by Terry Grosz
For the longest time after those words were spoken, all one could hear were the sounds of the buzzing clouds of mosquitoes hovering around the four men, just out of reach of their clouds of pipe smoke and the wood smoke boiling up from their firepit. “Course then,” continued Old Potts, “I hear tell that the beaver trapping further west along the Missouri and up along the Porcupine River is pretty much untouched, except by a few of them Indian trappers and maybe a Free Trapper or two. And if I recollect the lay of that particular part of the country, that river is just about four days’ ride north and west of here. I ain’t never seed it but hear tell from “Griz Johnson”, late of the New York State area, that he caught so many beaver when he trapped there, that he had to pull some of his traps because they was every time filling every one he set! Then another good friend and one hell of a shooter named Harlan Waugh, told me that he trapped the Porcupine for one season and caught so many ‘blanket-sized’ beaver, that his horses could not pack all of them back to the summer Rendezvous and he had to cache a mess of them, according to Harlan, behind his cabin by a huge fir tree, which was located near where the Milk River joined the Porcupine. But his cache is still up there somewhere because after his last son was kilt by a renegade Mountain Man and some of his Indian friends during a Rendezvous, he pulled up stakes and went over to trap in the Wasatch Mountains. And I hear tell from Griz Johnson that when Harlan did, he jest up and disappeared. But both of them men were good friends and they would not lie to me about the trappings in a good place to go if I was to have a notion to go there.”
For the longest time after Old Potts had spoken, quiet reigned around their outside firepit. Then Iron Hand spoke up and asked Old Potts if that neck of the woods around the Porcupine River wasn’t crawling heavy with Gros Ventre same as the area they were now in.
“No more than here, I suppose,” quietly replied Old Potts.
Once again, quiet reigned around the firepit as the men continued thoughtfully pulling on their pipes, pondering their options of continuing life on a dangerous frontier or the quiet of the city life back in the St. Louis area...
“Well,” said Iron Hand slowly, “I came out here after I lost the only family I truly loved to forget my past. Since then, the four of us have become like family and all of you are all that I now have. Won’t be the first time I have been shot at or had my life threatened and more than likely, it won’t be the last if we go into that Gros Ventre-thick country. If you three want to see what lies further west on the Porcupine and take your chances with those damn meddlesome Gros Ventre, count me in. Count me in because I buried my life back in Missouri and traded it for what I have here and now.”
“Well, I don-no. As much as Iron Hand eats, I am not sure there are enough buffalo to keep him fed. And if I have to lug around a small mountain of bullets for my lead-eating Hawken just to keep him fed or protected from the damn Indians, I am not sure my body will hold up to such rigors. Hell, them Gros Ventre are a small concern compared to feeding my huge friend here. But wherever he goes, so goes I. Someone has to keep an eye on him, else he will slip and slide into more trouble than he can handle and will need me there to bail him out. Nothing like being dragged ‘back-ards’ into ‘hell hath no fury’, but count me in if that is what the rest of you want to do,” said Crooked Hand, as he grinned over at his big friend like a hungry pig in a corn crib.
“Well, damned if I will be left behind! I ain’t got much hair to lose in the hands of a murderous Gros Ventre, but he can have it if he can come through the hail of bullets I plan on sending his way and laying down in the air around him when that time comes. Count me in ’cause I don’t plan on being left behind on my own in this damn country,” said Big Foot, with a huge knowing grin of realization of just what he was possibly stepping into.
“As I seed it, that leaves me out here all by my lonesome if I chose to go it alone elsewhere. I kinda figured all you ‘gal-loots’ would fall for what lies over the horizon, be it arrows, a rifle bullet or a damn good ‘buffler’ steak. Well, Old Potts kain’t live with all of you knotheads and he kain’t live without you, so count me in as well and may the good Lord have mercy on all of our black-hearted souls. It looks like the Porcupine may well be our next place to lite-down and take a good look-see...”
For the next week, the four men made ready to leave their old beaver trapping grounds behind and head for Fort Union to trade in their furs, re-provision and eventually, after a lot of drinking and celebrating with old friends at the fort, head for newer pastures and trapping grounds yet unknown, such as the Porcupine River country...
The day of departure found the four trappers up before daylight and loading all their horses heavily with their packs of plus, sleeping furs, cooking ware and all the rest of their ‘possibles’ for the long trip to Fort Union. Upon departure, Old Potts led their string of 18 riding and packhorses with Big Foot trailing one string of nine animals. Riding as outliers on either side of the pack strings rode Crooked Hand and Iron Hand. Both of those men were packing their rifles in hand, two pistols in their sashes and two additional pistols per man holstered on the sides of their saddles.
Moving slowly because all the animals were so heavily loaded, the trappers did not arrive at the Missouri River until late on their second day of travel. The sun had long since set as the men finally picked their ways to the north bank of the Missouri River, only to be brought up short shy of the actual river itself.
Old Potts had brought the group of trappers and their pack strings up short of the river and then sat in his saddle just looking intently towards the distant Missouri River breaks. Seeing Old Potts reined up short in the early evening’s low light, Crooked Hand and Iron Hand quietly rode up and paused alongside Old Potts. No one said anything until Big Foot brought his string of animals alongside, then Old Potts stood up in his stirrups as if to get a better look at what had caught his eye and was ‘sticking in his craw’. As they sat there, Iron Hand, who had been having ‘sixth sense’ feelings all day along the trail, found them still stirring within his being like there was no tomorrow. Then he heard what was bothering the ‘eagle-eyed’ and always cautious, Old Potts.
Down in the breaks along the river, Iron Hand heard a lot of faint yelling and celebrating going on. Then a small flickering of light caught his eyes in the early darkness, as a campfire was being stoked up by a number of loudly talking men. As that fire grew in size, faint figures of men now moving around in the fast-falling darkness also caught the trapper’s eyes looking on from a-far. Something just did not seem right to Iron Hand as well, as his ‘sixth sense angels’ made like they were trying to fly around inside him...
“I don’t like what I am hearing or seeing,” said Old Potts quietly. “Something just doesn’t look or seem right and I don’t know why but that is just how I feel,” he continued. “Folks just don’t advertise their whereabouts so loudly in Indian country unless they be Indians.” Turning in his saddle, Old Potts said, “Iron Hand, you sneak down there and see what is bothering me about that bunch of men around that campfire making such a ruckus. I can faintly see one hell of a mess of horses and a large number of men moving all around near that campsite. We should be the earliest of trappers heading to Fort Union I would think. I just cannot understand why there would be such a large party of men and horses down there along the river ahead of us this early in the season unless their beaver all died out like ours did. Something is not right and I don’t think they be trappers making such a loud fuss. And before we go down there, I want to see what is really going on before we expose ourselves to more than we can handle or a man should be asked to bear if it were to get ugly. So I want you to go down there, sneak around and see what you can see. In the meantime, we will take our horses back into that draw in the river’s breaks behind us and hide them there until you come back.”
Without another word, Iron Hand handed the reins from his horse to Old Potts, stepped from the saddle and quickly disappeared into the darkness along the Misso
uri River breaks just as quietly as a weasel could stalk a field mouse. It always amazed his fellow trappers just how quiet such a large man like Iron Hand could move when he chose to be quiet, and tonight was one of those times.
Eventually sneaking down to the group of men and now their two large campfires, Iron Hand first headed for the larger numbers of horses tied off in the trees to see what he could learn. As he moved closer towards the horses, he got surprised! There in front of him was his favorite packhorse! Stunned in what he was seeing in the faint light from the two huge now-blazing campfires and moving in closer in and around the horses, he was surprised even more. Moving in among the many tied-off horses so he could get closer to the numbers of men now drinking and wildly celebrating around the fires as he tried making sense of the occasion, he got a number of surprises! In fact, seven more surprises! There tied off on a long rope were the other seven horses of the eight taken by the two Indians who had also stolen 16 of their packs holding a number of their beaver plus just weeks earlier!
Then Iron Hand realized what he was seeing. It was the same bunch of Indians that he and Crooked Hand had tracked to the Missouri River earlier. The same group of renegade Indians who had stolen eight of their horses and 16 packs of beaver plus ready to be taken to Fort Union and sold! Then Iron Hand stumbled onto a HUGE pile of packs holding numerous beaver plus! Now the truth of the moment became clearer. The group of noisy men celebrating around the two campfires appeared to be the much-rumored among the trappers, renegade Indians along the Missouri who were catching trappers unawares, stealing their horses, taking their plus and more than likely, killing their owners! Discovering his own eight horses bore mute testimony to what Iron Hand had now come to suspect.
WHOOMP! went a heavy fist alongside Iron Hand’s head, stunning him in the process and in so doing, he dropped his rifle! The heavy impact to Iron Hand’s head of the strike from behind by an unknown assailant knocked him into a nearby cottonwood tree as a result of the full force of the unexpected blow. Quickly recovering his frontier survival instincts and finding the instant fury from deep within rising up into a towering rage, Iron Hand rapidly reacted to the attack. A towering rage, because he now realized that if he was discovered, he more than likely would be killed and his three friends eventually discovered and murdered and robbed as well! Instinctively ducking as he recovered from the impact of the strike from behind, he felt the wind and heard the dull ‘thunking’ sound of a tomahawk hitting the side of the tree when he had recoiled from the initial strike to his head!
Rising up to his full height, Iron Hand saw the darkened form of an Indian trying desperately to retrieve his tomahawk, now deeply stuck in the bark of the cottonwood so it could be used once again. In his towering rage and with the strength befitting his frontier name, Iron Hand reached out, grabbed the Indian by the front of his throat and crushed his windpipe all in one fluid powerful motion! As he crushed the man’s neck in his powerful hand, he realized that if the individual was able to yell out, he would be discovered and it would be all over. With that realization, Iron Hand crunched down even more forcefully on the man’s neck until he heard and felt a dull-sounding snap!
When Iron Hand had done what he had to do, the Indian still being held up in a standing position, went limp, urinated all over himself and then began spasm-trembling in his death throes... Feeling the man’s body finally going limp in his hands, Iron Hand let him down slowly, as the killing fury that had risen up in his body also began subsiding, allowing him to come down from his emotional killing high... Then Iron Hand froze in his tracks! At the very edge of the dancing light from the two nearby blazing campfires he saw something that turned even his stomach! Tied to the cottonwood tree where his attacker had buried his tomahawk in his initial attack, he observed a man dressed in buckskins looking right at him… Iron Hand tensed up figuring he was in for another fight until he realized the man ‘looking at him’ was doing so through lifeless eyes. The buckskin-clad man, obviously a trapper in life, had been tied to the tree and his body shot clear full of arrows! Staring in disbelief at what he was seeing, Iron Hand turned away in disgust and found his disbelieving eyes looking at three more nearby ‘surprises’ at the edge of the light from the campfires as well! Three more surprises in that next to the first dead man tied to the tree, were three more trappers tied to adjacent trees, who had died in the same body filled-full of arrows execution-style manner! Then Iron Hand recognized one of the dead men as an old friend and fellow trapper named “Four-Fingered Jack”! Four-Fingered Jack had been an original Fort Union Company Trapper who had accompanied Iron Hand in driving the fort’s horse herd up to its present location on the upper Missouri River’s maiden upriver trip! Jack was also a close friend of Old Potts, having accompanied him upriver on his first trip into the Frontier in 1807 with a St. Louis businessman named Vasquez. Iron Hand knew when Old Potts discovered what had happened to his old and lifelong friend Four-Fingered Jack, there would be hell to pay on the end of a speeding .50 caliber rifle bullet!
Having seen enough and not wanting to be discovered, Iron Hand lifted up the dead Indian’s body, picked up his rifle and quietly carried the carcass off from the activity around the Indians’ camp to avoid discovery over what had just occurred. Once far enough away from the suspects’ camp and where the body would not be discovered, Iron Hand dropped it into a nearby draw and then quietly headed for where he suspected the rest of his fellow trappers would be waiting for him to return and report his findings.
About 20 minutes later, Iron Hand quietly slipped into the area hiding the rest of his crew. There without mentioning the man he had killed with just the strength in his right hand after the man had tried killing him, Iron Hand reported to the group. “You will not believe what I just discovered. There are about 15 to 20 Indians in that camp. They are the one and same bunch, Crooked Hand, who took our eight horses and the 16 packs of beaver plus some time back. The one and same two Indians we could not tackle and try to get our horses and furs back because once they got to the Missouri River and joined up with their pals, they outnumbered us. They also have a huge pile of packs and a number of horses I am sure that they have taken from other trappers up and down the line, and more than likely have killed them all in the process. Otherwise, why all the horses, mules and packs in one place like they have near their campsite?”
“I also have some very bad news. Apparently four trappers ran afoul of this bunch and recently paid the price. While snooping around their campsite, I ran across those four trappers. They had been all tied up around a number of trees and then those Indians in camp shot all of them full of arrows execution-style! Each of those men had to have at least 20 arrows in them! There was no two ways about it, they were murdered! Old Potts, one of those murdered trappers was your old friend and mine, Four-Fingered Jack! He too died with having at least 20 arrows shot into his whole front side,” said Iron Hand quietly.
For the longest time Old Potts said nothing about what Iron Hand had just said. Then he quietly said, “Alright, I will make damn sure every time I pull the trigger, some son-of-a-bitch is going to feel a hot lead slug ripping through his guts! Shoot my dear friend clear full of arrows will they, well, we shall now see what side the Devil is on…”
“Well, they outnumber us now as well. But if we let them live, they will ambush other returning to Fort Union fur trappers following along the Missouri as many of them are wont to do, kill them and take all of their furs and livestock as well. Right now, they are positioned perfectly along the Missouri River to intercept any other groups of trappers following the river back to Fort Union. When they do, it will be all over for those unsuspecting trappers,” continued Iron Hand.
“However, here is what I propose. They have at least one and maybe two kegs of rum that they have opened and are now celebrating their horse-thieving and pack-stealing successes. I suggest we let them have their little party and when they get good and liquored up, we swoop in and kill the lot! Since there are so ma
ny of them, surprise is the only way we can kill all of them if we decide to take them on. In order to do that, we all will need to be carrying our rifles and at least three pistols apiece fully loaded with buck and ball. If we do it that way, I figure we can kill up to 16 initially when we attack, providing we don’t miss killing a single man, which should be pretty easy. The whole damn bunch is now clustered around those two kegs of rum and their campfires, which should make killing the lot of them damn easy. However if we don’t get them all killed in a shooting go-around, then it will be rifle butts, knives and our tomahawks if we are to carry the day. There are a lot of them but with their drinking and our element of surprise, I think we four can do it. This is no different than what I learned at the U.S. Military Academy as a cadet years ago. With the element of surprise on our side, even in the face of superior odds, we can carry the day providing all of us shoot straight,” continued Iron Hand, now getting worked up internally and mentally once again over what was to come if all went as planned.
“Well, you are the ex-military man and should know what you are talking about. I, like you, feel that the surprise method of attack is the only way we four can succeed. If we let these red devils live, they will kill and plunder among the rest of our kind til their hearts’ content. I say we kill the bunch and toss their bodies in the Missouri River for other like in kind ambush-killers along the way to see what awaits them if they so continue with such evil ways against us trappers,” said Old Potts, with a lot of ‘grit’ sounding in the tone and tenor of his voice...
“Well, you know how I feel after our talk the other night around the firepit back at our cabin when it comes to you, Iron Hand. I can’t let you go in alone, otherwise you will just get your big ole miserable carcass into more trouble than you can handle. So I plan on carrying four pistols into this fracas just because those bastards took our horses and plus, and made me mash my ass in my saddle those couple of days back trying to catch them and having to go for two long days without anything to eat,” said Crooked Hand, with a look in his eyes although unseen in the dark, foretold through the tone and tenor of his voice the seriousness of exactly what he was saying...
