by Terry Grosz
On the second night of their travels while proceeding easterly along the north bank of the Missouri River, the men noticed a faint light of a campfire down in an adjacent river bottom. Old Potts held the men up and sent Tom to sneak up to the mystery campfire and ascertain if it was that of another group of fur trappers on their way to Fort Union to trade in their furs or some Blackfoot or Gros Ventre Indians camped along the way, waiting to lure in and trap some unsuspecting trappers on their ways back to Fort Union.
Somewhat later, Tom sneaked up to the edges of the firelit camp and ascertained it was occupied by a small number of fur trappers. Quietly moving into the edge of the light from the campfire, Tom hailed the trappers and quickly identified himself so there would be no mistake as to who he was or fatal misunderstandings. The fur trappers around the campfire, alarmed at being surprised and hailed by a foreign voice and then the apparition of one damned huge individual suddenly appearing from out of the dense underbrush so close at hand, sprang to their rifles and then covering him with leveled weapons at the ready, told Tom to advance and be recognized.
Tom did as he was instructed and once introduced to the camp’s members, asked if he and his fellow trappers could join them. Tom was instructed to bring his fellow trappers in and camp with them for the added protection in numbers that offered the entire group of trappers. Returning to his fellow trappers somewhat later, Tom advised that the campfire was indeed that of a fellow band of American Fur Company Trappers and that their group had been invited to join them.
Twenty minutes later, Tom and his band of trappers joined the eight American Fur Company men and their Indian women around the campfire. After introductions were made all around, Old Potts took his band and they made camp near the other trappers, so all were not crowded together and their livestock intermingled. All their horses were then unpacked, hobbled and turned out to feed, and then the new arrivals prepared their campsite as well. Soon they had their first fire in a number of days and some fresh buffalo killed from the day before, merrily roasting on green willow stakes over the edge of their welcome fire.
It was then that an unexpected explosion of events played out between the two camps of trappers. Tom was busily currying down their mules before they were hobbled and let out to pasture so they would not ‘sore up’ under the weight of their heavy packs, when he heard a spate of yelling and a woman crying out in terror and pain! Looking toward the adjacent fur trappers’ camp, Tom observed a huge man built like a small grizzly bear, taking a large piece of limb wood and savagely beating a young and smaller in stature Indian woman lying on the ground, who was trying to cover up her head as the blows savagely rained down upon her!
Tom saw ‘red’ in what was happening, dropped his curry comb and ran to the scene of the larger in size man beating the tiny and helpless woman. “Hey! Hey!” Tom yelled. “Don’t you beat that woman!” he yelled as he continued running to her aid.
Surprised at the intervention of such a massively sized stranger just met earlier when he had quietly arrived into their camp, the huge man stopped momentarily beating the young Indian woman. Then the huge man recovered from his surprise at being interrupted over the beating he was administering to the woman, turned and faced Tom as he burst through the brush.
“Mind your own business, Stranger. This is my woman! I paid for her fair and square from another trapper who caught her out berry picking alongside a creek and stole her away from her people. She just ‘spilt’ a mess of stew on me and now by damn, she is going to get a damn good beating for being so clumsy. So back off, Stranger, unless you want some of the same! She is mine to do with as I please and that I am aiming to do right now,” replied the monster-sized trapper with the limb still upraised in his hand.
With those words, the burly man once again slammed the stick he was holding down upon the Indian woman lying crying on the ground! That was when his upraised right arm holding the stick to render another blow was grabbed with a vise-like grip that was so strong, it forced the man to drop the stick of limb wood from a now quickly going lifeless hand! However, the grabbed man then quickly went for his sheath knife with his other hand, only to find his neck, like his other hand, in another vise-like grip that completely cut off all of his wind and the blood flowing to his brain!
“Hey, you son-of-a-bitch! Let go of my friend and put him down right now or you will die where you are standing!” yelled another fur trapper from the big man’s camp, as he rushed at Tom with an upraised pistol in hand.
Tom dropped the Indian woman-beating huge man who had now passed out in the chokehold, turned in a fury, grabbed that man’s hand waving the pistol in his face with his left hand and then grabbed him by the whole face with his right hand, ‘crunching’ the hell out of it with his “Iron Handed” facial grip until the surprised pistol-waving man screamed to be let go!
By now, both fur trappers’ camps were in an uproar over the violent events unfolding between Tom and the two unfortunate, mean-assed fur trappers who had crossed him! The trappers from the original camp were rushing to aid what they suspected was a savage attack on two of their own, and Old Potts, Big Foot and Crooked Hand were simultaneously rushing armed to Tom’s defense. The three trappers did not realize why they were rushing to Tom’s defense because he had proven that he could more than take care of himself, but they just knew it would be for good reason if he was somehow involved because of his normal behavior of even handedness and reserved nature.
Tom then let the pistol-waving man go, whose face he had been holding in his crushing grip. In fact, his grip had been so crushing, that in just the few moments he had the man’s face in his right hand in such a crushing iron grip, THAT IT HAD BLACKENED BOTH OF THE MANS EYES AND HAD BLOODIED HIS NOSE!
Then the larger in size trapper who had been beating the tiny defenseless Indian woman came to after being choked out, with a bull buffalo in rut-like bellow! Rising to his feet, he went for his sheath knife once again and drawing his knife, made a menacing move towards Tom. As he did, he found his knife hand grabbed in another vise-like grip that was so strong, that Tom broke three of the man’s fingers on that hand!
“OWWWHEE!” screamed the man with the crushed fingers, as his knife dropped from the broken portion of his hand! By now with the two camps in an uproar and threats and counter threats flying back and forth, Old Potts finally gained control over the situation.
However when he did, Tom coming down from his killing high, slowly reached down and with one hand placed under the Indian woman’s shoulders, lifted up her tiny frame and held her next to his body until she could stand on her own free accord. Then Tom’s memory banks flooded open and he realized it had been a long time since he had held a woman... Especially a woman as lithe, supple and trim as the one he had just lifted up off the ground. A woman who had the same build and weight of his much-beloved wife that he had lost to smallpox in the civilized world back in Missouri...
“Hey, you big son-of-a-bitch! Let that woman go or I will shoot you dead myself!” yelled the grizzly bear-sized man who had been beating the Indian woman earlier and was now holding his broken fingers. A man Tom would soon come to learn was named “John Pierre”. A man who then quickly grabbed his rifle up off the ground and aimed it at Tom with his one remaining, unbroken good hand...
It was then that Old Potts slipped in behind the woman-beating bully of a man and touched the cutting edge of his always razor sharp cutting and gutting knife to the front of the mans throat and quietly whispered into his ear, “Hey, your miserable life for his, Stranger. Your call...” It was amazing just how quickly the bully dropped that rifle to the ground at his feet...
Soon, cooler heads prevailed and calm more or less slowly returned to the two camps. However, Tom did not intend to return the badly beaten woman to John Pierre! Instead, Tom walked up to the face of the 300-pound bully saying, “You, Sir, don’t deserve to live. No man should be allowed to beat a woman like you would a cur dog. She will stay in our camp until we get to
Fort Union. Then we will let Factor McKenzie decide what is to be done with her. Since the man you purchased her from stole her away from her people, McKenzie will decide what to do with her. This issue will be handled that way because if her people ever discover that she was taken against her will by a stupid white man, they will run hog wild over the land, killing every trapper they can find in revenge. If that happens, I don’t cotton to being in this country when that kind of a killing rampage occurs because of some stupid act you furthered when you bought her out of bondage. So, McKenzie will decide what is to be done with her. But I can tell you this, Sir. Touch her again in my presence and you will never again set another beaver trap or see a sunrise!”
Little did Tom realize that the Indian woman was intently watching and listening to him speaking to her captor and understanding those words of warning being spoken to her previous captor and beater, one John Pierre. Little did Tom realize that those words of warning being directed at the trapper who had previously beaten the woman would someday be rewarded in the future when his own life was in jeopardy as well.
With that, Tom reached down once again, picked up the badly beaten woman and cradling her in his massive arms, took her back to his camp as the fury in his body slowly began subsiding over the trapper’s indecent beating of a woman... That evening, the badly beaten woman remained in Old Potts’s camp and no one came over from the other trappers’ camp in an attempt to bargain for the return of the woman. Especially after seeing the cold and disarming look in Tom’s eyes, when he quietly, with iron-edged wording, laid the law down to everyone in the other trappers’ camp on how the woman’s fate would be subsequently decided...
The next morning, John Pierre came over to Old Potts’s camp and in a whining tone of voice asked for what he called his woman back. After responding to John Pierre in a few short and sharp words, Old Potts sent him packing... With that and a lot of evil looking-back at Old Potts’s crew of trappers, John Pierre and his crew of men hurriedly broke camp and it was plain that Tom had just made some serious enemies. As Tom and the others packed their livestock for the trip once again on the way to Fort Union, Old Potts thought to himself that he and his mates had best keep a sharp eye peeled out for Tom’s back. That was especially as it related to John Pierre and his murderous looking crew of trappers. He quietly figured that with enemies like that, he, Big Foot and Crooked Hand would have to watch them like a cat does a mouse in the future. If not, Tom could fall prey to their obvious now murderous intent over their embarrassing loss of the valued Indian woman and their loss of ‘face’ to the smaller group of Old Potts’s trappers...
For the next several days, Old Potts and company continued their measured travel along the Missouri River en route to Fort Union. They took their time in order not to stress the pack train because of the heavy loads of furs they were carrying, plus they were still in Indian and grizzly bear country, so caution was the word of the day. Finally come the day, Fort Union loomed into view. Stopping a short distance away on an overlook, the four men just sat on their horses and looked on in wonder at the drastic changes that had been made to the fort and trading post and how things now looked, compared to what it had looked like when they had left the summer before.
Tom could hardly believe what he was now looking at! When his group of fur trappers had left the fort, it was just four palisaded log walls with a few skimpy log buildings inside. Now its four walls were heralded by the presence of two impressive-looking, roofed-over blockhouses on opposite corners of the fort’s walls that were two stories high! The fort now also showcased a huge set of heavy plank wooden front doors and even from a short distance away, shooting loopholes were readily discernible located along the fort’s walls and on the sides of the two blockhouses. Men could be seen positioned standing guard along the inner walls, as they watched over the fort’s outside activities and the coming and going of various Indian traders and fur trappers.
There were now dozens of tepees scattered about on the fort’s grounds, as well as numerous quietly feeding horse herds scattered about belonging to the Indians and the American Fur Company. Off to one side of the fort’s outside walls was a large garden being currently tended by several men from the fort, and there was a constant line of Indians and fur trappers streaming into and out from the fort’s massive front entrance portal. The whole area was a constant beehive of human activity both comings and goings, as well as moving around inside the cavernous fort’s spacious interior.
Shortly thereafter, into that swirl of activity rode Old Potts and his crew of very successful fur trappers, as evidenced by their long strings of riding stock and heavily packed mules. Approaching the front gate, their presence was announced by a gate guard and within moments, they were heartily greeted by one Kenneth McKenzie, the Factor for Fort Union.
Standing in front of the fort’s gate, the look on McKenzie’s face showed nothing but amazement! In part, it had to be his last remembrance as Old Potts and his crew had left the fort with a string of only 18 riding and pack animals. Now those same trappers were returning with several strings numbering around 40 very valuable riding and pack animals! Additionally, as Old Potts and his crew approached the fort’s outer walls, numerous Indians admiring the frontier wealth in livestock and packs of furs, took notice and approached for a closer look-see as well.
“Welcome, you men! Free Trappers are always welcome at Fort Union,” said a very happy McKenzie over what he was seeing in the way of the return of old friends, and a wealth of furs and always scarce on the frontier, horses. It was then that McKenzie realized that all the animals he was now seeing loaded with packs of furs, belonged to just the four trappers bringing them in!
“How the hell did you men gather unto to you all those horses, mules and packs of furs since you left the fort only a year ago with so little in the way of a pack string compared to this?” asked an obviously still amazed over what he was seeing, Kenneth McKenzie.
“It is a long story,” said Old Potts, “best told over several cups of your good rum, if you still have any of that left in your fort’s warehouses.”
“Well, there is only one way to find out. Let me get together several of my American Fur Company Clerks so they can take a gander at what you have brought me, and then we can talk,” said an obviously very happy Factor, as he looked at all the furred wealth the men were bringing into his trading post to sell or trade for provisions.
Moving their pack strings into the fort’s interior, Tom noticed they were ‘greeted’ by a small cannon placed in the courtyard, where it could be counted upon to control anyone entering the front gate. Looking around still in amazement over the changes made since his last presence, Tom observed all manner of buildings now located along the fort’s interior walls. Then he noticed that center to the square was a huge fur press to be used in taking loose furs and compacting them into tightly bound traveling packs weighing about one 100 pounds each. That way, when the furs were shipped by boat downriver to St. Louis, they could be more easily and compactly stowed aboard the keelboat’s limited cargo spaces.
As their horses and mules were unpacked and the fort’s Clerks began the huge chore of grading and counting all the assortment of furs Old Potts and his crew of Free Trappers had brought in, McKenzie noticed Tom tenderly removing a young Indian maiden from the saddle of one of the extra riding horses and gently standing her onto the ground like a gentleman would do a lady back in the civilized world. With that move, it became readily apparent to McKenzie that the Indian woman was someone important to Tom and should be treated like a lady. McKenzie also noticed that the woman appeared to be in total awe of the size and newness of the white man’s fort and especially of Tom, and his gentle manner and protective treatment of her...
As Tom, Big Foot, Crooked Hand and Old Potts closely watched the Clerks grading and counting the furs from each of their 50 packs, the young Indian woman continued standing in the center of the fort’s inner courtyard, looking all around at her new surroundings
in awe and wonder. McKenzie could tell that she was in total awe over what she was observing obviously for the first time in her young life. That in mind, he walked over to her and because of her dress which identified her as to her tribe, addressed her in the tongue of the Blackfoot, asking her if she would like to sit in the shade of the porch and have some water to drink. At first, the young Indian woman just looked at the obviously important white man speaking to her in the tongue of the Blackfeet, then smiling and avoiding looking directly into McKenzie’s eyes, demurred and did not respond to McKenzie’s question.
McKenzie, familiar with the Blackfoot culture and the shyness associated with its women around strangers, especially white men or men in power, called Tom over and asked him to let the young Indian woman know it was alright to go and sit on the porch in the shade and have a drink of water while the trappers’ furs were being graded and counted.
Tom just laughed and then said, “McKenzie, you can talk to her in English. She speaks English as good as you and me, having learned it from her captors. She was captured last year by a rogue trapper, who repeatedly raped and then later sold her to another trapper, namely one of yours, named John Pierre. He too and some of his friends have abused her and as such, she is understandably shy around anyone white. Especially after all they did to her from stealing her away from her people when she was out berry picking, to all those dark things I spoke about. Her Blackfoot name is “Sinopa”. That means “Fox Kitten” in her native tongue and I have discovered that her demeanor matches her name.”
“I rescued her from being savagely beaten by that John Pierre fellow I told you about, and she has been stuck to me ever since like glue the Indians make from the hooves of a buffalo. I am not sure what the four of us are going to do with her and that is why she is here with us today. I forcefully took her away from John Pierre several nights ago, while he was in the process of beating her for spilling some buffalo stew on him during supper. I stopped the beating and then told John that if he ever touched her again, I would kill him and I meant it! He came to us later the following day and wanted her back because he said he had paid the other trapper fair and square for her. I told him I would leave that decision as to what would happen to her up to you once we got to Fort Union. I did that because you being the Factor and your word being essentially the law in the territory, I figured you would do for her what was for the best,” said Tom quietly.