The Adventurous Life of Tom Iron Hand Warren: Mountain Man (The Mountain Men Book 5)

by Terry Grosz

  “Damn, if that don’t smell like a little bit of Heaven,” said Crooked Hand, as he poured his tin cup full of the strong as an ‘angry mule’s kick’ trapper’s coffee.

  “Yeah, like you will ever know what Heaven looks or smells like,” said his close friend Big Foot, with his always infectious, heavily whiskered grin.

  Iron Hand turned the staked buffalo slab of meat cooking merrily away and just had to grin once again. With all the good-natured bantering going on around their firepit that morning, Iron Hand came to realize that his partners were finally and happily on the downhill side of the mend from all of their ‘grizzly bear-induced’ injuries.

  Forty minutes later, the men had finished with their morning meal and Iron Hand had two packhorses fully loaded with 40 beaver traps in their panniers. That way, if any beaver had been trapped by late in the day, their fresh skins could be hauled back to camp in the now empty panniers, fleshed out and hooped for drying. Besides, today would be his day to shine. Old Potts had talked with Iron Hand the evening before and had instructed him once again in the fine art of beaver trapping.

  With that latest lesson under his belt and what he had learned the year previously watching the old man when it came to setting and tending his traps, Iron Hand figured it was his time now to become the group’s main trapper. Especially in light of Old Potts’s still bad back, Crooked Hand’s bad leg and Big Foot’s seemingly forever tender knee. Physical weaknesses that Iron Hand had decided did not lend itself well to one carrying around such limitations, all the while walking around in the sticky muddy bottoms and soon to be icy waters of beaver ponds while tending the traps.

  Leaving camp, the trappers headed for their original spot where the first trap had been set the year before and for good luck, would be the same area chosen for the first trap set of their second beaver trapping season. Reining up his horse by the lake’s marshes some time later, Iron Hand stepped heavily from the saddle due to his large frame and walked back to the first horse in their pack string. Removing a beaver trap from the pannier and under the ‘close eye’ and supervision of Old Potts who remained in his saddle, Iron Hand made the first beaver set of their second trapping season. When finished, the look he got from Old Potts was one of confirmation of a job well done.

  For the next six hours, Iron Hand, with a few additional suggestions thrown in by Old Potts along the way, set their remaining 39 beaver traps in the marshes, along beaver dams and next to the evidence of heavily used slides. As he did, even though promised that a truce now existed between the trappers and Chief Mingan in their trapping area, Old Potts, Big Foot and Crooked Hand kept a sharp watch out for any signs of danger. After all, they still were close to the dreaded and fierce, trapper-killing Gros Ventre Indians’ home range, as well as the hated Hudson Bay fur trapping country located just to their north and west. All four trappers had learned early on that the way of the west, if one wanted to live long, was to keep a sharp eye peeled, a quick ear tuned and a loaded rifle always at the ready.

  Finished with their trap setting at the end of their trap line, the men scouted out some new areas in which to trap beaver when they had trapped them out in their present location. A short time later, Crooked Hand had killed a cow buffalo and as the men butchered the freshly killed animal, they all feasted on their personal choices of raw meat. Finished with butchering and just taking the choicest cuts of meat, the men then headed back to their previously set trap line to see if they had any critters in their traps.

  In so doing, the men discovered 17 recently trapped dead of the very territorial beaver that had already been caught in their ‘castoreum-scented’ trap sets. As Iron Hand removed the beaver and reset his traps, Big Foot, who was their best and fastest skinner, saw to it the carcasses were skinned on the spot and their fresh skins or plus (pronounced “plews”) dropped into a pannier carried by a packhorse for later fleshing out and hooping back at camp. Finished, the men, still keeping a sharp eye peeled for any hostile Indians, headed for their camp and the very necessary fur-processing duties that were to come.

  Upon their return to camp, the rest of their stock still in the corral were double hobbled and turned out to feed, while the men fleshed out their recent catches, hooped the same with small willow branches and set them out around their cabin and up on their roof to dry. As they did, Old Potts set out the coffee pot to boil and soon had their supper staked out around the campfire with some of the meat from the cow buffalo the men had killed and butchered while out trapping beaver during the morning. Finished with fleshing and hooping the beaver skins, the men retired to their supper and then brought in their horse herd, putting them back into their corral for safer keeping. Then the trappers adjourned to their sitting logs around their campfire, smoked their pipes and relaxed from their day’s long and hard labors.

  Thus began their routine labors for the month and the next and the next, as the stacks of beaver plus, muskrat and river otter skins grew in the musty-smelling safety of the back of their cave. The bottom line, the four successful and already wealthy Free Trappers from their last season were becoming even richer and were trapping and hunting in an area that was now safe for them just as long as the truce held between the four men and the mighty Blackfoot Chief, Mingan.

  One morning as the men prepared to leave and run their trap line, Iron Hand and the others noticed the late fall weather clouds looming to the northwest were such that they promised foul weather before the day was done. Bracing for the same, the men packed along their heavier winter capotes on the packhorses and set out to make their daily run on the trap line. That was when their day somewhat later turned as foul as the coming weather had been so predicted that morning...

  Iron Hand, now the official trapper of the bunch, seeing his trap was missing as he bailed off his horse, waded out to see if he could find the dead beaver drowned in the deeper water at the end of that trap’s chain. THAT WAS, IF THERE WAS STILL A BEAVER TRAP IN THE AREA! Iron Hand quickly noticed that the trap was missing and there was no dead beaver still attached that had drowned in the deeper water! After much looking around for the expensive beaver trap ($9 each back at Fort Union!), Iron Hand concluded that the entire set, chain and all, was mysteriously missing...

  Stepping off his horse after Iron Hand had made known the situation, Old Potts, suspicious as always, knelt down and closely examined the ground around the beaver slide where the trap had been previously set. There were tracks there alright, but they were not those from a beaver but moccasin footprints from that of a white man! Standing back up, Old Potts’s keen eye discovered that they were now not alone in beaver country. Off to one side of where the trap had been set were the tracks of six horses! Walking over and kneeling down, Old Potts discovered the horse tracks were from shod horses! More than likely horses being ridden by the trap and beaver-robbing, white men thieves. Looking eastward along their trap line, Old Potts took a bearing on the mystery horse tracks’ direction of travel and said, “Mount up, Boys. We have company who have discovered our trap line, stolen not only our beaver but our expensive and hard to replace trap as well. Let’s ride because the way I figure it, this is not going to be the first trap or dead beaver of ours that they have stolen this day.”

  Hoping against hope, the men rode up to the next four of their beaver sets, only to discover they too were missing as well! Now with that deadly information hanging over them, ‘there was going to be war in camp’! Old Potts said, “Boys, our trap robbers have not only discovered our line of traps but have taken every one of them they have discovered as well. Let us see if we can set a course and head them off before they steal us blind. We need to get rolling, because we have a winter storm approaching that will hit us in all of its fury by this afternoon. If we want to catch these guys, we need to hurry afore the snow comes and makes tracking these bastards all but impossible.”

  Removing their heavier winter clothing from the panniers and staking out their two pack animals in a nearby grove of trees out of sight
so they could make better time, the four men then rode ‘hellbent for leather’ along the suspect trap thieves’ shod horse track-line before the afternoon snows made tracking the robbers almost impossible and catching them doubtful. Around four in the afternoon, their ‘weather’ luck that had held until then, ran out. The snows predicted earlier that morning now hit the four men and the countryside with a typical northern prairie winter’s vengeance. Soon those snows were heavily swirling around the men, who were now walking their horses instead of riding them, so they could better follow the quickly disappearing tracks of their ‘trap robbers’. However, the trap-robbing thieves had not figured pursuit was so close at hand and were still walking their horses and now heavily loaded pack animals in a northeasterly direction. That was their second mistake, their first being the stealing of the traps and dead beaver belonging to Old Potts and his crew... Once again to the men’s collective thinking, stealing a beaver or two was bad enough. But stealing a man’s livelihood out on the frontier, namely his traps or horses, well, to their collective way of thinking that was a killing offense...

  Come dusk, the four trappers were still hot on the fast-vanishing trail of their trap line thieves, now reasoned out to being some men from the hated Hudson Bay Fur Company because of the direction in which they were heading! But Old Potts still had a trick or two up his sleeve. He knew of an old but well-used isolated grove of dense coniferous timber out on the prairie that was routinely used by white men and Indian alike. A grove of trees that were used by Indians and fur trappers alike for the protection it offered from the elements during the sudden occasion of bad weather events out on the Northern Plains. He had remembered the same from his earlier trapping experiences in the area during his first expedition into the same area trapping beaver with Vasquez. Like a long-tailed weasel hot on the trail of a cottontail rabbit, Old Potts was heading directly for that area in the heavy timber, now that the dark of the night and swirling snows made direct tracking of their trap robbers all but impossible.

  Several hours later found the four trappers resting their horses, as they looked into the area of dark timber Old Potts figured his thieves might hole up within during the bad weather. Sure as buffalo made some of the best eating going, a faint flicker of light from a small campfire was observed in the darkness of the heavy timber, now that the heavy and swirling snows had somewhat abated.

  Dismounting and staking their horses in the deep timber so as they approached the suspect camp of beaver and trap thieves, their horses would not scent those horses of the ‘now hunted’ and give out a betraying warning whinny. With that, the four trappers clutching their rifles began their stalk in the sound dampening layer of fresh snow towards the suspect trap thieves’ campsite.

  Thirty minutes of stalking, found the four men standing silently just outside the light of the suspect trap-robbing thieves’ campfire. Nearby, were staked six still unsuspecting horses and around the campfire were observed four men beginning to cook their supper. Two of the men were white fur trappers speaking with heavy French-Canadian accents and according to Old Potts’s whispers, the other two men were more than likely their partners, two dreaded Gros Ventre Indians! Gros Ventre Indians who were known across the Northern Plains for their savagery when it came to mistreating any captured trappers or any white man in general.

  Off to one side of the thieves’ staked horses was a pile of beaver traps that Iron Hand figured were those of their group’s recently stolen traps. Nearby sat two panniers stuffed clear full of fresh beaver skins, which Iron Hand suspected were the day’s trappings removed from their traps that had been stolen from them as well. Carefully moving in even closer, Old Potts’s group could finally make out what the men were saying. When they did, everything began clearing up as to what had occurred, as they listened in on what the four suspect outlaw trappers had to say about their day stealing someone else’s trapped beaver and traps in the Medicine Lake area.

  As their conversations confirmed, the four suspect men around the campfire were trappers from the much-hated Hudson Bay Fur Company. They were Company Trappers who had been running their new trap line down from their normal trapping territory located further to the north, southward toward Medicine Lake. After setting their traps in their previous northern trapping location, the four men had scouted further south toward Medicine Lake looking for new trappings, once they had trapped out their old trapping grounds. In so doing, they had discovered the end of Iron Hand’s set of beaver traps upon locating a floating and dead beaver carcass on the end of a trap’s chain. It was then that the four outlaw trappers realized they had stumbled across another trapper’s trap line other than one of those from the Hudson Bay Fur Company. It then was just a simple matter of continuing into another trapper’s area, locating each of his sets by following Old Potts’s group’s horses’ tracks, the floating dead beaver carcasses, removing the animal, and stealing the traps to frustrate and remove that trapper and his competition from the area by wrecking his livelihood.

  Upon hearing those incriminating words coming from the four suspects around their campfire, Old Potts saw red! Motioning around his three men with his right hand held low so his movement would not attract attention, he quietly set out a battle plan to take back what was rightfully their property. Then following his plan, set the four Hudson Bay men afoot in Indian country and see how they liked having their livelihood challenged. With the plan made, Old Potts held his ground as his three cohorts disappeared quietly into the snowy darkness of the coniferous forest to carry out their part of the battle plan.

  After waiting a few long moments for his three fellow trappers to get into their positions, Old Potts made his grand entry. Quietly moving into the firelight, he figured he would get the drop on the four men, take their gear and then send them packing in the dead of night, so they could warn the other Hudson Bay men they would eventually run into to steer clear of the beaver trapping areas in the Medicine Lake area.

  “Evening,” said Old Potts, as he moved deeper into the direct light of his trap-thieving suspects’ campfire! For a second, none of the four men moved as they stared in disbelief at the unknown and unanticipated fur trapper standing there just yards away with his rifle in hand and held at the ready! Then the trap-stealing outlaws’ camp ‘exploded’ in four scrambling men making moves for their weaponry! A huge Gros Ventre Indian stood up quickly and in one fluid motion, drew and threw his tomahawk in a split second directly at Old Potts. Ducking the man’s high throw, Old Potts promptly shot him in the face with his rifle! The explosive spew of blood and brains from the Indian’s head after being hit with a .50 caliber lead ball from Old Potts’s Hawken sent the other trap-stealing outlaws into extreme motion. One of the French-Canadian fur trappers took off running right at Old Potts! Being an experienced Mountain Man himself, he realized that Old Potts had fired his one and only rifle shot. Now that his rifle was empty, to his way of thinking, now was the time to physically attack an unarmed man! In his hand the Frenchman held a long sheath knife that he had been using cutting up some fresh buffalo meat! But now he figured its keen blade was needed to take care of Old Potts...

  However, before Old Potts could react and draw one of his pistols in self-defense, the side of the charging Frenchman’s face exploded into a million bits of bone, blood and brain tissue, as Crooked Hand drilled him dead center in his left ear with a shot from his Hawken! That charging Frenchman’s head and falling body splattered into the white snow, turning it into a crimson red splotch!

  Simultaneously, the remaining Gros Ventre Indian back at the fire ducked his head and took off running into the darkened forest cover before anyone could blink! However, that man ran directly into Iron Hand and in so doing, instantly and viciously swung his tomahawk, knocking the rifle from his hands before he could raise it and shoot! That got the Gros Ventre a broken neck snapped by two very strong hands of ‘iron’ before the hard-charging Indian could use his tomahawk once again against the giant fur trapper!

 
The remaining Frenchman jumped to his feet as the black powder smoke filled the air around the campfire, drew one of his pistols, pointed it towards Old Potts and had his face exploded into flying snot, blood and bone fragments by Big Foot’s close at hand shot with his Hawken! In fact, Big Foot was so close to the scrambling-for-his-life Frenchman, that when he shot him, his heavy slug tore clear through the man’s face, exited the far side of his head and killed one of the Hudson Bay men’s pack animals looking on at the fast and furious action as it stood quietly in a makeshift rope and stick corral!

  Later that night, Big Foot and Iron Hand backtracked themselves and brought their previously staked-out riding horses into the Hudson Bay camp for safer keeping. They then dragged off the dead men’s bodies, along with the four fresh Indian scalps surprisingly discovered on the two Gros Ventre Indians, a distance from camp and left them for the critters. Later that evening, the four Medicine Lake trappers feasted on the buffalo steak supper that had been made previously for the deceased Hudson Bay men, and then they slept in their sleeping furs until dawn the next morning. However, not much sleep was had by the four men because a pack of wolves, smelling all the dead men’s blood, had noisily feasted and fought over the newly discovered ‘morsels’ throughout most of the night. That plus Old Potts’s group had a hard time sleeping in the dead men’s sleeping furs. Smelling badly was a common thing when living out on the frontier. However, the smell being emitted from the dead men’s sleeping furs reeked of ‘polecat’, making sleep problematic for the four victorious ‘Old Potts’s trappers’.