by Terry Grosz
That evening Jacob and Martin were the guests of the Northern Arapaho Tribe, and much gorging on fresh buffalo liver, hump ribs, and small intestines took place. In addition, much speech-making went on about the return of the white buffalo killers and their rifles that never missed but killed with one shot. Finally Jacob and Martin excused themselves because they still had their share of the meat to care for. They headed back to their cabin in happy, stuffed silence.
For the next several days the two men did nothing but cook, eat, and process their meat into mounds of jerky. On the third day after the hunt, they heard a lot of horses coming their way. Not sure of the riders’ intent, they grabbed their rifles, stood, and waited. Soon warriors led by Bison Path swung into their clearing towing numerous pack animals loaded with dressed furs.
“We have come to trade with the ones whose rifles never missed,” stated Bison Path.
After a hurried conversation with Martin, Jacob went back into the cabin to their stash of supplies. He returned carrying six flintlock rifles. Upon seeing such bounty the Indians began talking excitedly among themselves. The talking got even more animated when Jacob went back inside and returned with another six rifles. When he made a third trip and came out carrying six more, there was pandemonium over the display of such riches. Since these Indians had been nothing but their friends, Jacob and Martin had decided to honor them with the most important trade item for a frontier Indian These rifles were the ones taken from the five men from Fort Bridger who had tried to kill them and the Lakota responsible for the deaths of their adoptive parents, so it was no skin off their noses to trade them. They had been carrying the guns around for several years, and it was the right moment to get rid of them before they rusted into uselessness. Plus, they would need the pack animals that had been carrying the rifles to carry the furs soon to be received in trade from the Arapaho. Jacob went back to their storage pile and came out one more time with bags of flints, powder, bullet molds, and some pigs of lead to go with the rifles. The excited conversation had long since died away, and amazed silence reigned. The Indians could not believe the life-giving bounty lying before them.
Stepping forward, Martin began the trading. A mad scramble ensued among the Arapaho. Many wanted to trade for the rifles, and as it turned out, there were just enough to go around to those possessing only bows and arrows. Soon Jacob and Martin were in possession of a small mountain of furs from bobcat, wolf, coyote, lynx, beaver, and river otter. There were also many beautifully tanned buffalo hides that would bring top dollar on any market. As the trading ended, the feeding and gorging on fresh buffalo meat that was customary among white and Indian friends began. Jacob and Martin unlimbered the cooking sticks and pots full of beans and rice, and soon everyone could hardly move as another evening of feasting and storytelling faded into night.
There was yet another surprise in store for the trappers. The Indians knew they wished to go to Fort Vasquez, which was across the mountains and out on the plains. Bison Path stepped forward to tell Jacob and Martin that his tribe would furnish four guides to help them over the passes and into the head of the canyon leading to Fort Vasquez. Jacob and Martin accepted, smiling at another good turn of events.
On their last morning at their fathers’ cabin in the early summer of 1855, the men checked their equipment, loaded a small mountain of furs onto their pack animals, and prepared to leave. They visited the cool quiet of the cabin one last time and ran their fingers over the carved words in the ridgepole as they tried to connect with what was left of their pasts. Both vowed never to forget what little they knew of their early heritage. Then they put the immediate past behind them and mounted up. With one backward glance, they rode off into the next stage of their lives—lives that would soon see more adventure along with an event that would change both of them forever.
Two days later Jacob and Martin bade farewell to their Arapaho guides as they sat on their horses on the top of present-day Berthoud Pass (a route that had been discovered by Jim Bridger) looking into Clear Creek Canyon far below (Originally Clear Creek had been named Canon Ball Creek by French explorers and later Vasquez Fork by Louis Vasquez). The Indians told them to follow the stream down and they would find Fort Vasquez one sleep on the plains to the south and east of the mouth of the canyon. They also informed them that they would find many tribal members living along the rivers, led by Southern Arapaho Chief Left Hand, who was also friendly to the spider people.
Slowly working their way down the steep, densely timbered canyons with their heavily laden pack strings, Jacob and Martin marveled at the numbers of mule deer, elk, moose, and bighorn sheep they ran across. They thought it was truly a hunter’s paradise for anyone who wished to be in the business of feeding the meat-hungry mouths at Fort Vasquez along with any military contingent that might be in the vicinity. They thought they would return to this bountiful area, plying their trade as hide and meat suppliers to the good people of Fort Vasquez. Things were looking up for the two men without any roots who carried such violent memories from their pasts.
Chapter Nine
Fort Vasquez Bound
The first evening after leaving their Northern Arapaho Indian guides, Jacob and Martin feasted on the back straps from a freshly killed bighorn sheep. As the meat sizzled deliciously in its heavy fat around their fire, the tired men failed to see the small ribbons of liquid silver melting from the rocks around their fire pit and trickling out from under the hot coals... The oversight would be remedied days later, but in another, much more valuable form.
The next evening found them at the mouth of Clear Creek Canyon, facing the open plains. Suddenly they heard a loud crashing noise in the creek bottom below, and both men went for their Hawkens in case danger presented itself. However, it was only dinner in the form of a cow elk, which soon lay on the hillside cooling as they finished gutting the extremely large and fat animal.
Realizing that if they went any farther that evening they could very easily miss the fort in the darkness, they skinned out the front and hindquarters of the elk and removed the back straps. The rest was left for the scavengers and was soon claimed by a pack of seven wolves who, from all the noise they made consuming the remains, were more than happy to find a free dinner.
Early the next morning, with the elk quarters hanging from the heavily loaded pack animals, Jacob and Martin set out for their first look at Fort Vasquez. After a day’s ride to the south, they stumbled upon the fort. What a disappointment! It was nothing but a few crude mud-and-log huts; tepees; and numerous framed tents posing as saloons, eateries, stores, and a butcher shop dotting an area around a small fort surrounded by low mud walls.
The fort and its surrounding area, however, were bigger than Fort Bridger. And so was the noise level: guns fired into the air, music coming from the tents marked as saloons, and clanging of the ever-present blacksmiths’ hammers as the men passed along a dusty row of tepees and huts outside the mud enclosure. Before they had gone far, a butcher with a blood-splattered apron, seeing the elk quarters hanging from the pack saddles, ran out into the dusty street and hailed them with a wave from a grease-covered beefy arm.
“You boys want to be let free of carrying that there elk meat?” he asked hopefully.
Not having thought of that, the two just looked at each other for a moment. Then Jacob said, “Sure, how much you offering?”
“I will give you a dollar for each hindquarter and fifty cents each for the shoulders,” the butcher said quickly.
“You got yourself a deal,” said Jacob as he swung the pack string toward the front of the man’s tent, which had a board hanging from its main support pole marked, “BUTCHER SHOP.”
Moments later the meat had been hauled into the man’s tent and laid on several rough-cut boards across the tops of some wooden barrels that served as a crude counter.
“There you be,” the butcher said as he counted out three dollars into Martin’s hand with a happy grin.
“You boys be new hereabouts,
I suspect, not having seen you before,” said the friendly butcher after introducing himself as Harold. “How’d the two of you like to make some more money?”
“We just got here and thought we would take a look-see around,” said Jacob.
“She isn’t much but soon will be, I suspect,” Harold said. “Especially if people keep flooding into her like they have been lately. In fact, the only thing keeping this area from becoming a land boom are those damned thieving and killing Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and Comanche Indians farther to the east on the plains. They be a real problem, and if you’re not careful, they’ll lift your hair quicker than a weasel kin spit.”
Jacob and Martin just smiled. Having come from Indian parents, and having been victims of more than one raiding party themselves, they understood some of the bad feelings and prejudices many people harbored about their kind.
“In fact, the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne are so bad out on the plains south and east of here, it is hard to get good buffalo meat because if you go out to hunt, it just might be your last,” Harold explained. “That is why we are eating elk, mountain sheep, and goats instead of good buffalo meat.” Jacob and Martin understood him to mean pronghorns when he said “goats,” as that was the common name for such animals. “Say, you boys never answered my question about wanting a good job. How about it? Want to be my hunters and provide the butcher shop with elk and sheep so I can sell it to the good people around here? I will pay you top dollar and buy everything you can supply.” He sputtered the offer quickly, as if not wanting to lose a good opportunity.
“Sounds like you have a deal,” said Jacob as Martin also nodded in agreement. “We have a temporary camp not far from here and will operate out of there until the game becomes scarce. Then we can move farther up into the canyon and hunt from there as well.”
“That’ll be good,” said the butcher. “But you boys need to be careful up there too. Them killin’ Northern Arapaho may not want you trespassin’ and killing off their game.”
Jacob and Martin just grinned at each other. Their relationship with Bison Path gave them little concern for their safety, and he had given them safe passage throughout his territory to hunt and trap as they pleased.
Jacob and Martin spent that evening at Fort Vasquez, taking in the sights, such as they were. They also spent some time trading the small mountain of furs they had received from the Northern Arapahoe. This allowed them not only to stock up on supplies but also to start an account at the store based on the credit that remained. They also witnessed two killings in a tent saloon and one out on the street and quickly decided frontier civilization was not for them. Bedding down by a corral outside the fort, the two men had a good night’s sleep as their pack string and riding horses got a good graining from the liveryman.
Next morning at daylight they headed back up Clear Creek Canyon until they found a good campsite near the present-day town of Idaho Springs. Finding a cold stream entering Clear Creek from the west, they set up shop on a small flat. Cutting some nearby trees, they soon had a partial log cabin built into a nearby hillside, effectively making a log-and-dugout homesite. Over the next two days they built their roof and made several log sheds for the pack animals along with a stout corral. Then, while Jacob made permanent meat-hanging racks, Martin dragged dry logs next to the cabin site so they would have firewood for the coming winter.
Having completed their home, the men set about hunting. Soon the meat poles hung heavy with elk and bighorn sheep carcasses. Then down to Fort Vasquez they went with a fully loaded pack string of fresh meat for their butcher friend. They were surprised to find that the butcher shop had doubled in size. In a second tent another man, an Old Country German who spoke only broken English, had established a sausage- making operation in conjunction with the friendly butcher’s fresh-meat business. When Jacob and Martin reined up in front of the butcher-shop tents with the heavily loaded pack string, Harold was beside himself with glee. He had wondered what had happened to his hunters, fearing the worst from the Northern Arapahos. But the meat bonanza in front of him soon made him forget his fears for the hunters’ safety and sent him into a happy, toe-tapping tizzy.
“I’m glad to see you two fellas. I had given you up for lost. Now that you’re here, though, you can see why I’m so relieved. I also set up a sausage-making business, and without you two delivering meat, I would have lost my shirt. In fact, an army quartermaster came by last week and said they would buy five hundred pounds of hard sausage every two weeks if I could supply it,” he happily informed them.
Jacob and Martin smiled. They hadn’t figured on such a big job coming their way, but now that it had, they knew they could live in the area as long as they wanted and support themselves as hunters. Plus, it sure as fire beats the cold feet and legs that come from trapping beaver, especially come winter, thought Martin with a knowing, been-there grin.
Harold settled up with Jacob and Martin to the tune of $25 and immediately began deboning the meat for resale to the townsfolk and making it into sausage. Jacob and Martin headed for a large tent marked with a sign reading, “Jake’s Emporium.” They had noticed the place emitting some of the best smells they had ever breathed when they had ridden by earlier. After eating two freshly baked apple pies, they sluggishly climbed into their saddles and headed happily for their homesite back up the canyon.
Chapter Ten
A Discovery Changes the Day
Quietly sneaking up behind a canyon rim in early fall 1855, Jacob and Martin cautiously peered over the edge. Not thirty yards below was what held their attention: six large bighorn sheep rams lying on a small, sunny bench off to one side, overlooking the canyon below. They were in such a position that if danger presented itself, all they had to do was jump up and sail over the rim into the canyon below in order to be safely away. However, they had not planned on being stalked from above by such hunters as Jacob and Martin. Within moments the crash of two heavy rifles being fired echoed off the canyon walls, followed by the report of the two reserve Hawkens firing just split seconds later. The two smaller bighorns, upon hearing the noise, jumped up and sprang off the bench, hurtling out of sight into the canyon in a cloud of dust. The four larger rams lay as they had slept on the bench, never again to roam their high mountain ridges.
Martin began gutting the rams so they would not spoil as Jacob went back up the mountainside to bring their horses and pack animals down from where they had been hidden. When Jacob returned, he helped Martin finish gutting the animals and cut off their massive heads. Since the homed heads brought no money at Fort Vasquez and just added extra weight to the pack animals, they always discarded them alongside the gut piles. When finished, both men looked as if they had just emerged from a slaughterhouse; they were covered with blood from having to awkwardly clean such large animals on the steep side of a hill at the cliff’s edge.
Moving carefully down the steep hillside, leading their heavily loaded horses and pack animals, they finally arrived at a little creek near the present-day town of Black Hawk, Colorado. There they let the hardworking horses and mules blow and water in the creek until they’d had their fill. As the animals fed on the lush grasses in the creek bottom, the men took deep drinks from the cold running water and then commenced washing off the dried blood caked on their knives, arms, moccasins, and pant legs.
As Jacob vigorously washed the blood off his arms, a glint in the gravel of the streambed caught his eye. Stopping for a moment and then reaching into the water to pick up the glittering item, he was surprised to find himself holding a large gold nugget weighing several ounces!
“Martin,” he said, “can you beat this? I just found myself a gold nugget!” He held it up for his brother to see.
Martin examined the nugget in his brother’s hands and then without a word, reached down and picked up a nugget from the streambed at his feet that was at least twice the size of the one Jacob was holding!
“Can you believe this? Here is another one!” he said, surprised and
starting to get excited. Like most mountain men, the brothers had never bothered to pursue the mineral wealth of the land over which they roamed because in the wilderness such things had little or no value. However, gold was a cat of another color!
Before they realized what they were doing, the men had picked up over a pound of the bright yellow nuggets at the edge of the riffle where they were standing. Over the next hour they continued picking up the yellow metal off the gravel bars by the handful. Soon a small mound of the precious metal lay glittering on a flat rock beside the stream.
Pausing to consider, Jacob said, “We need to keep this quiet, my brother, or this country will be flooded with gold seekers, and there will go our peace and quiet, not to mention our hunting grounds.”
Quietly thinking over his brother’s warning, Martin slowly nodded in agreement as he placed another two handfuls of the shiny nuggets on the flat rock, which was becoming crowded with the precious metal. The gold bug had bitten, and hard, as the brothers continued gathering the shiny nuggets from the streambed, working both up- and downstream from the spot where they had first seen gold. In a short period of time, they collected over thirty pounds of nuggets, and there was still more as far as they could see, gleaming on the gravel bars up and down the fast- flowing stream!
Realizing it was getting late in the day and they needed to get back to their camp with the meat so it could be cleaned, skinned, and cooled out, the two men mounted their horses and left the fabulously rich find. Now they had other things on their minds, namely, some beans, bacon, and biscuits. But they didn’t leave without first stuffing all their saddlebags full of the precious metal!
After caring for the bighorn sheep meat so it would glaze over in the cool night air, the men fed their horses and then went inside the cabin for their evening meal. As the beans bubbled away in a pot over the coals, Martin fried several pounds of bacon in two three-legged frying pans standing over more hot coals and made a batch of Dutch-oven biscuits. Jacob gathered up the heavy saddlebags of gold nuggets and brought them into the cabin for safekeeping.