by Terry Grosz
Looking up, Iron Hand could see the two men as they brought their livestock back into camp, as they continued looking long and hard over their shoulders. Sensing danger of some sort, Iron Hand walked over to his rifle, cradled it in his arms and then walked out to meet the two men. Once there, Iron Hand waited for the two men to dismount in order to see what had been obviously bothering them back out on the prairie.
“Indians! We just saw two Indians on horseback from afar watching us as we tended to our horses,” said Adam York, as he continued looking out across the prairie from the semi-seclusion of their evening camp hidden away in the cottonwoods. For the longest time the heavily armed men watched over the York brothers’ back trail looking for what had alarmed them. After a while and not seeing any sign of the Indians following them, the men relaxed their guard a bit but not too much.
Come nightfall and aware of the Plains Indians’ hesitation and beliefs in not attacking once darkness descended upon the land, the men relaxed even further. Iron Hand, with his Hawken lying close at hand, continued with his preparations in making the evening meal, as the rest of the trappers hobbled all of their horses and tied them to a long lead rope, so they would not wander off during the night or be easily spooked off if they were disturbed by Indians or a meat-eating critter with an affinity for horseflesh.
After supper and when the men were sitting around their campfire drinking coffee or smoking their pipes, Iron Hand took the moment to share with them some of his historical knowledge from his military days regarding the local Indians in whose country they currently were camping. Pulling up a saddle to be used as a chair by the fire, Iron Hand began with what he knew about the local Indians whose territory they were now traveling through and needed to be aware of their hostile tendencies.
“Men, as all of you know, we are now traveling through the territory of the dreaded Arikara Indians or as they are also known, the Sahnish. A number of years back, the U.S. Government began a program of bringing a number of tribal leaders from many of the Plains Indian Tribes back to the eastern United States. This was done in an effort to familiarize those Indians, many from warring nations with the white man, with just how powerful the United States was, as well as how powerful the Great White Father in Washington truly is,” started Iron Hand.
“One of the chiefs brought back to the eastern United States was Chief Ankedoucharo of the Arikara Nation. If I remember my military history correctly, he was a very popular and much-loved chief by all of his people. Well, as hell would have it, that chief died shortly thereafter of unknown causes in Washington, D.C. My guess is the chief got sick and died because of some white man’s disease that he picked up and had no immunity against, or for eating some of the white man’s contaminated food. Well as usual, the powers to be in Washington, fearing what the rest of the Arikara Indians would say about the untimely death of their much-beloved chief, didn’t bother telling that nation of Indians about the death of their great chief until about a year after he had died. That stupidity really upset the entire Arikara Nation and they have been at war with the white race since 1823, and I would imagine that state of war will continue until they are all killed off or are so decimated from the white man’s numerous diseases, that they no longer are capable of being a threat to the travelers in this area of the country,” quietly advised Iron Hand.
(Author’s Note: The Arikara Nation, as a result of the untimely death of their great chief Ankedoucharo, remained in a state of war with all white men from 1823 until as late as 1863. However, from 1836-37, that tribe was stricken and decimated by the third epidemic of smallpox at their village below the Knife River in current day North Dakota near old Fort Clark. Today the remnants of that nation of Indians share a reservation with two other smaller tribes of Indians, also previously decimated by the white man’s numerous diseases. Early on those three tribes, because of their reduced numbers, affiliated with each other in order to hold off the numerous depredations from the more powerful and adjacent bands of Indians from the Sioux Nation.)
“So, as a matter of course, as long as we are traveling through the lands of the Arikara, I suggest we double up in everything we do and that means riding ‘drag’ on our pack strings, to those who remain awake all night guarding our camp and the horse herd,” once again quietly advised Iron Hand.
A thoughtful murmured agreement followed from all the men sitting around their campfire that evening and Adam York and Jim Tweedle drew the first all-night camp and horse herd-guarding assignments, especially after observing several Indians earlier that afternoon watching on. With that, the tired and saddle-sore men retired to their sleeping furs and braved the clouds of ever-present mosquitoes throughout the night. However, before retiring for the night, Iron Hand, alerted by the stirring of his ‘sixth sense’ took White Eagle off to one side and provided him with his very own pistol, which had been previously loaded with buck and ball since he was still learning how to shoot and shoot accurately.
“Son, you and I have been practicing loading and shooting ever since we arrived at Fort Union some time back. I want you to start carrying a pistol from now on, especially when we are in the land of the Arikara. You being from the great Sioux Nation automatically makes you an enemy of the Arikara Nation, and they will kill you just as surely as they will kill any of us if they get the chance. However, as you well know, this is a single shot pistol. You will only have one shot and if you need it to defend yourself, you must make your one shot really count. I have taught you over these last weeks on how to shoot and load and you have done very well. But just remember, you only have one shot and then you will be at the mercy of who you just shot at if you don’t kill him. So aim to kill if you have to use this pistol by shooting at your adversary’s largest body part. Also remember what I have said when it comes to shooting, ‘aim small, miss small’,” advised a very serious Iron Hand.
The look in White Eagle’s eyes said it all when Iron Hand was instructing the young man in the art of survival, and being allowed and required to rather quickly grow up. White Eagle had come to love and trust Iron Hand and when his ‘father’ spoke, he listened. However, that evening as his father was speaking to him, the survival genetics from his people’s 10,000 years of living as a primitive in the wilderness came roaring back to him, and he realized that what he had just been told was for a very serious reason and as such, White Eagle had committed such words from his father to ‘stone’ in his heart and memory banks…
The following morning before daylight, like in other mornings past, Iron Hand and White Eagle rose, started a campfire, made coffee, staked out buffalo steaks on the cooking sticks, and began the process of heating up the Dutch ovens so they could make up a mess of biscuits in short order. The horses were allowed to graze close to camp and when it became time for breakfast, the men needed no further calling to come and partake of the meal at hand. After breakfast, Iron Hand and White Eagle cleaned up their cooking items and then carefully packed their cast-iron cooking gear, as the other six men saddled their riding stock and packed their pack animals.
Finally ready to go, the men formed up in their respective pack strings, including White Eagle and they streamed out from their cottonwood grove and out onto the prairie in the face of an ominous looking red-orange rising sun to the east, portending a serious weather change. Within minutes, the trappers were strung out and heading south, as they picked their ways through the numerous herds of buffalo, elk, prairie wolves and several small herds of bighorn sheep. (Author’s Note: Bighorn sheep were originally found on the plains of North America. That was until they were quickly shot out for their fine tanned skins and great eating flesh. They have since, as a species, continued to live in the rugged mountains of North America, Mexico and Canada.) That morning was cloudless, a warming and soft breeze was blowing from out of the northwest, the air was still summer warm, and it was good to be in the saddle once again and heading towards their final destination of St. Louis.
Come around three in the a
fternoon, dark black and bluish-colored clouds had been forming in the northwestern skies and as they did, the men being frontier weather-wise, grew uneasy over what they were observing. Summer thunderstorms while out on the prairie could be extremely dangerous for anyone afoot or on horseback. As the men watched the dark forming clouds billowing upwards, they continued their southward migration hoping for the best come the rest of the afternoon travels. However, soon the summer heat began dissipating and now a cooler wind began blowing out from the northwest, as the low-hanging and now obvious storm clouds were ominously gathering and heading their way.
Iron Hand, riding drag with Alexander York, began having his ‘sixth sense’ warnings once again as he continued along and finally after another long look at what was forming in the northwestern skies, rode forward with his string of pack animals until he met up with Robert Caster who was in the lead that day with his pack strings.
“Robert, what say we turn our pack strings towards that large grove of trees along the Missouri River and seek shelter there before this storm is upon us? I have heard a few way-far-off rumblings coming from that direction and I think we are in for a darn good and dangerous summer thunderstorm if we aren’t careful,” said Iron Hand.
“I think that is a damn good idea. I too have been watching those storm clouds building up for the last hour or so and I also think we best seek shelter while we can,” replied Caster, as he continued looking to the northwest and the oncoming gathering storm.
Standing up in his stirrups, Caster waved back at the trailing riders getting their attention and then pointed towards the grove of trees along the river to their west. Then sitting back down in his saddle, Caster and Iron Hand turned their pack strings and headed for the cover the cottonwood trees along the river would offer them in the face of the oncoming storm and the usual heavy rains that accompanied such a potential violent event.
Minutes later, the entire string of trappers, their fur packs and provisions were under the covering cottonwoods. There the men hurriedly unloaded all their packs and stacked them in a central pile. Once stacked, several buffalo hides were placed over the packs for their protection in the face of the soon to be expected heavy summer rains. Then while four of the men double hobbled all of their horses, the remaining men strung several ropes between numerous close at hand cottonwoods and constructed their sheltering lean-tos. As they did, Iron Hand and White Eagle gathered up numerous dry limbs from beneath the trees and stacked them near a soon-to-be firepit. As they did, the men now noticed the cottonwoods beginning to lean away from the winds of the fast bearing down upon them storm as it began moving over their hastily erected sheltering encampment. Dragging in their saddles and sleeping furs, the men hurriedly placed them under the covering lean-tos as well. Then all the men made sure all their horses were lead-rope tied to the trees so they would not be frightened off from the overhead noises generated by the now hurtling down upon them, violent summer thunderstorm.
As the winds coming out from the northwest began increasing, dust, falling leaves and cottonwood ‘drift’ began flying through the air as did numerous large and cold drops of rain. Soon the loud rumbling of thunder and ominous cracks of lightning could be heard all around the trappers’ encampment. About then across the prairie to the west, the men could see an onrushing darkness that ran from the clouds clear down to the ground, announcing that a heavy wall of rain was soon to be upon them in all of its fury! With that, the men ducked under their lean-tos and not a minute too soon, as the rains now came down with a battering vengeance!
As the rains came down, the thunder rumbled and the bolts of lightning sizzled through the sky, as the men huddled under the cover of their lean-tos and watched as Mother Nature did what she did best with one of her violent summer thunderstorms spawned out on the prairie. Then ‘thunder’ of another type was heard by the men as herd after herd of frightened buffalo, spooked by the close at hand strikes of lightning, made themselves known in the close presence of the heretofore adjacent peacefully resting and feeding animals. Moments later, ‘brown thundering carpets’ of heaving up and down in their familiar running-gait, stampeding buffalo added to the din, until one could hardly hear himself think or even talk in a normal tone of voice.
Like in many Northern Plains weather events of such magnitude, they soon lessened in their intensity and moved on to ‘other battlefields’ and once again did what ‘they’ did best. As for the group of trappers, they soon crawled out from under their lean-tos and looked all around them in amazement and surprise. Tree limbs and cottonwood leaves by the inches deep were strewn about their encampment. Their horses all had their ears up and were snorting and moving around at the end of their ropes nervously, as the ‘buffalo-thunder’ had now also moved off into the vastness of the plains, soon to be lost to sight and sound.
Removing an armload of dry wood from under his lean-to, Iron Hand made for an area previously cleared off for the location of his firepit and soon had a warming fire crackling away in the now cool and damp evening air. As Iron Hand and White Eagle tended to their camp duties, the rest of the men gathered up their rifles, ever mindful of the Indians in the area, released their hobbled horses and escorted them out onto the plains so they could graze until suppertime.
About an hour later, Iron Hand, with his supper ready to be eaten, sent White Eagle out onto the prairie on foot to gather in the men and horses. Once the men and the horses had returned, Iron Hand had the coffee in a rolling boil, the last of their buffalo meat almost cooked over stakes and two Dutch ovens ready and full of biscuits ready to eat. Within minutes after their arrival, every man around the campfire was busy making sure his ‘little guts weren’t being eaten by the big ones’ because of the lack of plentiful ‘grits’ of which they were partaking.
After supper and while Iron Hand and White Eagle cleaned up their cookware, several of the men gathered up a huge supply of limb wood so they could keep a fire going all night in light of the possible Indian menace in the area. Since the men had not worked a full day and were not overly tired, they now had more time that evening to sit around the campfire, smoke their pipes and talk over the day’s events and the many adventure memories dredged up from their storied pasts as trappers on the frontier. Finally, the men drifted off to their lean-tos in ones and twos to get some sleep because tomorrow would be another long day on the trail, as the two designated night guards hunkered down for the long night at hand of guarding the horse herd and the rest of the encampment.
Way before dawn the next morning, Iron Hand and White Eagle were up and now had a roaring fire going to ward off the night’s chill and damp air. The two men who had been up all night were now in their sleeping furs trying to grab a few minutes of sleep since Iron Hand and White Eagle were now up and could watch the camp and their horse herd. About an hour later, the false dawn could be seen in the east and the smell of Iron Hand’s baking biscuits and coffee pervaded the air around the trappers’ campsite. However, there was no great smell of cooking buffalo meat because the men had not had the chance to go out and kill another cow the evening before because of the oncoming fierce summer storm. The men would just have to make do with a load of strong coffee and a huge mess of Dutch oven biscuits to tide them over for the day.
“HIYIYIYIYI!” yelled an Arikara Indian, as he rode his horse right into the trappers’ camp at full gallop and bailed off his horse right on top of Iron Hand from behind, slamming him violently onto the ground! “ZZZIIPPPP—THUNK” went an arrow into the side of a tree just as White Eagle stepped past it carrying another load of firewood, missing him by just mere inches! More yelling Indians followed as they galloped their horses right into the trappers’ camp, all the while trying to stampede off the trappers’ saddle and packhorses as well! The next Indian leading the charge of Indians galloping at full speed into the camp on his horse tried riding over the top of White Eagle!
“BOOOM!” went White Eagle’s pistol, blowing that Indian clean off his horse and causing him to
fall right into the blazing campfire! That was when Iron Hand roared up from off the ground after killing his assailant who had jumped onto his back from off his racing horse and in the process, had died for his efforts. That Indian attacker’s awkwardly twisted head off to one side of his neck, told the story of the strength of Iron Hand when his full fury was aroused in a life or death battle! Iron Hand then grabbed his always handy rifle by the fire, swung it towards the group of oncoming racing Indians on their horses and blew the lead Indian clean off his horse. When he shot that lead Indian, the bullet from his Hawken had gone clear through his chest at such close range, that it exited his body and had slammed into the second hard-charging Indian in line, killing him outright as well!
By now, the trappers’ camp was in a frenzy of hard-charging horseflesh, yelling humanity, flying bullets, trappers’ horses going crazy over all the fury of battle and breaking their tie lines and stampeding off, curls of black powder smoke rolling across the campsite from all angles, violently falling Indians smashing onto the ground, flying tomahawks and pieces of body tissue being blown off its owners as the huge .50 and .54 caliber slugs from the trappers’ rifles did what they were meant to do!
The first of the trappers to fall was Robert Caster with a lance from an Indian on horseback, who surprised him just as he emerged from his lean-to, driving it clear through his body! That Indian killing Robert Caster was almost the next one to die. Caster was lanced clear through his body by an Indian who had a huge knife or tomahawk scar running from his left forehead, diagonally across his nose and across his right cheek, who ducked just in time as Iron Hand, swinging the ax used to chop firewood, missed him completely. Dropping the ax and grabbing a pistol from his belt-sash, Iron Hand swung the barrel in the direction of the speeding Indian trying to make his escape. Just as Iron Hand pulled the trigger on his pistol, the Indian laid his torso down across his horse’s neck to present a reduced target and Iron Hand’s killing shot missed the Indian lying over his horse’s neck and struck the racing horse in the back of its head! Down went the horse, throwing the Indian onto the ground in a flying cloud of dirt and debris! However in an instant, that Indian jumped up running and disappeared into the pre-dawn darkness surrounding the trees, never to be seen in the remainder of the fight! However, months later, Iron Hand would cross trails with that same heavily scarred Indian and that time, he would not just kill the man’s horse…