by Terry Grosz
Stopping and turning around, the two men stared in disbelief at the smoking ruin of what had once been a damn fine packhorse that was fully loaded with their beaver catch for the day! Now the horse was nothing more than partially cooked wolf bait! Realizing that had been the horse packing most of their prime beaver pelts, the men quickly rode back to see what they could recover. Dismounting and looking over the smoking ruin, both men paused and then looked over at each other still in head-shaking wonder.
It was then that they could feel the ground shaking under their feet! “What the hell?” said Crooked Hand, as the sounds of rolling thunder and the acrid smells of ozone filled the air. It was then that Iron Hand said, “Crooked Hand! Mount up! That sound we are hearing and the feeling we are getting through our feet is not thunder! It is a buffalo stampede and from the sounds of it, we are right in its path and it is a big one! Let’s get the hell out of here and I do mean now!”
Then the two men saw what had to be an apparition from hell bearing down on them! Over the next ridge flowed a vast sheet of brown heaving bodies of thousands of stampeding buffalo heading right their way! But that was not what scared the hell out of the two men, even though that alone was more than enough! All across the huge herd of stampeding buffalo bodies was what they knew from past experience and tales being told by other trappers to be the seldom-seen phenomena called “Blue Lightning”! Blue lightning that was glowingly affixed to hundreds of horns of the now terrified and madly charging buffalo. For the briefest of moments, both men stood there transfixed over the rare phenomenon of what they were seeing quickly bearing down on them! Literally hundreds of charging buffalo with blue-sparkling, static electricity-covered horns, all caused by the energy from the monster rare winter electrical storm they were now standing directly under!
“Let’s get the hell out of here! Leave the dead horse and its beaver-filled panniers, we need to go now!” yelled Iron Hand in the increasing wind, crashing bolts of lightning and ear-splitting sounds of thunder directly overhead in the low-hanging, ugly blue-black looking clouds.
With that, both men vaulted into their saddles and with Crooked Hand leading their last packhorse, bolted for the nearby hills and the hoped-for safety they represented. By now, the men found themselves in a fierce whirlwind of flying dust, airborne frozen ice crystals, pellets of snow, and bolts of lightning striking the ground all around them at random and then racing along the tops of the prairie grasses! Then the worst of the worst from the violent, overhead weather event occurred!
Huge stabbing bolts of lightning would strike the ground and then in an explosion of dust and flying snow, out would come bouncing blue balls of static electricity racing along the prairie in every direction! Then some of those racing balls of lightning slammed and bounced into the oncoming herd of panicked buffalo! When those balls of lightning slammed into the racing brown carpet of terrified buffalo, there would be a loud explosion and numerous animals could be seen flying through the darkened sky with their dark legs all askew like jackstraws!
Seeing all of that, the two men and their three horses found that terror-from-hell lent wings to their feet as they raced across the prairie, all the while lying low over their saddles to avoid being hit with the bolts of chain lightning now streaking all around them! By now, the charging and blue lightning-covered glowing buffalo were fast closing. Racing as fast as their horses could carry them, the men and their lone packhorse just made the timber, as the edge of the herd of fast-closing buffalo swerved to avoid running madly into the stands of trees...
Not slowing, the two men fled deeply into the dark timber, as the thundering herd of buffalo streamed by glowing, showering devilishly blue sparks and showing nothing but the whites of their eyes in the terror of the moment. Then it was all over... At least the fear from being crushed alive by the madly fleeing, highly electrified buffalo. But the lightning and the tall pines they were in turned out to be a ‘horse of another color’. Trees around them were being struck right and left by bolts of lightning as the air once again smelled strongly and acridly of ozone, and now the new smell of burned pine needles filled their nostrils as well! Bailing off their horses in a small draw, both men laid out on the ground, as their horses stood there trembling from their exhausting run across the prairie and in fright from the weather events unfolding loudly all around them!
About an hour later, the extreme weather event had moved on and now the trappers were faced with the utter silence of softly falling snow. Both men rose from the ground and then Crooked Hand said, “Damn, I ain’t never seen such a thing. I swear we just saw a little bit of what hell looked like and after all that, I am going straight to my knees and saying my prayers like my beloved mother taught me to do every night at the foot of my bed.”
After a few more moments of silence, Iron Hand said in a very measured tone and tenor of voice, “I saw hell once when my wife of just two years and my young son both died of smallpox in my arms. I say “hell” because I knew I didn’t think that I could ever live a normal life or love again after suffering such a loss. That is why I came to the frontier to forget, figuring I could do so by experiencing and looking into the many faces of death on a daily basis. But like you, I think we both saw the Devil open his gates of hell for us to look into today and I for one, don’t ever need to be reminded of what awaits all of us sinners if we continue to stray...” For the longest time Iron Hand just stood there ‘drinking’ in the emotion of the moment surrounding him and then said, “Crooked Hand, I never want to see another short period of time as we have just experienced these last few days! From Indian fights to fights with the Lord have we seen and experienced these last few days, you and me. Hopefully we two never again experience such wild events as we have just lived through.”
Without another word being spoken because none were necessary after what they had just experienced, both men mounted up and headed for their cabin and a little quiet and downtime after violently living what they had just gone through. But before they left, they rode back to where they had left their pack animal lying out on the prairie after it had been struck by lightning before the herd of buffalo had charged through the area. All that was left after the huge herd of buffalo had run through the area and over the animal were several heavy thigh bones and a wet spot in the partially frozen soil. “Well, I guess my idea on getting rid of those eight Gros Ventre who stormed into our cabin and tried killing us worked just ‘slicker than cow buffalo slobbers’ if this is an example of what occurs,” said Iron Hand, in a tone of voice that would be associated with those who made their living out on the western frontier and the type of humor that surged through their bodies on a daily basis after facing death at their many turns on the trail...
Arriving later back at their cabin, they saw Old Potts cutting wood for their fireplace and Big Foot skinning out another deer so they could have something for their supper and later, a tanned deerskin to use as an outside covering for a pack of beaver plus being transported to Fort Union come the annual summer rendezvous.
As the two of them rode up, Old Potts walked over to the arriving men saying, “Say, did the two of you see that huge storm and all that lightning a couple hours ago?”
“Yep, in fact, we got caught out in the open when ‘she’ came upon us. When it did, lightning killed our best packhorse and we damned near got turned into mud by a huge herd of storm-caused stampeding buffalo trying to run us down. Don’t need to see another such storm as long as I live,” said Iron Hand as he tiredly dismounted and began tending to his horse.
“Me neither! Those damn bolts of lightning were smacking the ground all around us every which way, killed our packhorse and I swear, we both got a look at the very face of Lucifer afore it all passed overhead and went on its way,” said Crooked Hand as he unsaddled his horse, hobbled it and let it out to graze.
“If we are having mule deer for supper, do I need to make my brand of Dutch oven biscuits?” asked Iron Hand, as he placed his riding gear under the shed m
eant to protect all their leather goods from the elements just like nothing unusual had just occurred.
“I was a-hoping you would ask,” said Old Potts, “and while you are at it, take some of our dried fruit, set it to soaking and make us one of your famous Dutch oven pies, if you be so kind.”
With those words of encouragement and a heavily whiskered smile on his face over Old Potts’s sweet tooth, Iron Hand took his rifle, lumbered over to their nearby spring, broke some of the ice off the pool of water and washed off his face and hands. As he walked back to their cabin, Big Foot handed Iron Hand a slab of hindquarter from the mule deer he was butchering saying, “Since you drew the biscuit-making detail, you might as well as throw a mess of steaks over the coals in a frying pan or on some metal cooking stakes as well. You know where the bear grease is and I suggest you make up several batches of biscuits. From the looks on your face and that of Crooked Hand, I would think a big supper and several cups of rum are in order. Most especially since Lucifer apparently got a good look at you two men’s faces. That being the case, your last supper if he comes a-looking for you two mug-faces here at the cabin, might just as well be a ‘good-un’.” Thusly passed another ‘fun-filled’ winter week out on the frontier in the world of beaver trappers…
With winter fast upon them and ice that was getting too thick to easily trap through, the four men spent their daylight hours hunting mule deer for their needed tanned hides to be used as covering over the beaver packs while being transported to Fort Union for sale. Additionally when the weather allowed in their northern clime, they trapped wolves, hunted buffalo--their favorite source of meat, chopped firewood on a never-ending basis, and tended to their stock when they were allowed to graze out on the open prairie under the watchful eyes of two of the men at all times to avoid any problems caused by horse-stealing Indians.
Come spring and ice out, the two-man team of Iron Hand and Crooked Hand continued their customary beaver trapping regimen from the fall before. As for Old Potts and Big Foot, they returned to their fleshing and hooping duties, so their small mountain of pelts would be ready for travel to Fort Union come late spring. Additionally, it was up to Old Potts and Big Foot to fold the dried plus fur side in and make compressed packs of 60 skins per bundle. This they did so each packhorse could comfortably carry two such 90-pound bundles while en route to Fort Union. As it now stood, the four trappers had amassed for sale or trade at Fort Union, 467 beaver plus, 32 gray wolf skins, 18 river otter skins, 64 muskrat skins, six buffalo robes, four grizzly bear robes, and a tanned moose hide. That was if the four trappers could manage to get to Fort Union and keep their hair in the process...
As it now stood, the trappers were facing the end of spring beaver trapping and those plus would be added to their overall total for transport to Fort Union. Happily, they had lost only one of their packhorses to the storm the men now called “Lucifer”. Fortunately, they had gained four horses from the unfortunate Gros Ventre who had decided to sneak up and take out Old Potts and Big Foot earlier in the year, only to be taken out themselves by Iron Hand and Crooked Hand in a timely manner. Those same four now dead Gros Ventre, who in a surprising circumstance became grizzly bear food later that evening, making disposal of their bodies by the trappers, happily unnecessary...
Come springtime when the beaver had finally gone out of ‘prime’, the trappers pulled their traps and spent the next two days surveying their old and potentially new beaver trapping areas. True, they had trapped out a portion of their trapping grounds, but there was still a lot more new territory for the trappers to successfully run their trap lines for at least another year if they so decided. The question in each man’s mind however, was it worth it? Especially in the constant face of the deadly Gros Ventre threat to return in the fall for another trapping season, and the very real chance to be discovered by a larger war party and if that occurred, to ‘lose one’s hair’ in the venture...
One morning as Iron Hand made his brand of biscuits for the rest of his party, Old Potts exited the cabin to take care of a call of nature. About ten minutes later, the men inside the cabin heard the loud BOOM! of a rifle being fired close at hand! Racing outside first with rifle in hand since he was up fixing breakfast and close to the front door of the cabin, Iron Hand saw Old Potts with his buckskin pants pulled down around his ankles from going to the bathroom, fighting an Indian with each hand! It was quickly obvious to Iron Hand that Old Potts, tough as he was, had way more than he could handle! It was also starkly obvious that Old Potts was fighting for his life, as both Indians were holding upraised tomahawks and about to strike down the white man trapper they had caught ‘with his pants down’ while attending to a call of nature!
BOOM! went a quick shot from Iron Hand’s Hawken, felling the closest Indian in the fight to him with a spinal hit! Dropping his now empty rifle and sprinting for where Old Potts was still fighting for his life, Iron Hand got surprised. Another Indian rose up from his place of hiding in the elderberry bush just ten feet in front of the hard-charging Iron Hand! That Indian instantly raised his rifle at the oncoming hard-charging trapper and was immediately overwhelmed by a furious six-foot, seven-inch, 250-pound trapper, who now had a hold of the man’s upraised rifle with a grip of iron! Jerking the rifle from the Indian’s hands, it went off into the ground just inches from Iron Hand’s feet! Ignoring the close-in shot at his feet, Iron Hand dropped the Indian’s rifle and quickly reached for his antagonist. As that Indian grabbed for his sheath knife to defend himself in the face of such a furious charge by the trapper, Iron Hand’s right hand closed around the neck of his assailant and immediately choked and simultaneously jerked the man violently onto the ground! As he did, another Indian materialized from the elderberry bushes just feet away, raised his rifle directly at Iron Hand, who was at that instance in the process of killing the first man in his hands and started to pull the trigger! However, in that same microsecond of time, that Indian’s head exploded into a brilliant spew of red and blobs of gray matter! BOOM! went Big Foot’s rifle as he took out the Indian about to kill Iron Hand, shooting into him from just a few feet away…
Throwing aside the Indian he had just choked to death with his right hand by crushing his windpipe and internal carotid arteries, Iron Hand then reached out from his kneeling position on the ground, grabbed the leg of the Indian still fighting with Old Potts and jerked him down from behind! When he did, he also jerked Old Potts down as well, who was still locked in the Indian’s savage grip. With a quick snap of that Indian’s neck, that man never got to face off with his huge assailant before he joined the rest of the Cloud People...
Jumping to his feet so he could continue in the desperate struggle with any other nearby Indians, he felt a sharp pain in his head for just an instant, and then the lights went out!
With a loud ringing in his head and what felt like his whole body crazily spinning, Iron Hand began returning to the real world at hand. “Lay still, Partner. You took one hell of a rap on that big ole ugly noggin of yours,” said the familiar voice of Crooked Hand, sounding like he was speaking from way off in a distance somewhere.
Moments later, Iron Hand had regained a better command of his senses and sat up in a still somewhat-spinning world. Then he saw the faces of Old Potts, Big Foot and Crooked Hand all peering down at him with concerned looks on their faces.
“What the hell happened?” asked Iron Hand, as he rubbed the side of his head and in so doing, had his hand come away all covered with his own sticky blood.
“You big dummy, you had just killed the Indian who had a hold of Old Potts by breaking his neck, when another of their party sneaked up behind you and slammed you on the head with the butt of his rifle. Don’t worry, though. He did not get a chance to go back to his people and brag about knocking you in the head. I saw to it that a lead ball ruined his day,” said Big Foot as he continued loading up his just-fired pistol...
“Help me to my feet, Guys. Is everyone else alright?” Iron Hand asked, as his huge fra
me was being lifted up to his feet with some difficulty by Big Foot and Old Potts.
As Iron Hand leaned his still unsteady body against a small pine tree, he asked, “Old Potts, what the hell happened? Where the hell did all these Indians come from and how did they know we were here in our cabin?”
Then Iron Hand could see Big Foot and Crooked Hand looking over at Old Potts for an explanation as to what had happened, so he continued doing the same.
“Well, I guess it is up to me to explain since I started this whole damn ‘hurrah’ when I came out to take my morning dump. I had no more than dropped my buckskins, when a dying mule deer burst out from the brush below me, ran right up to where I was squatting and then died right at my feet. Before I realized what had happened and then spying an arrow sticking out from behind the deer’s front shoulder, I was surprised by these two Indians running hard after their crippled deer. They was just as surprised as me, especially when I stood up and they saw just how much of a man I was, I guess, standing there all bare naked and all... Then realizing I was the enemy, those two young bucks now lying dead at my feet, ruined my morning’s dump by grabbing me with their tomahawks in hand. I was whipping the two of them, when Iron Hand stuck his big nose into my fight and shot hell out of one of them afore I could do him in. Then the rest is a blur. It seemed just as fast as Iron Hand was killing them, they was a-growing up out of them elderberry bushes like flies on a dead buffalo in the July sun and then the killing really began.”
