“God, what fools we were!” Forest shouted out.
“What happened this time?” Colter said. He felt like laughing, but felt it’d be bad form.
“Sioux robbed us all blind, and we were lucky to make it out alive.”
“Many didn’t,” Forest said, “and Joe there came damn close to being one.”
Colter looked back at the quiet trapper, and Joe nodded before pulling up his shirt.
“Took a damn Indian javelin right in the side,” he said, tracing his finger over a thick, red scar just above his waist.
“Damn!” Colter said, and Joe nodded again.
“Was laid up for most of the spring with that.” He shook his head “Vowed it’d be the last time I got on the wrong side on an Injun.”
“And we were just starting to get back on our feet and into a bit of profit from the summer when you men rolled back down the river,” Forest said from the back.
Colter nodded. August 12 was the day Lewis had said he’d met them, and he’d mentioned how they’d just wanted some powder and lead to replace what they’d lost fighting some Sioux over the winter. Now here they were, and moving back into the wilderness.
“Look alive,” Forest said from the prow of the boat, “we’ve got some rapids coming up here.”
13 – Riding the Rapids
The river waters foamed white and roared their displeasure at being thwarted in their journey by the rocky ground all around.
“Left!” Colter yelled, and the three men switched their paddles over to the left side of the canoe, causing them to move right, out of the way of a jagged boulder piercing the calm of the placid blue water, the last before the maelstrom began.
They were heading up into the rockier section of the Missouri at a dusty section of the flatlands, and Colter knew full-well from heading through once before and then hitting it up the other way, that it could get dicey.
“More, more to the left!” he yelled out.
“Damn boulder comin’ up right on the left side of us!” Forest yelled from his spot at the front of the canoe.
“I know!” Colter yelled back, loud enough to be heard over the increasing roar of the river, as well as for Joe to hear behind as well. That was another thing he’d picked up from his years on the river – every man of the operation had to know what was going on, no matter their pay grade, rank or what they were doing. It only took a second for all hell to rain down, and he’d seen it happen a few times before. Without the clearheaded guidance of the captains he’d have seen it a lot more, and he didn’t mean to give these parts a sight of what bad leadership looked like now that he was in effect the boss.
“What the hell you mean you know!” Forest shouted back.
“I mean there’s no way that boulder’s suckin’ us in, not with how that water’s kickin’ up around here!” Colter yelled back.
“Just do what he says, Forest, you damn fool!” Joe shouted from the back of the boat.
Forest gave a halfhearted look of disgust over his shoulder, but at the same time he started paddling harder to the left. The men got closer to the large boulder that looked sure to take them, but then just as Colter had said, once they got into its large wave they were pushed right away…something that caused them to dodge two smaller rocks sticking out of the water to their right.”
“Well I’ll be!” Colter heard Joe say with a whistle from behind him, and he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face.
The rest of the trip through that funnel of rapids was quick and easy, with Forest not offering a word of dissent any time a decision came up that he didn’t quite think made sense. Colter liked it that way, he realized, and he hoped it happened more often. He wasn’t sure if Forest felt the same way, however.
They continued on and came up and around a bend.
“Well, will you look at that…” Forest started before trailing off.
“Gen de Fasche,” Colter said, drawing the two trappers’ eyes to him, “A’anninen, the White Clay People.”
He nodded before him, and as the bend in the river gave way, more and more of the wide village came into view. It was row upon row of tepees, probably a good five dozen, if the two awestruck men had to guess. They’d been told no such villages existed this far north, but there one was, with people of all ages milling about.
“The A’anninen,” Colter said again. “Means White Clay People, though the French call them Gen de Fasche. That in turn’s been misinterpreted as Gros Ventre, or big bellies.” Colter shook his head, remembering how Charboneau had told him the truth of the tribe’s name, and how it’d been corrupted by French traders, too ignorant to know the intricacies of their own language, let alone that of a native people they most often hardly knew. Colter smiled slightly when he thought of the trapper and his young wife, Sacajawea, and their young baby, Pomp. He wondered where they were now, if they were nearing in on St. Louis, had even reached it possibly. His thoughts were interrupted as some Indian braves appeared ahead of them on the bank.
“Take it easy,” Colter said as he saw Forest tense up in front of him, “these are peaceful Indians, the kind that like to trade before taking.”
“It’s the taking that’s got me worried,” Joe said behind him.
Colter just shook his head at that, and helped steer them toward the bank. As he’d expected, the young braves helped them ashore, and then began talking. Colter looked to the two men.
“Either of you speak any Indian languages…French?”
Joe nodded. “A little French, but just what I’ve picked up on the river.”
“It’s probably more than I’ve picked up,” Colter said.
“Aye, me too,” Forest added.
Colter nodded his head toward the Indians. “Try it on ‘em.”
The three men were sitting in the canoe before the four braves. Each was armed, but they hadn’t made to do anything. Colter knew they wouldn’t, but somehow the men beside him still seemed skittish, like they hadn’t dealt with Indians before. That was silly, though – how’d they get this far up the river! Colter shook the thought away as Joe started to talk.
“Bonjour…les salutations…parlez-vous anglais ou en français?”
The Indian repeated some of the words, then said a few more.
“Pouvons-nous négocier?”
The Indians nodded at that.
“What’d you say?” Forest asked.
“Just that we want to trade, and they’re all for the idea,” Joe said.
“But we don’t really want to trade…do we?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Colter said, clapping Forest on the shoulder, “let’s just get to someone worth talking to.”
14 – A Meeting
Whoops and hollers greeted their approach to the village, and within a few moments the three whites were surrounded by young children, old men, and toothless women. At least that’s what it seemed to the two trappers and the lone mountain man. Forest was rather disgusted, wondering what’d happened to all the young women, while Colter and Joe were more concerned with the braves. There were few about, besides those that were guiding them.
The Indians were friendly enough, and seemed to want a look at the whites more than anything. It was clear to Colter that few trappers had been this way in some time, though he knew some had. He hoped that would make their meeting with the chiefs all the more favorable, both for their health and their pockets.
It didn’t take long to get to a large tent in the center of the village. It was painted with hand-signs and buffalo and had a large opening at the top. Smoke was coming forth from it, and more issued forth when their lead guide pulled open the flap and headed inside. The next went and then the third gestured for the men to go in. Colter did so first.
Inside were large buffalo pelts laid out, as well as a few smaller wolf pelts. They were circled around a large fire that was itself surrounded by rocks. On one side were two horses in a rudimentary pen, most likely the chief’s. Behind the fire sat thr
ee old men, each passing a large wooden pipe back and forth. There were a few younger men on either side of them, perhaps their children or village warriors, Colter thought, though he knew the real power lay with those three, and probably just one.
He bowed slightly, and gestured for Forest and Joe to do the same. The three chiefs bowed their own heads at the gesture and proceeded to puff on their pipe once again. After a moment the lead guide that had met them at the river spoke up. He said something in French, gestured at them, then waved down at the furs on the floor.
“He’s telling them we’re trappers,” Joe said.
“Right,” Forest said gruffly, and with a bit of mock laughter. That drew the eyes of the Indians in the tent, and he quickly wished he hadn’t.
“Ask them what they have to trade,” Colter said to lighten the mood again, and Joe did his best to translate. The guide nodded and said something to the chiefs, who said a few more words and gestured toward the door. The men looked back to see the tent flap open, and a few young maidens walk in.
“My, oh my…” Forest said, trailing off as his mouth fell open.
The women were long-haired and thin of body and face. Their eyes were the most sensuous Colter had seen in some time, and he immediately knew they were at a disadvantage in their negotiations.
He turned to Joe. “Tell them we’re interested in goods, not women.”
“Uh….I…we…” Joe was about as flabbergasted at the sight as Forest was.
Colter looked over to see the chiefs chuckling. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, then looked back to Forest. Forest kept looking over at the women, and finally Colter nudged him with his toe. The gesture wasn’t lost on the chief, who smiled and pointed over at the women. He muttered a few more words, raised up some pelts, and smiled and waved them toward the women.
“What’d he say?” Forest said, his foot itching and scraping in the tent’s dirt floor, like a bull ready to charge.
Joe rubbed at his head. “Uh…I can’t make it out too much…but…”
“But those women are for sale, hot damn, I knew it!” Forest shouted out, then spun about and grabbed hold of Colter’s coat, pulling the mountain man closer.
“We’ve got to trade with ‘em, John, we’ve got to!”
“Take it easy, man!” Colter said with disgust, pushing the crazed trapper off himself. A round of chuckling could be heard from the Indians seated around, and they happily puffed away at their pipes, content to watch the rare display. They knew the effects their young maidens could have on men it seemed, and they knew how it could drive a hard bargain right on through to a grand conclusion, and quite easily at that.
The chief muttered a few more words and Joe finally shook his head, giving up. “Hell, he’ll trade the women for wives or lovers or just one night for all I can tell!” the trapper said.
“One night’s all a sane man could put up with, if you ask me,” Colter said.
“Just give me five minutes,” Forest said, nearly tearing forward right then and there, except Colter held him back.
“C’mon,” the mountain man said with several shakes of his head, “let’s get out of here.”
Colter took Forest out while Joe tried to assuage the chiefs over his friend’s protestations. The old men just laughed, while in the corner the women cooed.
15 – A New Outlook
“Let’s go back, we can still go back, let’s go back I tell ya…aw, hell!”
Colter had been firm with Joe, that neither of them were to answer or even acknowledge Forest’s words. The words had grown less because of it, and now several hours up the river, they were happening only every ten minutes or so as opposed to every second.
It’d been hell dragging the man back to the canoe, but Colter had done it, while behind him Joe had done his best to shake off the laughing women and children that were trailing behind. Forest was reaching out for every woman he could at that point, and it was clear to Colter that the man would spend every fur he’d trapped on those women in the village this winter, and probably half their guns too! Colter therefore wanted to put as much distance between the village and themselves as they could. If he had to walk a few days in the snow, the mountain man knew, Forest would be much less inclined to take off toward the place. And when the rivers froze over in another couple of months, that’s the only option he’d have.
“We can still go back,” Forest said from the middle of the boat, where Colter had put him. He’d refused to paddle, so having him at his usual spot at the bow wasn’t an option.
The mountain man scoffed and shook his head as they headed further up the Yellowstone River, wondering if the other whites that had come through the area had had similar problems. He couldn’t help but think of the whites that had gone this way before. There were few, he knew that from when he’d first travelled this general route two years before with the expedition, but now after the meeting with the A’anninen he knew there’d been others. The Mandans and A’anninen had both told of a Frenchman by the name of Francois Antoine Larocque who’d come through the area just the previous year, 1805 Colter supposed it was after a quick calculation. He’d been so long without a calendar or regular schedule that even the years were fading into meaninglessness.
The Crow had learned of him first, it’d seemed, after their annual visit to the Hidatsa and A’anninen for trade. It’d been there that a deal was struck to allow Larocque and one other from the Northwest Company to join up with six hundred Absoroka Indians as they moved back to their home area. That’d taken the trapper across the Tongue, and that meant he’d been in the area of the Yellowstone, and had in fact come down the Big Horn River as well. After that he’d done some more trading, hopped back on the Missouri, and was gone.
The captains had learned that there had been others, however. It seemed there was a French trapper named Pardo who came into contact with the Sioux around the late-1790s. It was there that Pardo ran into another European named Charles Le Raye, one that’d been captured by another band of Sioux somewhere around the Osage River in 1802. They’d taken him as a captive up the Missouri, though after a time he’d earned their chief’s trust and was given more freedom, and even a musket to hunt with. When Pardo reached them it was agreed Le Raye could show him about the area, and that’s when they’d headed down the Yellowstone in search of furs. Along the way they’d run into a village of Crow Indians, one that had forty-three huts in it. Colter had remembered the telling well when Drouillard had related it to him, for it was no secret the men were thinking of coming back to the area themselves. Now Colter was suddenly there.
Le Raye had seen quite a few captives during his time. There were Flatheads from across the Continental Divide, and also Shoshone from even further west. Lots of Indians all over, most peaceful, but, Colter reminded himself, some not. No doubt the women in the A’anninen village had been captives as well. Colter knew that captives and castoffs were often shunned, and had to do whatever they could to survive. Shacking up with a fur trapper for the winter increased their likelihood of survival, increased it a lot.
Colter wasn’t sure all that was the life for him, however, fur-trapping long-term…he wasn’t sure he was the right type for it. There were two main types of mountain men, the company man and the free agent. Still, both company men and free agents operated through the company system, one that encouraged them to sell to the company and buy supplies from them as well. So there was always that dependence, never that freedom. And that’s how he’d been hearing about it since before he’d even gotten to St. Louis for the first time all those years ago.
The company man worked for one of the fur companies – most likely operating out of Canada or along the Pacific Coast, and either French or English – and he had to accept whatever price they’d give him for his furs. The company man also found himself taking orders from company representatives and agents more often than not, either by telling him where to go or which specific furs to focus upon. The free agent was beholden to n
one but the market, and could seek out the best price he could find. That is, if he could fid a price and if he could get his wares back to that market. Even the men around St. Louis and the lower-Missouri had been having troubles with that, and that’d been in 1804. Colter was sure the West had opened up more since then, and with it the amount of competition. It was likely fur prices had dropped close to bottom now as it was, if they were still being sought at all. Every time Colter thought of the animal he never thought of a comfortable garment, that was for sure.
The price of the furs was often set by the company, and at lower-than-market rates, perhaps $1.50 a pound or less. Those mountain men that were able to operate as free agents, however, received up to $2 per pound or even more. George had hinted to him that $5 a pound wasn’t far off, but Colter had laughed that one off real quick. Even at $2 it just wasn’t even a contest, as far as Colter could see. Acting as a free agent was the way to go, and he was getting a taste of it. So far it was a lot of bellyaching from Forest and dithering from Joe. The latter meant well, but he could in no way stand up to the bullying nature of his companion. Colter vowed that he’d get through the winter, getting as much fur for himself as he could, enough so he could start fresh come spring. The city of St. Louis wasn’t far off, and he meant to be there, with or without his current companions.
16 – The Beaver
The men rode down the Yellowstone, backtracking a bit in their quest for beaver. The animals were about, but it was just a question of where. One thing was clear – they weren’t on the main Yellowstone, but the smaller tributaries and branches that stuck off from it. These were too small and didn’t go far enough to be charted or called anything, so they were useless and a waste of time for the explorer. But for the trapper they were gold, a furry kind. That’s where the beaver could be found.
Colter's Winter Page 5
