To the River's End

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  The question stumped Jug for a moment. “I ain’t never thought about where he got his food. He fixes beef dishes, too. But he ain’t got no chickens or hogs with him. I don’t know how he does it. Might be he brings a load of salt-cured pork with him, just like bacon and ham. I wish to hell you hadn’t asked me about it. Now I’ll be wonderin’ where every mouthful came from.”

  “Well, I reckon I’ll have to try it,” Luke declared, “if you’re sure it won’t stunt my growth.”

  “It ain’t had no effect on mine,” Jug replied. So they made their camp along the river with the other free trappers, and Jug introduced Luke to several of the men set up closest to them. After that, Jug took him to meet Lee Wong at his eating establishment. A long table set up between two wagons formed The Chinaman’s and it afforded an excellent view of an open area that served as an arena for bare-knuckle fighting, knife-throwing contests, step-dancing, and anything else that could invite competition. Luke had to agree with his new partner that the food was tasty, and certainly different from their standard fare. Jug stopped him when he started to comment that it was hard to identify some of the things that were mixed up in the sauces. “I don’t wanna know what they are,” he said.

  When they finished their supper, they walked a couple dozen yards to Red’s Saloon. As soon as they walked into the large tent with a bar at one end, Luke realized that they were in the right place. For of the nine men sitting on the benches on either side of a long table, all but one or two knew Jug. “Hot damn!” One of those at the table sang out. “I know the rendezvous is officially open now. Jug Sartain’s here.” They all greeted him then. “Who you got with you, Jug? You ain’t partnered-up, have you?”

  “Howdy, boys,” Jug responded. “I was hopin’ I could avoid bumpin’ into you fellers this year, but you gotta have a little bad luck once in a while.” He waited while they all replied with raucous insults of their own, then announced, “This, here, is my partner. Say howdy to Luke Ransom.”

  “Well, I’ll swear,” Ike Hopper, the man who had first spotted him, said, “you did partner-up. I was just japin’. I thought I’d never see the day.”

  “Howdy, Luke,” Zeke Singleton greeted him. “I hope you can set your traps with a blindfold on ’cause Jug don’t let nobody see where he’s trappin’.”

  That brought a laugh from the group and another voice called out. “That’s right. Where you headin’ this fall, Jug?”

  “Me and Luke been talkin’ about that,” Jug answered. “We’ve been thinkin’ we oughta see what kinda fur the beavers down in Mexico are wearin’.” When that remark brought forth a round of loud catcalls, he added, “You don’t never know till you check it out.”

  “Luke,” Ike japed, “it might be worth a little money if you was to let me know where you and Jug are headin’ when you leave here.”

  “I’d be glad to tell you,” Luke replied, “but Jug said I have to wear a blindfold. He did say something about Mexico, though.”

  After another round of chortles, Ike remarked, “I swear, I know I’ve seen you before. This ain’t your first rendezvous, is it?”

  Jug answered for him. “Luke’s been workin’ for the American Fur Company, but we ought not hold that agin’ him. And he’s the only reason I’m here to shoot the breeze with a wore-out bunch of trappers like you boys tonight.”

  “Blackfoot?” Zeke asked. When Jug said that was the problem, Zeke said, “I heard about American Fur losin’ two men. Was they some of the bunch that hit you?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jug answered. “There weren’t but two that came after me, but they was most likely part of that bigger bunch that killed them two American Fur boys. Luke, here, mighta been part of that ambush, but he was busy savin’ my behind from two Blackfoot raiders that had me pinned down behind a dead horse.” He went on to explain the circumstances that caused him and Luke to meet.

  “So, them two fellers was your workin’ partners,” Ike remarked to Luke.

  “Yes, they were,” Luke said, “and they were my friends, as well. I trapped with them for the last three years.”

  “Is that what made you decide to quit American Fur?”

  “No, I’d already decided this was my last year,” Luke answered. “I had decided to tell the folks at the company when I got to rendezvous that I could do better for myself alone.” He chuckled before adding, “And then I went and partnered-up with Jug first thing.”

  “Well, let me tell you somethin’, in case you didn’t know it,” Ike said, then lowered his voice so Jug wouldn’t hear him. “Jug is one helluva trapper, and he don’t work with anybody, ever. He musta seen somethin’ in you he ain’t seen in anybody else. So I wish good luck to you and Jug this season.”

  Luke thanked him and wished him a good season, as well. The more he heard about Jug, the more he wondered why Jug wanted him to be his partner. He could only imagine that this special territory Jug was willing to share with him had to be up in Blackfoot country, as he had hinted before, and he was hesitant to risk it alone. The risk didn’t bother Luke because he was planning on trapping up in Montana Territory before he met Jug, and that was not only Blackfoot country, but Hudson’s Bay Company also. He guessed that he and Jug believed in the same simple principle, “If you want to take more hides than the competition, you have to go where they fear to go.”

  * * *

  It was two full days before the inevitable meeting between Luke and Dan Bloodworth occurred, which was not unusual considering the area of the Green River Valley that was covered by the great rendezvous. The valley was alive with the thousands of Indians, trappers, traders, horses, and cows, even curious spectators who had traveled great distances just to witness the event. Just as they might have done in St. Louis, Luke and Jug checked out the prices of several different suppliers. Although flush with the money from the sale of their pelts, they had to buy supplies to last them for a year. And sometimes there was a difference in the price of gunpowder from one trader to another: a dollar-fifty a pound from one source, a dollar-seventy-five from another. It was the same for lead, shot, and flints. The same applied for sugar, coffee, flour, and tobacco. So they rode to the lower part of the valley to see what the prices were like there. When they were done with their shopping, they bought the supplies they needed, planning to leave the rendezvous the following day. With that thought in mind, they figured to have a farewell drink to this year’s success and a toast to a better year coming.

  After one more supper at The Chinaman’s, Luke and Jug walked over to Red’s Place to have a drink with the other trappers. There were only four of the gang that Luke had been introduced to on the first occasion. Ike and Zeke were both still there, so Jug asked if the others had already gone. “Yep,” Ike replied. “Most of ’em headed out this mornin’. Headin’ for Mexico, I think,” he japed.

  “We told ’em we was waitin’ for you, so we could follow you and Luke to that valley you been keepin’ secret,” Zeke joked, “where the beaver are so thick they’re flyin’ around in the air, and you can catch ’em with a butterfly net.”

  “Me and Luke decided we ain’t gonna hunt nothin’ but buffalo this year,” Jug countered. “Beaver didn’t bring but three-fifty this year, and it was four dollars last year. Ain’t no tellin’ what it’ll be next year.”

  Ike’s grin froze in place for a few moments before he switched to a sober expression. “You know, we can joke about it, but if the price for a made beaver keeps droppin’, we’re all gonna be huntin’ deer and antelope.”

  “It’s liable to go back up again, too,” Zeke commented. “Them folks over in Europe ain’t never gonna quit wearin’ their fancy hats.” He was about to comment further, but he was interrupted by a loud voice near the front entrance to the tent.

  “Well, now, lookee here, Lonnie, I do believe we found us one, Mr. Luke Ransom.”

  “I do believe you’re right,” Lonnie Johnson said. “Settin’ there big as you please. I swear, I thought he had enough sen
se to be high-tailin’ it way up in the mountains by now.”

  Puzzled by the obvious sarcasm in their tone, the four free trappers sitting at the table waited for Luke’s response to clarify the strangers’ remarks. “Howdy, Bloodworth,” Luke responded. “I would say I’m happy to see you, but I was kinda hopin’ I wouldn’t.”

  Grinning like a trapper who had caught a sixty-pound beaver in his trap, Bloodworth walked over to take a commanding stance at the foot of the table where Luke and Jug were sitting with the others. “I’ve been lookin’ for you, Ransom, ever since you walked outta Berman’s the other night. I figure I owe you for that.”

  “Well, it looks like you’re movin’ all right,” Luke replied. “You were lookin’ kinda puny and bent over last time I saw you. You looked like you were sufferin’ so bad, I thought about puttin’ you outta your misery. But I decided there weren’t no call for that, and you’d most likely be good as new in a day or two. Now, here you are, rip-snortin’ and rarin’ to go, come back to tell me there ain’t no hard feelin’s between two men that worked for the same company. Well, I gotta say it takes a big man to admit he mighta been wrong and comes to make things right.”

  Bloodworth remained in his aggressive stance, fairly perplexed by Luke’s rambling discourse until Luke paused. “In the first place, you ain’t no company man no more, and even if you was, I owe you a whuppin’ for that lowdown trick you pulled on me. I aim to take it outta your hide, so you choose, fists or knives.”

  “All right,” Luke replied, “since you ain’t got sense enough to understand I’m tryin’ to save your life, I’ll choose. It’ll be knives. I’m warnin’ you, though, this time I’m liable to kill you. You sure you wanna do this?”

  “Oh, I’m sure, all right,” Bloodworth said with a smug grin for Lonnie. “Knives it is.” Lonnie winked at him, knowing how good Bloodworth was with a knife, and thinking it couldn’t have been a better choice for him. Bloodworth looked around the table before him at the astonished witnesses to his challenge. “Everybody heard you agree to face me with knives.”

  “Right. We’ll do it right over yonder where those fellows are dancing—day after tomorrow at noontime,” Luke said. “Don’t be late.”

  “No, you don’t,” Bloodworth came back at once. “We’ll do it right here, right now where there’s plenty of room and all your friends can watch. You just hand your rifle and that pistol in your belt to that little runt with you. You ain’t gonna need nothing but that knife. Lonnie, you keep an eye on his partner. If he shows the first sign of cockin’ his pistol, you shoot him.” As he had done at their first face-off, he pulled his shirt off to free his massive arms and chest.

  Luke shook his head slowly in disgust for the useless duel that he proposed. “Bloodworth, you dumb halfwit, I’m tryin’ to save your life. I’m tellin’ you, forget about it and walk away.”

  Certain he had Luke begging to get out of the fight, Bloodworth threatened, “Draw your knife outta that belt and stand to face me. Or so help me, I’ll carve you up where you sit.” He backed away from the table and waited in the center of the floor, tossing the large skinning knife from hand to hand in front of him.

  Luke got up from the table, deposited his rifle and pistol beside Jug, and drew his knife from the sheath on the belt he left on the table. He held the knife in his hand for a few seconds, feeling the balance of it, as if getting reacquainted with it. “All right, Bloodworth, let’s get this over with.” He walked out to the center of the floor to face his grinning adversary, stopping when they were about twenty feet apart. “Any rules to this fight?” Luke asked. “First to draw blood wins, anything like that?”

  “Ha!” Bloodworth blurted scornfully. “There ain’t no rules. The one who walks away after it’s over is the winner. So you’d better be ready ’cause this time I’m keepin’ an eye out for any lowdown tricks of yours.” He stood tall and tossed his knife back and forth again, then with his arms spread wide, he motioned, taunting Luke to come to him. At his invitation, Luke took only one step and that was to plant his foot solidly. An instant later, Bloodworth froze. He looked down to see the long skinning knife buried to the handle just below his rib cage. Unable to believe it was real at first, he could only stare at it until a trickle of blood welled up around the blade and ran down his belly. It was then he felt the heavy obstacle in his gut, like a piece of hot steel. He realized he had been stabbed deeply, but still couldn’t believe it possible. The shock of seeing the knife handle protruding from his bare belly was enough to cause him to sink to his knees, where he remained in shock for what seemed long minutes.

  There was not a sound from any of the stunned witnesses to the sudden ending of the knife fight. No one had anticipated anything other than the typical sparring of the two combatants, thrusting and swiping at each other until one of them was able to slash the other. This fight had ended as soon as it had started. They stood, staring silently at a mountain man so skilled in the art of throwing a knife that he was willing to gamble on his aim and the force he could put behind the throw. If his aim had been inaccurate, or there had not been enough force to inflict a serious wound, he would have been left weaponless to defend himself.

  “That ain’t fair!” Lonnie Johnson cried out, but Jug immediately reminded him that Luke had brought up the subject of rules. And Bloodworth had insisted that there were none.

  Meanwhile, Bloodworth remained in the middle of the floor on his knees, unable to move, his eyes wide and still staring at the handle of the knife, until Luke walked up to him. “I’m gonna be needin’ my knife,” he said to the dazed brute. With that, he took hold of the handle and, with one forceful move, yanked the blade free of his stomach. Bloodworth cried out in pain and keeled over on his side. Luke turned to Lonnie, who was still in shock, as well. “You’d best get him back to the company and see if there’s anybody there to do any doctorin’. He’s a pretty strong grizzly. He might make it through this.” When Lonnie just stood gaping at him, he said, “I’ll help you get him on his horse.”

  “He’d be better off in a wagon,” Red Duncan offered. Like everyone else, the saloon owner had been momentarily stunned. “My boy can take him for you.” His son, a sixteen-year-old who worked in his father’s business, didn’t wait for a direct order, but ran out the back of the tent to hitch up the wagon.

  When Red’s son pulled the wagon around to the front of the tent, Luke took hold of Bloodworth’s boots and Lonnie lifted his shoulders. Together, they carried the wounded brute out to the wagon. Although his eyes darted back and forth while they struggled to shift his heavy body around, he didn’t make a sound. Luke walked over to their horses with Lonnie with one final word for him. “I’ve seen men come back from some bad wounds before, so he might make it. I reckon it’ll be up to him, but if he does, I want you to tell him to let this be the end of it between him and me. I’ve had enough of it. You remind him that I coulda just slit his throat and sent him to hell today. But I didn’t because there ain’t ever been any reason for us to wanna kill each other, so tell him this is the end of it.” He stepped back then, and Lonnie climbed up into the saddle.

  Jug walked over and stood beside him as they watched Lonnie ride away, leading the wagon. After a moment, Jug said, “Partner, there’s one helluva lot I’ve got to learn about you.”

  “Reckon so,” Luke replied.

  Ike Hopper grinned at the two partners and suggested, “There ain’t no better way I can think of to get to know a partner than to spend a winter camp together. You two plannin’ to make the winter gatherin’, or are you gonna ride it out on your own?”

  Luke glanced at Jug before answering. “I don’t know, Ike, we ain’t decided yet. Reckon it’ll depend on where we end up when the time comes.” In fact, they had already planned to risk their necks and go it alone that winter. It would depend on what kind of luck they had. If it was as good as they hoped, they wouldn’t want to take a chance on leaving a good hunting spot. If their luck wasn’t anything to brag about
, he imagined they would decide to go to the winter gathering where they would benefit from the safety in numbers. “Come to think of it, I ain’t heard for sure where it’s gonna be this winter.”

  “Cache Valley,” Ike said. “The winters ain’t as bad there as it is in most of the holes in this part of the Rockies.”

  “I reckon we’ll have to see just what part of the country we wind up in when the streams freeze over,” Jug said.

  “Might have somethin’ to do with what kinda huntin’ ground you and Luke find. Right Jug?” Zeke Singleton asked. “If it’s runnin’ over with beaver, and you wanna come to the gatherin’, you can just carve your name on a tree and we’ll know not to trap there.”

  “That’ud work,” Ike cracked, “or you could just tell us now where you’re headin’ and we’ll be sure and stay away from there.”

  “I told you, me and Luke are goin’ down to Mexico,” Jug said. “Matter of fact, just to be fair about it, we’ll wait a while and let you boys get a head start. Ain’t that right, Luke?”

  “Whatever you say, partner,” Luke replied, seeing their grins, but also knowing they were still wondering why Jug decided to partner-up, after years of free trapping.

  * * *

  After the customary farewells and wishes of good luck on the night just passed, Luke and Jug broke camp the next morning and started north, following the Green River to its confluence with the Snake. From there, they followed the Snake River to its origin in the place the Indians called Yellow Stones, a place where the water under the ground was boiling hot and sometimes shot up a hundred feet in the air. Luke had heard it called Colter’s Hell, named for a man who had traveled with Lewis and Clark. He had written about the place, saying there were terrible noises under the ground that shook his feet, and steam and hot water shot out of the ground. Most folks figured Colter was probably out of his head, since he was in the process of recovering from a wound, suffered in a fight with the Indians. At any rate, if there were any supernatural agents at work there, Luke didn’t care. He figured as long as they did their business underground, he’d take care of his above ground, and there shouldn’t be any problems at all. Jug was not as blasé about it. He was convinced that, if you searched among the many stones long enough, you would eventually find one that could be moved to reveal a stairway straight down to a fiery underworld. It was a mysterious place. And even though Luke had heard it called Colter’s Hell, he knew that to the mountain man, Colter’s Hell was a mud pot area at the junction of the North and South Stinkingwater Rivers. At any rate, when they came to a big geyser shooting steaming water high into the air, they turned to the west with the intention of striking the Madison River. They figured they’d prefer to follow the Madison to Three Forks where the Madison and two other rivers joined to create the Missouri.