The Adventures Of The Brothers Dent (The Mountain Men Book 3)

by Terry Grosz

  The rest of that winter and into the spring of ’09, Gabe and Josh made the rounds during their brief periods of slack time, purchasing and storing needed supplies for their anticipated life in the Trans-Mississippi West. The supplies were paid for from the proceeds received from the sale of their aunt and uncle’s ranch and monies earned working for Jensen Sutta. Those supplies consisted of beaver traps, pigs of lead, kegs of powder, bags of flints, whetstones, gutting and skinning knives, bags of brightly colored beads for trade with the Indians, blankets, tobacco, fishhooks, and more.

  They also managed to spend many more evenings with Tom, who was now becoming a fast friend to Josh and Gabriel, as they were to him. During those times, the brothers discovered that Tom had come from a similar background as they had. One that was hardscrabble and in which he had also lost his parents to a band of Missouri ruffians when he was younger. Then through hard work and liberal use of his fists in and among the hard-drinking and -fighting riverboat crowd, Tom had made his fortune and reputation. Now Tom and another river man named Mike Fink were considered the two finest, most knowledgeable, and toughest river men on the Mississippi River. It wasn’t long before Tom, Josh, and Gabe became as close as brothers. A closeness that would finally be forever forged on the Mississippi some time later under the worst of conditions...

  Listening to Tom and his tales of the Mountain Men and how hard they said it was to kill the mighty moose, buffalo, and the fearsome grizzly bears with many of the existing smaller caliber rifles of the day gave Josh and Gabe concern. Especially when Tom related many stories of Mountain Men shooting grizzly bears five and six times in order to kill the ferocious beasts! And those Mountain Men who were unsuccessful in killing the great bear having ending up as bear scat after such an altercation several days later!

  Tom also advised that the Mountain Men had indicated the long-barreled and thinly stocked Pennsylvania flintlock rifles normally used were too cumbersome in the backcountry, especially when riding horses in thick timber. He also spoke to the lightness of the make of those rifles that had led to many breakages, especially when the one carrying the rifle was in a horse wreck. Since all Josh and Gabe sported were Pennsylvania flintlocks of .40-caliber, they now felt their rifles would be too inadequate, especially if charged by a grizzly bear, or for the rest of the job at hand once on the frontier.

  To that end, they scouted out a gunsmith in St. Louis named Samuel Hawken who was located on First and Hickory Streets. Entering the shop one afternoon, they were greeted with the smell of stale cigar smoke, coffee that had boiled too long on a wood stove at the back of the store, and pleasantly scented gun oils.

  Walking over to a man sitting behind a counter working on a gunstock with a wood rasp, Josh said with a grin, “Good afternoon. My name is Josh Dent and this ugly looking one here is my younger kid brother, Gabriel.”

  Looking up from his work shaping a solid, Missouri-grown maple gunstock, the man extended his hand with a smile saying, “Good afternoon yourself. My name is Sam Hawken, gunsmith and part owner along with my brother of this here establishment. What can I do for you two lads?”

  “Well, the two of us expect to go north and west into the frontier this coming summer. But, after talking to some folks who have already been there, we are wondering if the Pennsylvania rifles we are packing might just be a little light in the one-shot- killing department on some of the bigger critters,” said Josh.

  Gesturing with his hands for their rifles and now free of the gunstock on which he had been working, Hawken examined both men’s rifles carefully. Then he said, “If it were me and from what I am hearing back from the Mountain Men, I would get rifles that were a little heavier in the stock. That way they wouldn’t break so easily in a horse wreck or if used as a club in a fight with Indians. I would also get something in a larger caliber. I would also want something in a shorter, heavier barrel in order to be able to safely take a larger powder charge and get around in the thick timber on horseback. Many of the trappers are using firearms like these you boys have, but they are finding them a little light in the wrist and strength of the barrel for the duties at hand. The boys are finding the long-barreled Pennsylvania rifles, like yours, even when heavied up in the caliber, are still not sufficient for one-shot grizzly bear or some quick Indian killing. Plus, it is more difficult to load a longer-barreled rifle when riding a horse and being chased by a mean-assed bear or a band of madder than a jostled nest of hornets Indians. If it were me under the same conditions, I would trade in your rifles for something with a heavier ball and a shorter barrel. Plus, I would suggest the new percussion cap system as opposed to one using a flintlock type of ignition. Something that would be easier to load on the run and less susceptible to misfires in bad weather,” thoughtfully advised Hawken.

  “Got any such rifles in mind?” asked Josh.

  “None that I have made on hand that ain’t already spoken for. But come back in a year or two and I will have some fine rifles made just for the fur trade and the likes of you, crazy as a nest of loons, Mountain Men,” said Hawken with a grin. “However, in the meantime, I just got in a shipment of U.S. Rifles, Military 1803 that are half-stocked and short-barreled. They have a heavier wrist made from pretty hard black walnut and are a much heavier caliber than yours since they hurl a .52-caliber ball.”

  “Mind if we take a gander at them?” asked Gabe.

  “Sure, just give me a minute to dig them out from their shipping crates in the back room,” said Hawken. Moments later, Hawken arrived back in the front of his store carrying two of the new 1803s. “Here you be, Boys. As you can see, they are shorter-barreled than your ‘squirrel rifles’ and hell-for-stout. Also, if whatever you are aiming at is hit by the ball from the bore of that rifle, it is going to be soon staked around your campfire sizzling away, iffen you get my drift,” said Hawken with a knowing smile.

  Both boys hefted the new rifles and soon big grins ran across their heavily whiskered faces, “’pears to be one hell of a rifle,” said Gabe as he shouldered and re-shouldered the new rifle. Josh did the same without a word and then carefully examined the overall makings of the rifle. Like Hawken had said, he thought, hell-for-stout. “What is the cost for these rifles?” asked Josh.

  “They be $12.50 each,” said Hawken.

  Looking over at his brother for his confirmation, Josh got a nod from Gabe. “We will take four of these rifles in case we break them or they are lost or stolen. That way we will have a backup. We will also need bullet molds, extra ramrods, bullet pullers, those ‘percussion caps’ you talked about, and some extras of each in case some are lost, stolen or broken,” continued Josh.

  “Damn, Boys. That will about clean me out. I only got six of these rifles in stock and that took me two months to get after ordering them from New Orleans,” said Hawken with a grin.

  “We would also like to trade in these here ‘squirrel rifles’ as you call them, and you can deduct that from what we owe you,” continued Josh. Once the ciphering was done, Josh and Gabe counted out the amount needed from their saddlebag of coins from the sale of their aunt and uncle’s farm and Jensen Sutta’s- eamed monies. It was obvious from the look on Hawken’s face, he was pleased over the number of coins spilling out over his counter. Especially in light of the fact that most of his customers used some form of barter in that day and age in settling up bills. Heading back to their hotel room loaded with all the particulars, the boys were pleased with their new purchases. Now they would have what they felt they needed to stop a mean-assed bear in a charge, drop a cow buffalo, or kill a bull moose where it wouldn’t run off and be lost. Yes, they were getting closer to being ready for whatever the new frontier would throw at them, thought Josh. Come late spring, they were now more than appropriately supplied to head north into the new frontier as so-called Free Trappers.

  Sure as Tom had predicted, the local newspaper, The Missouri Republican, ran a full-page ad advertising for “men of free will and means” to meet with Manuel Lisa at Ten
th and Hickory Streets on April the 2nd, 1809, to sign on for the upcoming trapping expedition into the Trans-Mississippi West. The ad further advised the trip would be for a duration of at least one, two or three years, unless cut short by “death or dismemberment.”

  ***

  Come that fateful day, Gabe and Josh found themselves in front of a large white house belonging to St. Louis businessman Manuel Lisa standing in a line of rough-looking men of all sorts and conditions Lisa was out front of his home standing behind several Factors, or men of stature and position in his St. Louis Fur Company. In front of each Factor stood a line of men being questioned as to their worth and abilities relative to the upcoming fur trapping expedition. Included in that selection process were George Drouillard, John Potts, John Colter, and Peter Wiser—men who had earlier been members of the Lewis and Clark Corps of Discovery and were now bringing their newfound knowledge of the frontier to the latest Lisa expedition as guides and hunters. Hunters, because men in those days generally ate between seven and ten pounds of meat at one sitting per day! Having men of such experience as hunters like Colter and his experienced companions meant meat around the evenings’ camps would not be in short supply.

  Come Gabe and Josh’s turn, they were met by a man named Antoine Leroux and questioned sharply about their desire to go into a life of harsh and dangerous living among the “Indians and beasts” for the next one, two or three years. Those questions were followed with more on their experience, shooting ability, and preparations. After determining Gabe and Josh fit the bill of being men of mettle and means, Antoine had both men sign a contract agreeing to trade their furs and hides exclusively with the leader of the expedition, one Manuel Lisa.

  Gabe and Josh, upon signing, were told to meet north of town on Keezer’s Bluff at daylight on April the 15th. There they would meet their guide and principal Factor named Larry La Rochelle, a French fur trapper of renown, who would lead the ground expedition. They were told they would be paralleling thirteen keelboats full of supplies as they traveled with their horses and trailing horse herds upriver. They were further advised they would cross the various rivers on pre-positioned flatboat ferries or just swim their animals across the smaller bodies of water. Then, they would rest at night along the waterways with the keelboats and their crews until they reached Fort Raymond—named after Lisa’s son. There they would resupply at the fort, break up into parties, and head into the beaver-rich trapping grounds to set up their winter camps.

  Come each summer when the furbearers were out of prime, they would be expected to return to Fort Raymond, trade in their catches, and resupply for the next trapping season. When Antoine finished with his instructions, he asked Josh and Gabe if they had any questions. Having none, the men shook on the deal, signed their contracts, and parted ways. The boys were going to say their good-byes to Jensen and Ma Sutta and finish topping off their supplies. At the head of their final supply list were more pigs of lead for their new, ever-hungry, larger-bored rifles. Rifles—as they had discovered during practice sessions— gobbled lead like a raccoon or a pig does ears of com in a green cornfield in the spring.

  Antoine was off to meet with the next hopeful Mountain Man-to-be and go through his “weeding out” ritual once again. Before the process was completed, Lisa had another 150-man contingent to take north once again to support his St. Louis- based fur enterprise at Fort Raymond.

  That afternoon in celebration, Josh and Gabe once again met their genial giant boatman and close friend for an evening of drinking and eating. There they finally shared their stories about when their parents were killed by Black Bill Jenkins and his kin. They also shared the history of the deaths of their aunt and uncle. Lastly, they shared with Tom their vision quest in which they planned on hunting down and killing Black Bill and his brothers for what they did to their kin, as well as later becoming Mountain Men and exploring the wilds of the west. Tom listened quietly to the brothers and their heartfelt story. He then advised he would help in any way in which he could especially since his mother and father had been killed by four Missouri ruffians under like circumstances near Hermann, Missouri, when he was a young man as well. Little did any of the three fast friends realize the web their lives would later weave...

  CHAPTER FIVE : NORTH TO THE BIGHORN RIVER

  The cool predawn on April the 15th found Gabe and Josh quietly sitting on their horses among a number of men hired by Manuel Lisa. All sat on the bluff overlooking the Mississippi River and the docks. Quietly anchored below the gathering men along the docks were thirteen large keelboats riding quietly at anchor. Once the sun peeped over the treetops from the east, Tom Warren’s massive frame could be seen as the skipper on the stem of one of the lead boats. Then Lisa arrived and, after a short meeting with one of his St. Louis Fur Company Factors, rode his coal-black stallion, while seated on a beautifully ornate Mexican saddle, up to the head of the group of horsemen. Standing up in his stirrups, he waved his arm at the keelboats to proceed. Then turning in his saddle, he led the contingent of trappers and traders with his Factor La Rochelle up the river at a slowly measured pace in order to provide protection against marauding Indians looking to steal the keelboats’ valuable goods and to keep a close watch on their trailing horse and mule herds. Below, the keelboats drifted back with the current away from their docking sites. Then with the aid of a sail and men pushing on their oars, the keelboats slowly moved upriver.

  Most boatmen, anticipating a long, hard trip upriver, had spent their last night in the saloons. Anticipating that, Lisa only went north on the Mississippi that first day for about four miles. There he called a halt and set up camp. Lisa figured at that point it was too far for the hard-drinking boatmen to walk back to the saloons in St. Louis for another evening’s hell-raising and whoring around in celebration.

  Camp that first night was a simple matter. There were no tents to sleep in because most considered users of such devices either weak, sickly or of a soldier’s ilk. Sleeping out on the prairie in warmer weather with nothing but a single blanket and the hard ground for a bed was the preferred choice of most river and Mountain Men as well.

  The French-Canadian river men kept to themselves on that first evening stopover eating their mush and sowbelly provided from the flatboats’ stores for their dinner. But the rest of the contingent, considering themselves above the hardworking boatmen, camped separately and feasted on the bountiful game at hand when it came time for their evening meals. Traveling light, evening and morning eating conveniences consisted of a cooking pot, cup, knife, fork, and a roaring fire. Then after dinner, the men would sit around the fire smoking their pipes and getting acquainted. During those times, there were also the usual rounds of tales spun by those who had been upriver as trappers previously. Tales that were listened to intently by the first timers and with a “knowing smile” by those who had been that way before.

  Before dawn the next morning, the boatman’s horn awoke the sleeping men. Breakfast consisted of what they hadn’t eaten the night before, oftentimes cold, and then another hard day began. Shoving off from shore, the river men used their push poles to propel their boats upstream when the water was not too deep. In the case of deeper water, the river men came ashore, unlimbered a long towrope, or cordelle, and began pulling the heavily laden keelboats upstream mile by difficult mile. If lucky, the boats would make ten to twelve miles per day as they toiled upstream against the snags, floating, previously drowned buffalo, sandbars, sunken logs, feeding grizzly bears along the shoreline, and quicksand.

  Falling in on that second day of travel alongside a small group of four men dressed from head to toe in well-worn buckskins, Gabe and Josh struck up a friendly conversation. They soon discovered the leader of the group of men they had fallen in with was none other than the legendary fur trapper and Indian fighter, Jim Johnson, of late from the State of New York. He had been a trapper on the Yellowstone for several years previously and was riding with his younger brother, Albert, whom he introduced to Josh and Gabe.
Jim then introduced his other two long-time trapping partners riding along with them as “Big-Eye” Ed Collins and Elliott “One-Shot” Sutta. Collins had one eye that remained permanently open, having been previously wounded in a fight with a grizzly as he was taking a dump alongside a creek. The grizzly, smelling Collins near at hand, had attacked. Ed was lucky to get away with just the one eye being damaged and permanently left open instead of being killed.

  One-Shot Sutta, on the other hand, was such an accomplished shooter that he seldom ever missed what he was shooting at and got his name accordingly. Jim went on to say that the four of them had been trapping together for the last five years on the Yellowstone and the Bighorn Rivers. Then every two years, loaded with furs and low on supplies, they would make the long trek back to St. Louis to sell their furs for the highest prices, celebrate, resupply, and then head back up to the trapping grounds. Jim indicated that he was happier now that Lisa had built a fort at the mouth of the Bighorn River because that precluded such a long and dangerous trip to St. Louis every two years for supplies by his crew.

  Gabe and Josh then traded like background information. However, they left out their secondary reason for heading to the northern trapping grounds, namely that being the finding and killing of Bill Jenkins and his clan. According to Tom Warren, those men had gone north to the trapping grounds with Lisa on his first trip in ’07, and were somewhere thereabouts. Soon the men found themselves having a grand and easy time together, discussing everything about the region’s Indian tribes, their lives and inherent dangers as trappers, the wildlife, and the overall stark beauty of the lands into which they were now heading. As it turned out, the meeting between Josh, Gabe, and the old Mountain Man named Jim Johnson was prophetic.

  Come the end of that day’s travels, Lisa would have the men position the horse, mule, and oxen herds next to the water and closest to the keelboats. Then he would position the rest of the camp on the landward side of the animal herds to preclude any surprise raiding by unfriendly Indians. A horse to an Indian was one of the most valuable animals one could possess and if he stole it from a white man and counted coup at the same time, all the better.