To the River's End

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Looks that way, don’t it?” Luke responded and went at once to free the buckskin from the tree, and it immediately ran up along the ridge for about fifty yards before returning. Most likely to get warm, Luke thought. It went with the other horses then to graze in a small clearing of grass.

  Across the stream, they saw the Indian’s camp, a roughly built tipi of large limbs and branches with a buffalo hide over them to shelter him from the rain or snow. It was plain to see he had not intended to be staying there for long. His one purpose for being in this little chain of mountains was to exact his vengeance upon them. “It’s hard to say whether we’ll get any more visitors from his village or not,” Jug commented.

  “If those first three were anybody really important, maybe there woulda been a whole war party of Indians comin’ here to find out what happened to ’em,” Luke speculated hopefully. “Seein’ as how there was just this one fellow that came lookin’ for ’em, might be that that’ll be the end of it. They came here to make meat for the winter, and their village is probably already moved to wherever they’re plannin’ to spend it. I’m hopin’ we’re done with ’em at least till the winter’s over.”

  “You’re probably right,” Jug said. He knew Luke felt responsible for the trouble with the Indians because he had killed the three that this warrior had come looking for. “Things just happen the way they do. If them three bucks hadn’ta raided our camp, they wouldn’ta got kilt. It ain’t your fault they decided to fight when you went after ’em. I’da done the same as you did, so don’t go gettin’ ideas in your head that I think you brought all this on. All right?”

  “All right,” Luke replied. “I ’preciate you sayin’ that.”

  Like them, the Blackfoot had hung his supply of fresh meat on a rope, high off the ground. Luke lowered it to the ground, so he could take a look at it and decided he and Jug could use it. With the daytime temperatures already approaching freezing, the meat would keep for a long time, and they never felt like they had too much. He pulled the buffalo hide off the framework of limbs while Jug poked around in the makeshift tipi finding nothing of value. All the Indian’s weapons and ammunition had been with him on the gray. They loaded anything they could use on the buckskin and the gray, then with each man leading a horse, they returned to their camp. Both of them were convinced that it was unlikely they would see any more Indians until after the winter, with the exception of an occasional hunting party. And if they were lucky, they might avoid those hunters.

  With the threat of Standing Elk resolved, they could now concentrate on collecting as many beaver pelts as possible before the ponds froze. It was going to call for a lot more work on Luke’s part, since his partner wasn’t much good with just one hand. And during the daylight hours, Luke decided it was necessary to build a better windbreak and shelter for their little herd of horses. What with their own horses, and the horses Luke brought back after his fight with the original three Blackfoot, and now two more, thanks to Standing Elk, they really had more than they wanted to handle. But horses were money when rendezvous time came around again, so they were inclined to hold onto them if they could.

  When darkness fell over the forest beside the grassy slope next to the falls, it found Luke working to construct three walls in his evergreen barn. Using young fir trees to weave their boughs in and out of the larger uprights that he had fixed there before, he was hoping to create a windbreak for his “barn.” Jug cocked his head, a little skeptical, and commented. “I ain’t ever seen nobody goin’ to that much work to try to keep their horses warm before. It’s lookin’ mighty fancy. I hope the first strong north wind don’t blow it all down.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith,” Luke quoted. “The trees around it will keep the wind from blowin’ it over. And after we get a little freezin’ snow fallin’ on it, it’ll set up solid till the spring melt. In the meantime, the horses will keep each other warm inside there.”

  “You know them’s horses you’re fixin’ to put in there, don’tcha? They ain’t Eskimos.” Jug felt it his duty to comment further. “I’ve waited out a good many winters in this business and my horses always made it through. Sometimes they looked mighty poorly and shaggy in the spring, but they made it through. Even if it is too hard on some of ’em to make it, that just gives us a supply of fresh meat. It wouldn’t be the first time I et horse meat.”

  “I thought you said your horses always made it through the winter,” Luke reminded him.

  “I never said it was my horse I et. It was another feller’s.”

  “Well, I don’t wanna eat none of these horses we wound up with. I rather eat deer and elk,” Luke told him. “And remember what you said the first time you saw this little valley. The game will be comin’ to us. Now, I’m tired of jawin’ here with you. I’ve gotta go set our traps. It’s already gettin’ dark.”

  “I’ll be goin’ with you,” Jug said, in case Luke might think he was going to use his wound as an excuse to sit there by the fire.

  “I figured,” Luke said. “You’ve been itchin’ to trap that pond and the creek down that meadow, so I didn’t think you’d wanna miss it. I’ll set the traps, and you can get the bait sticks ready with some medicine for me.”

  “Hell,” Jug replied, “I can set the bait sticks with one hand, if you’re gonna be settin’ all the traps.”

  “I just thought you might not wanna go in the water with your bad arm and all. You best keep that arm dry.”

  “I’ll keep both of my arms dry,” Jug insisted. “It’s just my feet I’m gonna get wet.”

  * * *

  Even though they were sure there were no Indians anywhere close to their camp now, still there was a feeling of uneasiness in both men as they rode out of their camp into the darkness of the firs. After the events of the last few days, it was a natural tendency to take every precaution as they retraced the trail that led them back to the ridge with a stream on each side. They took a new look at the snake-like creek that wound its way across the center of the meadow, pointing out the best spots to set their traps. The first trap was set in the pond below the confluence of the two streams that ran on either side of the ridge. Then they entered the water at the exact spot where Jug had been shot. They stayed with it until all twelve traps were set, then they returned to their tipi to warm up by the fire pit in the center of their lodge.

  The next morning, before daylight, they rode back to find beaver in seven of their traps. “I knew it,” Jug expounded. “I knew this creek was eat up with beaver.” They saw no reason to reset any but the seven, but Jug refreshed the bait hanging over each trap. Then they quietly withdrew and returned to camp, aware now that the day seemed colder than the day before. After they prepared their plews for drying, Luke resumed the work he was doing to try to keep the horses warm. Darkness brought another trip to the creek to check their traps. It was not quite as successful as the first time, but there were four traps sprung, so they couldn’t complain.

  Of greater concern was the shower of snow that swept across the open meadow just as they were starting back to their camp. “That don’t look too good, does it?” Luke asked. “It feels colder to me than it did yesterday.”

  “I think you’re right,” Jug said. “We ain’t got many more days of this. In another week, this valley’s liable to be froze solid.” It was hard to argue with his prediction as they broke through the occasional layers of thin ice when they stepped into the water the following morning. It did inspire them to move quickly while resetting the traps. After preparing the pelts they collected that morning, Luke put the final touches on his fir barn and pronounced it ready for the Montana winter. That night brought another harvest of six beaver, and they decided to move on farther down the creek with those six traps. “Maybe we can get down to the end of the meadow before the hard freeze,” Jug said.

  Chapter 10

  Luke woke up before daybreak to the sound of the waterfall up the slope from their camp as usual, but something didn’t seem right. He didn’t kno
w what it was, but something was different. He lay there a few minutes longer, listening to hear if Jug was up, but he heard nothing from the little man’s bedroll across the fire from him. “Jug,” he said, “you awake?” He repeated it a couple of times before his partner answered.

  “I’m awake,” Jug answered, sounding a little irritated at having been awakened. “I’m fixin’ to get up. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothin’s wrong, I reckon. Listen to the waterfall. Does it sound different to you?”

  That captured Jug’s attention at once. “Different? Whaddaya mean, different? I don’t hear nothin’ different.” He paused and listened, then shook his head.

  “Well, it’s time to get up, anyway,” Luke said and started pulling on his moccasins. “We can’t keep those beaver waitin’.” He pulled his heavy buffalo coat on and left the tipi. “I’m gonna go see ’bout the horses,” he said as he went out. “It was a helluva cold night last night, coldest one we’ve had.” He was not gone for long before he came back inside, to Jug’s surprise, for he expected Luke was saddling their horses. When he gave Luke a questioning look, Luke said, “I reckon we’ll be pullin’ our traps outta those streams in that creek. I expect it’s already froze. Our pond here is froze over. I found out why the waterfall sounds different this mornin’. It was makin’ a different noise when it fell on the pond ’cause the pond is risin’ up to meet it.” When Jug gave him a questioning look, he said, “You’ll see what I mean.”

  Sufficiently curious now, Jug pulled his moccasins on and followed Luke out the door. As soon as he stepped outside, he grunted, “Damn, it musta dropped twenty degrees last night. I thought it was cold yesterday, but it weren’t like this.” He walked with Luke up to the pond after he went back inside to get his coat. “I reckon we did a dandy job with our tipi,” he saw fit to comment. “Cold as it is, I slept warm as a baby in his mama’s arms.” Then he saw what Luke meant when he said the pond was rising up to meet the waterfall. The top of the pond was frozen and when the water flowing from under the ice of the stream above went over the lip of the cliff, it froze when it hit the pond. The result of it was to gradually build a mound of ice on the pond. To add to the mysterious effect, spray splashed into the air around it, froze in mid-air, and showered as ice crystals on the frozen pond. “Well, ain’t that somethin’?” Jug responded. “Happened pretty dang quick, didn’t it? ’Course, I knew it was comin’. Didn’t figure it for another day or two, though.”

  They stood there for a few minutes more to marvel at the sight of the water splashing down on the gradually increasing cone of ice until Luke decided it was time to go to work. “I’ll go saddle the horses,” he said, then paused before asking, “you are goin’ with me, right?”

  “’Course, I am,” Jug answered. “Did you think I was gonna set here by the fire while you set them traps?”

  “I thought you mighta wanted to stay here to let your arm rest up,” Luke said, halfway serious. “I don’t expect to be resettin’ our traps. I just think we’d best get ’em outta the water before that creek freezes so solid, we’ll have to chop ’em out.”

  “No, hell, no,” Jug quickly insisted. “I was figurin’ on givin’ you a hand.” He paused and grinned. “My good one at that,” he added. They went to the windbreak in the woods and found the horses inside, huddled together. “It’d be a good idea to throw a rope on a couple of these other horses and take ’em with us. Cold as it is, it’s a good idea to work ’em a little bit. If we don’t, we’re gonna find ’em froze to death.” Luke agreed so after he saddled both their riding horses, he tied their packhorses on lead ropes. They decided the horses that had belonged to the Indians would follow the other horses, so they made no attempt to keep them penned up there while they were gone to get their traps.

  “How ’bout that big gray, there?” Luke asked. “The last time we took him over to that little meadow, and turned him loose, he went straight home to that Blackfoot’s camp. Reckon he might do the same thing this mornin’?”

  “Nah,” Jug assured him, “he’ll follow the other horses.”

  “I hope you know what you’re talkin’ about,” Luke japed, “’cause, if we get the rest of the horses back to rendezvous and sell ’em, I’m gonna charge you for every one that gray leads off.”

  “Shoot,” Jug scoffed, “we’ll be lucky if we’ve got any of those extra horses by the time we get back to Green River.”

  Since daylight was already upon them, they took the time to soften up some strips of smoked deer meat over the coals of their fire. They figured that would stave off their hunger until they returned to their camp later that morning. Then they rode out of camp and headed for the valley of the twin streams to recover their traps. Leading their packhorses with no packs, they were followed by the rest of the small herd they had acquired as a result of Luke’s good luck and deadly aim.

  When they reached the stream on the south side of the ridge, they found that, like the stream back at their camp, it was iced up heavily but still flowing. Encouraged by this, they continued on to the pond at the head of the creek, only to find the shallow little creek completely frozen over. They pulled their horses up at the head of the creek and dismounted. Luke grabbed his axe, and taking a knee on the bank, tested the ice and found it to be a pretty thick covering. Wading in the icy water, breaking up the ice as he walked, was out of the question. The ice was too thick. He looked back at Jug, who was standing over him, and remarked, “Partner, the fall trappin’ season is official over till spring thaw.” The only thing left to do now was to try to chop their traps out of the ice, so Luke set in to free the first one. Jug got his axe and went to the next bait stick to attack the ice over the trap, swinging left-handed.

  When he finally freed the first trap, and realizing it was going to take a while to retrieve them all, Luke led Smoke and Jug’s horses down to the lower side of the meadow and left them to scratch around in the light cover of snow for grass. The other horses followed suit. Then he went back and started in at another bait stick in the bank. “How you comin’, Lefty?” He japed with Jug. “Soon as I chop six traps outta this creek, I’m gonna figure I got my traps, and I’ll meet you back at the camp.”

  “You oughta be thankin’ me for helpin’ you bust these traps out—as bad hurt as I am with my wound,” he came back at him. “If it was the other way around, and you was the one with a bad arm, I woulda told you to stay in the tipi by the fire.”

  “You know, I thought about that,” Luke replied. “But then, I thought about how much more you would enjoy choppin’ up the ice than sittin’ by the fire back at camp. Then, when we see the rest of the boys at rendezvous, you can tell ’em tales about havin’ to chop our traps outta the creek.”

  “Huh,” Jug snorted. “I don’t expect I’ll wanna tell ’em we was too dang dumb to get our traps outta the water when we oughta knowed it was gonna freeze over.”

  The japing went back and forth most of the morning as they worked away to recover their frozen traps. It was possible to catch beaver in a frozen pond now and again using snares, if you could find the hole where they came out of the pond to look for food. These holes were sometimes hard to find, and for mountain men in the business of trapping, like Luke and Jug, it wasn’t worth the time for the low yield in pelts. Winter was the time to lay low, fatten up, and do whatever needed to be done to be ready when the ponds were free of ice again. And, if you were lucky, and wintered in a place where the game sought refuge from the cold, you hunted for food. Luke and Jug were lucky on this frigid morning.

  “Luke!” Jug whispered hoarsely. “Look yonder!”

  Luke turned to see him pointing down toward the lower end of the meadow where the horses were pawing around in the snow, looking for grass. He didn’t realize at once what Jug was pointing at, then his gaze shifted to the edge of the clearing, and he saw them. At the edge of the woods, a bull elk and three cows stood, watching the horses graze. “Fresh meat just come walkin’ up to bring us some tender elk cow. I
told you we wouldn’t have to go huntin’ ’cause the game would come to us.”

  “You said they’d come to the meadow below our camp,” Luke had to correct him. “You never said anything about this meadow.”

  “I meant they’d come to us, wherever we were,” Jug came back. “Anyway, whaddaya gonna do about it? I’d go after ’em, if I could use my right arm.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to hurt that arm,” Luke said sarcastically. “They’re too good to pass up, since they were kind enough to bring it to us.” Moving slowly, so as not to make any sudden moves that might attract the elks’ attention, Luke picked up his rifle. He couldn’t imagine what brought the elk out of the woods to this pasture. They must be traveling with a large herd and were attracted by the horses. Most likely the rest of the herd had headed into the woods to bed down for the night. One thing for sure, he knew he and Jug were downwind of them. Elk had a sharp sense of smell and this bull would have surely picked up their scent as close as they were. “I wish I had my bow, but it’s hangin’ on my saddle.”

  “What the hell for?” Jug reacted. “You’d have to get a lot closer to take a shot with a bow.”

  “I don’t know.” Luke shrugged. “Just save powder and lead, I reckon.” He didn’t wait for Jug’s response, knowing it would be one of sarcasm. But he wasn’t quick enough to avoid hearing it, anyway.

  “And it don’t make no sense to try to get close enough to throw your knife at ’em, either,” Jug whispered as loud as he could, thinking of Luke’s altercation with Dan Bloodworth, just before they left the rendezvous.

  Moving quickly out of the meadow in a low crouch, hoping not to attract attention, Luke ran into the fir trees that bordered it. As soon as he had the cover of the forest, he paused to see if he had been spotted by the elk. They were still standing at the edge of the trees, evidently puzzling over the horses in the meadow. Good, Luke thought and carefully made his way down through the fir trees, hurrying to get to a good position to take the shot. He was close enough now for what should be a sure shot, but he moved a little farther down the slope. The closer, the better, he thought, almost close enough for the bow. He quickly readied his rifle to fire when the bull suddenly started stamping his hooves, which caused the cows to shift back and forth nervously. Luke dropped his front sight on the cow in the middle, and as he started to squeeze the trigger, she turned her head, seeming to look in his direction. He froze for a few moments, suddenly remembering the lone elk cow he had encountered when scouting the three Blackfoot hunters. He had spared that cow’s life, because the sound of the shot might be heard by the Indians, or so he had told himself. But he couldn’t deny he did it because that cow knew what he was about to do and was asking him to spare her. That’s crazy, he told himself, that’s not the same cow. But just in case it was, he shifted his front sight to the cow behind her and squeezed the trigger. At the sound of the shot, the other three elk bolted across the meadow and disappeared in the trees. More accustomed to gunshots, the horses just milled around nervously for a few minutes, startled more by the elk running across the meadow than the sound of the rifle.