by Terry Grosz
It was then that the ‘color’ of the trappers’ day turned dark... With a howl, Old Potts went down as he was driving in another end of a trap’s chain-stake in deeper water. Instantly, Big Foot was off his horse and into the water to aid Old Potts. But before Big Foot could get to his partner, Old Potts was back up and standing, albeit somewhat wobbling in his now unsteady stance! When Big Foot got to Old Potts to see what had happened, he was advised that he, Old Potts, had stepped into an unseen muskrat hole and had twisted and sprained his knee!
With that injury, the best laid plans that Old Potts had suggested the evening before, had just dissipated off into the prairie winds... Aiding Old Potts in moving out from the usual clutching deep mud of the beaver pond, Big Foot helped the badly limping man up onto firm ground and then after looking his knee over, helped him onto his horse so he wouldn’t have to put any more weight than normal on his now bad leg. Handing Old Potts his Hawken, Iron Hand dismounted, finished setting the beaver trap and avoided the muskrat hole hidden by the muddy pond water that Old Potts had stepped into.
The rest of that day, Iron Hand selected the trap sites, set the traps and did so until they had set all 40 of their beaver traps. Then the four men scouted out their trapping area even further to the north, in case the trapping grounds just selected did not pan out as they had hoped. However, on their return riding along their recently set trap line, their hopes were more than realized. Before they had backtracked along their entire trap line, the trappers discovered they had already caught 16 beaver in their earlier sets! To a man, that was a good omen and in keeping with their tradition for good luck, four of the largest beaver caught were not skinned on site as they usually did, leaving the carcasses to nearby land predators, but were brought back to their camp. Once there, while the other three men fleshed and hooped out the skins from the beaver just caught, Iron Hand skinned out the four fresh ones still in the round and soon had the fat oozing from their carcasses as they slow roasted on a spit over their mountain mahogany-fueled campfire.
As the wonderful smell of roasting beaver meat filled the air around the trappers’ campsite, Iron Hand took it upon himself to throw together a mess of biscuit dough and soon added another great smell into the cooling evening air. In the meantime, Old Potts had now hobbled over to his sitting log around the firepit and sat there nursing an injured knee and a cup of their high proof rum all at the same time...
That evening, after a dinner of roasted beaver and Dutch oven biscuits, the trappers sat around their firepit discussing the day’s events, as they all now nursed a cup of rum in celebration of their first day’s successful trappings. Even Old Potts, bad knee and all, joined right in because after dismounting when they had arrived back at their cabin, discovered that his knee injury was not as bad as he had originally thought after stepping in a hidden by the muddy water, underground hole made by a muskrat. In fact, the more he carefully moved around on the knee, the looser it seemed to get and the better it felt.
The next morning, Old Potts’s knee had stiffened up once again and he found that the warmth from their fire and his moving around was helping a bit. But it was decided that he would not be the main trapper until he got better and that Iron Hand would continue as the main one doing all of the trap setting and beaver, muskrat and river otter removal.
Following breakfast, the four trappers streamed out from their campsite and onto the beaver trapping grounds near the Poplar River’s numerous waterways. Arriving at their first set, Iron Hand found it ‘occupied’ with a very large and dead beaver weighing at least 70 pounds! With some difficulty, he removed the dead animal from the trap and staggered across the pond’s muddy bottom over to a waiting Crooked Hand. As Iron Hand once again set the trap next to a heavily used beaver slide area, Crooked Hand skinned and whipped the hide off the monster critter in short order. Once again, the carcass was tossed off to one side and out in the open so the land predators would discover a waiting meal and dispose of the same in short order. That trap checking and beaver removal action occurred for the next 17 traps checked, before a single empty set was discovered! The men were elated over such trapping successes and by the end of the day, 29 of their 40 sets held a dead beaver! Iron Hand set every trap in the same place as he had the day previous along the entire trap line and then the men headed for home to begin their fleshing and hooping duties on the pelts they had trapped that day.
Streaming back into their campsite by late afternoon, the men were looking forward to caring for their pelts and a nice supper of roasted elk that had been killed by Crooked Hand the day before, along with some of Iron Hand’s piping hot Dutch oven biscuits. However, that joy of returning to their cabin with a load of fresh beaver skins and hopes for having an elk supper were soon dashed...
Upon turning by the last finger of timber leading into their campsite, THE MEN INSTANTLY NOTICED THAT THEIR CORRAL WAS EMPTY OF ALL OF THEIR PACK ANIMALS AND THEIR EXTRA RIDING HORSES!
Spurring their horses into camp, Iron Hand stepped off his mount and hit the ground running over to the open gate at their corral. Kneeling down, he could plainly see two sets of moccasin footprints around the corral’s gate. It was obvious that two Indians had discovered their secluded campsite, had ridden in to investigate, discovered the unguarded pack and riding horses in the corral, and had helped themselves and stolen the lot! As Iron Hand continued examining the ground around the corrals for additional clues left by the horse thieves, Old Potts headed for their cabin to see if anything else of value had been taken, like their valuable stores of furs or gunpowder. Emerging moments later, Old Potts said, “All of our furs and provisions here in the cabin were not touched. It looks like they were just after our valuable horse herd.”
“Crooked Hand, you give me a hand in what I am about to do. In the meantime, Old Potts and Big Foot, you guys care for our fresh beaver pelts so they don’t sour and let the fur slip. Don’t wait up for us because we may not be back for a while. The two of us are going after our horses right now while the trail is hot and the tracks are fresher than all get-out. If we don’t and those two horse thieves make it back to the main Indian camp, we will see more of the same of their kind right at daylight, now that they know we are here in their own backyard. Plus when they do come back, it will be with blood in their eyes and itching to take everything from us that they can lay their thieving hands upon,” concluded a deadly serious-looking Iron Hand, as he handed his horse’s reins up to Crooked Hand. Then with Iron Hand on foot and Crooked Hand trailing him, he took off at a trot following the fresh trail the two Indian ponies and the rest of their stolen stock had left in the soft dirt.
After about a mile fast tracking their stolen stock by the old trapper’s method of running a 100 yards and then walking for 50 and then repeating the same process, it became apparent to Iron Hand that the horse thieves, secure in their theft from the white trappers, were only walking the large herd of stolen horses. It was almost like the horse thieves were novices in what they were doing, or at least very confident and secure in their escape with the valuable animals. The stolen horse herd’s tracks, along with those of their new masters, led in a direct line up over a timbered ridge and into a small valley on the reverse side. As Iron Hand continued trotting along the fresh trail on foot, he continued in amazement over the fact that the horse thieves were not running the stolen horses hellbent for leather for home but were just walking them...
THEN THERE THEY WERE! Ahead about a half-mile away, were two Indian horsemen pushing along a now somewhat unruly herd of pack and riding horses that once belonged to the now aggrieved and hot on their trail and closing, trappers.
Mounting up now that the horse thieves were in ‘their sights’, Iron Hand and Crooked Hand set their course for an interception of the two armed Indians near a finger-line of dense pine trees. As they did, they could see that the two Indian thieves were still having trouble pushing their stolen horses and keeping them together in one bunch as they continued pushing them on down
the valley. It was apparent that something was spooking the trappers’ stock and in their unruliness, the animals were slowing down the two Indians in their attempt to make their getaway. But as the two trappers made haste to slip into an ambush position, they did not realize that they had been spotted as they slipped their way into the timber to intercept the horse thieves...
About 20 minutes later, Iron Hand and Crooked Hand were what they figured to be in a perfect ambush position if the two Indians kept coming their way. Then as if to complicate matters, a late day, violent thunderstorm was in the making and moving its way down the long valley heading their way. With the loud crashes of thunder and bolts of late summer thunderstorm lightning flashing all around the nearby foothills, the two Indians managed to continue pushing the stolen unruly animals right into the two trappers’ ambush site.
Then as the two horse thieves hove into view, they all of a sudden stampeded the horse herd directly at the two trappers lying in wait by a small bluff of rocks. Before the trappers could react, two hard-charging Indians riding right behind the stampeding herd of stolen horses emerged from a cloud of dust stirred up by the horses’ hooves, firing at the now-surprised trappers as they came!
ZZZZIPP! WENT A BALL FIRED FROM ONE OF THE INDIAN’S RIFLES, CLIPPING OFF A FIST-SIZED TUFT OF FACIAL HAIR FROM IRON HAND’S FULL BEARD! BEING SURPRISED BY THE STAMPEDING HORSE HERD AND THE NOW AGGRESSIVE ACTION OF THE HARD-CHARGING INDIANS, IT WAS ALL IRON HAND COULD DO IN KEEPING HIS NOW NERVOUS HORSE UNDER CONTROL! THE BULLET FIRED BY THE OTHER INDIAN AT CROOKED HAND FLEW BY HIM SO CLOSELY THAT HE FELT THE AIR MOVEMENT FROM THE PROJECTILE, AND HEARD A “WHIRRRRING” SOUND AS IT PASSED CLOSE TO THE SIDE OF HIS HEAD...
Seconds later, BOOMBOOM! went Crooked Hand’s and Iron Hand’s Hawkens almost simultaneously, as the two Indian horse thieves now streamed by in plain view behind the stampeding horse herd and within very close rifle range! Neither Indian ever knew what hit him, as the huge .50 caliber lead balls smashed into their chests from about 30 yards away! Sitting on their horses amidst the crashing sounds of thunder and bolts of lightning from the now arriving violent thunderstorm, the two trappers calmly reloaded their rifles. That they did before they moved from their place of ambush and exposed their positions any further, in case they had miscounted the number of horse thieves involved.
Then it was the trappers’ turn to round up and get control of their stolen livestock, as the Indians’ ponies, now alarmed over the fury of the storm and the shooting so close at hand, bolted off into the vastness of the prairie! In typical horse fashion and behavior, they more than likely headed for home and their familiar Indian horse herd located some miles away before the trappers could get them under control. Finally getting their own stock under control but only after the trappers had moved their horses away from the timber and the recent Indian kill site, did the men chance a return to the scene of the two dead Indian horse thieves. Their stock, now that they were away from that stand of dense timber and whatever was in it causing them such concern, were left to settle down and begin feeding in a long draw, as the late summer rains now came down with a drenching vengeance!
Now getting soaked to the skin as the center of the storm continued passing overhead, Crooked Hand and Iron Hand rode over to the kill site and got a huge surprise! Both Indian horse thieves were only about 16 or 17-year-old kids, but they were just as dead! That was when Iron Hand realized why the thieves had acted so casually and novice-like in their escape attempt with the trappers’ stolen livestock. They either did not realize the inherent danger in what they were doing because they were so arrogant because of their youth, or just inexperienced when it came to stealing horses from white trappers. Either way, it got them a quick trip into the realm of the rest of the Indian Cloud People who had passed before them!
Then both Crooked Hand’s and Iron Hand’s horses began acting up, a behavior like when they had observed the stolen herd acting all goofy-like when the two Indian boys were attempting to push them through the timber. It was then when a change of the blowing storm’s winds brought to the two men’s noses a strong smell that told them only one thing, a grizzly bear’s den was somewhere close at hand!
That was when Iron Hand got a grin on his face along with an idea. “Crooked Hand, help me carry the bodies over to that bluff of rocks by that point of timber. I think there may be a grizzly bear’s den near there because of that terrible smell. To me, it is the same smell we had back at our Medicine Lake cave site when we returned from Fort Union, and the grizzly bear living in our cave ‘glommed’ onto your left leg when you rode up to the entrance. If we leave the dead boys nearby, maybe the grizzly will find them and dispose of the bodies for us. That way, when their tribal members come looking for their young men, and they will, maybe they will think the bear got them and that will settle the issue of their disappearance. Quick, let’s get moving and get the deed done. Then let’s move our herd of horses out of here while we still have the rains coming down so heavily. That should help wash away most of the tracks and our involvement if we are successful. Let us get going so we can make it look like Mother Nature did them in and not several of the hated white man trappers.”
Long minutes later, the deed was done and then the trappers took their horse herd home by an indirect route, including walking them down a small creek to help in erasing their shod ‘dead giveaway’ tracks. Finally by dark, the men and their horses were back at their cabin. The two trappers were soaked to their skins and cold as the dickens, but they were safely home with all of their valuable livestock and a tall tale to tell.
Met as they came into the cabin site, Big Foot put all their stock into the corral, while Crooked Hand and Iron Hand tended to their wet riding gear and individual horses as well. Then it was into their warm cabin and a change into some dry clothing, as they related their story of horse recapture and the killing of the two young men horse thieves in the process.
When Old Potts heard about the deaths of the two young men, a frown quickly clouded his bronzed face. “You know, those boys’ parents will come a-looking fer them. I hope you two managed to hide your tracks and the killing-deed in such a manner that we four are not found out. ’Cause if discovered and they pin them killings on us, we will lose our hair and a hell of a lot more fer sure,” he continued in a worried tone of voice.
“Well, we dragged the boys’ bodies up near a bluff of rocks where I figured by the terrible smell, that a ‘griz’ was living nearby and we left them there. Fact be known, when we shot after being shot at first, we did not figure our horse thieves to be anything but horse-stealing Gros Ventre and not young men. In fact, look here. The first shot fired by the young men took off a part of this magnificent beard of mine and made a mess of it on one side.” With those words out, Iron Hand turned sideways so his two friends could see the fist-sized clump of beard missing. Big Foot, after taking a look at the missing ‘face-fur’ remarked, “Made a damn fine improvement on that ugly mug of your-en, if that be possible.”
Ignoring the funny Big Foot made at Iron Hand’s expense, figuring more was a-coming if he made notice, the aggrieved trapper continued with his story. “Then we skedaddled out of there with our stock, under the covering rains of one hell of a rainstorm. With a little luck, our tracks should be more or less washed back into the prairie soil, so that we cannot be cold tracked back to our cabin. Hell, we even walked the horses down that small creek on the other side of the ridge before we turned them for home in order to hide our shod horse hoofprints,” said Iron Hand.
“Well, the deed be done and at least we got our horses back. Without them, we would soon be a-foot and being in that manner means you are a dead man out here in the country of the Indians, the beasts and the vastness of this here prairie,” said Old Potts. “But now, we kain’t take any more chances. We need to leave some of us back here at our cabin in case we are discovered once again. I don’t want to lose our stock or any of our provisions, so two of us must stay behind and protect what we have. Th
at means, sore knee or not, we will stay here and you two are now going to have to do all of our trapping. However, when you do, the both of you must make sure your pack animals are sporting an extra rifle apiece and two pistols, so’s you can at least have a fighting chance if discovered by them damn killing Gros Ventre and you are out in the open. Enough about what has happened, now how about some grub? We managed to save the two of you some of what we had. It weren’t up to your cooking standards, Iron Hand, but it will stick to your ribs,” said Old Potts with his characteristic heavily whiskered grin.
The next morning, Crooked Hand and Iron Hand went forth once again to run their trap line. And when they did, between the two trappers, they carried four rifles and eight pistols either on their persons or on their nearby pack animals. As for Old Potts and Big Foot, they also were sporting their own regularly carried firearms and had two extra rifles and four pistols stashed around their cabin in case they were discovered and ambushed by those who might be out hunting their two lost young sons who had not returned home from the evening before...
Running their trap line once again in the instant face of danger, the trappers did so in order to prevent the predators of the land from finding the dead beaver in their traps and eating them unless they were regularly checked and removed. Additionally, to leave dead beaver hanging in their traps would just alert any passing Gros Ventre to the likelihood of close at hand and unwanted white man trappers. As they left their cabin site, they could feel the first vestiges of winter coming as there was a nip in the air and on the far distant mountains, there was the first cap of winter’s snow ringing the higher peaks.