Grizzly Killer: Under The Blood Moon

by Lane R Warenski

  As Zach lay there with his arms around his two loving wives he thought about his Christian beliefs and how the Indian beliefs were not all that different. Most of the white people he grew up around believed the Indians were Godless savages but all the Indians he knew believed in God or the One Above more than a lot of the whites. He didn’t really believe the shooting stars were souls going to heaven, but he had to wonder if just maybe they were.

  The sky was clear the next morning and they were up as soon as the stars faded away in the light of dawn. Zach figured they were only about ten miles from home and they were all excited to get back.

  There were a couple of marmots playing on a rock outcropping just a little ways below camp and Jimbo went after them for his breakfast but they saw him coming. Zach and the rest watched as the large fat ground hogs ran in their holes under the rocks and with the rocks being quite large Jimbo couldn’t dig them out. Jimbo had his nose in the hole when they saw one of the ground hogs climb out of another hole and up on top of the rock right above him but yet just out of his reach then start to chatter at him. Jimbo ran around the rock and jumped but couldn’t reach this brave, plump rodent. His antics trying to catch it had Shining Star laughing and soon they were all laughing at this marmot outsmarting the Great Medicine Dog. Coffee and biscuits were ready by the time Jimbo gave up and came back to camp. Sun Flower, feeling sorry for him cut off a big chunk of elk and gave to him for his breakfast.

  They headed out with Jimbo in front and topped the ridge just on the west side of the big meadow that was home. Jimbo ran across the meadow well ahead of everyone and jumped through stream to the dugout. It had been over five weeks since they left for Rendezvous and when they all rode into camp Jimbo was still running everywhere marking his territory by lifting his leg on every tree and bush all around. The grass was green and plush across the meadow and it was clear to everyone the afternoon thunder storms had been frequent over the last week or so.

  By moving his hand in a big circle over his head Zach sent Jimbo out to scout the area for any possible trouble. They were just getting the last of the horses unloaded and out on the meadow grass when Jimbo came back wagging his tail and carrying a snowshoe hare in his mouth. Zach smiled and said, “This sure beats coming home to the Arapaho’s and injured Shoshone boys like we did last year.” They all smiled and nodded their agreement.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon getting their home camp set up and storing their supplies in the dugout. Running Wolf found where some critter had been trying to dig under the dugout and he got a couple of rocks from the creek to put in the hole then buried them with dirt. They took the rest of elk they had shot two nights ago and hung it in the smokehouse and started the smoking fire with chokecherry branches they had piled there.

  The horses and mules were out in the meadow with some down rolling in the grass. The others just enjoying not being loaded down with the heavy packs. Zach noticed that the roan he had ridden while Ol’ Red’s wound was fresh was staying on the opposite side of the heard from Ol’ Red. It was clear he didn’t want the big red Kentucky mule getting after him again.

  Zach looked all around and watched Sun Flower and Shining Star as they were putting their belongings into the teepee. He remembered last year when they built that large teepee and the time he would have Shining Star to paint a big grizzly on the side of it. He was home and happy. He still missed his Pa and thought in a couple of days he would ride up Grizzly Creek and visit his pa’s grave. He watched Running Wolf and Raven Wing as they stopped their work and walked down to the stream and drank from the cold clear water. He felt a deep love for them all and he knew there was no place in the world he would rather be.

  After their evening meal of elk, cornbread and coffee they sat around the fire and talked of what they would do the rest of the summer. They had to go on the buffalo hunt to get the meat and robes for winter but they wanted to be back and trapping by the middle of September. They figured they had two or three weeks before they needed to leave home again to head northeast to the buffalo grounds.

  They spent the next couple of weeks just enjoying the warm summer days. Afternoon thunder storms would come over every day and it would rain for a little while. Some days the rain would last just a few minutes and other days a couple of hours and it kept the mountains green. The Timothy grass in the meadows was nearly to the horse’s bellies, they were getting fat with their coats sleek and shiny. The game was plentiful with deer and elk in the meadows and forests with big horn sheep up on the higher ridges. Above them all in the high rocky ledges up above timberline were pure white Mountain Goats.

  They all enjoyed saddling up after breakfast and riding up Blacks Fork to above where the trees no longer grew and watch the white goats. Their young, only a couple of months old, would run and play on the sheer cliffs where one slip would mean certain death. But they never seemed to fall. They watched them jump from narrow ledge to narrow ledge with nothing but several hundred feet of air under them.

  On some days they would take a lunch and spend the whole day exploring the high country together. They took shelter under a large pine or in a cave or under an overhanging ledge when the rain came and not get back to camp ‘til nearly dark. Zach thought how peaceful and enjoyable life was here in the wilderness alone with only family around. It seemed to him there was trouble, fighting and killing every time they were around others, but people were drawn to other people. He also enjoyed the time spent with friends at the rendezvous and wished in his mind that Rendezvous didn’t bring in the trouble makers along with all the good men.

  Two weeks passed quickly as they all enjoyed the summer rest but they needed to get ready for the buffalo hunt. The next few days they spent working on their packs getting them ready to carry as much dried meat as possible.

  Ol’ Red’s wound from the Grizzly had healed nicely and Zach had cut all the stitches out a week before. Running Wolf even mentioned he had seen Ol’ Red and the Roan grazing right next to each other a couple of times. The horses were fit and ready to go after a couple of weeks’ rest with all they could eat whenever they wanted it.

  Just a day before they planned on leaving for the Seed-Kee-Dee and then on to the Sweet Water, Jimbo came into camp with his tail between his legs and went right to his spot in front of the door of the teepee and lay down. It was plain to everyone something was wrong. Sun Flower walked over to the big dog and asked him, “Jimbo, are you alright?” When he looked up at her she could see he had a whole face full of Porcupine quills. It took all of them to hold Jimbo down while Zach pulled each quill out being careful not to break any of them off under the skin. When he got the last one pulled they were all tired from the ordeal and Jimbo left camp running up the trail that followed the creek.

  It was nearly dark before they saw him again and as he came walking into camp he had a sorrowful look. At a glance they could see the side of his face and head was swollen. Zach called him over and talked softly to him while stroking the top of his head. He looked closely in the light of the fire making sure he hadn’t missed any of the painful barbed quills. Shining Star had saved a piece of elk from their supper and gave it to Jimbo but he just sniffed at it. She walked over and set it by where he slept so he would have it when he felt like eating.

  The next morning the piece of elk was gone and the swelling in Jimbo’s face had gone down a lot. He hadn’t left camp this morning for the normal morning hunt but when Zach stepped out the teepee Jimbo was wagging his tail and clearly felt much better. As Zach rubbed his ears he spoke to his dog asking, “Did you learn to leave the porcupines alone?” Jimbo looked up at him and with a wag of his tail told him he had.

  West Along the Platte

  It was about the first week of August when they headed for the buffalo grounds along the Sweet Water. They hoped to find the big shaggy animals closer to the Seeds-Kee-Dee and not have to go clear to the Sweet Water. However, they all knew they would go wherever they needed to in order to get the winter’s m
eat. They knew the further east they traveled the greater chance they had of running into Sioux, Cheyenne or Arapaho and if they did it would likely mean a fight.

  They didn’t know it but about the time they had left Rendezvous, Bull Beaumont’s two brothers, Cal and Ben, had left Missouri to meet Bull in Jackson’s Hole. Four trappers, not wanting to spend another winter in the Rocky Mountains, had carried the message for Bull about the money they could make trapping beaver.

  When Cal Beaumont heard his brother was making several hundred dollars in a single season him and Ben sold out and headed west. While buying supplies in St. Louis they met up with four other men that were heading west as well and so the six of them started along the Platte River together.

  Two of the others had been to the mountains trapping two years earlier but had lost all their supplies and nearly their lives in a river crossing and had to return. They outfitted themselves once again and decided to give it a try. Their names were Peter Cosgrove and Jacob Witherspoon. The other two with them were brothers from Ireland, Sean and Abner Finnegan. Peter was the leader of this little brigade and he knew they were getting a late start not leaving St. Louis until after the first of July. But with each of the six men leading only one pack horse he figured they could make thirty or forty miles a day.

  The first few weeks was smooth going, just uneventful trail life. There was plenty of game with deer along the river and antelope out on the plains. Day after day of seeing nothing but rolling hills of grass with nothing on the horizon started to take a toll on Cal and Ben who had never been out of Missouri and the thick forests of their home.

  The fourth week on the trail they saw their first buffalo herd and they estimated it to be over ten thousand animals. They stalked up to the edge of the herd and shot a calf for food and the herd started to run. Cal and Ben just kept shooting as the big shaggy beasts ran by. The other four men looked on with dismay as the Beaumont’s kept shooting wounding some and killing others until their powder horns were empty. There were over two dozen buffalo down with several others wounded trying to keep up with the running herd.

  Peter told them that was just a waste of lead and powder and a terrible waste of meat. That if any Indians were around and saw the waste of the buffalo there could be serious trouble. But Cal just pushed Peter out of the way and said, “It’s my powder to waste and there’s plenty left for the Injuns.”

  The longer they were on the trail the more disagreeable Cal became. He refused to take his turn finding buffalo chips for their daily fires and had even had started to argue with Ben. The real trouble started when he started to make fun of the Finnegan Brothers’ Irish accent. Abner Finnegan was a large man with red hair and a bushy red beard. Though he wasn’t as big as either of the Beaumont’s he had been in many a bar room brawl back home and could handle himself in a rough and tumble fight. Sean was several years younger than his brother and not as big and burley. It was Sean that Cal started to pick on. He asked him why he couldn’t speak English and if the whore he came out of talked as bad as he and his useless brother. At hearing that Abner stepped in front of the big man and swung his fist just as hard as he could. He hit Cal right on the side of his jaw, staggering the bigger man.

  Cal just stood there a minute clearing his head as Abner told him, “No man speaks about our dear Mother that way.” But Cal got a cold mean look in his eyes and said, “I talk any way I want ‘bout anybody I want.” He then stepped forward and swung a rock hard fist at Abner. Abner was faster than Cal but not nearly as powerful. Abner blocked the right fist with his left but the force of the punch pushed Abner’s own fist into the side of his face and knocked him off his feet. He fell and rolled to get back up but Ben was there and kicked him in the ribs as he was getting to his feet. Abner felt his ribs break as he heard Cal and Ben laughing. As Cal started toward Abner again Peter cocked his long rifle and pointed it right at Cal while Jacob pulled the pistol from his waist band and covered Ben.

  As Cal looked at the big fifty-four caliber bore pointed at him he stopped and said, “Your makin’ a big mistake.” But Peter just countered, “You been itchin’ fer trouble fer weeks now and we ain’t havin’ no more of it. Get yer truck and move out, you and yer brother are on yer own, we’ll be havin’ no more of ya.”

  With a look of hatred, Cal and Ben loaded their supplies and headed out still following the Platte along its north bank. Sean and Jacob went to Abner to see how bad he was hurt. Peter just watched the Beaumont’s ride away, then saddled his horse and followed them making sure they were really leaving. Jacob felt along Abner’s ribs and figured three of them were busted bad enough he didn’t think they better let him move for a couple of days, or the broken bone might just cut into his lung.

  Peter followed the Beaumont’s staying well back and out of site for over ten miles. Although he didn’t trust them at all and he knew that they would most likely try to set up an ambush somewhere up ahead but for now they were far enough away he didn’t think they would come back this day. He rode back to camp where Jacob and Sean had a tight wrap around Abner’s broken ribs and they had made up a bed with a buffalo robe and had carefully moved him onto it.

  Late that afternoon, Jacob went out hunting and shot a yearling buffalo cow. As the hump ribs sizzled over the fire of buffalo chips, they made plans for the next week or so. Jacob figured it would be best to stay right where they were, not only to let Abner heal up but to let Cal and Ben get farther ahead or until they got tired of waiting for them to ride into their ambush. Peter nodded his agreement saying, “I don’t think it’ll take us mor’en two or three weeks to hit the Wind River Mountains and there be mor’en ‘enough creeks there fer us to trap this fall season. We’ll stay here ‘til Ab’s ribs is feelin’ better then cross the river and stay to the south side ‘til we hit the Sweet Water.”

  Three days later, Cal stood up from the rocks he had been sitting in for the last day and a half and yelled across the way at Ben. “I ain’t sitting here waitin’ fer them worthless bastards no longer. We got us a long way ta go ta find Bull so let’s get on with it and ta hell with them four.” Ben was glad to be on their way again. He wasn’t sure lying in wait for them was a good idea in the first place. Peter Cosgrove was a wily man of the wilderness and he really didn’t believe they would just ride into an ambush anyway.

  The next day Cal and Ben turned west heading up the Sweet Water river toward the Wind River Mountains where they planned on turning north along the east side then following the rivers northwest on to Jackson’s Hole at the base of what the French trappers called the Tetons.

  Cal was still surly and disagreeable, and his eye was still black and blue and sore from where Abner had landed his punch. Ben had started riding a ways behind Cal so he didn’t have to put up with the on-slot of verbal abuse. When they stopped for the night Ben had shot an Antelope and as he was cutting it up getting some pieces ready for the fire, a lone Indian approached. He was riding a large spotted horse. Cal waved him into camp and although Cal or Ben neither one was much good at sign language this Cheyenne brave made them understand he was hungry. As Ben was cutting off a front shoulder to give to the Cheyenne, Cal walked up beside him and stabbed him in his side. Then as he was on the ground in agony, Cal pulled him up by the hair and scalped him- laughing as the Cheyenne slowly died.

  Ben was becoming more and more concerned about his brother. He had always known Cal was mean and cruel but it seemed these endless plains were driving him mad as well. When Ben asked him why he killed the Indian, Cal just said with a smirk, “I wanted his horse.” Cal led the Indian’s horse over to the picket line with their other four and told Ben, “Get that stinkin’ Injun outa here and hurry up with the grub.” Ben knew better than to argue with Cal when he was in this kind of a mood for he was likely to give Ben a serious beating because he was the only one around.

  The next morning, Cal put his saddle on the spotted horse and rode out ahead leaving Ben to bring all three pack horses. The Sweet Water River
was cold and clear running through a very broad and shallow valley. The hills just rolled away from the river on both the north and south. Antelope were very plentiful on both sides of the river and now they were seeing both the Whitetail deer like back home and the larger deer from the west the trappers were calling Mule deer because of the big ears they have.

  About midday, Cal was sitting on his saddle on the crest of a small hill about a quarter mile in front of Ben when he slowly turned the spotted horse and headed back towards Ben. As he got close to Ben he told him there were riders coming. Ben asked, “Is it Injuns and how many?”

  Cal replied, “They’s four or five of ‘em but they’s too far out ta tell what they’s is, but they’s gonna be here soon ‘enough.”

  They moved off the river into a small brush filled draw that was barely big enough to get all five horses in and waited. When they next saw the riders they were close enough to tell they were all white men dressed in buckskins. At seeing they were white, Cal rode out of the brush and yelled down to them, “Howdy, friends.” Then he and Ben rode back down to the river towards these five trappers. As they approached the trappers Ben recognized the one in the lead as Lester Gooding, one of the men their brother Bull had left home with to become a trapper.

  Lester had been the same age as Bull; just a couple of years older than Ben, but ten years younger than Cal and their family farms were only about five miles apart back home in Missouri. Lester and Bull had been friends since childhood with Ben tagging along when they would let him. Lester wasn’t nearly as big as any of the Beaumont’s but being friends with them he had become a hard drinking, hard fighting man.