by Terry Grosz
“That be fine with me, Young Fella. I will get to it just as soon as I finish my work on these here two rifles,” said the gunsmith as he took Gabe’s rifle and stood it in a nearby corner.
With that and a grinning Josh musing over his younger brother’s love for the memories of their mother and father, they returned to where Lisa was still working with several other fur trappers over settlement on the prices of their furs. There the two brothers stood around until Lisa was finished with his transactions with the two other fur trappers. When finished, Josh had Lisa cut him a chit for the credit they still had coming just in case he “might forget later” and made him log the same in his St. Louis Fur Company’s books. Josh did so in case he and his brother had a bad future year and, that being the case, would have something to fall back on to fulfill their needs.
Done with their trading, the men moved their goods outside and loaded them onto their packsaddles and into their panniers—large canvas sack-like containers attached to a packsaddle and used to carry goods of many kinds. Then, those goods, panniers, and packsaddles were moved into one of Lisa’s feed sheds behind locked doors for safekeeping.
With those chores accomplished, the men headed over to the whiskey barrel for some real celebrating now that their business was done. While there, they visited with other incoming trappers and, as was the tradition, exchanged news over who had wintered well and those, like One-Shot, who were now part of the soil...
When the news of One-Shot’s demise spread among the trappers, it was met with a sad silence. One-Shot had been in the fur trapping business right from the start and had made many friends. That was apparent when the news spread throughout the small groups of men. He had always been a favorite and, to many of those assembled, deserved to die with his moccasins on and surrounded by many happy grandchildren. However, in reality and now under the present circumstances, a bear scat would have to do as his mark made on the history of the frontier as a Mountain Man...
Before the feast around another ox began that evening, Gabe returned to the store where the gunsmith resided. There he received his finished and now-very fancy rifle. The gunsmith had done a beautiful job on Gabe’s rifle. He had wrapped the wrist of the stock heavily with German silver wire. He had also done that to the fore stock and barrel in order to not deter from the balance of the rifle. On one side of the stock was a beautiful gleaming silver heart outlined in silver tacks and inscribed therein with the names of Gabe’s much-loved mother and father. For the longest time Gabe just stared at what he considered a beautiful masterpiece. It brought tears of remembrance to his eyes. Then turning the stock over, he saw on the other side the figure of a grizzly bear outlined in more silver tacks. To his way of thinking, the gunsmith had outdone himself. He now had a rifle that would be a one-of-a-kind firearm, one from which he would never part unless someone removed it from his dying hands. That rifle would later be the final causative key to a violent and bloody action taken by a sharp-eyed and knowing riverboatman. An action that would occur in the flash of powder, shot, dead-matched and prized buckskin horses, and blood...
After a solid week of imbibing too much “Old Trapper’s Top Knot Remover,” wolfing down roasted ox meat cooked for the trapping and trading contingent, and visiting with their brethren, the five men of Jim’s party finally had enough of “civilization.” It was decided it was now time to gather up their goods and head back to the quiet and wonder of the deep woods, herds of game, quiet beaver ponds, and their chosen way of life on the frontier.
Daylight the next morning just as the fort was waking, the five men and their heavily loaded pack animals began their long trek back to their cabin on the Musselshell. Across the saddle of one of the fur trappers in that august group the rays of the sun danced happily with the lay of his rifle with every movement of the horse. Yes, Gabe now had a rifle that was beyond compare, as there was none other like it...
Arriving days later, the first thing they had to do was kill a grizzly bear, which had taken up residence inside their cabin in their absence! After that bit of excitement, Josh and Gabe spent several hours cleaning out the cabin of its mess and the grizzly droppings left behind. The other men dragged the bear a distance from the cabin, gutted and skinned it out. The hide was tossed because it was so badly rubbed, but the hams, shoulders and rib meat were quickly placed in their smokehouse to avoid spoilage in the summer heat and the smoking process began. Once finished, the smoked meat would be hung from the rafters inside the cabin and utilized when the winter winds howled around the cabin’s eves. Prior to the bear’s hide being tossed for the magpies to pick at, its claws were removed because they represented highly prized trade items for necklace fixin’s once back at the fort.
Finished with the “bear work,” the men opened up their hillside cache and retrieved their traps and other necessaries previously stashed. Soon, the cabin was shipshape, their gear was inside safe from the afternoon rains, and the livestock curried, hobbled, and safely feeding nearby in their meadow. Gabe and Josh, in the meantime, continued their household chores, making up biscuit dough for the Dutch ovens, cleaning out the outside fire pit, and hauling in loads of dead aspen and cottonwood—wood specifically chosen because they leave less black tar residue on the outsides of the cooking pots—for their cooking fires.
About then, Al and Big-Eye arrived back at camp after a short hunting expedition and threw a doe deer down by the two busy camp cooks with a grin. Then they unsaddled and curried their horses so they could feed and water with the rest of the stock. That evening after a supper of cooked hominy, staked venison steaks, Dutch oven biscuits, and steaming hot cups of coffee, the men sat back on their sitting logs around the outside fire. Soon the air was filled with their sweet-smelling pipe smoke as the men relaxed amongst the constant din of hungry mosquitoes and faraway mournful howls of “song-dogs” (coyotes). It was good to be home once again, thought the men. Especially away from the din and still ongoing debauchery of the humanity back at the fort.
***
Lying just below a small ridge the following day, the men overlooked a small herd of unsuspecting feeding and resting buffalo. After the shooting stopped, sixteen cows and one bull buffalo lay dead. The one, too-tough-for-eating bull buffalo lying dead had been shot for his thicker shoulder hide by Jim because the men were getting short of his style of sturdy homemade brand of moccasins that required the thicker shoulder leather from a bull for their longer lasting soles. Skinning and butchering out the animals, the men hauled the best cuts back to their cabin on their travois. They left the offal and remaining carcasses for the ever-present winged and land born predators to enjoy.
Back at their cabin, the meat was offloaded and the men commenced cutting most of the large, boned out slabs of meat into thin strips for jerky. Those strips were quickly spread over the meat drying racks after being salted and peppered—Jim’s favorite way of preparation now that they once again had salt and pepper from their recent trades back at the fort, although most Mountain Men preferred to just smoke and dry the meat in its natural state. The meet was soon being smoked by smoldering low heat fires. Some of the larger hams were heavily salted and peppered as well. Those were smoked in the smokehouse and hung from the cabin’s rafters for later use when fresh meat was scarce. In the meantime, as the jerky readied, it was placed in deerskin bags and hung in profusion from the ceiling’s many rafter pegs. So much so that the taller Gabe and Josh were constantly dodging the head-banging, low-hanging bags of nature’s richness.
Several evenings later, sitting around on their outside fire logs after a meal of buffalo back strap steaks, biscuits, beans, and coffee, the men sat smoking their pipes. During a lull in the conversation, Gabe said, “I would like to propose a suggestion. Since we seem to be running into more and more Blackfeet and they seem less inclined to share this area with us, I say we set up an emergency cache. We could use our old cache site and place in it several well-oiled rifles, kegs of powder, sacks of flints, some knives, whetstone
s, and fire steels. Also, maybe a couple of awls, some leather and strapping so one could make up possibles bags, horse tack, several bags of cast balls, and the like. That way, if one or several of us run up against the Blackfeet and lost everything but our scalps and escape, we will still be able to survive if we could make it back to our cabin and dig up the cache. Besides, now would be the best time to do that since all of us are together and we have more than enough supplies having just come back from the fort with our year’s supply of goods.”
Finishing, Gabe just looked around at the others to see what they were thinking. For the longest time no one said anything. Such was the way with Mountain Men when discussing the possibility of their survival and mortality. Most considered themselves immortal or they wouldn’t have chosen such a deadly profession. Then, with what he perceived what was the mindset on everyone’s mind, Jim said, “We will put together the emergency cache in the mornin’.”
Nothing more was said that evening about the plan, as if not wanting to address such a dire issue and the consequences for such a need or the mortality associated with such a thought...
The next morning while the old cache was being unearthed, cleaned out, and relined, Josh and Gabe took apart two U.S. Military 1803 rifles. There they checked all their springs and parts, then heavily oiled them. Using some prairie dog gland oil collected from the summer before, they heavily oiled two linen rags and wrapped the rifles therein. Into the cache went the rifles, a small keg of powder, packsaddle, a sack of flints, tins of percussion caps, several knives, two whetstones, and other items deemed collectively necessary by the men concerned if they would be faced with such a dire issue. Next the cache was once again covered in such a manner that any passing eyes, unless they knew of its exact location, would not suspect such a “saving grace” existed.
Then as if to get such a dark thought out of their minds, the men set to making ready for the fall trapping season. Traps were smoked to get rid of the man smell and oiled with beaver oil. All the horses and mules were shod as needed and the pack animals had their teeth floated for the first time in a year—the sharp, high edges of their teeth were literally filed down to avoid any damage to opposing teeth, necessary to prevent infection and ill tempers when such teeth were irritated by normal growth and the heavy bit use to come during the coming trapping season.
Then the men’s tack was repaired and several small mountains of balls cast for their rifles and pistols. Lastly, knives were sharpened, rifles and pistols cleaned and oiled, gun wadding cut to size depending on the caliber of firearm at hand, and clothing patched and repaired.
Since the men had proven to be big eaters, an additional buffalo and bear hunt was carried out prior to the advent of trapping season. As a result of the men’s endeavors, the cabin was now totally cluttered and brimful of eating “necessaries.” Cluttered with hanging sacks of jerky, smoked bear and buffalo hams hung from the ridgepole, and racks of smoked hump ribs hung from stout wall pegs in such profusion that it became difficult to move around inside the cabin. Rounding out the bounty, stringers of dried, salted, and smoked cutthroat trout hung next to the indoor fireplace where they would stay dry and handy for quick and different repast while on the trail.
The final evening before the beginning of trapping season, the men feasted on a supper of fresh roasted moose liver, cooked beans, rice heavily laced with raisins, and the always-present biscuits. Not to be excluded at any meal was the always black-as-coal tar, trapper’s blend of scalding, hot coffee, grounds and all.
As everyone pushed away from their plates, Jim loaded up his pipe and, as the sweet-smelling smoke swirled lazily above his head, said, “Since Gabe and Josh are big enough to kill a bear with a switch, I propose you two fellas trap your northern grounds, and me, Al and Big-Eye will trap together to the south. What say the four of you to these plans since we no longer have One-Shot with us to make it a threesome of trapper teams since we were unable to recruit another good man back at the fort for our group for this trapping season?”
After looking over at his brother for approval, Josh said, “‘Peers that be fine with me and Gabe, Jim.”
“How about the two of you?” said Jim, looking closely at his brother and his close friend Big-Eye Ed Collins for their reactions to his proposal.
The two men looked over at each other and then Al said, “It is alright with me jest as long as Big-Eye rides behind us after them three plates of beans he et this evening.” With that comment, he ducked a small stick being playfully thrown at him by Big-Eye as the rest of the men just knowingly chuckled over Big-Eye’s propensity to make big smells when afoot or on horseback after a hearty meal of beans.
“Then it is settled,” said Jim. “Jest the bunch of yous keep a sharp eye peeled fer them damn Blackfeet and the griz,” he continued without really having to do so considering the experienced Mountain Men around him. But that was just Jim’s way, being the oldest, most experienced and all. Daylight the next morning found the men going their ways trailing a lone pack animal per group and leaving the rest of their livestock behind in their hell-for-stout and well-hidden in the dark timber corral.
“Damn, Gabe! Look at all the beaver and otter sign in that first pond just off the river,” exclaimed Josh, amazed at what he was seeing. They had trapped that same area heavily the season before and now it seemed to be holding more beaver than the year previously! Not wasting time, Josh sailed off his horse and taking three traps out from the sack the pack animal was carrying, began setting them next to a large dam being freshly repaired and two active slides. Gabe just watched the nearby, mostly unconcerned swimming beaver, as his brother waded out into the pond to set his traps. Then moving upstream thirty yards or so, Josh continued setting his traps while Gabe now paid more attention to his surroundings. Finishing all his sets, Josh mounted his horse and took his turn as lookout while Gabe commenced setting all six of his traps.
Finished, the brothers cautiously rode ahead scouting out the area for the morrow’s trapping sites. For once, they didn’t find any grizzly sign as they carefully moved through the thick willows and brush looking for beaver sign such as runs or more freshly cut aspens. Finding ample places for the next day’s trapping, they rode up onto a small knoll, had several pieces of buffalo jerky and continued watching their surroundings, especially their back trail.
Later that afternoon, they backtracked their trap line and discovered all twelve traps had caught beaver! The traps were emptied, reset, scented, and the carcasses loaded onto the pack animal. Then Gabe and Josh left the area for a skinning site where they could watch the country around them. Finding a small sagebrush-covered knoll, the men skinned out their beaver and packed the fresh hides onto their pack animal. Saving the beavers’ tails for smoking and their oils, they drained the castors from each skinned beaver into a bottle, placing it in the sack on the pack animal as well. On the way back to their cabin, Gabe shot a yearling moose and soon had its excellent eating hindquarters also dangling from the packsaddle.
“That will make some fine steaks for supper tonight,” said Gabe as he swung his big frame easily back into the saddle.
“You got that right, Brother. When we get back, and I suspect that will be before the others since we have had such good luck, I suggest you make an apple pie in one of our Dutch ovens. I will help by putting some of those dried apples we got back at the fort into a pot to soak,” said Josh with a large grin of anticipation.
“Well, we had better make tracks then if that is what you want because I have to let the apples soak a bit before I make them into a pie,” said Gabe with an even-bigger grin over the thought of a juicy, apple pie Dutch oven treat usually enjoyed by all.
Arriving back at their cabin, it was just as Josh had suspected. There was no one else around so while he tended to the stock, Gabe got his dried apple slices soaking in a pot of water so they would hydrate. Then he began de-fatting the beaver pelts and hooping them with some willow limbs from the nearby creek. After tending
to the livestock, Josh cut a mess of firewood for the outdoor firepit as well as their indoor fireplace. Cleaning up the moose hindquarters, Gabe cut numerous thick steaks and staked them around their outdoor fire while Josh made up some biscuits for the Dutch ovens. Then Gabe made up the fixin’s for a crust for his apple pie, crushed some coffee beans that had just roasted by the fire and then, out of concern brought on by instinct, stopped what he was doing.
It was at that moment he realized the rest of their partners had yet to return. Pausing to look in the direction from whence they would be coming, he found their late appearance deeply concerning. Looking over at his brother, he noticed Josh kept looking in the direction from whence they would come as well. Soon, the coffee was boiling, the Dutch ovens were emitting great smells and the moose steaks were sizzling. However, their partners had yet to arrive.
Then just at dark, Josh spotted their partners slowly coming into camp from the south. However, there were only two riders! “Gabe!” said Josh, as he went for his rifle and pointed to the arriving riders. Gabe looked up from his cooking and, seeing only two riders followed by two riderless packhorses, moved over to where his rifle leaned alongside their cabin, picked it up, and then quietly watched the oncoming riders as well.
Minutes later, Jim rode into the light of the campfire leading one horse carrying a covered load, followed by Big-Eye. Not a word was said as the two men quietly dismounted and appeared to be carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Then Gabe noticed that the grizzly bearskin-covered load on the horse that Jim was leading was still dripping bright red blood! With that, Jim walked over to a log by the campfire and sat down heavily as Big-Eye began removing the fresh grizzly bear hide. Lying across the horse under the fresh hide was the body of Al! He had been torn almost to pieces and was hardly recognizable because of all the damage his body, especially his face, had suffered from apparently a grizzly bear attack!
