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

by Terry Grosz

  Finding a small nearby dry draw, the men gently placed Elliott One-Shot Sutta’s badly broken body in the bottom on a pile of last year’s dried aspen leaves. Then with digging sticks and their hands, they scraped as much dirt as they could over his body. Then numerous rocks were picked up from a small nearby stream and stacked high over his body. High enough so the men were satisfied the wolves and bears would be discouraged by the huge pile of stones and not dig up and eat their old friend.

  Jim said a few words over their friend and then the men removed One-Shot’s saddle and personals from the scene. After a short discussion, the men pulled up all their traps from the killing ground and left knowing it would soon be visited by the ever-hungry critters for the meals the three dead grizzly bears and horse would offer. To continue trapping near such a “feeding ground” would only invite trouble from other critters trying to defend a newly discovered and much-needed food site. There would be no more trapping in that dark and bloody ground, thought Gabe and Josh, no matter the numbers of beaver.

  That night several just out from hibernation and famished grizzly bears visited the grisly scene. Soon, numerous fights followed over who would eat what. One larger and older boar grizzly, vanquished in a fight over the horse’s remains, ambled off, dug up One-Shot’s remains from under the rock pile, and soon the trapper was no more. A few days later, the old Mountain Man resurfaced in a grizzly bear’s hair-filled scat... As such, One- Shot joined the twenty-five percent of Mountain Men trappers, many who mysteriously disappeared every year from unknown circumstances during their historical heyday trapping beaver in the Trans-Mississippi West.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: FORT RAYMOND AND ANOTHER FRIEND JOINS THE AGES

  The rest of the spring of 1810 was uneventful except for more hard work in beaver trapping and dodging the many ever-present grizzly bears feeding along the Musselshell or in adjacent beaver-trapping waters. Trapping and hunting were good and soon the men had their cabin bulging at the seams with many packs of beaver plews, and the lean-to loaded with stacks of buffalo hides. There were several close calls at being discovered by the local Blackfoot Nation but none resulted in fights or serious run- ins. The same could be said about the daily adventures with the always-present and foul-tempered grizzly.

  When the beaver started out of prime come late spring, the men were more than ready for a trip to Fort Raymond for some trading and hell raising. For the Dent Brothers there was another reason for wanting to make the trip to Fort Raymond as well. Earlier, the Jenkins clan had sallied forth from Fort Raymond in 1807 as fur trappers. As such, they were in country somewhere close at hand, trapping beaver like all the rest of Lisa’s trappers. Like all the other trappers, they came back to Fort Raymond to trade in their furs and resupply. That was unless they hooked up and traded with the Hudson’s Bay Fur Company to the north. To the Dent Brothers’ way of thinking, there was still an old family score to settle if they showed up back at the fort and crossed paths with the brothers.

  Two weeks later, the beaver more or less finally moved out of prime allowing the men to pull their traps and spring all their snares. A quick assessment showed they had a small fortune in furs and hides, and all their livestock were in excellent shape. Additionally, the Blackfeet had not been seen for over a month because of the trappers’ careful and secretive movements. And now, most of the men were eagerly wondering what a horn of rum or whiskey would taste like after so many months without nary a trace striking the bottom of their bellies.

  For several days, the men cast balls for their rifles and pistols, then they cached their traps and other valuables on a nearby dry, south-facing hillside. They planned on returning to their cabin after trading and resupplying at Fort Raymond since the beaver bounty in the immediate area was still excellent in numbers. Then in preparation for the trek, the horses and mules were checked for loose shoes, reshoed where necessary, their animals’ teeth were floated—filed to make bit-usage easier during the long trip—and tack repaired as was needed. Their firearms were rechecked for function, knives were sharpened, and several bags of jerky were readied in case the hunting was poor upon the long trail to the fort. Their only concerns were the still ever-present grizzlies now moving out onto the plains following the buffalo herds for the new calf crop, as did the numerous Blackfeet for their upcoming winter meat supplies.

  As if that crowding was not enough of a concern, a new problem reared its ugly head making the Blackfeet even more troublesome because, as soon discovered, the British Hudson’s Bay Fur Company now considered the Blackfoot Nation its allies and close trading partners and Manuel Lisa and his fur trappers unwanted competition. The British agents began agitating the Blackfeet into treating any white fur trapper, other than those supported by the Hudson’s Bay Fur Company, as enemies of the Crown. Additionally, the British on the high seas were now, as a matter of course, impressing American seamen into the Royal Navy. With that, a serious rift was once again developing between the United States and the British Empire over such illegal practices. As a result of those practices by the Crown, the Hudson’s Bay Fur Company took it upon themselves to declare their dissatisfaction with the American fur trappers as well. Little did anyone on the frontier comprehend the far-reaching consequences that would soon follow, as a result of this coming war between Great Britain and the United States of America, for the fur trade on the American frontier.

  For the next several days, the little band of Mountain Men led by Jim Johnson trailed their heavily loaded livestock southerly across the plains towards Fort Raymond. Finally, the great day arrived as the small log palisade of Fort Raymond hove into view! Riding through the front gates into the fort, Jim and company were greeted warmly by Lisa and his motley-looking band of Spanish ancestry fur graders and his Yankee traders. As they rode into the fort, many of the friendly Indians living outside the gates in their tepees figuring a celebration was in the offing, walked alongside the pack train in anticipation of the upcoming shindig as well. As was trading tradition, Lisa broke open a keg of watered-down whiskey to celebrate the occasion and loosen up the trappers’ trading cautions as the party began.

  However, Josh and Gabe kept a sharp eye peeled in case any of the gathering crowd of celebrants and other constantly newly arriving fur trappers like themselves resembled Black Bill and his clan. After an hour of quietly looking around in the crowd of trappers so as not to arouse any suspicions, they were mightily disappointed. No one resembling the fellows who had killed their kin back in Missouri made themself known from the crowd of humankind around the fort. Additionally, in talking to many of the fort’s “hangers-on,” none could recall meeting or seeing such a group resembling that Black Bill contingent.

  Upon unloading Jim’s group of trappers’ packs of buffalo, beaver, muskrat, river otter, wolf, coyote, and pine marten, the fort’s traders eagerly moved in and began the grading process. Jim and his party closely watched for any grading irregularities because of Lisa’s much-touted “fur grade, quality-shaving” reputation. As expected, they soon noticed that Lisa’s graders, especially those of Spanish ancestry, were quietly low-grading many of their high-quality, blanket-sized beaver plews. Finally, Jim had enough of the “high grading”—actually, lowballing the fur’s quality—and stopped the traders in their crooked tracks with a wave of his hand and uttered command. “You men had better do a fairer job of grading, or me and my men will reload the packs and take them clear to St. Louie iffen you don’t!” he growled.

  One of the traders, a big, Spanish-looking fellow with an ugly knife scar running clear across his face, looked up from the grading process and growled, “Why, you piece of beaver dropping. I can crap bigger than you on my off-days! Who the hell do you think you are talking to? You callin’ me a cheat?” He then menacingly reached for a sheath knife in his belt sash.

  “I ain’t callin’ you anythin’ other than what you became after your God-fearin’ mother birthed you, you damned Spaniard,” said Jim. Then quickly leveling his rifle at the man�
�s more-than- ample middle, said, “And at this or any range, I won’t miss putting a damn big hole in your ‘fire box.’” Then the other “high grading” fur graders found themselves instantly looking at the business ends of four more rifles. It was only then that the free- loading Indians, heretofore having a good time around the madly flowing whiskey barrel, got the hell out of the way before they got “blowed” away in a white-man’s “hoorah!”

  “Whoa there! What the hell-fire and damnation is going on?” yelled Lisa as he caught sight of the excitement in the center of the fort from where he was sitting on the front porch of his home. Trotting down the steps of his porch and across the center of the fort to the trading area, he stopped in between the fur graders and the five leveled rifle barrels. “Jim, what the hell-fire brought on this show of inhospitality in my fort?” he demanded.

  “Ask that damn cheating Spaniard with the cut across his face and the one about to get a big hole ‘blowed’ clear through his boiler as to why I got boiled over,” quietly responded Jim.

  “What is going on, Juan?” asked Lisa with a look that revealed he already knew, but had to put on a good front in order to save his face and that of the cheating, fur high grading Spaniard just caught in the act.

  “This here piece of crap just accused me of cheating on my grading of his furs,” replied the Spaniard, still keeping his hand on his knife with a set of fiery dark eyes drilling holes clear through Jim.

  “That be true, Jim?” asked Lisa in a not-too-convincing sort of way, as if he did not know what was really going on with his previously given “high grading” tacit approval.

  “That be true to my way of thinkin’,” quietly said Jim.

  “I seed it as well,” said Big-Eye, “and I might only have one good eye but it ain’t a liar,” he continued, still looking grim faced over what he considered fur high grading as well.

  “That be a fact, Mr. Lisa,” said Josh. “I know I ain’t been in the business long but I know a quality blanket beaver being high graded when I see one,” he added knowingly.

  Without another word and realizing he was caught red- handed, Lisa had Juan step aside and asked another fur grader to continue in his place. Then as if trying to hide the fact that he wasn’t too honest, Lisa tried waving the five angry looking men over to the free-flowing whiskey barrel hoping to calm the moment and square away the situation before his fur grading Spaniard got “a hole blowed clear through his boiler.”

  “Iffen you don’t mind, Mr. Lisa, me and my boys will stay right here until the grading is done and our credit is determined,” said Jim with a finality of action in his voice.

  “Suit yourself, Men. But when this is done and in order to show no hard feelings, will you boys join me for dinner this evening?” asked Lisa, still trying to calm the not-too-good for business situation still simmering in the center of his fort and the fur trading activity swirling around it.

  “Me and the boys will be glad to, Mr. Lisa,” replied Jim, as he and the rest of his trappers lowered their rifles and backed their hammers off...

  That evening, Jim and his crew feasted on a roasted ox, boiled rice mixed with cooked raisins, mounds of com bread, beans heavy with fat from the roasted ox, and as much fiery rum as the men cared to swill. Josh and Gabe, true to form, made sure they imbibed only as much as was necessary to be hospitable but not so much that they didn’t hear every word spoken as to the goings-on of the fort and her other trappers. Especially any word on Black Bill and his clan’s location from all the now still-arriving fur trappers at the fort. After all, they still had an unfilled mission and being all gowed up on rum would only cause them to miss any bit of information spoken about Jenkins and his clan. As it turned out, bits and pieces of that information were not long in forthcoming...

  As Lisa made another toast to his guests around the table, he let slip that the fur business was great and getting better every day because many more of his trappers were now coming in from the field with more expected daily since the beaver were now out of prime. In fact Lisa bragged, “Four of his oldest trappers from Missouri who had come upriver with him in ’07 had just left the fort a week earlier and headed north to trap among the Blackfeet.”

  It seemed to the now rum-tongue-loosened Lisa that these trappers from Missouri were the ones who hardly got along with anybody, except the Blackfeet and the British fur company to the north. Therefore, their chosen self-exile among the fierce Blackfeet and Lisa’s competition, for the most part.

  “However,” Lisa continued, “they were good trappers and always came to his fort first to trade their better furs because they got a better deal than the Hudson’s Bay traders gave them, especially when it came to their blanket-sized beaver furs and thickly furred pine marten. Plus, they got to satisfy their tastes for as much of Lisa’s free rum as they could hold.”

  With those words, Josh looked over at Lisa asking, “Mr. Lisa, was one of the Missouri men a big man with a coal-black beard, loud voice, and the rest, the man’s blood kin?”

  “That is him. He is a big one. Almost as big as you and your brother and the rest call him Bill if I am not wrong. Why do you ask?” continued Lisa.

  “Well, me and my brother here have kin up here as well and our cousin is a big one with a black beard but he only has his little brother with him. A smaller man than you described, with bright red hair and a full beard,” advised Josh as he deliberately lied about the man with red hair, to throw Lisa off the track and disguise the main reason and intent of his question.

  “None with red hair in that bunch,” said Lisa as he casually helped himself to another helping of the boiled rice loaded with cooked raisins and, in so doing, he missed the deadly reason Josh had asked that question.

  Gabe looked over at his brother, caught his wink over the obvious questions without foundation, and grinned slightly. None of the others caught on to what Josh was doing as the dinner and drinking, along with much loud laughter, continued into the wee hours.

  ***

  The next morning, the men took their credit chits from their furs and hides and moved over to Lisa’s well-filled storehouses. Once there, they began cashing in their credit for the supplies they would need for the coming trapping season. While inside, the men looked with wonder after their year in the outback with limited supplies, at all the new goods Lisa had in his storehouse.

  There were stacks of blankets, kegs of rum, brandy, and whiskey. In the middle of the storehouse were coils of hemp and cotton rope, barrels of horse and mule shoes, tins of horseshoe nails, and huge stacks of lead ingots. Along one wall were lines of newfangled rifles, cases full of knives, sacks of assorted trap sizes, stacks of whetstones, bags of coffee beans, axes, and sacks of salt, red pepper flakes, and course black pepper. Strewn in between were kegs of powder, barrels of hard candy, sacks of dried hominy com, dried fruit, brown cones of sugar, and on it went until the trappers’ heads were swirling over all the riches observed. Then the men got down to the process of trading for what they figured they needed for the coming year. It was then that they discovered Lisa was also trying to scalp them on their fur trade credit for needed items. It was apparent to all five men that Lisa had upped the prices of goods from 600 to 1,200 percent over the cost of those same goods if purchased in St. Louis!

  Looking around, they were surprised to see that it now took ten large beaver skins to purchase one Indian trade gun. For a gallon of whiskey that cost about two dollars in St. Louis, it now went at Fort Raymond for twelve dollars! Further looking revealed one beaver skin was needed in exchange for a half-pound of powder; one beaver skin for one pound of tobacco; one beaver skin for eight knives or twenty fish hooks; one beaver skin for one pound of lead or twenty gun flints; one beaver skin for one brass kettle or two pounds of sugar; and on it went. However, since this was the only store in town...

  It took the men the better part of the morning to trade their fur and hide credits for the supplies needed for the coming year. All in all, they had more than enou
gh furs and buffalo hides to procure what they needed, with some credit left over. Then they traded the three trap-robbing Blackfeet’s horses whose owners Gabe and Josh had killed earlier to the always starved for horseflesh Lisa. That trade left the men with a surplus of credit far surpassing their needs.

  It was then that a man working on several rifles in the corner of the trading post caught Gabe’s eye. The man, a gunsmith, was fancying up several of the rifles in his possession. As Gabe watched, the gunsmith was installing fancy German silver trimming on the rifles. Additionally, he was fancying up the stocks of the rifles with various silver and brass tack designs, somewhat like the local Indians did with just plain iron tacks.

  Telling Josh to wait, Gabe left the store and headed for his horse. Once there, he removed his favorite rifle and brought it back into the store. There, he went over to the gunsmith and asked if he could fancy up his rifle. The gunsmith took Gabe’s rifle, looked it over, then looked back up at Gabe.

  “The size of this here rifle lends itself to a lot of fancy work. What did you have in mind?” asked the gunsmith.

  Gabe pointed to the rifle’s stock and said, “I want a big heart here on the stock with some of those fancy silver-headed tacks. Then inside that heart, I want the names of my mother and father spelled out with some of those smaller silver-headed tacks,” he replied.

  “What are their names?” asked the gunsmith.

  Reaching over onto the gunsmith’s desk, Gabe removed a piece of paper and a goose quill pen. Dipping the quill pen in an inkwell, he printed out the names of his mother and father so the gunsmith would not misspell them. Then he handed the paper to the gunsmith. “When might you be done with that amount of work?” asked Gabe.

  “This work be easy. I should be done by late this afternoon if you can leave your rifle with me,” said the gunsmith.

  “That be fine with me. When can I take a gander at your work, and if it meets my needs, I will settle up with you in Lisa’s credits if that be fine with you,” said Gabe.