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

by Terry Grosz

  They knew they had to make a decision as to whether or not to leave this country, but they were so in love with the valley. The only decision they made was to drain their cups of the searing whiskey and agree to discuss the issue another day.

  Soon the beaver went out of their prime and the men quit trapping. Plans were made to attend the 1835 rendezvous back at Horse Creek in the Green River Valley. Without second thoughts now that the Gros Ventre menace had seemingly waned, everything was put into order for the trip or cached to be used upon their return. Good days lay ahead on the trail and much was to be looked forward to in the coming rendezvous: the meeting of old friends, making trades for the coming year, showing off the women and now the kids, and a chance to see what had happened in the previous year in the civilized world. It was also a time in which one took stock of those who had wintered well and those for whom winter’s cold was no longer a bother or of concern.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The 1835 Rendezvous

  Retracing their familiar trail from years past, Jacob and company headed for the Green River Valley and the 1835 rendezvous in the Fort Bonneville area. Martin led the group and Jacob brought up the rear. Both men trailed four fully loaded pack animals, with six additional Indian horses trailing alongside which were to be used for trade. The two women carried pack boards with their babies, rode their own horses and led four horses each pulling a travois. Two travois were loaded with tanned buffalo hides and the remaining two were carrying much needed camp equipment for such a trip. It was an impressive caravan by two very successful trappers. They were successful due to hard work and the dead Tom Potts’ earlier efforts at picking a very beaver-rich area in which to call home—a home in which neither he nor his brother were able to enjoy or leave.

  Many days later, Jacob and company came into view of the rendezvous site. More than one hundred Indian tepees from the Nez Perce Nation dotted the plain next to Horse Creek, along with many trappers’ lean-tos constructed in the adjacent creek bottoms. There were also a number of trappers’ tents and tepees in among the Indians’ camping site as well.

  Jacob selected a campsite from a distance, one next to the covering canopy of leaves from a giant cottonwood. As he planned how to set the camp up, Jacob passed a crowd of men gathered around a happening. Jacob directed Martin to the campsite before it was claimed by someone else, then stopped and looked on at the popular event.

  A white man was sitting on a loaded packsaddle with his back to Jacob. Off to one side was another white man standing. All at once the standing white man—Jacob heard the name Dr. Marcus Whitman—began cutting on the sitting man’s back. Bright red streams of blood ran down the very white skin of the sitting man; he moved naught as the scalpel in the doctor’s hand cut ever more deeply into the shoulder area.

  Moving in closer for a better look, Jacob discovered the sitting man was none other than his friend, Jim Bridger.

  The doctor cut even more deeply through the knot of hard shoulder muscles, then took out a pliers-like instrument, reached into the bloody cut and pulled with all his might. Bridger flew off the packsaddle from the force of the pull as the doctor, in jubilation, held aloft a bent steel arrowhead in his pliers. Jacob heard one of the crowd say, “Three years! He’s had that damn Blackfoot arrowhead in that damn shoulder fer three damn years! Can ya believe it?” Bridger returned to his feet and examined the bent arrowhead. Dr. Whitman also looked at the large metal arrowhead and just shook his head in disbelief.

  Then he said, “Jim, it is a good thing this wound didn’t get infected from the arrowhead.”

  Bridger just grinned and said, “Meat don’t rot in the mountains,” and with that a jug of whiskey was introduced from the crowd and passed all around in celebration of the successful operation as the doctor cleaned out and sewed up the still bleeding incision.

  Bridger noticed Jacob sitting on his horse looking on. The older trapper walked through the respectfully parting crowd to shake his old friend’s hand. “Good to see that you survived another winter with your hair,” he said with a big grin.

  “And the same to you, my friend. What was all the cutting and gutting for?” asked Jacob as he firmly shook Bridger’s hand.

  “Well, Doc there said he could remove the arrowhead and I let him. It had been getting bothersome lately, especially on cold or wet nights so I am glad to be rid of it.” Bridger’s tone sounded as if all that had happened was that he had just stepped on a bug. “Where you campin’?”

  “Over by that big cottonwood,” replied Jacob. “Come over and tip the jug with me and Martin. That will give you the chance to meet our Indian wives and our new sons,” proudly proclaimed Jacob with a big grin.

  “Be glad to. Maybe even show up to see how good them squaws are as cooks,” Bridger replied with a grin and twinkle in his eyes. “How’d ye do this trappin’ season last?”

  “Very well, but don’t know how much longer we will stay in the Wind Rivers. The Blackfoot and Gros Ventre are ranging farther and farther south into our trapping area and the Snakes don’t seem to be able to keep them out. Lost Tom and Al Potts to them murdering savages in the fall of ’33.”

  “Them was two good men. Damn! I guess it don’t mean no difference how you die though, just so it is in the backcountry doin’ what you love. Them Blackfoot had many good years on their own grounds and now it seems they is everywhere and with a meanness and blood in their eyes. By the way, the bottom is out of the beaver trade. Hope you caught more than them critters to sell. Otherwise, you will be on the debit side to the fur companies as many a trapper is now finding out if you don’t watch yourselves.” With that, Bridger handed Jacob the whiskey jug, who obligingly took a deep pull.

  “Thanks, Jim. See you at camp if you have a hankerin’ for some good food and company.”

  Bridger just grinned and slapped Jacob’s horse on the rump, sending the Kentuckian off toward his camp.

  For the next two weeks, Jacob and company made the rounds with the various fur companies at the rendezvous. Bridger had been right. The beaver market was all but gone. Silk had almost totally replaced the beaver in the top hat trade and now the buffalo hide was supreme. According to the traders, British merchants were buying buffalo hides as fast as they could get them. It seemed they were in some sort of mechanical revolution and needed the leather from the buffalo to make strapping to drive the wheels and pulleys of their newly developing machinery. Buffalo it seemed was thicker and stronger than cattle hide, which made better leather belts to run their machines. Thus, buffalo was all the rage and prices were doubled over past years’ payouts for their hides.

  Jacob and Martin received top dollar on their beaver hides because of the careful care their women had taken in skinning and hooping them. However, it wasn’t as much as in past years and would not carry them through another year by itself. They also got top dollar for their mess of fox, river otter, lynx, coyote, wolf and buffalo robes—which turned out to be more than enough to carry them through another year.

  Jacob and Martin used their credits wisely, to purchase more than they needed for recruiting their supply base of helpful Indians and for themselves to carry through another winter. Both men nevertheless could read the writing on the wall regarding the weak beaver trade.

  “Maybe one more year and that will be it,” Jacob told Martin. “And only then if we mix our trappings with a lot more fox, river otter, lynx, muskrat, elk, deer and buffalo hides.”

  “But the beaver trade and its problems are to worry about later,” Martin replied. “Now is now.”

  The two men used their time to mingle among the trappers, drink some good and bad whiskey and renew old friendships. The ladies on the other hand, took a lot of their trade items they received from the men for doing such a good job dressing their furs and traded those with the Nez Perce camped at the rendezvous for tanned and supple bighorn sheepskins. A great time was had by all.

  One day as Jacob and Martin mingled with old friends, both were su
ddenly roughly grabbed from behind in such a manner that their arms were completely pinned against their sides. Then both men were lifted up high into the air and tossed to the ground in a heap. Those trappers standing around who interpreted the aggressive actions as a prelude to a rough and tumble fight, started to scatter like a flock of sage grouse on the rise. The experience of having been in many fights previously and knowing what to expect next to avoid the danger of a follow-up, rib-cracking kick served Jacob and Martin well—they both rolled away from their attackers. Then they quickly leapt to their feet, turned and drew their knives in the same fluid motion. Two heavily bearded men of massive body size faced them. The assailants had big grins on their faces.

  “Leo! Jeremiah!” Jacob and Martin exclaimed loudly at the same time.

  In an instant there were four grown men clasped in each other’s arms, all trying to speak at once. The surrounding trappers, seeing this was not going to be one hell of a fight but a friendly hurrah, gathered around to join right in. Soon several whiskey jugs were being passed around with the talk and merriment getting even louder and more animated.

  Jacob and Martin could hardly contain themselves. Here were the two scrawny kids they had traded away from the Northern Ute Indians in 1831. Now both men were over six feet tall and built like bulls. And from the looks of their dress, were now very successful trappers. Questions flew back and forth between all four men like snowflakes in a howling November storm.

  “How did you find us?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “How long have you been trapping?”

  “Where have you been trapping?” and other similar questions flew back amid the responses until one particular question was asked...

  “Where are Ben and Singing Bird? Are they here with the two of you?” asked Martin.

  Leo and Jeremiah lost their smiles. After a quick look at each other, Leo said, “They are dead. All of us went and lived in the Knife River Villages as Ben had always wanted to do. In fact, we did right-proud hunting and selling buffalo hides to the riverboat trade while there. Then one day a paddle-wheel steamer came to the villages to trade. However, they had a number of men who were sick onboard and no one wanted to come ashore for fear of it spreading whatever they had to the Indians. However, some Indians sneaked onboard and stole some blankets off the sick men’s beds. Several weeks later, a pox broke out among the Indians and soon almost everyone in the villages and surrounding country who came in contact with the villagers were dead or dying. It was smallpox, and it had come from the blankets that had been stolen. Ben and Singing Bird both died as a result. They didn’t have any immunity like we did and it took them just a couple of painful weeks to join the Cloud People.”

  With those words, it became deathly quiet in the group.

  Now I understand those feelings of dread that I’ve been having, Jacob thought. Have Ben and Singing Bird been trying to let me know about the tragedy, speaking from beyond the Great Divide? Is there something they want me to do?

  Jacob looked at the boys, thinking of how they must have felt, wandering in the frontier after losing their parents yet again. Yes, I know what what I must do, Ben!

  “Leo, Jeremiah,” Jacob said, seriousness in his words. “We were once a family and we need to be a family once again.” Jacob replayed in his head the rendezvous two years before when they had rescued the boys from Bull Bear and his band of Northern Utes, and the rendezvous from the year before, when Ben and Singing Bird had shared their dinner with him for the last time.

  Jacob was deeply lost in his personal feelings for a moment and then, realizing they still had the boys, he motioned them away from the group of drunken-and-getting-drunker gang of noisy trappers.

  “We are camped over there in the cottonwoods under that big tree struck by lightning. Why don’t the two of you grab your gear and throw it in with the rest of our family? We both married Snake women and now we each have a fine young son,” continued Jacob, still saddened and stunned over the loss of Ben and Singing Bird.

  “We would like to, but you see there are four of us now as well. We both have Lakota Indian wives,” said Jeremiah slowly. “And as you know, Lakota and Snakes are lifelong enemies.”

  The men stood looking at each other for a long moment.

  Then Martin spoke. “Our women are good women. Snake or not, they will welcome you and your wives once they discover the true nature behind our lives and how they are intertwined.” Jacob nodded in agreement at Martin’s wise words.

  “Great!” said Leo.

  “We will be happy to join you,” said Jeremiah with a smile as broad as the mighty Mississippi. “In fact, those were the last words Ben spoke. He told us to find the two of you at the rendezvous, join up and become a family once again. That is why we came so far from the east. Now we are here, so are you, and we can be a company once again.”

  The men all looked at one another once again and that soon led to all of them being in each other’s arms in happiness once again. And in that moment, tears were openly shed by the four burly men over the loss of two of their beloved family to the deadly pox.

  That evening, Leo, Jeremiah, Little Feather—Leo’s wife—and Prairie Flower—Jeremiah’s wife—joined Jacob and the rest of the family. Running Fast and White Fawn quickly realized their men had brought this family to join theirs and with good reason. As such, tribal and cultural feelings were laid aside from that moment on. Little Feather and Prairie Flower were younger than Running Fast and White Fawn and both of them were without children. As was quickly the case, Babies Jacob and Martin were willingly taken from their mothers and loved to death by the new adoring female members of the family, much to the happiness of their mothers.

  Leo and Jeremiah on the other hand, were a little more proper when meeting Jacob and Martin’s wives for the first time. However, both men took an instant liking to the women. It was almost like the boys had mothers once again. There was much celebrating around the campfire that evening and into the morning by the two reunited families. And it grew even more so when Jim Bridger joined in to see “if them squaws could cook.”

  After eating about ten pounds of fresh pronghorn antelope stew and flat bread at one setting, Bridger finally admitted the squaws could cook passably as he headed for a nearby tree to lay under and sleep off the good meal, one sloshed around with more than a little of the good grade of fiery trapper’s whiskey under his belt and “in his snoot.”

  The next morning while the ladies got more acquainted and worked in camp, the men sat down to talk. They brought out the chewing and smoking tobacco along with a recently acquired jug of good trade whiskey and relaxed with their backs braced among the cottonwoods.

  Jacob said, “We were planning one more year in the Wind Rivers because the beaver, otter, deer and buffalo are there in great abundance. The Snake Indians there are our friends and we do a large business in furs when trading with them. We have two very well built cabins and a good and healthy horse herd. The only problem we have are the occasional bands of raiding Blackfoot and Gros Ventre. They killed two of our friends several falls back and we need to be on our toes all the time or we will get our topknots lifted.”

  Jacob looked over at Martin for his input, who added, “Yes, we do have a great trapping area, especially for beaver. But like Jacob says, we have a problem with the Blackfoot and their kin the Gros Ventre. It is just a matter of time before they catch us ‘not looking.’ So as of this moment, our thoughts are pretty much somewhat open as to our selection of future trapping grounds.”

  “Why don’t we team up?” asked Leo. “We are still excellent shots, our women shoot well, as we taught them as you taught us, and with the four of us, we can stand off just about anything.”

  Jacob just grinned. Good old Leo. Still the positive thinker and a damn tough Mountain Man.

  Martin, ever the worrier, said, “That would be fine with me because there are more than enough critters in the valley for all of us. However, you would be
exposing your wives to the same danger we are facing when the Blackfoot and Gros Ventre come raiding and the Snakes can’t hold them in check or kill them afore they get to our trapping grounds.”

  Jeremiah quickly spoke. “No matter where we go in this land, it figures we are facing hostile Indians and it seems to be getting worse. There was a time when we white men were welcome. Nowadays there are bands of Comanche, Lakota, Northern Cheyenne, Blackfoot, Gros Ventre and others who just as soon as lift our hair as look at us. One place is just as good as another to die and any day in this great land is a good day to die.”

  The air hung heavy with Jeremiah’s pregnant statement for a few long moments as the men thought about what he had just said.

  Jacob broke the silence. “Then it is decided. We four and our wives will return to the Wind Rivers to trap beaver and this year shoot more buffalo. That way we can meet the changing demands in the fur market and continue living our way of life. But if the raids continue this year, we need to pull up stakes and move on. Maybe farther out west when the fur trade loses its shine. Then maybe lead the wagon trains that they say will come through the wilderness, hunt buffalo for them, raise horses or settle down and become farmers.” Jacob paused. “And then we still have the Spanish gold as a backup in case we wish to settle down. The West is changing more and more every day. Even in the short time Martin and I have been here, it has drastically changed. We need to change with it or...” Jacob’s voice trailed off into nothingness.

  “Jacob,” Martin said, “now is now. We go to the Wind River Mountains and work the wilderness, if everyone is agreed.”

  “I’m in,” Leo said.

  “Let’s go ask the women,” Jeremiah said.

  The women listened to the logic. To the Indian women, Snake and Lakota alike, the violence of the Indian lands was commonplace, the providence of the Wind River Mountains was too good to pass up.

  The decision was then sealed with a long pull on the whiskey jug by all the men.