by Terry Grosz
Harlan smiled, wiped his bloody, tallow-covered hands, and said, “It was good to meet one of our own and provide some assistance. Maybe we can meet at the rendezvous this coming summer and tip a jug or two.”
“I would like that,” Meek said with a grin. “See you there, and bring them sharpshooting boys. I bet they can win some goods from those trappers who think they can shoot better than those young men.”
With that and a wave of the hand, he mounted his horse and rode off to mingle with the people whom he called his friends and hosts. Little did Harlan realize that the chance meeting with Joe Meek would later bear fruit of the richest kind...
Loaded with all their groaning pack animals could carry, Harlan and the boys headed back to their cabin and some damn good eating for the next few weeks. Because it was so cold the meat would freeze and keep in their now almost empty cache house high in the trees next to their cabin.
Chapter Eight
The Great White Bear
It seemed like forever, but finally spring came to the land in a rush like a charging mountain lion. The wind howled constantly, streams overflowed their banks, the ice went out, and wet spring storms blasted the lands as if Mother Nature had an angry point to prove.
Exposed to the weather in all its moods, the three worked their trap-lines like there was no tomorrow. They had only a few months before the beaver went out of their prime, and this year a trip to the rendezvous would be needed for many essential supplies such as spices, gunpowder, horse and mule shoes, and the like.
Beaver after beaver fell to Harlan and his trainees until little difference existed among the three of them when it came to trapping skills. The boys’ prowess with the big Hawkens was also a wonder to behold. If an animal was observed and wanted, they had become accomplished offhand shooters out to two hundred yards. At that range, the big Hawkens saw to it that there was meat in the pot come sundown.
In addition, Big Eagle and Winter Hawk were developing into two very strong and healthy young men. If they had still been living with their tribe, they might have had to suffer through short rations many times throughout the year. But because Harlan and later the boys were so adroit with their outdoor skills and the big Hawkens, not many meals were missed. Those extra calories began to show up not only in the boys’ stature but their muscular development as well. Their arm strength was remarkable to behold as they labored mightily alongside their newfound dad.
In fact, Harlan was continually amazed at their strength when the three of them got into wrestling matches over who would cook the evening meal or skin the last beaver. When the boys got hold of him, Harlan discovered that he had to use all his strength and cunning to escape their clutches in order to remain free from the cooking or skinning detail. Harlan was pleased that he had raised such capable and strong young men. That was what life in the West required, and if you didn’t measure up, you soon joined the soil forever.
***
At first, Harlan couldn’t believe his eyes. Not forty yards away was a grizzly bear feeding on a fresh moose carcass—a bear of enormous size, pure white in color with pink eyes and reddish-pink claws! Here was a pure albino animal, something so rare that he had heard of only one other having been seen, and that had been only a partial albino.
As if sensing danger, the brute stood up and tested the air with a loud blowing in and out through his nostrils. Then he returned to all fours to feed on the moose he had just surprised and killed in the creek bottom.
My God, thought Harlan, I have been in this country for over five years, and never have I seen such a magnificent creature. That damn bear is at least eleven feet tall and must weigh over fifteen hundred pounds!
The two boys had frozen when Harlan had given the hand signal to stand still, and it was apparent from the size of their eyes that they too had never seen such a creature. Harlan continued to slowly shake his head in disbelief as the boys just looked and looked.
Still sensing something amiss, the great bear rose once again on its hind feet, testing the air, and this time looked directly at Harlan and the boys. Since none of them moved and the bear had such poor eyesight, he detected nothing out of the ordinary. But the look he gave with those bright reddish-pink eyes appeared to Harlan to be almost supernatural. He dropped back down, and all that could be heard was the great tearing sounds that are made when a creature that size dismembers another large animal.
Harlan slowly raised his rifle, although his powerful Hawken appeared to be only a small popgun in comparison to this monster. He quietly cocked the hammer against his buffalo coat in order to muffle the sound and made sure he had a cap on the nipple. Then he held the sights steady on the area into which the bear had disappeared. The boys, seeing him raise his rifle, followed suit, silently pointing their rifles in the direction of the great bear.
Shuffling his feet loudly in the willow leaves to get the bear’s attention, Harlan prepared for what was to come. Woof—woof, snorted the great bear as it once again stood on its hind legs and looked in the direction from where the threatening sound had come. Ka-boom went Harlan’s Hawken as his bullet flew straight into the bear’s throat, ripping through the spine and killing it instantly.
The bear crashed into a thicket of willows, and a great thrashing and tearing of brush occurred as he danced his last dance. Harlan, trying to reload his Hawken, discovered that his nerves were so rattled that he couldn’t do it! Laying the rifle on the ground, he turned and reached for Big Eagle’s Hawken in case a second shot was necessary. The brush continued to object to the bear’s thrashing, but soon all was deathly quiet.
Returning Big Eagle’s rifle and recovering some of his nerve, Harlan quietly reloaded his Hawken. He motioned for the boys to spread out and follow him into the willows where the bear had disappeared, and they cautiously moved in. Within moments the three of them were at the kill, and what a sight it was! There, in all his glory, was the great bear. Even lying down, he was almost four feet high at the shoulder, and his hind feet appeared to be at least twenty-four inches wide! Never in his life had Harlan seen such a creature, and from the looks on the boys’ faces, neither had they.
Harlan carefully poked the bear’s huge, pink, padded foot with the end of his rifle barrel, but he didn’t move. The great white bear was dead. With that, Harlan just sat down and looked over what he had done. The two boys, realizing that something special had just happened in their lives that would probably never be repeated, were lost in the mystical moment as well.
After about twenty minutes of silence, Harlan said, “This ain’t getting it done. Let’s get to cutting and gutting and see if this here fellow can be loaded on the mules or horses. Most likely we will have to build a long pole travois and have the mules pack it in that-away because of their great fear of anything smelling of bear.”
Big Eagle, looking at the moose the bear had killed, said, “Dad, there is a lot of good meat left on the moose; shall we bring that home as well?”
Glancing over and seeing that to be true, Harlan nodded. With that, Winter Hawk commenced dressing out the largely undamaged remains of the moose while Big Eagle and Harlan struggled over skinning, gutting, and quartering out the bear. An hour later, several mounds of meat represented what had once been the mighty moose and the great bear. Off to one side lay the mound of fur, still magnificent in its whiteness against the rich dark brown of the creek bank.
Harlan had been right in his assumption that the mules would refuse to haul anything smelling of bear. A long poled travois had to be constructed, and only Big Eagle’s horse would pull the contraption with the load of bear meat and hide. Three trips had to be made before the entire load had been carried back to the cabin.
Leaving Winter Hawk to stake the bear hide and flesh it out, Big Eagle and Harlan finished running and resetting the beaver trap-line they had been working when they had crossed paths with the great bear. Upon their return, everyone fell to fixing fresh moose roast for dinner and processing the rest of the moose meat
for the drying racks.
As it turned out, most of the bear meat was not edible because it was too strong-flavored and stringy from its long period of hibernation. After making that discovery, they hauled the remains to the far end of the meadow, where the wolves and other bear made short work of them. But as luck would have it, the hide held its hair because it had been a spring bear and hadn’t been much rubbed. It cleaned up beautifully after two days of being washed by the rushing creek waters into which it had been staked down over a riffle.
When they staked out the hide on dry ground after its spell in the creek, it measured over eleven feet in length before final fleshing began. After final fleshing, it was even longer!
Since there were no rub spots on the hide, Harlan proclaimed it more than a fit prize to take to the rendezvous for sale or trade. Little did he realize the real value the hide would eventually bring at a future meeting with a great Crow chief... and the extensive killing it would ultimately cause.
Chapter Nine
The Trip to the Utah Rendezvous
Soon the beaver went out of their prime, and the trapping stopped. Then the real work began. Repairing all the horse and pack equipment became the first priority for Harlan and his adopted sons, for without the livestock, they would not survive in the wilds of the frontier.
Then came the bundling and packing of the beaver hides. Since the boys had never seen it done, Harlan had another chance to teach them a necessary part of the fur trade. First, the one-and-a-half-pound dried beaver hides were folded in half, fur side in. Then they were stacked about sixty hides to a bundle and compressed under a long pole. One end of the pole was tied to a large log as the other end was pulled down over the bundle by the combined weight of Harlan and Big Eagle.
Winter Hawk had the job of tying the compacted bundle in a four-way tie suitable for packing the eighty-five- to ninety-pound bundles on a horse or mule. Soon, the cabin was filled with eight fresh bundles of beaver plews and nine loosely packed bundles of hides from other furbearers trapped during the months when beaver trapping was almost impossible because of thick ice.
Rounding out those furs came the eight packs of beaver hides from the ill-fated Yellowstone expedition. Next they packed five buffalo rugs, ten deer-hides, eight elk-hides, and three grizzly hides, including the fur of the great white bear. As Harlan surveyed the hoard of furs, he smiled broadly. That cache would make any mountain man proud, not to mention independent for another year in the backcountry. Looking over at the boys, Harlan noticed that they seemed to be smiling with pride at their accomplishments as well.
Next came the shoeing of the horses and mules, followed by the repair of clothing and the making of new outfits so they could make a good showing among their brethren at the rendezvous. Then the fun work, more or less, began. Several barren cow elk and four mule deer were killed and the entire bunch turned into jerky for the trip to the Utah rendezvous. This place was known to Harlan, and although it was only a name from the air for the two boys, it had become a magical one in its connotations.
Then came the serious work: the repair of all the weapons, the making of bullets, and the sharpening of knives and tomahawks in case they encountered any dangers during the trip to the rendezvous. Lastly, any items not needed for the trip were cached in a large hole dug into the ground behind their cabin and lined with fir boughs and dried buffalo hides. Into the pit went their traps, extra axes, pigs of lead, extra knives, sharpening stones, cast-iron gear not needed for the trip, and extra kegs of powder. Now the three were ready for what the world would throw at them on the long trip across country and during the rendezvous.
The time to leave was nearing, and the boys could hardly contain themselves. If they had only known what awaited them, they might have been a little more patient. Then again, maybe not...
***
Come the morning of departure, the three trappers were up early. While Winter Hawk cooked a huge, rib-sticking breakfast, Big Eagle and Harlan packed the two extra horses and six remaining mules. Then the three riding horses were saddled, and to breakfast the man and youths went. Fried moose steaks two inches thick, all slopped up in a rich and peppery heavy gravy, awaited them. With that, were Dutch-oven biscuits by the score, with honey from a stone jar for the topping. A second Dutch oven was merrily boiling a mixture of sugar, dried fruit, and water. Scalding coffee as stout as an angry mule’s kick rounded out the fare. The three ate heavily, knowing full well that, because of the Indian country they had to cross and the danger they would face, their next meal might not be until after dark.
While Winter Hawk tended to the cleanup, Big Eagle and Harlan made another pass through camp to make sure everything was left in order for their return. Returning to the fire, they picked up the cleaned Dutch ovens, frying pans, and coffee pot and loaded them onto several mules standing patiently, ready to go.
With one last look around, Harlan took the lead, posting Big Eagle at the rear of the pack string and having Winter Hawk ride the sides. Moving slowly through the trees with care born from being mountain men in Indian country, the trio headed southwest toward that magical place called the rendezvous.
Harlan headed due west for what are today the Bridger-Teton Mountains, then south down the edge of that mountain range to its southernmost tip. As they continued southwest, the little party constantly marveled at the great herds of buffalo, elk, deer, and pronghorn antelope.
Underfoot almost constantly were coveys of sage grouse, and wherever there was water, hordes of ducks and other shorebirds greeted their eyes. Angling ever south and west, Harlan led them to the southern tip of Bear Lake in the extreme northeastern tip of present-day Utah. The lake had been appropriately named, for everywhere they looked, the moving brown humps of grizzly bear could be seen feeding on roots, tubers, and what water birds and eggs they could gather along the shoreline.
For the boys, these new experiences were pure heaven. For Harlan, who had seen such wonders many times before, it was Mother Nature at her best.
The trio continued southwest over the northern reaches of what is today the Wasatch-Cache Mountains and down into Willow Valley near the present-day town of Hyrum, Utah. Moving toward a large grove of cottonwoods at the confluence of several small streams in the valley, the tired trappers stopped and happily made camp.
After they unloaded the animals and put on their hobbles, they let the livestock out to feed and water. The three then commenced building a small corral among the cottonwoods to hold the horses and mules at night. Immediately adjacent to the corral, they set up camp, building one lean-to for sleeping and another in which to store their gear and keep out the summer rains. In a central spot between the lean-tos and the corral they built a fire pit for cooking, evening warmth, and keeping at bay the ever-present swarms of hungry mosquitoes. It was now June-hot in the year of 1831, and they appreciated the nearness of the cold running streams for bathing and the coolness of the cottonwoods’ leafy shade.
***
After resting for two days, Harlan began to wonder why he had not seen or heard another soul since their arrival in the valley.
That is not right, he thought, concerned. There should be pack strings of eager mountain men and Indians streaming in from all points of the compass to trade and make merry.
When he couldn’t stand the emptiness of the valley any longer. Harlan arose early, ate a cold breakfast of fried elk steak, and, telling the boys to guard the camp and livestock, rode off toward the west. He returned several hours after dark. After wolfing down a large dinner of deer steak roasted over the fire and getting a large cup of the evil brew they called coffee, he sat quietly on a log by the fire amid the ever-present swarm of mosquitoes.
“Well, I saw a lot of Indians, mostly Northern Utes and Northern Cheyennes, gathered in several camps awaiting the arrival of the supply trains from back East. I also ran across numerous campsites where trappers were awaiting the supply train’s arrival as well. To date, no one has arrived to trade goods from
back East for our furs.”
With those somber words, Harlan took another deep swallow of coffee, then just sat looking into the fire as if the dancing flames had something to say regarding the events at hand.
He added, “I also ran across our friend Joe Meek, in camp with a very famous trapper and old friend named Jim Bridger over near the west side of the valley. They say to just wait, that the supply train will appear before it is time to return to our cabins for fall trapping. I don’t see that we can do much other than to wait as well. We need those supplies for the coming year, so we will wait as the others are doing until just before the snow flies. Then we will have to skedaddle for home so we can gather our winter provisions and make do with what we have.”
Both boys were deeply disappointed, but they tried not to show it. They had been waiting and working for months to see this thing called a rendezvous, and now it might not happen. Their faces would have dragged in the dirt if they had let them.
***
Soon the sight of heavily laden trapper pack strings and great swarms of gaily dressed Indians moving into the valley became an everyday occurrence. People were streaming into Willow Valley by the score in anticipation of the rendezvous and festivities such as drinking, foot races, shooting matches, whoring around, squaw trading, and horse trading. They were also eager for the latest news about who had made it through the winter and who had perished by accident, been eaten by a bear, or lost his hair to hostile Indians.
Soon tepees and lean-tos dotted the valley floor along the many creeks and cottonwood groves in anticipation of being supplied for the coming season. Come the first of July, however, no supply trains graced the valley.
