by Terry Grosz
Ben must have realized the wisdom of Jacob’s words. He just went limp and hung onto the saddle. Then he let his extreme rage and frustration register in his fiercely glaring eyes.
Jacob returned to the fire and shared with Martin, Leo and Jeremiah the words spoken by Ben about what happened to Singing Bird. In unison, all three men rose as if to make ready to leave and take care of four varmints that needed killing.
Jacob sensed the seriousness at hand and the need for cooler thinking. He said, “We will go into the main camp in the morning when we can see and be seen. Singing Bird will go with us and point out the culprits. Then, we will kill them. But I don’t want to do so until Singing Bird has had her say. Then, I want to make sure all the other trappers are aware of what those four did. If we do it that way, we will have to shoot fast or the rest of the trappers in camp will take care of our snake killing business for us. Now let’s make ready with our gear for the morrow, because we are going to need it for the serious business at hand.”
The next morning found Singing Bird dressed up in one of her finest bighorn sheepskin dresses, one decorated beautifully with dozens of elk ivories and red and blue beadwork. Her long black hair was freshly washed, brushed back and glistened fairly in the sun. On her face, she wore a determined but noble Indian look. She was beautiful.
As she rode into the trappers’ main camp with an examining and searching look on her face, every head turned to observe her riding gracefully. Behind her rode five heavily armed trappers with sullen looks in their eyes that needed no explanation. A confrontation was in the offing. Many of the trappers had sensed a deadly purpose for this armed display, and soon formed in behind the five men as they rode their horses slowly through camp behind the beautiful Indian woman.
Then all of a sudden, Singing Bird stopped. As she sat there in her saddle, her flashing dark eyes leveled a gaze towards a small camp of men.
The four men whom Singing Bird stopped in front of put down the breakfast they were eating, slowly rose from their campfire and faced her. Every one of them never took their eyes off her, nor she them. Their eyes showed a recognition of lustful times with Singing Bird and hers, a dark-eyed deadliness from a time past not to ever be repeated.
Those trappers who had followed the mounted men pushed in around Jacob and his horsemen to look on the scene before them with questioning looks among themselves.
“That squaw for sale?” mouthed a tall trapper among the suspect four, sporting a necklace with a brightly beaded shell disc resting in the center of his chest.
Boom went Ben’s Hawken with an unexpected roar and white cloud of smoke. His .54-caliber soft lead bullet flew true to its mark, striking the shell disc dead center in the trapper’s chest, blowing the ornament to pieces, not to mention destroying the man’s heart and lungs behind it. The impact of the heavy lead bullet at such close range flung the man backwards ten feet like a rag doll, crumpling him into their roaring breakfast fire. He was dead before he hit the coals in the fire pit.
The quickness of the shooting and the violence of the bullet as it tore through the man’s chest momentarily froze everyone looking on. The remaining three accused trappers quickly scrambled for their weapons, which lay on a log behind them. As for the horde of trappers innocently looking on just moments before, they found themselves scattering like a covey of disturbed sage grouse.
Boom-boom-boom-boom-pow went the almost simultaneous explosions from four Hawkens and Ben’s .69-caliber horse pistol. The three remaining trappers, center of Singing Bird’s rapt attention, spun violently around from the bullets’ impacts, falling into a lifeless pile.
Jacob, Martin and the boys quickly drew their remaining unfired pistols. They and Ben whirled their horses around to confront the amazed trappers who started demanding what the hell had brought on such a deadly confrontation and finality of events. Holding up his hand for attention, Jacob got the silence of the multitude as well as those rushing from nearby camps to the scene with rifles at the ready.
“Yesterday, these four men rode into our camp and asked to be fed. Our squaw here commenced feeding them, whereupon they descended upon her. Then pinning her to the ground in her tepee, they ravaged her body. Not only once, but many times. When they finished they beat her in such a manner as to make her reluctant to tell anyone what had happened. Last night when we returned to our camp, it was obvious she had been brutally attacked. Today I asked her to identify the men who defiled her so we could kill them. That we have done. If anyone feels we were wrong and wishes to continue this fight on behalf of those four dead men, let them so speak. But I am here to tell you, no squaw deserves to be treated in such a manner,” spoke Jacob. He maintained a tight set of lips, highlighted by narrowed, angry blazing eyes.
The only sound heard in reply to Jacob’s words was that of a western meadowlark singing from the top of a nearby tepee pole, happy that all the noise from the shooting below had abated. Then there was some low talk among the trappers relative to Jacob’s statements. Slowly at first and then in mass, the trappers walked away from the bloody scene satisfied that justice had been done, as the one dead trapper continued smoldering away in the fire pit stinking up the clean, crisp mountain air.
Besides, there was free whiskey to drink at many of the company trading sites and to tarry there at the killin’ ground would not fill their cups with the free fiery liquid.
Ben dismounted from his horse and with a singular determination, gathered up the dead men’s rifles, knives, beaver traps, tomahawks, pelts, hatchets and possibles bags. Once he had an armful of such goods, he would hand the items to each man on horseback. Soon, all such wealth from the four dead men was distributed to the men in Jacob’s party. Then he rounded up the dead trappers’ riding horses and pack animals, loaded them up, and tied them together on one long lead rope.
Turning from the deadly scene, the men with Singing Bird rode to the first traders in the area. Ben handed one trader all the gear, beaver plews and horses from the four dead men, then said, “Take these and figure what they be worth in trade. When that is done, give the credit to this woman so she might acquire the trade items she fancies. However, be careful mind you on how you figure out the credit due on this equipment and horses. She is one of us and deserves to be treated like the lady she is and I will stand for nothing less.”
The surprised traders nodded in agreement at Ben’s words as they looked over the dead trappers’ goods and horses. There would be a fair amount of credit due because of the value of this trade and the trader was more than happy to do so. Singing Bird, mindful of the painful feeling in her thighs and the shame she still felt, managed a slight smile at the strength and conviction of her man. There were many things she would want from the traders to help her people decimated by the fight with the Blackfoot. And now she would have them, although a high price had been extracted from all sides in order to do so.
Meanwhile, the dead trapper still smoldered in the fire pit and the ever-present magpies and crows had discovered the remaining lifeless three and were investigating their potential for breakfast.
Just then, a trapper raced into camp on a lathered-up horse. He yelled “Injuns! Injuns! Hundreds of them! Blackfoot by the hundreds and coming this way!”
In the next few seconds, the entire camp was in an uproar. The rider gave directions along with the information that the Blackfoot had just been forced to ground in a dense stand of timber and downfall by some other trappers and he had been sent for more help. Jacob sat there as hundreds of trappers and Indians sprinted for their rifles and horses. Just as fast as they could arm themselves and mount their steeds, they were off in a cloud of flying clods of dirt from their horses’ hooves towards the battle site. Jacob watched them go.
“Are we going?” asked an excited Leo barely able to contain himself.
Jacob just sat there thinking life was tough enough on the frontier without going and looking for trouble. But he also had to smile at Leo. He was becoming a savage fighte
r like his brother and not scared to try his hand at anything.
Then Jeremiah chimed in not wanting to be left out from the action. “Are we going to give them a hand? After all, they are Blackfoot and we still owe them some for what they did to Singing Bird’s band awhile back.”
Jacob looked over at Ben and Martin. Both had heard the questions and were now reloading their Hawkens after the shooting at the dead trappers’ camp.
“No, we aren’t going looking for trouble. The way I figure, it will find us soon enough. I say let’s return to camp and load our horses with the pelts. Then let’s return since most of the traders now have little to do because everyone else has run off to fight the Indians. That way, we can get our trading done with a minimum of squabbling and fuss.”
With that, he turned to look at Martin and Ben for approval. They both grinned. Neither liked killing Indians unless they had to and, this was not one of those “had to’s.”
Leo and Jeremiah, ever mindful of Jacob’s wisdom and leadership, settled for his response to their questions and without further ado, they all rode back to camp to load up their furs. However on the ride back, Jacob thought about the two boys rapidly developing into men. They had turned out to be excellent Mountain Men. Hardy, not foolish, wise in their youth and ways, yet possessing of an inner streak like that of a maddened grizzly, a streak that bode an end to one’s life if the boys were crossed or hurt was brought to their loved ones.
The mass of Mountain Men from the rendezvous were clearly engaged in a stiff battle. As Jacob and company stayed in camp and did business with the traders, combatants would return from the battle, wounded, or in need of powder, shot, or just plain thirsty for whiskey, and they would relay the latest news of the fight.
Once the battle had been joined, the Gros Ventre Indians— not the Blackfoot as had been originally announced—dug in behind timbered downfalls and defended themselves fairly well. A few Gros Ventre were killed, as were some trappers and friendly Indians. Then the Gros Ventre managed to sneak off in the dead of night after a few days of battle without the trappers being aware of their retreat. That ended the big Indian fight in Pierre’s Hole in 1832. But a great time had been had by all, except for the cornered Gros Ventre and the four trappers who foolishly had their way with Singing Bird.
Jacob and company did right proud in their trades with the various fur companies at the rendezvous, as well as they could anyway considering “this was the only game in town.” They didn’t get rich in the trades but managed to procure the needed materials allowing for at least another year in their beloved backcountry where they were still “kings with a kingdom yet to explore.”
Then, Jacob and Martin were floored by a proposal forwarded by Ben as they all sat around the family cooking fire the following evening. Even prior to the incident with the four trappers, Ben had not been himself. He had been unusually distant as if wrestling with an issue larger than himself. After the incident with Singing Bird and the four trappers, his “issue” had returned and appeared to be an even bigger burden than before. Jacob and Martin both noticed his personality change and just waited for him to share with them what was sticking in his craw. That was Ben’s way so both men respected him for it and gave him the space he needed.
As they sat around the fire that evening sharing another of Singing Bird’s meals, Ben slowly said, “Singing Bird and I would like to travel with her people when they leave the rendezvous. They are heading east towards Pa-Ha Sapa. Over there, there are many Lakota bands they have associated with in the past and we wish to renew those friendships.”
Ben poked at the fire with a stick, then continued. “Especially now since they are reduced in numbers such as they are. Once there, and her people settled, Singing Bird and I will continue on to the Knife River Villages, near the confluence of the Knife and Missouri Rivers, settle down and make that village our home. I still have many friends there and feel the time has come for me to stop wandering, make my place and raise a family.”
Ben’s eyes swept across the faces of Jacob and Martin. Singing Bird walked up to Ben and put her hand on his shoulder in finality. It was obvious he was her man and she was going with him. Then Ben continued onto another point that really caught Jacob and Martin cold.
“Both boys wish to go with us and remain as members of our immediate family as well,” he said.
The issue of Ben leaving had really caught both Jacob and Martin by surprise. The issue of both young men leaving with them as well, struck an even deeper, more hurtful chord.
Keeping any emotion from his face as he knew Martin was doing, Jacob said. “Ben, both Martin and I always knew you wanted to return to the Knife River Villages, settle down and raise a family. If that is what you want to do, now is a good time. You have all you will need to make your way and your share of the trade goods will last you for several years. Traveling with Singing Bird’s band will also give all of you additional security. Leo and Jeremiah are also becoming very good frontiersmen and their two rifles will be of help as well. And both you and Singing Bird still have the golden ingots from the Utes which will carry all of you for many years.”
Jacob checked a glance at Martin, who nodded, then Jacob added, “If these are your wishes, then Martin and I support you and wish all of you well.”
A glance over at the two boys confirmed, by the looks on their faces, that this was their wish as well. With the issue out and understood by all, the air then became heavy with awkwardness. It seemed no one had much more of interest to say. There was a lot of looking into the burning fire that evening for the answers it held. Those answers were not forthcoming and everyone went quietly to their sleeping areas earlier than usual that evening.
For hours, Jacob laid awake under the clear starlit night amid the constant buzzing of the ever-present mosquitoes. Just when things seem right in life, they always change, he thought. I wonder if this is how my dad and mom felt when they discovered I was leaving. Finally, sleep overtook him, closing his awareness to the world with the lonely howl of a wolf in the distance as a frontier nightcap.
Chapter Twenty
Big Medicine
Jacob and Martin watched Ben, Singing Bird, Leo and Jeremiah ride off with the band of Lakota early the next morning. The four of them stopped almost out of sight on the horizon, turned and waved goodbye once again. Then it was over.
Jacob and Martin spent the rest of the day getting ready to leave the rendezvous: shoeing horses, repairing broken packs, packing all their gear on the packs once they were repaired and saying goodbye to several old trapper friends. Before they completed the day, they had several hefty drinks back in the “lonely” of their camp from the gallon of whiskey they always carried for special occasions. This seemed like just such an occasion in which to draw from it rather deeply, and they did.
The following morning before daylight, the two men made ready to leave their camp in Pierre’s Hole forever. Word at the rendezvous from the traders was that Captain Bonneville was en route to the Green River Valley at that very moment to eventually locate near Horse Creek for the 1833 Rendezvous. His route to that area would take him via South Pass. It was rumored that he was bringing over one hundred men, pack animals and at least twenty wagons full of trade goods as he planned an overwinter stay, to be more than ready to trade his goods come the following July.
Like many trappers, Jacob and Martin did not know the exact location where Captain Bonneville would set up the rendezvous on Horse Creek. But like the other Mountain Men, they knew the general lay of the land in the Green River Valley which was south of their present camp. Once there, it was just a matter of talking to the local Indians or other trappers as to the rendezvous site. Failing that, a bit of hard riding in the general area would allow them to locate the trader’s rendezvous grounds. Even with the land almost empty of civilization, the West still had its own set of “ears” and “eyes” for one to hear and see. One just had to know where to look and how to listen.
Jacob and
Martin began their trek for new and unknown beaver country to their south, following the many Indian pony and travois trails leading from the rendezvous. Both men liked the solitude of the West and figured they would search out their next trapping area based on the number of beaver sign and the lack of their fellow man. They retraced their previous steps and journeyed up over the Teton Pass and dropped back into Jackson Hole.
Mindful of the hated Blackfoot and chance encounters with Ephraim, they remained vigilant throughout the evening at their first camp. Early the next morning, they passed over Togwatee Pass as the sun rose over the mountains. The Grand Tetons bade them farewell as the morning sun’s rays warmed their faces and the joys of the wilderness and all its grandeur greeted their eyes.
The next several days found them still heading south through the Wind River Range. From there they continued southeast through the Green Mountains. The high plateau country they crossed after leaving the Wind River Range was sparse of not only water but the beaver they sought as well. And any old beaver concentration areas they did discover had been heavily trapped previously.
They continued their trek southwest, following the Continental Divide and her waterways, still looking for sign of extensive beaver concentrations. These sought-after concentrations were not discovered until they entered a vast, wide valley crossed with numerous rivers, streams and beaver concentrations along the many willow-covered creek banks. They decided to make camp. From there, they would trap the abundant watersheds with their many promising tributaries.
They set their camp near a small cold spring in the heavy lodgepole pine dark timber. They first built a stout pole-corral for their horses. Then as Martin built a lean-to for sleeping, Jacob moved off into the timber and began cutting trees for their cabin. Soon Martin joined him and a week later, their winter cabin had been assembled. However, the structure was not anywhere near as grand as had been their previous cabin, a cabin that had been built with many more willing hands and grand ideas. Their current cabin however would provide cover and warmth from the coming winter’s storms and was secluded enough to warrant little attention from the roving bands of resident Northern Arapaho Indians. A larger lean-to was built on the west end of the cabin for outside storage and their winter camp was complete.