Crossed Arrows: Mountain Men (The Mountain Men Book 1)

by Terry Grosz

  Chapter Nine

  Up the Platte

  By four the next morning, the trappers’ huge hangovers made for a little more subdued and quieter camp. Nobody wanted to move very fast or very far for fear their heads would simply fall off after drinking so much cheap, trade whiskey—trade whiskey that was made many times from cheap whiskey, gunpowder and sometimes a dash of coal oil.

  Jacob and company had refrained from heavy drink and were glad for it. Besides, the whiskey tasted like no other drink of “old tanglefoot” any of them had ever previously drunk.

  “Witness the result of the trapper’s brand of cheap whiskey,” Ben said as he swept an open hand across the panorama of the camp. Many men staggered about trying to round up their livestock and pack them for the trip. Others puked up the remains of last night’s dinner in big, partially digested chunks of almost raw buffalo meat, or just laid where they had fallen from their over-indulgences. Almost all scratched at the many angry red welts left behind by the aggressive mosquitoes.

  “This bodily disregard and drunkenness will be repeated at many a rendezvous in the years to come,” Ben said. “That is, for those trappers who live through the rigors and dangers of the land.”

  Jacob, Martin and Ben put their pack strings together, then breakfasted on remaining buffalo from the night before. As they stood quietly in the cool of the morning at the ready, Clayborn, the company’s main man, selected them to lead the contingent of men. Ben cracked a wide grin and told his friends, “This is quite an honor because being farther back in the mile-long string of trappers and their animals would mean to eat a lot of alkali dust from those traveling in the front.”

  Meanwhile, Bear and Wentz were back in the pack. They seethed over their placement and the preferential treatment given those at the head of the pack.

  Clayborn had four scouts far out in front of the column. About eleven in the morning on that first day, several shots were heard far in advance of the main company as they dustily plodded along the dry sandy soils on the banks of the Platte. At first, Jacob figured there was Indian trouble brewing upon hearing the shooting. He figured they were in Lakota country as they traveled up the Platte River and was now decidedly very alert. They had seen several bands of Indians sitting on their horses at a respectful distance during the morning watching the trappers’ long column and that was all it took to remain more than alert.

  Soon over the rise to their front galloped a lone rider. Pulling his horse up short alongside Clayborn, they had an animated conversation that Jacob strained fruitlessly to hear. Then, the rider galloped back from whence he came. Clayborn rode over to Jacob and said, “Pass the word down the line: the outriders have killed several cow buffalo along the river. They are now preparing them for the men’s midday meal.”

  Jacob relayed the news to Ben, and Ben rode back to the next group of riders, passed the word, and they did the same in turn. Soon Jacob could see the riders far back in the column picking up the pace in anticipation of the feed to follow. It seemed many hours on the trail under the hot scorching sun made for clearer heads and emptier stomachs than he had realized, especially since many had puked up their dinners from the evening before at the wood camp and most basically had nothing to eat since two days previously.

  At the cook site, four men were butchering out several buffalo a few yards distant. Several roaring fires had been made with driftwood from along the nearby river, creating great beds of coals. Alongside those coals were numerous green willow sticks sunken into the earth. Great slabs of buffalo meat hung from the sticks and were merrily cooking away, filling the air with many good smells waiting for a hungry taker.

  The first few men rode up, dismounted and deep staked their horses so if the Indians tried to stampede or run them off, the stakes would hold them in place. Happy for the break from the stiffness of riding horses long distances, other riders soon dismounted, staked their mounts and headed for the great smelling fires as well. However, in so doing, each man carried his rifle, just in case. The men squatted and removed the stakes from alongside the fire holding the huge slabs of buffalo meat and commenced cutting off the semi-cooked portions with their knives. When the meat was too raw for the eater, he simply returned his stake to the fire’s edge for more roasting. However, because of abject hunger or what they were used to, many men ate their meat warm or just raw. The men butchering the buffalo continued bringing more slabs of meat to be cooked by the fires. As more trappers moved into the area, they, too, took their places around the fires. Soon noisy eating, laughing and belching was the word of the day as the men gorged themselves. Then, after wiping their greasy hands on their pants and shirts, they relaxed by lying or sleeping on the warm, sandy soil alongside the Platte. However, their rifles were kept at a close distance and one never really slept too soundly while in Indian country.

  Day after day, this routine continued until the men reached the North Platte branch of the Platte River. Taking the north fork, the men hardly paused as their adventure continued.

  This plodding travel continued for the next ten days as the trappers trekked towards where the Laramie River ran into the North Platte. All the while they moved deeper into a country beautiful in its wildness yet grandly stark in much of its geography. They constantly observed great herds of buffalo, elk, deer, pronghorn antelope, and even greater numbers of curious, ever watchful bands of Indians. There were also numerous flocks of sage grouse, sharp-tailed grouse and prairie chickens spooked up at the trappers’ horses’ feet at almost every turn in the river, especially in the mornings and evenings when the birds came to the river to drink. Beaver were seen frequently swimming in the quieter pools of the North Platte, but none were trapped or shot—they were out of prime. River otter and muskrat were also frequent visitors in the river and wetlands found along the way, as were many species of waterfowl. It truly was a wildlife paradise, one unlike any Jacob or Martin had ever seen.

  Ben, having been in this type of country before and having previously witnessed such abundance and diversity of wildlife, just smiled at the wonder on the faces of his two new friends. He knew before their lives ended, the two newcomers would see many of God’s wilderness marvels. Marvels that abounded throughout this beautiful land and were there for all to see and enjoy. Yes, he thought, these two have just begun what will be a wondrous life...if they live to see and enjoy it.

  Chapter Ten

  Buffalo Calf, Singing Bird

  The train of trappers topped a long rise, and there it was down below and off in a distance—the junction of the much sought Laramie and North Platte Rivers, dotted with numerous tepees. In reality, the junction didn’t look like much, and it wasn’t. But it was a form of civilization the men had not seen in many days of travel across the almost endless monotony of the Great Plains, travel that had brought the trappers nothing but bouts with dust from the long column, dust storms, winds, heat, hoards of mosquitoes, more heat, more dust, and bad water.

  “Regardless what the junction of the Laramie River with its collection of tepees represents, it had to be a damn sight better than the rest of the short-grass prairie we’ve been traveling,” Bear told Wentz, with a trace of St. Louis still running in his veins.

  With their goal now in sight, the train of men and animals picked up the pace. That only created more dust for those in the rear of the caravan. Bear and Wentz were still at the very end, partly out of their laziness but most of all because the other trappers didn’t want to put up with their foul tempers and abusive words for their comrades.

  Clayborn swung the contingent of trappers onto an unused grassy plain with plenty of feed for their livestock near a shaded bend in the North Platte near the Laramie, then signaled a stop. Trappers soon scrambled for those flat, shady places without the ever present prickly pear cactus in which to make their camps. As it turned out, those flat places were quickly staked out by those fortunates in front of the column; they enjoyed a camp along the river’s slow-moving waters under the shade of hug
e cottonwoods. Being last, Bear and Wentz found themselves camping out in the blazing hot prairie sun in order to camp near the rest for the protection such numbers offered.

  Soon, friendly Indians from the sixty or so tepees scattered around the confluence of the two rivers straggled into the trapper’s camp. Talking, begging, trading—they came in almost oppressive waves. Clayborn quickly set up shop on some open ground covered with buffalo skins for tables. Soon the trading for furs and buffalo hides was in full swing while many of the tired, first-time trappers looked on in amusement and interest. Several kegs of whiskey were broken out and soon the camp was swirling with merry Indians, barking dogs and happy trappers.

  Jacob, Martin and Ben watched from a distance as they kept a sharp eye on their own goods. It would have been nice to circulate around the trading action, but to do so would find themselves without a stitch of gear left for the coming years of trapping due to light-fingered Indian opportunists and their less-than-honest trapper “friends.”

  Just then, a young Indian man strode into the three trappers’ camp and with a yell of recognition, walked over and threw his arms around Ben. Both men seemed to know one another and after a few minutes of jabbering excitably in the Lakota Indian language, Ben brought him over to meet Jacob and Martin.

  “Jacob and Martin, I would like you to meet my old friend, Buffalo Calf. He is from the Knife River area where we spent many hours hunting and fishing together. I saved his life one spring in a bullboat—a round boat made from buffalo hides and a willow frame—when the ice went out on the Missouri and he got caught on an ice flow. We have been friends ever since.”

  Jacob and Martin welcomed Buffalo Calf with wrist-grabbing handshakes. The Lakota was not as tall as the three other men, but was stout in build. Like the other Indians, Buffalo Calf smelled of sweat and bear grease that they smeared liberally on the body, to keep the mosquitoes and other stinging insects at bay.

  He seemed friendly enough and soon the four men were having a great time getting acquainted. Jacob and Martin soon learned that Buffalo Calf spoke broken but understandable English as well as Lakota and the language of the Mandan Tribes.

  “Buffalo Calf,” Jacob said, “it is good to meet a new friend in this land.”

  Buffalo Calf strained to follow the white man’s Kentucky accent. “I much like seeing friends of my friend, Ben Bow.”

  “Are you here with your clan?” Martin asked.

  “I do not know this word, ‘clan.’”

  “Are you here with your family?”

  The Lakota straightened up with pride, clearly understanding the rephrased question. “My squaw is Singing Bird. She is here with me. We not have child. Are you with family?”

  “I have no wife,” Martin replied, despite Buffalo Calf’s slight misunderstanding of the question. “My friend, Jacob, has no wife. Our families are back in Kentucky—back in the White Man’s camp in the land where the sun rises.”

  Buffalo Calf clasped Martin and Jacob by the shoulders. “May the Great Spirit provide you family in these lands, to keep you warm.”

  Martin and Jacob both shifted uncomfortably as they thanked Buffalo Calf. Ben just chuckled.

  Soon the talk turned to beaver trapping and all four men became animated on the subject. Buffalo Calf was familiar with much of the country to the north having lived there and tried to explain its trails, passes and the best trapping grounds to the eagerly listening men. He also explained to the three men who had never been to this part of the Rocky Mountains before about its many and constant dangers. He considered the Blackfoot Indians and their allies from the Algonquin Nation the biggest dangers to the north. But he also spoke of the difficult winters, grizzly bears, always aggressive and hungry gray wolves, and clever horse-stealing tribes of Crow.

  Then, Buffalo Calf asked, “May I come with you? I wish to travel the land and trap the beaver. I know this land and can show you where the beaver live. I have hunted all the animals that live in this land, and I know how to make beaver trap.” Martin looked to Jacob, who shrugged. Then Martin replied. “We did not plan on another member for our party. Perhaps we do not have enough supplies?”

  “The Great Spirit gives Lakota all they need, not like White Man. With more trapper, you trap more beaver. You have no squaw to make meat. Singing Bird can make meat and make beaver hide.”

  Buffalo Calf began signing as he spoke, to emphasize his argument: “Many Indians, not Lakota, make war on trappers. Mountains dangerous to trappers. I am brave Lakota, I fight strong against Blackfoot and Snake and Crow. I will defend my friends, if you will make me friend.”

  The offer caught Jacob and Martin by surprise, Ben noticed. He stepped in and said, “This is a surprise to us, my friend. But I would be pleased to have another trustworthy member in our trapping party who has much to contribute. I know that you are strong and wise with knowledge of these lands. You are right, you are a good friend. I need time to speak with Jacob and Martin so that we can speak as one and give you our answer.”

  Buffalo Calf smiled, then Ben continued. “We will have a hard journey, and there is much work to do. I ask you to speak with Singing Bird about this. She, too, must agree. I cannot bring your squaw into danger and hard work unless I know she wishes it, as well.”

  “I understand.” Buffalo Calf reinforced his grin and glided away in the direction of his tepee.

  When Buffalo Calf was out of ear shot, Martin said to Jacob, “It would be alright with me. Ben likes him and he seems to fit in well with our group. We could certainly use another hand to help out with the trapping and defense against surprise attacks. Especially since we haven’t found anyone else in this group of trappers that we would like to add as a fourth partner.”

  Jacob thought for a minute about his friend’s words and then looked at Ben. “What do you think, Ben? Can Buffalo Calf and his woman add to our travels or just slow us down?”

  “I have known him for a long time. He is a good worker, excellent hunter and has a strong heart. He is Lakota and acceptable to most other tribal cultures we will run across with the exception of the Snake, Crow and Blackfoot. His woman is also a good worker, a happy person and a very good maker of meals and clothing.”

  Jacob thought to himself for a moment and said, “Well, I like Buffalo Calf as well. I doubt he will be able to bring much in the way of equipment to the venture, but I like having someone around knowledgeable of the area and skilled in several languages of the other Indian tribes. That, plus we have some extra gear and traps he can always use. If he is as good a hunter as you say, that would serve us well. I also say we include him as a member of our party if his wife is willing and that may just give all of us an edge we could use.”

  All three men nodded in agreement.

  When Buffalo Calf returned, Ben said, “Welcome, my friend. I have good news to tell. Jacob, Martin and I would be happy to have you as a member of our trapping party so long as Singing Bird is in agreement.”

  Buffalo Calf flashed a toothy grin. “Singing Bird say she agree to go with trappers, if she can be with her people when her people are close to trapper camp.”

  That being acceptable, the four men shook on the deal. They were now a foursome in a team that not only knew the country in which they were going but fast becoming a band of brothers. A quality that often times was in short supply in the wilderness.

  Bear and Wentz, on the other hand, cussed at every “damn Injun” that came near, and chased them off with drawn horse pistols.

  Chapter Eleven

  Camp

  Clayborn and company traded with the Indians for four days, then closed down the small trading festival. Then those trappers needing additional supplies were topped off from the company’s stocks. Many trappers’ marks were made in the books as they additionally purchased a portion of their year’s supplies on credit. Credit that was to be paid off during the next year’s rendezvous to be held in Cache Valley.

  The group’s eighty trappers were formed into
four smaller twenty-man brigades and sent to points northwest into the Rocky Mountains. As it turned out, Bear and Wentz were assigned to the same brigade as Jacob, Martin, Ben and now Buffalo Calf. With that, Clayborn took the remaining men with his pack train to intercept William Sublette’s pack train—a pack train that was already heading for the Wind River Basin for the upcoming trapper’s rendezvous in July of that year. Sublette’s supply caravan consisted of more than eighty men with packhorses and several wagons heavily loaded with trade goods for the trappers already afield. At the end of that rendezvous, the supply caravan would head back to St. Louis with furs valued in excess of $80,000—a monstrous reward for those merchants in St. Louis who had the conviction to invest in such a risky venture.

  Soon the four smaller brigades went separate ways as they moved north into the prime beaver trapping regions of the central Rockies. Then Jacob’s brigade broke up into even smaller groups as they staked out individual trapping territories. Buffalo Calf just kept Jacob’s crew pointed north as they ventured into the Bighorn Mountains. On they went, day after day, followed by Singing Bird riding one horse and leading another that pulled a travois loaded with buffalo hides for the tepee and other family items. A third horse pulled a second travois loaded with tepee poles and sleeping skins.

  My God, this country is absolutely stunning, Jacob thought. Mountain grasses were belly high on the horses. Cold, clear creeks rushed about everywhere. So did buffalo, elk, deer, pronghorn, moose, bighorn sheep, and grizzly and black bears. Blue grouse were often underfoot, spooking the horses with their sudden and unexpected “rises” on a daily basis. Ten minutes hunting with the fowling piece or fishing with hand lines produced more fish and grouse than could be eaten at an evening meal. The big Hawkens were everything Jacob Hawken had said they would be. A single shot behind the shoulder brought great beasts such as buffalo, moose or elk down quickly. Then the work began as everyone pitched in to butcher the animal before it was fly blown or spoiled in the late summer heat. No two ways about it, God has truly smiled down on this land Buffalo Calf has brought us into. No wonder the local tribes of Indians fight so fiercely and in such a deadly manner to defend their lands.