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

by Terry Grosz

  Then they spent the next week cutting hay for their horses’ winter use and setting it out to cure in the meadows adjacent to their cabin. Then it was off to the rolling surrounding lands to the north to make meat. When the two of them had first ridden into North Park, they had observed many extensive herds of buffalo. Intermixed with the wooly buffalo were abundant bands of pronghorn antelope, numerous moose along the streams, and elk and deer everywhere in between. It was truly a mountain paradise and not another white trapper was to be seen.

  It was apparent the Arapaho had located in this pristine area as well, from their many tracks and tepee rings, making it incumbent upon the two trappers to be watchful. If not, they could get their “topknots” lifted by a tribe not known for their “friendly” towards many of the white men flooding into their ancestral lands.

  For the next couple of days, Jacob and Martin contented themselves with the killing of locally abundant moose and mule deer. These were almost entirely jerked for winter’s use.

  With that done and stored in parfleches hanging from the ceiling beams, the men turned to serious meat gathering.

  Numerous herds of buffalo ran on the sagebrush flats further to the north.

  With two Hawkens apiece, along with their skinning knives, ample supplies of powder, primers and lead balls, they ventured forth. They crawled up over a small hill overlooking a herd of quietly feeding buffalo. Standing there in all his glory was a mature bull bison who was pure white.

  “Big Medicine,” as the Indians call him, thought Jacob as he unlimbered his rifles and shooting gear. Martin just lay there looking at the white animal in all his significance.

  “Do we take him?” whispered Jacob to Martin, aware of the religious and cultural significance the plains and inter-mountain tribes attached to such an animal.

  “He might bring us much in a trade,” softly spoke Martin who, even though an Indian, was not imbued with the Plains Indian culture and the magical powers they attached to such a creature.

  With that, Jacob laid his heavy Hawken on his crossed shooting sticks and took a bead on a spot behind the front shoulder of the white animal. Boom went Jacob’s Hawken as the animal lurched forward from the impact of the heavy, well-placed bullet. A bright spot of red now marred his shaggy gray-white hide where Jacob had aimed.

  The rest of the herd started but Martin took out the lead cow before she made up her mind to flee the foreign sound. Soon the animals were in a confused “stand” as their lead cow and herd bull hit the ground with loud, dusty crumps.

  Jacob and Martin each grabbed their reserve Hawkens and killed two more cow buffalo. They hurriedly reloaded both rifles, then again killed another cow per rifle. Then they quit shooting with six buffalo down.

  For the next three hours, they cut out the best parts of the fallen buffalo and loaded the great slabs of meat onto the travois being pulled by their six packhorses. With that, they skinned out Big Medicine and threw his hide onto the last travois. The meat from Big Medicine was not considered fit to eat by the two men and was left for the numerous packs of wolves in the area. However, the wolves would have to hurry. The diminutive coyote and flocks of ravens, crows and magpies had descended on the bull’s carcass like it was Christmas come early.

  Two slow-moving hours with the heavily loaded horses finally brought the men back to their cabin. Slicing off chunks of the meat, Jacob threw them into a large cast-iron cooking pot. He filled it with water and some wild onions dug from a nearby rocky hillside and set it next to the edge of the fire to slowly cook. Then with their sharpest knives, they cut the remaining buffalo meat into slender strips and hung them over their newly built drying racks, and they constructed yet more drying racks to accommodate the volumes of meat. The men worked to set only about one third of the meat up on the drying racks before dark. The rest they hung from the trees to continue cooling down and out of reach of the larger meat-eating critters. Finally, hunger overtook the two men and they descended on the large iron cooking pot’s good smells as only fresh buffalo meat gives. Soon the only noise to be heard was the eating of great chunks of meat and loud drinking of the hot, rich meaty broth from tin cups.

  In one hour, the men had almost emptied the pot, so they refilled it with more water from their spring. Then more chunks of buffalo meat, salt, pepper, a handful of flour for thickening and more wild onions completed the repast soon to be. With that, the two men returned to the huge job of processing the meat. As a future winter treat, the meat being racked to dry was also sprinkled with salt and pepper from their vast stores of spices. Plus, by so doing, it helped to keep the flies off the meat while it dried.

  By late the next day, all the meat had been cut into thin strips and hung to smoke and dry. Resting in shifts, the men arose every four hours to tend the smoking aspen fires and turn the meat. During one of those episodes, Jacob unrolled his white buffalo hide and staked it out on the ground in the filtered sunlight of the pine forest. Getting out a scraper—something Singing Bird would have done for him had she been there—he scraped the remaining pieces of fat and meat from the skin. Then he returned to the meat-drying racks to tend the fires and turn the meat. Once the meat was cured, it, too, was packed in parfleches for winter and hung from the cabin’s ceiling beams on wooden pegs.

  Back on the sagebrush flats several days later, both men prepared once again to make meat. Eight more buffalo were killed and again the travois were loaded until they could take no more. Only this time Jacob took three buffalo skulls back along with the meat.

  Once back at camp, Jacob cut open the buffalo skulls with a hand ax and removed their brains. Jacob put the brains into another large cooking kettle with some spring water after he had mashed them into a pulp. Then every time he and Martin had the urge, they urinated into the pot of mashed buffalo brains.

  Several days later, Jacob dug a hole and lined the bottom and sides tightly with rocks and packed mud. Then he placed the hide from Big Medicine into the hole with the hair side down forming a large “U.” After three more days of adding their essence to the pot, the stinking mixture was then stirred and poured onto the skin side of the hide, covered and left to cure. In a week the stinking hide was removed, taken to one of the nearby creeks and staked down on a riffle. It was left in the creek for two days with the water running over and under the hide and the little fish tugging on the remaining pieces of meat. The brain-and-urine kettle was left underwater in the creek as well to freshen out. Then the hide was retrieved and laid out to dry in the filtered forest sunlight on the lean-to roof.

  One week later after being hand-worked with a smooth river stone, the tanned hide was as soft and supple as any trader would want. In addition, the creek waters had washed the hide clean to where the hair side fairly gleamed white in the light of day. It was now a truly beautiful hide to behold. Then, while Martin prepared for the trapping season soon to be upon them, Jacob cut and fashioned the hide from Big Medicine into long pullover winter capes for both he and Martin. With the fur side of that massive bull buffalo on the outside and the soft skin side on the inside, a nicer rain and snow protection garment never existed. The flap of the cape fastened in front by two sharpened notched sticks and both men were now prepared for the worst winter had to offer.

  For the next two days, both men tore open a few of the many beaver dams along the Michigan River and set out their traps. Soon the traps were full of beaver captured as they had tried to repair the breaks in the dams. The men removed the large rodents’ castoreum and, adding a mineral-oil base traded for at the rendezvous as an extender, had the necessary scent to lure the beaver to the traps. They built a smoky fire and hung the rest of their traps over the smoke to disguise the man scent as they cooked up the best parts from the beaver trapped for the castoreum. The beaver stew was a welcome repast for the men that night. It always seemed that a beaver-meat dinner prior to the advent of the trapping season was a good omen of things to come.

  The next morning, Jacob set his last beaver tr
ap as Martin sat nearby on his horse watching for any signs of danger. Then it was Martin’s turn. Jacob took the reins of the packhorse and Martin moved to another large beaver dam on the Michigan to begin setting his traps. Jacob stayed alert because they had seen a lot of sign of the Arapaho in their vicinity and he was well aware from fur-trapper talk that as a tribe, the Arapaho didn’t cotton to the presence of white men on their hunting grounds.

  After Martin finished setting his traps, the two of them rode upstream for a few miles looking for other good beaver-trapping grounds. Beaver dam after beaver dam greeted their eyes. It seemed every body of water held a beaver colony as did every tributary to the river itself.

  When they came back to the waters just trapped, they found every trap except one already held a beaver. The two men reset the traps and scented the lure sticks once again, then loaded the dead beaver onto the packhorse and returned the short distance to their camp.

  Once at camp, a meat pot was started next to the fire and the men began skinning out the beaver. The castoreum was saved in wooden containers and willow was cut from the nearby stream to make the hoops necessary for stretching and drying the hides. Once “stretched” the hides were fleshed out one more time and then set out on the roof of the cabin to dry. The first morning’s take had been good and the men hoped their luck would continue. Then the beaver carcasses had their ham and loin meat removed, chunked up and placed into the cooking kettle. The remaining carcasses were packed off from the cabin and placed in a ravine for the critters to eat.

  The men awoke to a rainy morning the following day. Clouds hung low in the mountains and it was obvious to the weather wise that winter was soon to be their companion for many months. They heated up the partial pot of cooked meat from the evening before, then they feasted in a quiet fashion that had become a routine for the two men deeply lost in their thoughts. After breakfast, they saddled their horses and, taking the one pack animal along to carry the soon-to-be trapped heavy bodied beaver, they struck out for the upper reaches of the Michigan River. The rain was constant but the capes from Big Medicine not only kept them warm and dry, but also kept the ignition systems of their Hawkens tucked underneath ready to go at a moment’s notice as well.

  Jacob tended his six traps, happily finding every one of them filled with a large “blanket-sized” beaver. Then it was Martin’s turn as he dismounted and walked along the edge of a beaver dam checking his traps. The first four of his traps, like Jacob’s, were full of beaver and large ones at that. Martin tied those to the pack animal, re-set his traps and then continued upstream to his next trap. Unlike the others, it contained a still struggling beaver.

  Just as Martin reached for the beaver, an arrow slapped into the creek bank just inches from his outstretched hand. Jacob whirled in time with Martin. The two of them observed at least thirty close-at-hand mounted Arapaho warriors staring hard at the invaders discovered on Indian lands.

  The recent rains must have so dampened the vegetation that it muffled their approach, thought Jacob.

  Both trappers quickly cocked their firearms. In a few moments our days as Mountain Men and lives as human beings are about to come to a violent end, if the looks on the Indians ’faces are any indication as to what is coming. Jacob quickly signed they were there in peace but not one smile cracked a single face nor did any sign of friendliness come to light. That’s it! We’re dead!

  Jacob slowly adjusted his Hawken laying across the front of his saddle so he could kill the apparent leader of the band, if and when they made their charge. He knew that the move and his thoughts of defense were futile, but he was not going across the Great Divide without a good fight. The hardened look on Martin’s face told Jacob it was apparent that he also realized today was a good day to die.

  Then the band of Arapaho divided, with one bunch of horsemen moving quickly around behind the trappers and the other moving closer face-on. It was obvious the Indians were not happy with the trespassers and were just a set-trigger pull away from sending them into eternity.

  Then it happened. An older Indian to the rear of the bunch of horsemen to Jacob and Martin’s front started speaking excitedly. For a moment, his voice was the only thing heard over the softly falling winter rain. But as he spoke like a ripple of wind across the prairie grasses, the other braves stopped and began paying heed to the old man’s loud ranting. Soon the horsemen began backing away from Jacob and Martin like they were a plague or a God of some sort. The fierce looks on their faces also turned from that of killing someone right now, to that of bewilderment and awe. Jacob sensed Martin taking advantage of the moment of concern among the Indians, for his friend moved closer to his horse if for nothing else than the cover its large body afforded. Indians hated to kill or wound horses in a fight. Maybe Martin feels he might at least get off a second shot before meeting his maker, Jacob thought.

  The old Arapaho pulled his horse forward a mite and in a loud voice continued yelling at Jacob and Martin. Neither of the men understood a word of the Arapaho language so they couldn’t figure out what the old man was saying. Jacob slowly raised his hand and bid them welcome in sign once again. Then he requested they speak in sign since he did not understand their language. The Indian continued yelling, ignoring Jacob’s request to speak in sign.

  Then Martin slowly moved to Jacob’s side and said, “Jacob, I think he is yelling because he is afraid of us for some reason.”

  Jacob realized Martin’s possible wisdom, tried sign once again. This time the old man went to sign and what he had to say surprised both Jacob and Martin.

  “Big Medicine!” he signed.

  “Big Medicine!” he signed once again as the rest of the braves in his party continued backing their horses away from the trappers.

  “You are wearing the power of Big Medicine around your necks,” the older Indian continued to frantically sign.

  Then Jacob understood what was happening. Both he and Martin were wearing their capes made from the white buffalo called Big Medicine by the Indians. As it turned out, they not only held the white buffalo sacred but were scared of its “medicine” or powers as well. With he and Martin both wearing the white buffalo capes, he figured the Indians must have figured the strong medicine from the white buffalo had transferred to them.

  Jacob signed once again that they had come in peace, that they wished only to trap beaver and that Big Medicine had told them it was alright.

  With those “words” the Indians really recoiled, backing their horses away from the trappers even further.

  Then Jacob gambled with the moment at hand. Signing again, he advised the old man: “Big Medicine also told me to trade white man’s goods with my Indian brothers.”

  The Indians were really now very perplexed.

  Jacob then boldly kicked his horse in the ribs forcing him to walk up to the Indian who had been doing all the frightened yelling. The eyes of the old man spoke of the terror in his heart but he held his ground so as not to show cowardliness in the eyes of his fellow war party. As he stopped alongside the old man, Jacob noticed he never took his eyes off the white buffalo cape. Jacob smiled. He thought, If I make any quick movement, it could cause the entire terrified band of Indians to flee into the forest in a heartbeat.

  Making the sign of peace once again, Jacob asked if his band would be interested in trading their furs for white man’s goods as Big Medicine had requested.

  The old man was having a tough time with the changing events and the closeness of the white magical cape but finally advised that his tribe was camped just a few miles away. And if the wearer of Big Medicine wished to trade, he would tell the chief.

  Not wanting the Indians to know where their cabin and stash of goods and furs were located, Jacob asked if he and Martin could meet those who wanted to trade in the big meadow across the valley from where they now stood.

  The old man nodded a frightened “Yes,” still not taking his eyes off the white buffalo cape.

  Jacob signed once again that th
ey would meet those who wished to trade tomorrow in the afternoon and they would bring items to trade for furs.

  The old man nodded and then slowly reached out and touched Jacob’s cape. He slowly withdrew his hand and looked at his fingers as if expecting his digits to be missing.

  Jacob just smiled. It was a very good thing that I saw and shot the white buffalo. If I had not done so, both Martin and I would be lying face down in the meadow at this very moment.

  Then with a yell that surprised the hell out of Jacob, the old man whirled his horse and the entire band of still terrified Indians disappeared into the rain-dampened forest without a backward glance or the click of a horse’s hoof. Jacob and Martin just sat there looking at each other, realizing how close they had come to meeting their death—their rapidly beating hearts said it all.

  Jacob and Martin quietly sat on their horses in the middle of the meadow the following afternoon. The two men agreed on the middle because if the Arapaho had changed their minds, Jacob and Martin would have a chance at killing eight of them with the Hawkens and horse pistols before being overwhelmed.

  Both men held the reins to a packhorse loaded with trade goods from the last rendezvous: hand mirrors, steel rings to wear, blue and red glass beads, Green River skinning knives, kettles, beaver traps, a small amount of powder and shot were packed on one horse; the other was packed with whetstones, fish hooks, fishing line, brass tacks to decorate their rifles, flints and fire steels, sacks of coffee beans and several Hudson’s Bay Company blankets. Jacob knew these items were a veritable bonanza of an easier life for a tribe not connected with a rendezvous or close to a trading post.