fried by two Blackfoot raiders, he was sure it was for a reason. And the reason had to be that he needed a partner to go to the Little Belts with him, and there couldn’t be a man he trusted as much as he trusted Luke.
It had turned out nearly as he had imagined it. He could almost picture the beaver fighting under the icy-cold water to get into his traps. Their plews were dark and thick with winter growth and they must have averaged two-and-three-quarters to three pounds in weight. Their packs were going to weigh heavy, and already, they had three of their horses carrying two packs each as they moved from stream to stream. There were two more packs of sixty plews each in Luke’s burial-ground cache. It would soon become an issue of how many they could comfortably handle, and neither man wanted to stop when the beaver were so willing.
As far as Willow was concerned, she was not sure her two men had not caught some form of mountain fever, such was their dedication to the hunt. She did not worry, however, for she was convinced they were determined to take care of her. Her primary worry was that they were going to wear themselves out at the pace they were working, especially Jug. Luke, she felt sure, was young enough to withstand any hardship. She decided that it was time she learned to shoot a gun, so that she could be of greater help in the face of an attack.
She approached Luke one afternoon after the pelts were scraped and stretched for drying. “I think maybe you teach me to shoot gun,” she suggested.
“Is that a fact?” Luke responded. “I thought you were more comfortable with your bow.”
“Bow is good,” she replied. “Gun is better.”
He took note of the serious expression on her face then. “Yep, I reckon it wouldn’t hurt for you to know how to use a gun. You never know when you might need one.” When she continued to stand before him gazing earnestly into his eyes, he asked, “You mean right now?”
She nodded eagerly. “Now is good time,” she answered. “You have many guns,” she said, referring to the trade guns captured from the Blackfeet. “Better you teach me before they find us again.”
“You’re right,” Luke replied. “That’s a right smart idea. We shoulda thought of it sooner.” He was thinking more in terms of her being able to reload weapons for Jug and him in the event they were ever pinned down somewhere, with no back door. “And now is a good time ’cause I ain’t seen any sign of anybody who might hear the shots. Come on, let’s go pick you out a gun to suit you.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Jug asked when they walked past him, with Willow carrying one of the Hudson’s Bay trade guns, on their way to a hill away from the horses.
“Willow’s fixin’ to learn how to shoot a gun,” Luke answered, so Jug fell in behind them to offer his assistance. When they were about thirty yards from the hill, Luke stopped and said, “This is close enough. Now the first thing is to learn how to load it.”
“I was gonna say that,” Jug remarked and the two men hovered over her every move as they taught her how to load the powder, ball, and patch, and explained how the hammer caused the spark that ignited the powder that caused the gun to fire. She became very adept at it after only a few trials, so they moved on to the actual firing of the weapon. Luke selected a tree on the hillside as the target, and after showing her how to aim the weapon, told her the tree was a Blackfoot warrior coming to get her. Her first shot hit the tree, although a little lower than chest high.
“Not bad,” Luke said, “not bad at all for the first time.” He looked at Jug and grinned before adding, “You stopped that Blackfoot warrior all right. Maybe a little lower than where you were aimin’, but you stopped him and any thoughts about what he was gonna do to you.” She was puzzled by their chuckles but satisfied that she had hit the tree she was aiming at. She tried a couple more shots, and with Luke’s coaching, learned to shoot a little higher. “You’re a sight better than ol’ Jug when he tried out my bow,” Luke said. He couldn’t resist japing Jug a little. He received a grunt of indifference from the little man, as he expected.
Willow was very pleased that she had performed to suit Luke. Were it not for the fact the three of them were under constant danger of being discovered by a Blackfoot hunting party this time of year, she would have wished this time would never end. She knew, however, that all good things must come to an end. The first sign of that came as a sudden warm spell that lasted for more than a week. Much of the snow melted, opening large patches of brush and grass. This made it nice for the horses, but at the same time, it acted almost as a signal to the beaver to shed their winter coats. The second sign was not as subtle. It came in the form of a gunshot.
One afternoon, after the newly caught pelts were scraped and stretched for drying, Luke decided to backtrack to a grassy canyon where he had seen deer sign when they trapped there. To reach the canyon, he rode up a mountain on one side of the canyon, and as he reached the top, he heard the shot. He recognized the sound as that of one of the trade guns the Indians favored. He rode down the other side of the mountain far enough to see into the canyon, as three more shots were fired. Then he saw them, an Indian hunting party was following the same herd of deer he was. From his vantage point high up on the mountainside, he could see the hunters, most of them with bows, riding into the stampeding herd of deer. He counted sixteen hunters.
He returned to the camp to find Jug and Willow clearly relieved to see him. “We heard some shootin’ and we was afraid it had somethin’ to do with you,” Jug said.
“Huntin’ party,” Luke replied. “I counted sixteen of ’em. They were chasin’ that herd of deer I was lookin’ to find.”
“Sixteen of ’em, huh?” Jug thought that over real quickly. “Chasin’ deer. Was they comin’ in this
direction?”
“I can’t say,” Luke answered. “I expect that’ll depend on which way the deer turn. I expect it wouldn’t be a bad idea for us to pull up our traps and skedaddle outta here.”
“I expect you’re right,” Jug said. “We’d best get packed up. Them last plews was kinda skinny, anyway.”
At this point, they had worked their way almost to the middle of the mountain range, farther than they had been so far. They would have to head back in a more southeastern direction to return to their winter camp at the waterfall, a distance of about twenty miles as the crow flies. Realistically, they figured they could make it back to get the two packs of plews out of their cache after a full day’s ride. “If we’re lucky, we won’t run up on any more huntin’ parties,” Luke said. “Willow, go ahead and pack up your beddin’ and cookin’ stuff. Me and Jug will go yank our traps outta the pond and get the horses ready to go.”
“You no eat?” she asked. “I not cook supper yet.”
“We’ll move on outta here,” Luke told her. “We’ve still got a lotta daylight left. We can cook something over the fire when we find us a good spot to camp tonight. That all right with you, Jug?”
“Suits me,” Jug responded. “I don’t crave to take on sixteen Blackfoot hunters on an empty stomach, so let’s put some distance between us and them.” The decision to quit this year’s hunt was made that suddenly with no more discussion. It was time to take their pelts and leave the hostile Blackfoot country. Both men were satisfied with the results of the hunt. The challenge before them now was to pack those results safely to rendezvous.
* * *
It took them the full amount of time Luke estimated to get back to their original camp, plus a little bit more. It was already close to sundown when they drove the horses into the meadow below the cottonwood grove. The horses wanted to stop to graze there, but Luke and Jug didn’t want to leave them there for the night. So they drove them on through the cottonwoods and up the slope to the waterfall where the grass was just as good as the lower meadow. After they unloaded the horses, they helped Willow get her fire started, so she could roast some of their smoked elk. In honor of their return visit to their first home as a family, Jug started a fire in his oven, which was still in very good shape, and Willow mixed up the biscuits for him. The framework they had constructed for the tipi was still intact, so they covered it again with the original buffalo hides, after Jug took a good look inside to make sure that no critters had moved in while they were gone.
To the River's End Page 21
