Colter's Winter

by Greg Strandberg

  HYUH!

  The first breath of fresh air was heaven, but it quickly set his teeth to chattering. If he didn’t get out of this water in–

  An arrowhead slammed through the bottom of the canoe and was quickly followed by another, their points just inches from Colter’s head. Any thoughts of the cold were quickly replaced by thoughts of the Indians that were upon him, how many they were, and how far downriver he’d have to float to be away from them. If it was too far, then the river would take his life before their arrows.

  Colter heard another arrow hit the canoe, this time behind his head, then another, though that one didn’t poke through. Then there were no more, and it was just the swiftness of the river and the coldness in his bones. He began to count out loud.

  “One…two…three…”

  His teeth were chattering uncontrollably now, and it was almost like some parts of his body were becoming warm. It wouldn’t be long now.

  “Nineteen…twenty…twenty-one…”

  He began to kick his feet, both to keep the blood moving in them and to feel for bottom. It had to be there…somewhere.

  “Thirty-four…thirty-five…thirty-six…”

  His grip on the canoe began to falter. His hands didn’t seem to have the strength they used to.

  “Forty-seven…forty-eight…forty…nine…”

  The lids of his eyes grew heavy, and the thought of letting go and going off to sleep appealed to him more and more.

  “Fifty-eight…fif…ty…nine…six…t…y!”

  Colter threw his head under the water and pushed himself to his right, then kicked up with his feet. His head exploded out from the water and he took a breath, then looked around. There were no Indians in sight, just the white of the ice from where the edges of the river had frozen over. He was moving by so swiftly that there was no way to get hold of one, either, and no way to climb up onto one if he could. He was dead anyways, even though he’d made it past the Indians, and…wait…there! A break in the ice, like some animals had come down and broken through in an attempt to get across. The ice was broken into large chunks, many several feet thick, but they were broken and in pieces and…

  Colter reached out and grabbed hold of one of the chunks of ice. His hand held! He didn’t think it would be able to, as cold as he was, but it did. Now he just had to…pull…and…

  He made it forward, the river rushing against him. He made it forward enough to get his hand further up on the block of ice, and then his hand with the rifle up as well. The gun’s butt slammed down on the ice and he used it to pull himself up further. He got his chest up on it and then another push and pull brought him forward a bit more, so his whole body except for his legs was out of the water. He felt colder than ever as the air and the wind hit him.

  The day was bright, and the sun was high, but the wind was blowing hard. What might have been close to zero degrees was probably closer to thirty below because of it, and if Colter didn’t get out of his clothes quick, he was a dead man.

  36 – Fire

  The canoe and everything in it was gone. Colter had the clothes on his back and what was in his pouches and pockets – nothing more. He also had minutes to live. Instead of crying over what had occurred, he started off, toward a distant set of trees not far from the river. How far he’d gone downstream from the Indians that’d attacked them he had no idea, but he knew he couldn’t look for a safe spot – if he didn’t get a fire going now, he would freeze. Hypothermia was no laughing matter, he’d seen that first hand growing up in Kentucky. So he started taking off his clothes.

  First he set the rifle down against a rock, then he reached up for his wet cloths. Off came the furs lining his coat and shirt. They were sopping and hit the icy ground with a smack. Next it was the gloves followed by the coat, then the shirt. They were clinging to him stubbornly, but he got the things off and into a pile with the furs. Then the furs lining the lower legs. They were easy enough, but his moccasins weren’t. They clung almost as bad as the pants, but in the end Colter got them too. The pants were next and then the smallclothes. The mountain man was completely naked and he couldn’t have cared less – he was alive, and that was all that mattered…for now. He gathered up the bundle of wet clothing and his gun and then started running toward the trees. He was convinced the Indians that had attacked were after him, why he couldn’t have said, but he just had a feeling.

  He reached the tree line and saw that it was a rather large copse, several acres in fact. He went in several dozen yards before dropping the bundle and rifle and falling down on all fours. He was still freezing cold, but at least the wind had been stopped by the trees. Reaching down, Colter began gathering up all the small twigs and sticks and branches that he could. He got them gathered into a pile in an area with little snow, then collected all the stray leaves he could find. When he had a sizeable pile he went back to the bundle of clothes and started digging around inside. Within moments he’d found what he was looking for – a steel and flint from his inside coat pocket. He’d been taught from a very young age not to be without those, and not for the first time did he thank the lesson’s he’d learned form Daniel Boone growing up.

  Striking the flint on the steel showed that it wouldn’t be easy – they were wet and resistant to striking. But he kept at it, and within a bit he was striking sparks. After that one of the leaves caught and started to smoke and that was all it took – Colter had his fire, and his life.

  ~~~

  Tadi came running back and stopped in front of them, winded. The group of five was overlooking the Yellowstone from a cliff fifty feet up. The wind was picking up and their breath misted in the air.

  “Gone,” he panted, more than the others had seen him do in some time, “gone down the river.”

  “How,” Honon nearly shouted, “that canoe was tipped, the water’s freezing!”

  Tadi shook his head, panted, and did his best to answer. “The water’s too swift…just took him…I kept up as long as I could…before losing sight of him.”

  “You did well,” Shappa said after there’d been a pause. The sound of Tadi catching his breath and the river roaring were the only things to hear. The Arikara chief paused for a moment, letting the others know he wasn’t disappointed. “We got one of the whites, and his body lies down in the river below.”

  “Then let us go home, and end this vengeance quest,” Lapu said.

  Shappa cocked his head, unsure of what he’d just heard. “Go? We’ve just sent one into the icy waters. If he’s not dying he’s starting a fire – we’ll find him fast.”

  “And we might not,” Lapu said. “We’ve got one, let us be happy with that.”

  “We’ll have two soon enough,” Anoki said, a twisted smile on his face.

  Shappa nodded at the medicine man, then looked to the sky. The sun would be going down soon, and they’d need a fire themselves. He gazed at the others, a firm look of resolve on his face.

  “Let the other white try his best tonight,” he said, “tomorrow will be his last.”

  37 – Pursuit

  Colter looked up through the trees and frowned – the sky was growing dark already, and it looked like snow on top of it. He shook his head, realizing he’d be in his makeshift camp for the night. He began to tick off the things in his mind.

  The first thing had been getting dry, getting the clothes dry. He looked over and saw them on rocks by the fire, steaming something fierce.

  After that it was the gun. Colter inspected the powder horn and saw the plug was still tight. He didn’t want to chance it and set it aside. The rifle, however, had to be completely taken apart, the pieces put out to dry. He hoped a night of it would be enough, and that he was up and moving earlier than his pursuers…if they indeed were pursuers.

  Thoughts on whether they were or not and what he’d do regardless took him through the rest of the night. He kept the fire going, knowing that he’d freeze without it, and that if the Indians chasing him wanted to find him, they would. He wond
ered who they were, and if they might have been the same he and Forest had seen several days earlier, when originally going back to the cave. It could be, but then it could be Blackfeet too. They were likely still on the lookout for whites, still fuming over what’d happened last fall.

  The thoughts took Colter to sleep, and he awoke to a frigid morning just before dawn, the fire down to embers. He stoked it back to life and then checked the gun. It was dry, and after putting it back together, everything seemed to be in order. The clothes were dry, he had what he needed. The sun wasn’t up, and he could move…but where?

  To the cave, and Joe…have to warn Joe.

  It was clear, and Colter nodded at the thought. By the time the first rays were peeking over the eastern fringe of mountains, the mountain man had travelled several miles westward.

  ~~~

  “There he goes,” Anoki said, pointing out at the lone figure moving out from the small copse of trees. “Well before first light, just as I said he would be.”

  “You tell it true, as always,” Shappa said, clapping his medicine man on the shoulder. He looked to the three braves around him. “Now, which of you are ready to prove your manhood, prove your place in the tribe.”

  Each of the warriors’ chests puffed out with pride at the challenge. There was Honon, a bear of a man, and a testament to the creature he was named after. Next came Lapu smart and cunning yet as durable and tough as the cedar bark from which he got his name. Finally there was Tadi, named for the wind that had blown the night he’d been born, and which he often outpaced when he felt like running his fastest. All three stood there, ready and waiting, hoping their chief would call on them to make him proud. It was a tough choice, but for this task what he needed was clear – speed and surprise. That meant Lapu and Tadi, and he nodded at the two.

  “Go forth, and bring me back his scalp,” the chief said. The braves smiled, and were gone.

  ~~~

  Twigs snapped, and Colter stood stock still. Something wasn’t right, he didn’t know what, but something wasn’t right. Without another second of hesitation, he darted into a run. The sound of more twigs snapping behind him told him his hunch had been right.

  The mountain man ran for all he was worth. The Indian brave coming up behind him was fast – he could tell that from the branches breaking, the twigs cracking, and the sound of the forest being disturbed. Colter himself was tearing through the underbrush, scampering through bushes, and dodging large rocks. It was a race for survival, and he was at a huge disadvantage. He didn’t know what the brave was armed with, but suspected it was a good-sized tomahawk, maybe a spear. A bow and arrow could be a possibility, one he didn’t want to think upon. Either way, he was at a disadvantage. The mountain man had but a small belt knife, and his rifle wasn’t loaded. It was a situation he’d normally not allow himself to be in, but he wasn’t going to risk loading a rifle with what could have been wet powder. After that dunk in the river he’d been afraid to open the horn, hoping against hope that if he just left it the powder would be dry. Now that faith would be tested…if he could get enough distance between him and his pursuer to load the gun.

  The forest was thick here, and visibility was just a dozen yards or so, if even that. There were dips in the earth, and he’d already dropped a good ten feet in elevation he’d say, especially after a few small mounds he’d slid down. That all worked in his favor, and after more than a minute of running he wasn’t hearing too much crashing through branches or twigs snapping, besides those under his feet of course. Another dozen yards or so and he might just be able to…

  Colter came to a fast stop, throwing the butt of the Kentucky Rifle into the ground to slow his momentum. The action also allowed him a fast pivot and he spun around, coming to a rest on one knee. Before he was fully stopped he’d begun reaching for the powder horn on his belt. He hoped the topmost was dry, for that’s all he had time to reach for. His hand shot down and flipped the cap on the horn, and without taking his eyes from the pathway he’d just blazed through the trees, he poured enough powder into the metal cup that worked as his charger. In one fast motion he’d put the cap back on the powder horn and tipped the powder from the cup down the rifle barrel’s muzzle. He reached around to his side pouch, where he had a ball and patch ready to go. Placing the patch down over the top of the barrel’s muzzle, then the ball on top, he took out his quick starter. The quick starter was nothing more than a short rod with a large metal ball on top. Colter whacked that ball down onto his ball and patch, sending them down into the top of the barrel, out of sight. They weren’t far down enough, however, so he grabbed the rifle’s ramrod, conveniently located on the underside of the barrel, and slammed it down after the ball and patch. The first part of loading done, Colter spun the rifle forward, so the butt was no longer on the ground and the firing pan was now right over his knee. Still looking forward, the mountain man threw down the ramrod with one hand and reached back to his pouch with another.

  The sound of rustling in the brush could be heard.

  Colter grabbed a flint and stuck it over the firing pan then took up the powder horn once again, sprung the top, and sprinkled a little over the pan. The rifle was loaded and he jerked it up to his face and immediately took aim at the path he was still looking at.

  An Indian brave rushed forth from the bushes.

  BOOM!

  Colter pulled the trigger, causing the hammer to strike down on the flint and frizzen. Sparks were struck and the priming powder in the pan was ignited. Flame shot from the pan up into the barrel through the touch hole and right toward the main powder charge that’d first been rammed down the gun. This created an explosion that shot the ball up the grooved barrel, causing it to spin and shoot out. That grooved barrel gave it the accuracy necessary to reach targets one hundred yards away, yet the Indian brave that had rushed forth was but five yards away.

  The force of the bullet hitting him square in the chest sent him flying backward and he landed with a ‘thud’ on the ground. The whole loading and firing sequence had taken twenty seconds.

  Colter paused for a moment, shocked that he’d gotten the shot off, then reached down for his ramrod and took off running.

  ~~~

  Lapu heard the sound of thunder and knew immediately that it was the white man’s gun. It was close, and he went toward the sound, not caring how much noise he made tearing through the brush. He had to know if the shot was a miss or if it had–

  The brave came to a stop, his eyes wide at what he saw. There lay Tadi…dead! Lapu stood over the lifeless body, which still had eyes wide and staring sightless at the big sky above. He vowed that he’d kill that white, kill him if it was the last thing he ever did.

  ~~~

  Colter was heading back toward the river, and was just getting to some of the offshoots when he heard more tearing through the forest. The noise was coming from behind him, and he knew immediately that another Indian was on his tail, this one likely incensed over the death of his friend. Colter tightened his grip on his rifle and ran as fast as he could. He was now up and along the banks of a small stream, one that was a dozen feet across in some spots, more in others, less in some. A quick glance told him the ice was good in some spots, bad in others, meaning it might hold him if he jumped down on it…but then again, it might not. Colter frowned – that didn’t do him much good now, with few options and an angry Arikara fast approaching. Knowing he had nowhere else to go, and no time to load another shot, Colter jumped off the bluff and onto the frozen offshoot of the river.

  CRACK!

  The ice groaned under his weight and gave out an immense ‘popping’ sound, but it held. It held, but with dozens of cracks now radiating out from it in all directions, some thick and some narrow, but all leading to one large impact point…right under his feet. Colter moved off quickly and the ice cracked more, but then another step brought him to a spot that didn’t create more cracks or groans. The next step was even better, and soon he was moving across the icy–

>   CRACK!

  Colter looked back and saw the Indian brave, this one landing down just slightly before the cracks in the ice that he’d just created. The Indian’s impact looked to have been harder, perhaps because his pace was quicker, and the ice gave way more…but not all the way. It held, ever so precariously, and Colter knew what he had to do. As the brave began to step forward, he threw the butt of his rifle down on the unbroken ice around him, creating more and more cracks.

  ~~~

  Lapu’s heart was racing, and not only from the fast pace he’d had to take to keep up with the white. The ice around him was cracking more than he thought it would, most likely because it’d been disturbed already by the white’s fall. He knew he had to get moving, and fast – the river here was small and not moving, so it was frozen over, but it wasn’t frozen solid. Beneath him was frigid water that would chill him to the bone in minutes.

  Placing his hands before him, Lapu pushed himself up off the ice and got to his feet. The white was just a few dozen yards ahead of him, and…

  SMACK!

  “No!” Lapu called out, but in the Arikara tongue. There was no way the white could understand it even if he’d wanted to. Lapu’s heart began to race faster as he realized what was about to happen, and his eyes darted for any escape. There, he saw, on the opposite bank of this small stream. It was only a dozen feet away, but if he…