by Terry Grosz
Jacob grabbed Martin’s arm and rose on wobbly legs with a loudly ringing head—a reminder of the battle. Martin escorted him over to a downed tree, where he gratefully sat down. Jacob then witnessed a scene that only could occur in Hell or on the frontier: scalping, mutilation, and the removal of body parts and throwing of them into the fire by the Snakes. That was followed by removal of trigger fingers and eyes so the dead could not see who killed them. The desecration completely filled his still blurry vision.
Then along with the revelry at having killed so many of the hated enemy without a loss of life on their side, the Snakes moved to the Gros Ventre horse herd and divided up the spoils of battle. In the process, they discovered that two Gros Ventre had gotten away because there had been twenty riding horses in the herd and only eighteen Indians were dead on the battle site.
Two survivors got away. They’ll return to their tribe and perhaps form another larger war party to return for revenge, thought a now grim-faced Jacob.
Come daylight, Martin grabbed his bow and arrows and quietly disappeared into the woods. Jacob and five Snake Indians awaited his return—which occurred around four that afternoon. Martin’s grim face told the group he had not been totally successful. He had caught and killed one of the raiding party but the remaining Indian had fled the scene and had hidden his tracks by walking and swimming upstream in the area’s many creeks and beaver ponds until he escaped.
Not a good thing, thought Jacob. Escaping Indians have a nasty habit of returning at a later date with another war party, blood in their eyes and revenge in their hearts.
The men left the Gros Ventre dead scattered about for the varmints, the ultimate disgrace for an Indian. The Snakes went back to their camp for a big victory celebration, and Jacob and Martin went to check and reset their remaining traps. The rest of that day and into the evening Martin did the checking, emptying and resetting of all their traps. Jacob and his still ringing, aching head was content to sit on his horse, hoping it wouldn’t move too fast or start bucking.
Back at camp, Martin helped Jacob off his horse and into White Fawn’s worried care. After she dressed the wound, they retired to their bedroll. She had dressed his wound well, but he was still in a great deal of pain. Come the next morning, however, Jacob felt a little better. He couldn’t move too fast, but he felt good enough to eat some breakfast.
Martin left by himself later that morning to check and reset their traps. To leave dead beaver in their traps would do nothing but advertise to the Indian world the trappers’ presence. It would also provide beaver meals for the always-hungry wolves and bears. This would result in many lost, irreplaceable traps as well, if they weren’t careful.
Mumbling for the rest of that day, Jacob worried himself sick over his friend being out in the wilds alone. For years, his trusted friend had always been at his side. It made him agitated not to be at Martin’s side as well.
Months later, winter was upon them in its full fury, and Jacob’s head had long since cleared and healed. Aside from another long scar added to his body, he was fit as a fiddle. They had experienced another very successful fall trapping season and were now looking forward to the spring trapping in 1835 as well. However, they were always mindful of the Gros Ventre warrior who had gotten away during the fight. Would he come back leading others to avenge their earlier losses or had he died in the wilds attempting to return home? Those thoughts of a vengeful returning warrior and his friends were always on the two men’s minds.
The one thing in their favor was the lateness of the season. Indians usually holed up come winter and did not like to travel because of its inherent difficulty and poor horse food. Usually. But come spring, that could be a horse of a different color.
Early one morning in late January of 1835, White Fawn woke Jacob up.
“It’s the baby’s time,” she said with a grimace of pain. “Go get Running Fast to help me,” she continued through clenched teeth. With that Jacob was out of the sleeping skins, dressed and out the door in a heartbeat.
Knocking loudly on Martin’s cabin door, Jacob yelled, “Martin, I need Running Fast! White Fawn says it is time and I need your wife to help.”
A rustling came from within and soon the cabin door was flung open. Martin stood there stark naked with a pistol at the ready and still half asleep. Seeing it was his friend and no one else, he told Running Fast, “Hurry, White Fawn needs you.” Moments later Running Fast, heavy with child herself but still true to her name, ran by the two men and entered Jacob’s cabin. For the next two hours, Jacob and a now-dressed Martin waited outside in the cold morning air by the roaring campfire. Then Jacob’s cabin door opened and Running Fast came out holding something small in a tanned river otter pelt. Jacob went to her looking for any sign as to what was happening. Running Fast smiled and then removed the flap of otter skin covering the baby’s face. Like all newborn babies, it was pink, wrinkly and ugly. But it was alive, appeared to be healthy and—
It’s a boy!
Then, realizing there was another partner to this birthing team, Jacob bolted into the cabin and to his wife’s side. She was smiling a tired but happy look. “You have a son,” she said. “A son who will follow you in whatever you do for the rest of your life.”
Ignoring his wife’s comments Jacob asked, “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” smiled White Fawn, “but it will be a while before you and I can lie together again. Your new son was very large and I tore a lot. But, it will be alright in time.”
Running Fast brought the baby back into the cabin along with Martin. Martin built a fire in the fireplace and soon the cabin began to warm.
“What will you call the baby?” asked Martin.
Turning to White Fawn, Jacob asked what would she think if he named the baby “Jacob?”
White Fawn smiled and said, “That was the name I had picked out for him. After his brave and strong father.” They both smiled as the younger Jacob started fussing and was returned to his mother’s breast.
* * *
Thirteen days later, Jacob heard a knock at his door late in the evening. It was Martin needing the services of White Fawn in the birthing process for his child. Within minutes of her arrival at Running Fast’s side, Martin was a father. He, too, had a fine son and Running Fast was well from an easy birthing process, even though it was her first. She was sitting up and the baby was trying to nurse when Martin entered. Looking the child over, he then turned his attention to his wife. He was soon satisfied that she was alright and asked to hold the baby. Holding it for the first time, he smiled a large smile, even through the scar on his face caused by the Crow warrior during the battle on the Big Sandy. Then it struck him. The baby needed a name.
Looking over at his wife, Martin said, “What shall we name our son?”
“How about Martin?” she quickly replied.
Martin thought for a moment and then said, “Martin it shall be.”
Looking over at Jacob and White Fawn, Martin saw a proud and pleased Jacob smiling through all his facial scars as well. Yes, “Martin” he would be.
The boys grew rapidly with the help of each of their mother’s rich milk and care. Neither were very vocal but quiet like their dads and alert to every movement around them. They cried little and had appetites like the largest horse in the herd. With the new additions and the healthy mothers, 1835 was the start of another very good year.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Crossed Arrows
The two men were raring to go come the 1835 spring trapping season. The ice was out and the fear from the Blackfoot and Gros Ventre but a vague memory as the men now not only had a family but a new purpose in life. They had to protect and care for their new families and the best way they knew to do that was through successful trapping, and trap successfully they did. Day after day, the beaver and other animals trapped came back into camp hanging from the packhorses in plentiful numbers. Before long, they had more beaver plews than the year before and still they had some time
to trap before the critters went out of prime. The trapping of foxes, lynx, wolves and coyotes had also been great, as had the trading throughout the winter with the Snakes for their fine quality buffalo, elk and deer hides.
Both men, however, being of “the soil” and understanding “The Way,” began to be bothered with strange thoughts of the days and moments before them. Something unknown from the “spirit world” seemed to almost preoccupy their everyday thoughts and activities. Yet, neither man could put his thoughts to rest with any kind of satisfactory answers. Both men continued to discuss those most unusual feelings—almost premonitions— but after a time with little to validate those fleeting concerns, they soon were dismissed.
The feelings, in time, were quickly forgotten until one spring day; while out trapping, the two men crossed the trail of another large herd of unshod Indian ponies. Jacob and Martin crossed the tracks and then followed them for a short distance until dread in their hearts drew them up short.
“Our families!” Martin said to Jacob as he spurred his horse to a full gallop. Jacob followed, a heartbeat behind.
They quickly raced back to their cabins. Fortunately, the band of unidentified Indians had missed their trapper camp and had proceeded north towards the encampment of the friendly band of Snakes to which White Fawn and Running Fast belonged.
Jacob and Martin dropped off their beaver and pack animals at their cabins and retrieved their extra Hawkens. Then they made sure the women were safely in one cabin with the children and armed to the teeth.
With that, off they rode towards their Snake Indian friends. About one mile from their camp, one could hear light shooting in the distant winds that forever blew in their valley. They spurred on their horses to a faster but still safe clip and approached the Snake Indian camp with trepidation. As they rose over a small line of ridges, the two men discovered the horse herd that had made the tracks they had followed. Martin raised his hand and both stopped behind a thick stand of timber and deadfalls. Below them were three Indian teenagers left to guard the horses. All three of the boys were more interested in the ongoing battle to the front than to their backsides and, as such, were not aware of the arrival of danger.
The raiders were the dreaded Gros Ventre who were way south of their normal territory once again. Martin quietly slipped off his horse, took his bow and arrows and disappeared into the timber at a trot.
Jacob, on the other hand, grabbed all their Hawkens and moved silently towards the three Indians guarding the horses from the opposite side. Jacob crawled in behind another deadfall of downed pine trees, and unlimbered three rifles. He cocked their hammers and made ready. He then sighted in on the Indian furthest away from where Martin was sneaking, and he waited. The closest horse guard was intently looking over a small hill at the battle in the village below. He never saw Martin tomahawk him from —Martin’s stealthy arrival even surprised Jacob. Martin then disappeared into the timber and the second Indian soon fell prey to an arrow in the eye.
The third Indian heard the commotion as his pal went through the throes of dying, but he still caught the next arrow—partially deflected by a tree limb—in the belly. Screaming in pain, the Gros Ventre hobbled over the hill to warn his fellow raiders below, and warn them he did.
Soon the Gros Ventre, unnerved at what was going on behind them in the location of their horse herd, began scrambling away from the fighting in the village and back up the bank from whence they came. That was all the Snakes needed and they redoubled their fighting efforts. Soon the tide had changed and all the living Gros Ventre were scrambling for their horses with the surviving Snake Indians hot on their heels. The first two Gros Ventre who reached the hilltop by their horses died from Martin’s well placed arrows in their chests. However, now they came on in such numbers, and Jacob knew that Martin could not shoot accurately or fast enough. They soon overran his shooting position and topped the hill.
The first one up caught a .54-caliber ball in the chest and staggered backward into his charging buddies. Jacob then placed a ball in the chest of the second Indian, who dropped like a pole-axed cat.
Five more came over the hill in a group and four made it to the horses. One of the reserve Hawkens had just had a rare misfire. The fifth Indian breathed his last, though, with Jacob’s shot from his last loaded Hawken.
Three more Gros Ventre came over the hill but one was staggering with an arrow in his throat, shot by the ever accurate Martin. Before Jacob could reload, six of the Gros Ventre mounted their horses and rode off into the forest rapidly. Within moments, the Gros Ventre’s horse herd area swarmed with angry Snakes, but not before Martin tomahawked the gut-shot Gros Ventre with the big mouth who had sounded the alarm when the trappers had attacked.
Apparently, the battle had just been joined when the two trappers arrived. The gut-shot Gros Ventre had alerted his fellows to the danger from behind and that broke the back of the surprise attack.
Soon there was great celebrating as well as wailing coming from the Snake village. They had lost three men and one woman to the raiders. But from the litter of Gros Ventre bodies everywhere, the Snake were not caught completely napping this time. Not like the time before when the trappers had saved the lives of their future wives as they bathed in the creek.
Jacob and Martin hurriedly dismissed themselves from the celebrating, aware there were still six Gros Ventre on the loose. The last time they were seen, they were heading in the general direction of their cabins. They reloaded the Hawkens on the run, mounted their horses and sped for their cabins while the Snakes went crazy over the bodies and horses of their recently killed foes.
They stopped a hundred yards out and commenced sneaking on foot towards their cabins to make sure it was Gros Ventre-free. But just as they got to the area of the cabins, they saw the six remaining Indians openly charge Jacob’s cabin, hoping to overrun the surprised inhabitants. White black-powder smoke rolled out from the cabin from two shooting ports and two Indians staggered and fell to the ground clutching their chests. The women had not been taken by surprise.
The remaining four Gros Ventre split up, with two running to each side of the cabin. There they began shooting into the cabin through the shooting ports with their rifles, bows and arrows.
Jacob and Martin ran to the cabin as fast as they could in a crazed state of mind. Their families were inside and there was danger on the outside!
Jacob and Martin instinctively separated and each took a side of the cabin. Jacob ran headfirst into an Indian trying to hurriedly reload his rifle. Jacob clubbed him so hard with his tomahawk that his head came clear off with the blow. For a moment, the Indian’s body remained standing still holding his rifle. Then it quickly folded to the earth.
In the meantime, the second Indian, having seen Jacob’s charge, hurriedly notched an arrow and let it loose at his new assailant. The hastily shot arrow missed—but Jacob didn’t. Jacob’s knife had plunged to the hilt in the Gros Ventre’s guts. Not even slowing down, Jacob ran around the cabin hoping the women would not shoot him by mistake and in the process, charged right into Martin doing the same thing from his side of the cabin. Both men crumpled into a heap reaching for their weapons before they realized who they had run into.
The two trappers jumped up and yelled to the cabin’s occupants. The front door flung open and standing there with the fowling piece at the ready was White Fawn. Inside one could hear the two babies howling at the top of their lungs over the noise of battle but sounding like they were unscathed. Running Fast stood by the two babies with her pistol in case someone overran White Fawn at the door. Sticking from the side of her right thigh was a Gros Ventre arrow that had been shot through a shooting port but, other than that deep flesh wound, all was well. Jacob and Martin simultaneously let loose a whoop of joy. It took many more minutes for their hearts to return to normal than it did for their efforts in finishing the battle.
After Jacob told White Fawn that her village was safe, she took over and removed Running Fast’s arro
w by cutting off the shaft and pushing it through the rest of the leg. Then she treated the wound and bound it with a clean bandage of cloth from her prized bolt of red calico.
* * *
Scouting out the area, the two men became satisfied there were no more Gros Ventre in the vicinity. In the search, they discovered the six Indians’ horses tied up in a clump of willows. They soon became additions to the trappers’ horses in the corral. Taking their riding horses, they roped together the dead Indians and hauled their bodies to the far end of their meadow. For the next two nights, the wolves and a nearby black bear made meat.
Jacob and Martin sat down one evening shortly afterwards by the campfire. Beside each man was a cup of whiskey to help kill the pain of old war wounds.
Jacob chewed on his pipe. “You know, Martin, these incursions into our trapping area by Blackfoot and Gros Ventre, they’re getting to be almost a bit regular. I’d never have figured they would stray so far south of their home range. And with such regularity.”
“I do not mind fighting them, but it’s our families I worry about,” Martin added.
Jacob chewed on his pipe some more. “The trapping here has never been better. We have the Snake Indians nearby, and they’ve proven to be good friends and allies. The buffalo is close at hand, and certainly in large herds.”
Martin nodded, and Jacob continued to ruminate on the valley’s cornucopia of blessings. “The meadow is belly-deep in rich mountain grasses, and the water is as sweet as anything I’ve ever tasted. Isn’t this our home?”
“You are right, my friend. It would be hard to leave under any circumstances.”