The Blackfoot Trail

by Charles G. West

  Coming to a small clearing where the stream forked around a sandy spit, a clear set of hoofprints led up the soft dirt of the bank. He didn’t have to dismount to read them. Two horses, both shod, the prints were deep, indicating the horses were carrying heavy loads. Starbeau didn’t think he had to be careful anymore, Joe thought as he followed the tracks out of the water and pulled the paint to a halt in the middle of the clearing and stepped down to the ground. The cold ashes of a fire marked where they had camped. Nearby, he found traces of dried blood in the grass, enough to feel a stab of pain in his gut, but not enough to indicate a slaughter. She’s still alive, he told himself while trying to discipline his mind to detach itself from his personal feelings.

  There was no need to scout the clearing more thoroughly. He had the answer to the question he had most sought an answer for. The question to be answered now was where did they go from here? To find his answer, he began to scout the perimeter of the clearing until he found prints in a uniform pattern leading away to the south. Crossing the stream again, they led him into a dense pine forest where he lost the trail and proceeded on only instinct and guesswork. With no sign to lead him, he had to rely upon the lay of the land and which seemed to be the most obvious path down through the pines. The worrisome question kept repeating itself in his mind, even though he tried to suppress it. How much time does Callie have? Tracking this way was too slow. He was afraid he would never catch up to them before it was too late. Still, there was little choice. Picking up the trail again at the edge of a line of grass-covered, almost treeless hills, he pushed on until darkness forced him to camp. Looking toward the mountains that lay ahead to the south, he could only pray that Callie was still alive.

  Chapter 9

  Starbeau grinned as he thought to himself, She ain’t swishing that little tail back and forth like she used to before she got rode good and hard. Sitting in the shade of a tall pine that had somehow managed to grow up through a crack in the huge boulder he was using as a backrest, he made himself comfortable while he watched the battered young girl carry wood for his fire. She had made an attempt to escape when they had stopped at midday to rest the horses, mistakenly thinking he was not watching her closely when she went to fill the coffeepot. It was a desperate attempt and she paid a painful price in the form of a beating that left her bleeding and bruised. Though small in stature, she had never been a frail girl. But the abuse at the hands of the evil monster had taken its toll, and the small portion of food allotted to her was not sufficient to sustain her. She was not sure how much longer she could survive.

  “That’s enough wood for now,” he yelled at her. “Get over here and cook my supper.” He watched as she dutifully did his bidding. He was going to miss the pleasure of ravaging her body, he was thinking. But he was about to reach the point where he deemed it time to put her out of her misery. He didn’t know the country well enough to be sure, but he figured that he should be reaching some of the mining camps before riding very much farther. Her defensive practice of pretending she was dead when he had his way with her was infuriating to him, anyway. Like mating with a possum, he thought. He made up his mind then. One more go-round and I’ll cut her throat. Having made the decision that this was to be her last night, he smiled to himself in anticipation of the night’s entertainment. The killing promised to be the more enjoyable part to Starbeau. I might even let her have a little bit more to eat tonight, he thought.

  Lost in the moment of anticipating his evening’s entertainment, he was suddenly distracted by the girl’s movements by the fire. In the process of adding more wood, she had abruptly frozen, bent over with a sizable limb poised over the flame, but suspended motionless. Something had caught her eye, causing her to stare at the forest beyond the stream. Following the direction of her gaze, he was startled to discover three Indians at the edge of the trees, mounted, silently watching the activities of the girl by the fire.

  He immediately grabbed his rifle and prepared to fire, but the Indians made no move to attack. Instead, they calmly watched both the white man and woman for what seemed a long time to Starbeau as he remained seated by the pine tree trying to decide whether to shoot or not. Maybe they were friendly. He didn’t know one Indian from another, so he couldn’t say what tribe they were. He had heard that the Flatheads and the Kutenai used to live in this part of the Bitterroots, and they were supposedly friendly with the white men. Then, remembering the raid by the Gros Ventre, he decided he’d better shoot while he had a sitting target.

  “Friend,” one of the Indians declared as Starbeau raised his rifle, causing him to pause.

  “Is that a fact?” Starbeau murmured sarcastically to himself and paused a second longer to look his visitors over more carefully. He noticed then that two of the Indians were carrying parts of a sizable deer behind them. I could sure use some fresh meat, he thought, and got to his feet. “Friend,” he called back. “Come on in, friend.”

  The Indian who had spoken before held up his hand in a gesture of peace. Then the three split up before slowly riding into the camp, having no doubt learned that some white men were friendly, some were not. Starbeau had to smile when he realized they knew his repeating rifle gave him superior firepower, so they had spread out in case he started shooting. They’re thinking I’ll get one, maybe two of them, he thought, but the other one would have time to get me. He decided not to take the chance. Dropping his rifle by his side, he waved them in.

  Callie backed slowly away from the fire while keeping it between her and the three Indians, frightened by the curious stares of the visitors. The older one, who had spoken before, looked from the girl to the huge man striding toward them with his rifle held with one hand at his side. He then quickly scanned the camp, making a mental note of the packs before he spoke again. “You have coffee?” he asked. “We will trade you some fresh meat for some coffee.” While Starbeau was mulling that over, he informed them that he was called Gray Wolf and they were Salish and friends with the white man, and their village was north of there.

  “I guess I could let you have a little,” Starbeau said, “for a good portion of that meat.”

  Gray Wolf nodded, then pointing to Callie, he asked, “Bear?”

  “What?” Starbeau grunted, confused. Then it struck him that Gray Wolf wondered whether Callie had been attacked by a bear to be so battered and scarred. He had to chuckle. “No, she’s just a little slow in learnin’ how to behave.”

  Gray Wolf did not understand. “Woman slave?” he asked.

  “Never mind the woman,” Starbeau said. “How about that meat? I need most of what you got there.”

  “Coffee,” Gray Wolf said while his two companions continued to stare at Callie.

  “All right,” Starbeau said, “coffee.” While keeping his eye on the three Salish men, he ordered Callie to get a double handful of coffee beans from his packs. “That one sack’s about empty, put ’em in that.”

  When Callie came back with the beans, she gave them to Gray Wolf and immediately stepped away. Gray Wolf looked inside the sack at the small amount of beans, glanced at one of the men standing beside him, then spoke to him in the Salish tongue. The man nodded and went to his horse. Taking his knife, he sliced off a small portion from the haunch and offered it to Starbeau.

  “Hell, I’ve got to have a helluva lot more than that!”

  “More coffee,” Gray Wolf said.

  “I can’t spare no more coffee,” Starbeau insisted. “It’ll be a spell before I get to where I can get some more. I need more of that meat you’re carryin’.” He started to raise his rifle again, but thought better of it when he realized that the Indians had slowly positioned themselves on three sides of him. He immediately changed his tone. “Listen,” he said, “I can’t spare any more coffee, but I need all the meat you’ve got there.” He nodded toward his packs. “Maybe we can trade somethin’ else for the meat.”

  Gray Wolf consulted briefly with his two friends before speaking to Starbeau again. “We trade you
all the meat for the woman.”

  Callie gasped in horror, repulsed by the very notion. She had heard horrible tales about white women who were captured by savages. Realizing she was a pawn between two different, but equal, terrors, she found herself hoping Starbeau refused the offer, thinking that she at least knew his version of hell. She was disappointed to see the look of amusement on his face as the thought struck him. She was bound to die, anyway, he was thinking, and this way she would just die a slower death at the hands of the Indians. He considered the enjoyment he had been looking forward to when it came time to kill her, but he told himself that he could sure use all that fresh meat. Finally, he threw his head back and laughed. “Done, that’s a proper trade.” Hearing his response, Callie immediately turned and ran. Her reaction caused Starbeau to roar with laughter. “There she goes! Looks like you’re gonna have to run her down.”

  One of the Salish hunters jumped on his pony and bounded after her. No longer fearing the rifle slug between her shoulders that she had been threatened with before, Callie ran as hard as she could with nothing in her terrified mind but escape. Within seconds, she heard the pounding of horse’s hooves behind her, and she tried to veer off her path into a juniper thicket. Running with wild abandon, she ignored the stinging thrashing of the branches as they raised welts on her face and arms. Breaking free of the junipers, she almost stumbled as she staggered up a grassy rise toward a pine forest. A dozen steps from the edge of the forest she was suddenly lifted off the ground by a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

  Though she kicked and flailed her fists in her panic, it served only to amuse the three men watching the show. Lame Horse, the young hunter who had caught her, did not find her antics amusing, however, since he was the recipient of her frantic flailing. Galloping back to the fire, he dropped her at Gray Wolf’s feet. When she tried to scramble to her feet and run again, he placed his foot on her behind and shoved her flat on her face. Driven almost out of her mind with fear, she lay there, panting for breath, knowing it was useless to try to run again.

  Lame Horse stood over her while his companions transferred most of their meat to Starbeau’s horse. When they were finished, he said, “Good trade,” and stepped back with his rifle ready while the Salish hunters prepared to leave. Tying Callie’s hands together, Lame Horse looped a length of rope around her wrists. Holding the free end of the rope, he climbed on his horse and the three visitors departed. Starbeau called after the stricken woman as she was forced to follow on foot. “You mighta thought I was a little hard on ya,” he said. “Wait till them Injuns get through with ya.” She could still hear his laughter as she was led off through the pines.

  Two Bears moved cautiously up to join Gray Wolf at the rim of a long ravine. “Where?” he asked, and Gray Wolf pointed to a stand of a half dozen pines at the lower end of the ravine. Two Bears nodded when he saw them, four mule deer lolling in the shade of the trees. “We should get two of them, maybe three if we’re quick enough,” he whispered, then complained, “We would be on our way back to our village now if Lame Horse had not given all our meat away.”

  Gray Wolf smiled. “It was his kill. He had a right to do with it as he wished.”

  Two Bears was not as forgiving as his older friend. “The meat was for all to share,” he said. “What does he want the white woman for, anyway? She’s already beaten half to death.”

  “He says he will give her to his wife to do her chores,” Gray Wolf replied softly while still watching the deer. “Little Moon is lucky to have such a thoughtful husband.”

  “Ugh,” Two Bears snorted, well aware that Gray Wolf spoke facetiously. “He is back at the campfire playing with his little white woman while we do the hunting. I think Little Moon would break a stick across his back for his thoughtfulness.”

  “Maybe he will offer to share the woman,” Gray Wolf said, joking.

  “Humph,” Two Bears snorted again. “Who would want her after she has been mating with that great grizzly that traded her?”

  “Lame Horse,” Gray Wolf replied, and both men laughed then. “Come, let’s slip down the side and get our meat.”

  Callie tried to brace herself mentally for what she knew was going to happen. With all emotions inside her reduced to shame and sorrow, she had come to perceive her body, even her soul, as nothing more than clay—a lifeless form without past or future, something to be casually used, then thrown away. Even so, she found she was unable to completely will her mind away from the soulful stare of the fearsome warrior. Looking down, avoiding the intense gaze of her savage master, she waited, wanting only to have it over with.

  Lame Horse did not thrust himself upon her violently, however, as the savage Starbeau had. Instead, he seemed more curious about her person. Intrigued by her sandy hair, he reached out to feel it, causing her to recoil in fear. He paused and gave her a puzzled look, then took a large strand of her hair in his hand, feeling it as if judging the texture of a bolt of cloth. Releasing her hair then, he reached down and caught the hem of her tattered skirt. She tried to jerk it away from him. His reaction was calm and deliberate as he struck her face sharply with the back of his hand. There was no indication of anger in his expression. It was as if he were simply administering a lesson of discipline to a child—or a horse. When she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, it conveyed a message that he would not tolerate disobedience. When he continued his inspection, she no longer resisted, knowing it would not save her.

  He slowly lifted her skirt, and was at once appalled by her torn and blood-encrusted undergarments. Anger sprang from his face then, with no thought of sympathy for the obvious torment the woman had suffered. Instead, he was disgusted, thinking she was dirty. Furious with thoughts that he had been cheated, he grabbed a handful of her underwear and ripped it from her body. Casting it upon the ground in revulsion, he took her by the hair and pulled her stumbling to the creek they had camped beside. There, she was unceremoniously dumped into the cold, knee-deep water with the command to clean herself.

  She was still in the water when Gray Wolf and Two Bears returned with the carcass of a mule deer draped across each horse. Upon seeing the woman in the creek, trying to clean herself without exposing too much of her body, Gray Wolf assumed that Lame Horse had sampled the fruits of his slave. “So,” he said, “are you satisfied with your trade?”

  “I have heard that white women are different between their legs than our women,” Two Bears said.

  Gray Wolf laughed at his young friend’s comment. “All females are the same,” he said. “Ask Lame Horse. He will tell you.”

  Still somewhat disillusioned by his disappointing inspection of the girl, and seeing the two freshly killed deer, Lame Horse answered in a surly voice, “How should I know? I would not lower myself to lie with her. She is dirty, not worth the meat I traded for her.”

  Amused by the entire turn of events, Gray Wolf could not help but laugh at his sullen friend. “Is that why she is cleaning herself in the creek?”

  Lame Horse ignored the question, instead commenting, “I am thinking that maybe we should trail this white man and kill him and take the meat back.” He glanced toward Callie, still in the water. “I will decide about the woman. Maybe I will kill her and then go after the big ugly white man.”

  Gray Wolf stroked his chin as if giving Lame Horse’s words serious consideration. When he spoke, it was with the tone of an elder offering the wisdom of experience. “That is one thing we could do, but the white man has the gun that shoots many times. If we can surprise him before he has a chance to use it, then we can kill him. That would be good. But we are armed with nothing but our bows. We would have to get close to get a shot, and if we did not kill him, it would be like wounding the grizzly bear. With his gun, he might kill one or more of us.” He paused to let Lame Horse think that over; then he continued when the sulking brave made no reply. “We did not ride the war path when we left our village. We meant only to hunt.” He gestured toward the deer carcasses. “We have plenty
of meat to share.” He paused again, looking at Callie. “And you have a present for Little Moon.”

  Lame Horse did not reply, but shrugged in an apparent dismissal of his plan to go after Starbeau. The matter settled, they decided to butcher the deer and prepare to return to their village on the western side of the mountains that formed the valley. Callie, having no knowledge of the language being spoken, had no idea what the discussion between the three had been about. So she was unaware that she had again escaped a sentence of death. But while they seemed engrossed in talk, she had remained in the water, slowly inching her way downstream, hoping they did not notice. Her thoughts of escape were quickly extinguished, however, when Gray Wolf pulled the carcass from his pony, jumped on its back, and quickly circled around to head her off. Guiding his pony into the water, he herded her toward the bank, where he spoke to her in English. “Lame Horse is not a patient man. If you try to run again, I think he will kill you.”

  Dripping wet, her breath laboring from her efforts to keep from being trampled by Gray Wolf’s horse behind her in the water, Callie climbed up the bank and stood awaiting her fate. She was relieved to find that her immediate lot was no more than an order from Lame Horse to help with the butchering.