by Terry Grosz
Around the remaining two fires hung huge slabs of fresh buffalo meat staked on green willow limbs to roast slowly. Alongside the slabs of meat hung huge racks of ribs, skewered and sizzling in their abundant fat juices as well. Into their last two big pots went ten pounds each of dried fruit, sugar cones, and water to slowly simmer. This high-mountain concoction would soon provide a thick, sweet fruit compote that was a favorite among Indians and mountain men alike.
Last but not least, three large coffee pots were filled with water, and handfuls of coffee grounds were added to boil when the rest of the participants arrived from the Snake Indian village for the spring celebration that Harlan had promised after their shootout with the four renegade trappers.
About noon, Harlan heard the sounds of horses’ hooves breaking limbs and twigs, excited talking, and laughter along with the barking of dogs as Low Dog and his clan of sixty-plus Indians approached the trappers’ cabins. Harlan turned and faced the horde, giving the sign for welcome and peace. The sign was quickly returned by Low Dog, Meek, and others.
Telling Meek and the others to light down, Harlan welcomed them to the feast. There was little fanfare as the Indians unceremoniously dipped into every pot with their tin cups and plates. Then they commenced eating with their fingers, a few spoons, and their knives, accompanied by appreciative slurping and belching sounds. Great slabs of buffalo were stabbed from around the fires and gobbled down even when sizzling sounds were made as the roasting meat met their tongues and lips.
More meat was quickly added from their fresh meat stores, and just as fast as it cooked, it too was gobbled down as if the Indians hadn’t eaten in a month! Harlan and company were hard-pressed to keep the fires and pots supplied, but they had one hell of a cache of fresh meat, and it just kept coming until everyone had their fill.
Then, great cups of the sticky-sweet fruit mixture were ladled out and consumed with the same gusto as had the beans, rice, and buffalo meat. The camp dogs also feasted on the leavings. After a solid hour of gorging, Harlan brought out the “topping” as everyone lounged around the campfires, pleased with the feast and too full to move or even wiggle.
A barrel of two hundred stout Virginia tobacco cigars and a keg of rum rounded out the fare, to the delight of the Indians—especially the men and boys. Meek, on his third tin cup of rum, walked over to Harlan and said, “Harlan, you are a man of your word. This here get-together is one of the best I have ever been to. Hell, this is almost as good as our annual gatherings at the rendezvous.”
“I am glad you are happy, and I hope Low Dog is as well because I have a proposition for him,” Harlan said very seriously.
Meek, catching the tone, said, “I hope it is good news for the chief, Harlan, because he can be a son of a bitch if something catches him wrong.”
“Well, I hope so as well. Bail me out if I get in too deep, my friend,” said Harlan.
Meek’s answering look was satisfactory as far as the support thing, so Harlan proceeded.
Harlan raised his hand, and Big Eagle brought forth a beautifully tanned grizzly hide and placed it in the center of the group of Indians for the effect such a beast and the presentation had on them. The general noise and chatter began to diminish as the Indians realized something serious was in the wind. Harlan walked over to Low Dog and in his best Snake and sign beckoned for the chief to sit on the hide. This Low Dog proudly did with little fanfare, and Harlan sat across from him with a serious look on his face.
“Chief Low Dog,” he began, “for two years you have allowed me and my family to trap beaver in this beautiful valley under your protection. My family and I have prospered as a result of your generosity. This dinner has been my way of thanking you, in part, for that generosity.”
He raised his hand once again, and Winter Hawk entered the arena carrying twelve new beaver traps and a keg of powder. Following him was Big Eagle with several pigs of lead, a large bag of flints, and ten pounds of red glass trade beads.
By now the assembly of Indians had grown reverently silent over the developing ceremony. The boys returned again and placed at Low Dog’s feet the last of their Green River trade knives, several sharpening stones, fish hooks and line, and several axes. Low Dog’s eyes were as big as dinner plates at the stack of gifts before him.
“Now,” Harlan continued in a serious tone, “I would like to buy the one you call Dog Eater and add him as a member of my family!”
There was a stunned silence among the Indians, even more so than before. Meek’s jaw dropped and stayed there. Autumn Flower, still serving coffee to those who wanted it, dropped the pot, coffee and all, and stared at Harlan with fear in her eyes. As for Runs Fast, he stood frozen in time. No one but the two boys had known what Harlan had up his sleeve. As for the chief, he sat stunned by Harlan’s words.
Harlan went on, “I know how valuable this man is to you, but he would be of even more value to me. He could be the husband to Autumn Flower, a brother to my boys, an extra gun to help protect us, and a son to me.”
With those words, Harlan sat back and looked at the chief as if he had just asked him about the weather. The chief sat there and stared back. Finally, Low Dog said, “You are right. He is like a son to me, and for me to sell him to a trapper is not right. I will need him in my old age.”
Harlan knew he had lied about Runs Fast’s value and closeness to the chief. He caught a glint of greed crossing the chief’s eyes in a moment when Low Dog felt that Harlan was not looking closely at him.
One does not live long in the wilderness without the eye of an eagle and the quickness of a snake’s strike, Harlan thought smugly regarding the sly look Low Dog had just given him.
Autumn Flower had picked up the coffee pot and headed off to fill it again with water, coffee, and cones of sugar and set it by the fire to heat. She dared not look at Runs Fast for fear of collapsing in terror at Harlan’s bold approach to the powerful Snake chief.
Runs Fast found that he could hardly even breathe over what was being said between the two men. The proposition had caught him cold as well, and now he stood in terror at what the mighty chief’s words might be. Yes, he was in love with Autumn Flower, but he was a slave to the Snake chief, and as such his life was one of drudgery, subjugation, humiliation, and hard work.
“Before the great chief Low Dog makes up his mind, let him see what I have to offer to such an important man for one who is so lowly,” Harlan suggested, not wanting to let the chief off the hook.
He waved his hand again, and Big Eagle brought forth four horses! A ripple of surprise went through the assembled Indians at the wonder of such a gift in exchange for a lowly Crow Indian captured long ago.
Winter Hawk and Big Eagle also brought saddles and all the other tack belonging to the horses. Without fanfare, they then brought forward the three deceased trappers’ rifles, more powder, flints, and lead, laying them at Low Dog’s feet. Sitting in front of the chief was a small mountain of riches, far more than anyone could expect as the purchasing price of a human being!
Harlan raised his hand one more time, and the boys brought forth shiny brass pots, iron rings, a ten-pound bag of blue glass beads, and a mule loaded with tack! By now the chief was overwhelmed, and Harlan could see it in his eyes. To make matters worse for the chief, his two daughters and wife had seen the bags of beads and shiny pots. They were closing in on Low Dog and quietly offering their opinions on the matter.
Rising, the chief continued to look sternly at Harlan, but Meek was smiling because Harlan had overwhelmed the chief with more gifts than the old man had ever seen. Looking over at Runs Fast, the chief gestured that he should come forward. Runs Fast was frozen in place until someone pushed him from behind to get him moving in response to the chief’s request. Maintaining a stoic appearance, Runs Fast approached the chief and stood at his side as any obedient son would do.
“He is yours,” uttered the chief in clipped words as he pushed Runs Fast toward Harlan.
Sticking out his hand, Ha
rlan said, “Then it is a deal. Runs Fast for these goods and the livestock.”
“It is a deal,” said the chief and then uttered in the same breath, “is there any more rum?” Many of the tribe squealed with delight as Harlan ordered his last keg of rum opened for his friends and in honor of his new son. Runs Fast just stood there looking at the smiling Harlan Waugh. Autumn Flower, on the other hand, was in her sister’s arms crying with joy.
Yes, this is becoming a rather substantial family, Harlan thought happily.
It wasn’t until late in the evening that the last Indian left the celebration. After the trade, Low Dog spent the next hour distributing his newfound wealth to other members of the tribe, in so doing showing all what a great chief he was. However, the glass beads, shiny brass pots, and iron rings stayed with his family at the insistence of his wife and two grown daughters.
As the fires died down and they were once again left to themselves, Autumn Flower threw herself into Harlan's arms, crying and talking all at once. Harlan smiled at this first showing of emotion since she had been purchased from the Northern Cheyenne chief. It felt good to get that kind of attention from his quiet daughter. The attention he got from his wife later in the evening was of a different nature, but it felt good as well...
As for Runs Fast, he was given several sleeping robes to sleep in outside the cabins and just told. “Good night.”
The following morning at daylight, Runs Fast had a roaring fire going and a quantity of buffalo meat roasting on willow sticks. The smell of roasting meat roused Harlan from his bed, whereupon he dressed and strode out to be with his new son. The two men sat quietly by the fire and were warmed by its flames.
Then Runs Fast spoke: “I am not sure what to say. Yesterday you surprised and honored me at the same time. Today I have a new life, an honorable one, and for that I thank you and the Great Spirit. You were right. Autumn Flower and I do have eyes and hearts for each other. I wish to make her my wife and her child my child as well. Autumn Flower feels the same way. My only hope is that you will let this union happen so we can live happily forever.”
Harlan said nothing as Runs Fast spoke to his true nature and from the heart. Then Harlan said sternly, “If you two become man and wife, that will be up to her, for she is her own woman in this family. I have no problem with what you propose, but again that is up to her. But I do welcome you to our family for many reasons. The main one is for you to become one of my sons.”
The other cabin door opened, and out walked a smiling Big Eagle and Winter Hawk, closely followed by Autumn Flower. She kept her eyes to the ground in a typical Indian sign of respect as she prepared coffee and Dutch-oven biscuits and helped her sister with the meat.
Yes, thought Harlan, today is going to be a good day and the start of a new future for this family.
The rest of that day was spent getting Runs Fast settled into the regimen of the family. First he was provided with one of their reserve Hawkens, primer caps, nipple picks, nipples, powder horn, bullets, and wadding. Then the training in the use and care of weapons began because he had not been allowed to use firearms in his life with the Snakes.
By the end of the day, he could hold his own in shooting, reloading, and caring for the big Hawken. Harlan realized the young man was a natural frontiersman and as a result poured the training into him. In the interim, the boys cut and limbed a dozen lodge-pole pine saplings that were fifteen or so feet long. Taking one of the tepee skins from the two they had obtained from the dead trappers, they assembled Runs Fast’s first home, placing it next to their cabins with the opening facing to the east.
Next Harlan broke out the “possibles” any good mountain man would need to carry in order to survive. That included a powder horn for Runs Fast’s Hawken and another for his two pistols. Tins of caps, extra nipples, nipple picks, bullet molds, bullets, a gutting knife, and several skinning knives came next. Those were followed by a sharpening stone, steel and flint for fire making, twelve beaver traps, a tomahawk, and two .79-caliber horse pistols. Runs Fast sat there in awe, looking at the small fortune in goods being placed before him.
“Now,” said Harlan, “take good care of your gear, and it will serve you well.” He continued, “The women are, as we speak, supplying your tepee with those sleeping skins and other goods you and Autumn Flower need. Anything that is missed can be procured from our supplies in the cabins.”
Runs Fast just continued to sit there in a daze. Having come from a life of slavery to one of equality and eventually to that of a free trapper was without a doubt a heady yet humbling experience. Then Autumn Flower, without a word, arrived and took all her man’s possibles and gear, removing them to their tepee.
Yes, thought Harlan, life sure is going to change around here—and surely for the better!
Chapter Seventeen
Leaving Their Valley and the 1832 Rendezvous
Swinging around in the saddle, Harlan took one last look at what had been their home for the past two good years. For the previous month, the family had prepared for this day, and now that everything was in order, they were on the move. A pack string of ten horses and ten heavily loaded mules was strung out behind Harlan, carrying the family’s goods and stores. At the end of the string of livestock rode the ever-alert Big Eagle.
Riding alongside the string were Winter Hawk on one side and Runs Fast on the other. The two women and baby rode directly behind Harlan for the protection he could offer in the event of an attack. Harlan grinned widely as he surveyed the scene. They had had a good trapping season and now had more than enough goods for trade for another year in the wilderness.
My family has grown to a total of four men, and woe to anyone tackling this pack string with ill intentions, he thought. His eyes scanned the two happy women as they rode behind their dad and husband. Both were armed with pistols and their own knives, and, though one cradled a baby, they were ready for the day.
Traveling northwest into the magnificent Absaroka Range, Harlan’s group came into daily contact with herds of buffalo, the grand moose, elk by the score, and the dainty mule deer at every turn in the trail. Every night the party feasted on whatever they desired of animal species, and only the choicest cuts of meat.
The waters were clear and cold and the mountain grasses high and nutritious. Soon the horses were not pleasant to follow because of all those rich grasses being turned into foul-smelling methane gas. The trail they followed became clearer and clearer because of the numbers of mountain men and Indians who had gone before en route to the upcoming rendezvous. However, because they were now in the country of the deadly Blackfoot, their vigilance remained high.
Up they climbed, using the many animal and recently made human trails over the Togwatee Pass and down its steep back side. In front of the group in all their mountain majesty lay the spectacular Tetons, spiritual home to the mountain men. Skirting the south side of present-day Jackson Hole, they camped at the edge of the great valley in a large stand of timber.
By their second day in the valley, Harlan’s family was joined by several groups of friendly Flathead Indians and trappers, all heading for the rendezvous several days away. This larger group continued up over Teton Pass and down its steep back side into Pierre’s Hole, which to a mountain man was another most beautiful place.
Geographically speaking, Pierre’s Hole was about twenty-five miles long and anywhere from one-half to fifteen miles wide. One side of the valley was rimmed by the majestic Teton Mountains and the other by the Snake River Mountains. In between was grass belly-deep to a buffalo, watered areas streaming from the mountain ranges full of trout, and camping places aplenty. Even though the trappers lived in God’s paradise on a daily basis, they always appreciated another one of His masterpieces, and Pierre’s Hole fitted that bill. Its beauty was topped off by soft blue skies and pleasant evenings so full of stars that Harlan found it hard to close his eyes because of their numbers and magnificence.
Sublette and Campbell’s fur companies were the
re to supply the trappers at the 1832 rendezvous with supplies for the coming year. As usual, they and their American Fur Company didn’t arrive until the rendezvous was basically over. For once, however, that proved to be a small thing. Traders from Hudson’s Bay and the Rocky Mountain Fur Company happily showed up on time, as did several independent traders such as Gant, Blackwell, and Nathaniel Wyeth.
Entering the valley, Harlan and his group were greeted by the sight and sounds of many Indian tepees, barking dogs, running and playing children, and proud warriors riding about. Interspersed throughout were numerous trappers’ camps of every kind, with most utilizing the shade from the many cottonwood groves along the edge and center of the valley floor.
Heading toward an unoccupied grove of cottonwood with a stream nearby, Harlan pointed and exclaimed, “That site will be our home for the next few days.”
The animals were unloaded, curried, and tied close to camp to feed and water. Covering the camp goods with a tepee covering, the men began making several lean-tos with animal-skin tops to keep out the afternoon rains and the morning dew.
In the meantime, the women dug a fire pit, lined it with rocks, and soon had a merry fire blazing away. They soon had great strips of elk back strap taken the evening before cooking, to the delight of four very hungry men. The meat was accompanied by a bubbling pot of rice and bear fat, salt, pepper, and dried hot red pepper flakes. Last but not least, a large pot of coffee was left to boil as it hung over a cooking rod.
With camp made, the men sat around the fire with their backs against a cottonwood or a pack of beaver plews, waiting for the meal to be ready. Soon everyone was partaking of the evening meal in God’s country.
About a quarter mile to the west lay the camps of the fur companies that had arrived earlier and were setting up for the business of trading. Already, there were mobs of fur trappers and Indians swirling around to trade, drink, and share the news known to them regarding who had survived the winter and who was becoming a part of the soil.
