by Terry Grosz
The collisions of the dying and the living gave Jacob and his friends time to draw their second pistols from their sashes.
Nothing more than pure varmint killing, Jacob thought as the heavy slugs from those pistol volleys tore into the Blackfoot still standing or running at them from some six feet away.
Jacob and Martin, and then Ben and the boys, drew their tomahawks and knives and lunged into the now stunned, smoke cloud-enveloped Blackfoot. The remaining Lakota Indians closed on their enemies from the rear.
In seconds, it was all over. Every Blackfoot warrior in that large raiding party lay dead in the stand of tepees, at the feet of the trappers or among the Lakota at the base of the ridge.
Jacob and Martin watched as their Blackfoot opponents, their throats slit, furiously wiggled and trembled to the ground. The raiders’ lifeblood spurted hotly over everyone within reach.
Jacob looked over at the rest of his party. He was relieved to see all were standing with only Ben being slightly wounded over the eye by a close and almost lethal swing of a Blackfoot’s tomahawk. The wound bled furiously like a stuck hog, but he would be alright under Singing Bird’s care, Jacob thought out of relief for his friend and the moment just passed.
Jacob stepped over the many dead Blackfoot warriors now being scalped and savagely mutilated by the Lakota. He walked down from the ridge and into the Indian village as he reloaded his pistol. The cost to the Lakota has also been high, he observed. The main battleground in and among the tepees was littered with bodies from the Blackfoot raiding party and with men, women and children from the band of Lakota. Lame Deer and Singing Bird’s brother Standing Elk lay dead, killed in the first savage onslaught. Singing Bird’s mother and sister also lay dead at the opening of their tepee. Apparently they had been brained by Blackfoot tomahawks as they attempted to flee their tepee.
Jacob signaled to Ben who was holding the wound shut over his eye with his hand, and they soon met next to Singing Bird’s family tepee.
Ben, after seeing that Singing Bird’s entire family had been wiped out, grimly strode back to his guns at the edge of the trees. He picked them up and reloaded, then moved off swiftly to where Singing Bird was still holed up in the cabin.
Better that the bad news come from Ben than for her to discover her loved ones dead on the field of battle, Jacob thought. Still, her grief will be horribly intense.
Of the entire band of Lakota, over half had been killed during the first minutes of the rare winter raid by the Blackfoot—rare, because come winter, most western tribes stayed next to their camps in the face of the tough traveling and foraging required to make raiding forays. Most of the Lakota hadn’t had a chance. They were killed as they slept or as they stepped from their tepees to defend their families. Wounded were everywhere and it took the rest of the Indians and the trappers all day to render aid. The next morning and into the day following, many burial scaffolds were erected on the small hillside down from the trapper’s cabin. The spring season, usually a time of new life, was now a sad time for all.
Afterwards, the remaining numbers of Lakota moved their tepees closer to the set of lean-tos and cabin for the protection the structures and trappers afforded. Only eleven Lakota families or parts of families remained. Singing Bird, true to her stoic nature in the face of adversity, was everywhere among the survivors. She tended to the wounded and motherless children, saw to feeding those who needed such care, and helped the rest with their resettlement closer to her tepee. The remaining tepees from the deceased were burned as were their remaining possessions not sent along with those on the burial scaffolds. The Blackfoot were left where they fell and were soon consumed by the always-hungry forest critters. As for the raiding party’s horses, they were taken by the remaining Lakota as the spoils of the “victory.” They were now a band poor in numbers but rich in horseflesh.
There was still a perceived Blackfoot threat: one of the horse handlers had escaped to possibly tell the tale. To protect themselves, numbers in the spring trapping parties were increased. Additionally, there were always men left back at camp for defense. Jacob, Martin, Jeremiah and a Lakota named Broken Foot formed one trapping team. Ben, Leo, Stepping Crooked and Spotted Elk Calf formed the other trapping team. It had been worked out that the spring beaver taken would be split equally since sharing was “The Way.” Thus, remaining band members would have furs to trade at the rendezvous or a trading post to fetch those needed necessities for the coming year.
That spring was one of the best for trapping the men had ever seen. The valley they trapped was just four miles distant from camp but full of beaver. Soon the beaver were pouring into camp and with an abundance of women to process the furs the men could devote more time to the actual trapping. Beaver pelts as well as furs from river otter and fox seemed to grace every drying hoop and hanging facility.
The cave was taking on a look of richness of its own as well. Furs from their earlier trappings, furs traded from the Indians and now the pelts flowing in from their recent although shared trappings provided a cabin full of bounty. However, the Mountain Men needed to trap everything they could, not only because it was a means to an end for those much-needed supplies, but because they were leaving this area for good after the spring trapping season.
They made such plans because of the bad memories and the fact that the beaver would mostly be trapped out and gone by late spring anyway. By the end of trapping season in the spring of 1832, the cave and parts of the cabin were full of furs. Trapping equipment was carefully packed away for the rest of the year and the men began to pack the furs in bundles for travel to the rendezvous in Pierre’s Hole come summer.
Everyone was looking forward to the annual trappers’ get-together and it had now been decided that Singing Bird’s depleted band of Lakota would accompany the trappers to the rendezvous. Once there, the Indians would trade their furs for much needed supplies and then move on to Pa-Ha Sapa, their word for the Black Hills. There they could be closer to larger and more protective family bands of Lakota. That, plus the lure of hunting buffalo with their own kind, provided a very strong pull back to their roots, especially among the remaining young men in the band. The rendezvous at Pierre’s Hole in 1832 would provide needed supplies for the small band of Lakota and more of the mad chaos between trappers that Jacob and Martin had witnessed the year before.
Chapter Nineteen
The 1832 Rendezvous
On the morning of the departure to the rendezvous, the survivors said their goodbyes to those who had passed in the fight with the Blackfoot and now lay upon burial scaffolds on the hillside. Then, in a caravan with men equally distributed along the line of travelers for the protection it afforded, the trek began. Many good as well as bad memories were left behind by Indian and white men alike.
Jacob turned in his saddle as he led a pack string of horses loaded with plews. He looked back over an area he had come to love because of all the adventure and life changes that occurred while there. His eyes met Martin’s eyes as his friend led a following pack string. Those eyes also spoke of mixed feelings that came from change. But like Jacob’s, his look spoke of thinking forward towards those adventures yet to come—adventures neither of the close friends could yet imagine but would participate in as they moved through this event called “life.”
As they traveled through the magnificent Absaroka Range, the group came into daily contact with herds of buffalo, the grand moose, elk by the score and dainty mule deer at every turn in the trail. Every night because of this bounty of wildlife, the party feasted on many kinds of fresh meat of the choicest cuts. The waters were clear and cold and the mountain grasses high and nutritious. Soon the horses were not pleasant to follow because all those rich grasses they ate were turned into clouds of foul-smelling methane gasses as they labored along under their pack loads of furs. But life was full and thoughts of the raid by the Blackfoot were dimming daily. However, because they were now in Blackfoot country, vigilance remained high. If the Blackfoot ca
me this time, all would be ready with an ugliness in their hearts that bespoke of only violence to their enemy.
Up they climbed, using the many animal and Indian trails over Togwatee Pass and down its backside. In front of the caravan in all her mountain majesty now lay the spectacular Tetons, spiritual home to the Mountain Men. Skirting to the south side of Jackson Hole, they camped at the edge of the great valley and intertwined hills. The hunting continued to be exceptional and soon sounds of shooting from other rendezvous-bound trappers could be heard daily. By the second day in the valley, Jacob’s group was joined by several other groups of trappers and large numbers of friendly Flathead Indians. By then, the collective group was so large it wasn’t considered a likely target by raiding Blackfoot or Gros Ventre who, when observed, kept a safe watchful distance. The group then continued up over Teton Pass and down the back side to Pierre’s Hole, which to a Mountain Man was another place of outstanding beauty.
The area identified as Pierre’s Hole was about twenty-five miles long and anywhere from a few miles to fifteen miles wide. On one side of this valley rose the majestic Teton Mountains and on the other but not quite as spectacular, the Snake River Mountains. In between, there was grass belly deep to a buffalo, watered areas from the mountain ranges everywhere around and camping places aplenty. Even though the trappers lived in God’s paradise on a daily basis, they always appreciated another of His great masterpieces and Pierre’s Hole was one fitting such a bill: lush meadows, clear streams, abundant game at every turn in the trail and enough space to satisfy any man with a wilderness bent. That was topped off with soft blue skies and pleasant evenings so full of stars that one found it hard to close his eyes because of their numbers and magnificence.
The only negatives were the ever-present clouds of mosquitoes driving one to distraction. For the trappers and Indians alike, an extra slathering of bear grease kept the biting insects like the moose flies, no-see-ums, white sox and mosquitoes somewhat at bay. As for the horses, an ever-moving tail seemed to be the only defense—that and a good roll in the mud alongside a handy stream when the opportunity presented itself.
Sublette and Campbell were there to supply the trappers at the 1832 rendezvous with supplies for the coming year. And, as before, they and their American Fur Company did not arrive until the rendezvous was basically over. For once however, that was a small thing. Representatives from Hudson’s Bay, the Rocky Mountain Fur Company plus others from independent companies such as Gant, Blackwell and Nathaniel Wyeth showed up at the annual get-together with the much-needed supplies. With their input, the trading sessions went on without delay. In fact, that rendezvous turned out to be one of the largest on record. Over four hundred Mountain Men, two hundred Nez Perce and over a hundred Flathead Indians were in attendance.
Jacob and company with their small band of Lakota headed for a small copse of cottonwoods in the center of the valley alongside several fast-running mountain streams. Soon barking dogs, laughing children and tepees dotted the verdant meadows. The horse herd was safely positioned to the north and soon the smell of fires heavy with aroma of cooking buffalo meat dominated the scene.
Jacob and the men erected their two tepees and then pitched the rest of their camp close at hand under several massive cottonwoods. Soon Singing Bird had her cooking fire blazing as the men continued hauling dry firewood into camp. Their horse herd was posted with double hobbles and soon the men settled down around their fires with their backs against the packs full of plews. Relaxing, the men were soon to appreciate the smell of freshly crushed grasses underfoot along with the usual great smells of sizzling buffalo meat and coffee. Life at that moment was pretty special.
About a half mile to the west lay the camps of those fur companies that had arrived and were setting up for the business of trading. Already there were mobs of fur trappers and Indians gathered around to trade, drink and share news not only from the outside world but about each other as well. Especially about those Mountain Men who were conspicuous by their absence.
After supper, Jacob and the men decided they would let the initial charge of trappers and Indians have their run at the traders. Then when things ironed out and quieted down a bit, they would venture forth and trade their goods. In the meantime come the morrow, they would join their fellow man, hoist a drink or two, tell some tall tales and see who made it through the winter.
As expected, Leo and Jeremiah were wound up tighter than one of those newfangled Swiss watches that the traders had brought from St. Louis. In a way, this was the boys’ very first rendezvous. The one they attended in Cache Valley in Utah the previous summer had some good and bad memories still attached: memories of captivity and then being rescued and taken in by their “current family.” So in truth, this one was their first as honest to goodness fur trappers, and they couldn’t wait to join the festivities.
In the damp and cold of the dawn, Jacob and party sat around the fire feasting on fresh cutthroat trout fried crisply in bear grease that Singing Bird had caught the evening before. That wonderful smell was joined with that of her always-fluffy Dutch oven biscuits.
The pink meat of the chunky cutthroat trout tasted pretty good after all the jerky and buffalo meat Jacob had been eating. By the way the others were wolfing down on Singing Bird’s crispy pan fried fish, bones and all, they must have thought so as well.
After the morning meal, the men saddled up their horses and without fanfare headed for the rendezvous with its swirl of gaily-dressed trappers and Indians. Singing Bird told them she would stay at the camp and watch the plews and horses as well as get in some more visiting with her Lakota band. They arrived at the center of organized confusion at the rendezvous, then just sat on their horses for a few moments and drank in the swirl of events. There were shooting matches, foot races, heavy trading and drinking of the questionable trade whiskey, squaw swapping, and merchants repairing firearms or selling new ones. The ringing of the blacksmith’s hammer repairing iron items of any kind added its distinctive sound to the event as well. Great fires roared throughout with the inevitable slabs of buffalo meat hanging from green cooking sticks for anyone passing by to partake. Indians, their kids and all the noise they brought to the rendezvous were just another set of instruments in the mountain meadow’s music.
As the afternoon wore on and the whiskey began to take its toll on common sense, fights broke out. Some were meaner than a snake as knives flashed and bright red stains decorated many a trapper’s beautifully beaded buckskins. But generally, everything moved right along at a controlled crash. Soon, these men would re-enter the deadly world of a trapper for another long, hard year of isolation, so if one was going to “let her rip,” it was now or never.
When Jacob and the others arrived back at camp that first evening, they found Singing Bird dutifully preparing supper. They dismounted and cared for their stock, then approached the cooking fire looking to see what was for supper. Singing Bird said little and went about her business quietly and with a lot less looking at the men than Jacob had ever remembered. Jacob looked askance at Ben as to why the quiet treatment. In response, Ben shrugged his shoulders with an “I don’t know why either” look.
As they ate that evening in a manner quieter than usual, Jacob noticed that Singing Bird had a large bruise on her right arm and a reddish rubbed area on her left cheek that he hadn’t noticed before. In sign, Jacob asked Singing Bird how she got the bruise.
Singing Bird just looked at Jacob, turned from her work around the fire and strode back to her tepee, obviously upset. It was then both Jacob and Ben noticed she was walking in a funny manner and not in her usual pronounced way. Jacob was glad to see Ben rise and follow Singing Bird into her tepee.
Soon Ben emerged from the tepee with a clouded and angry look on his face. He strode purposefully towards his horse and saddled up. Jacob sensed big trouble in the air, so he stood and walked over to his friend.
“What is the problem, my friend?” asked Jacob, ever mindful that Ben was now on
the prod and when he was in such a mood, a killing was not far away.
Ben turned and gave Jacob a look meant to kill. He said, “Singing Bird was raped by four trappers coming into the rendezvous this afternoon. They stopped in camp and asked if she would fix them some food. When she did, they grabbed her from behind, took her into the tepee and had their way with her, many, many painful times. She is very bruised all over her body and still bleeding from being so brutally treated. I aim to go to the rendezvous, find those varmints and kill every one of them,” he quietly added with a tone of finality and underlying rage.
Jacob found himself rising into a towering rage as well. Not only had the newly arriving trappers done wrong, they had come into his camp and took the gentle and loving little Singing Bird against her will. He, too, found himself wanting to head into the main trapper’s camp that night and kill everyone who had been involved with the violation of such a beautiful and caring person. But his survival instincts installed by his step-dad, Zeke, took over.
“Ben,” he said, “we need to wait until daylight and then go together into the Rendezvous. That way we can be sure of who they were and take care of business in the manner as necessary.”
Ben kept saddling his horse until Jacob put his hand on his arm to get his attention.
“We must wait until it is light enough to see and shoot. Going into the main trappers’ camp in the dark and starting to shoot will do nothing but have every one of them returning fire in our direction thinking the Blackfoot are on the prod. Besides, we need Singing Bird to identify them. I don’t want to kill anyone unless he needs killing and then, I want to do it right,” Jacob said.
