by Terry Grosz
Just about then, Warren Ferris stepped up to Griz and, taking him by the arm, walked him off from the other trappers a bit so they could talk privately. Warren and Griz went back a-ways as trappers and had been friends for several years before that. Both men had come up with Lisa in ’07 and had remained in country trapping beaver and trading with him ever since.
“Jim, I ain’t gettin’ any younger and after losin’ half of my buds this last trappin’ season to them damn hair liftin’ Blackfoot Indians, I am callin’ it quits. I have set aside some over the years and with this year’s catch plus those furs I brought in that were left behind from my Indian-kilt buddies, I will have enough to go back home to Tennessee, git a piece of land and comfortably settle down,” said Warren.
“Damn,” said Griz, “are you sure you want to do that? This country has been your life as has been trappin.’ You sure you just want to pull up stakes and skedaddle? That is jest not like you, Warren.”
“Yep, is now. ’Specially after losin’ John Le May, Cal Briggs, and Bill Craig this last season to them murderin’ damn savages. Caught them when they was not lookin’ and lifted their hair slicker than cow slobbers! S’pose that hair is now hanging on some young buck’s lodgepole about now. Jim, I have jest had ’nuff,” said Warren as tears filled his weathered eyes. “But, I have a problem and figured you might be of some help. I have a wife. Her name is Prairie Flower and she is a full-blooded Lakota. She was caught way back some years ago by the Crow. They deflowered her considerable-like and caused her much grief because she is Lakota, their hated enemy. I come into ownin’ her as a result of a shoot-off one season with a Crow buck over a damn good horse and the squaw. She is a good woman, Jim, but I kain’t take her back home with me to Tennessee. Those religious hill folks of mine would not see eye to eye with what I did, marryin’ a savage and all. So, I jest kain’t take her with me and sure as hell kain’t leave her here to fend for herself. That is where I figured you might come in. As I said, she is a good woman and I don’t want to pass her off on jest anybody. She has been good to me and now I want someone to be good to her. And since I figured you might be a stayin,’ you being so hard-headed and all, I figured we should talk about you taking her for your wife. What do you think, my friend?” he asked, looking hard at Griz for his response.
Surprised over the “offer,” Griz scratched his beard for a moment and then said, “I kain’t says I never thought of havin’ a woman out here in this here country. After all, it gets damn cold and lonely come winter in the cabin. Don’t git me wrong, I have thought of beddin’ some but jest haven’t got around to it.”
“Tell you what. We have been friends fer a long time and I ’spect iffen you were to take her, she would have a good home. I will throw into the offer her ridin’ and pack animal, my traps since I won’t be needin’ them where I am off to, an extra rifle, my three partners’ traps and their rifles and pistols, plus their possibles. That be more than fair to my way of thinkin’,” continued Warren with a glint of hope in the tenor of his voice over this most unusual offer to his best friend.
“That be more than fair, Warren, but are you sure that is what you want to do?” asked Griz, still somewhat stunned over his friend’s most unusual offer. “After all, this country has been your home for many a year. Plus, where you are wantin’ to go, you kain’t get a good buffaler steak offen that countryside. They be all gone and have been so for many a year, all et by your kin. Tell you what. Why not throw your lot in with my group? They all be good Mountain Men and good souls at that. They would be happy to have another partner to chaw the fat with over the long winter months. And that would go extra fer your wife.” “Nope. Kain’t go no more on these cold winters and always seemed to be those damn arrows flying my way. Then throw into that trapper’s stew the cold beaver waters and not so good food sometimes, not to mention those damn pesky grizzly bears ever time I turn around waitin’ to cause a body problems,” he continued. “Asides, my bones have jest give out because of the cold waters and always deep snows.”
Looking hard at his friend and seeing that he had run out his string, Griz slowly nodded his head and said, “Alright, I will take your woman and give her a nice cabin in which to live but you remember this. I am jest like you. I kin stop an arrow or point of a lance same as you. Then what happens to her?” he asked.
“Then she will be on her own and being an Indian, she realizes her life is jest like her name, Prairie Flower. They up and die jest like the rest of us when it is their time to cross over the Great Divide,” said Warren with a look and realization of the harsh frontier life written in his eyes and in the weathered lines “spider-webbed” across his face...
“Then, it is done. Where do I find this woman and what did you call her again?” asked Griz.
“She is back at my camp jest outside the walls in a tepee and I call her ‘Flower’ fer short,” said Warren with a look of relief flooding across his face. “Where are you boys camped? I kin bring her by this evening and you kin get acquainted iffen you let me know,” he said, now with a huge smile of relief crossing his face like sun-up moving across the tips of the trees.
“We haven’t set up camp yet. Let us get our tradin’ done afore these here traders run clear back to St. Louie in their fright over the war. I ’spect we will be headin’ back jest as fast as we kin, now that we know what is happenin’. Then we need to try and decide what we are going to do now we know the Blackfeet will really be on the warpath with us trappers. Maybe head further south out of the Blackfoot territory and into another friendlier Indian Nation’s home ground,” Griz advised. “By the way, I am with three other good men and have been for sometime. But there is plenty of room in our cabin for Flower and they won’t be tryin’ to bed her now that they know she is to be mine,” said Griz with a grin.
“That be good, because I have taught her to be a good shooter and she uses a knife with the best of them. I made sure several years back that she could take care of herself if the need arose. So I don’t ’spect she will have much trouble once she gets used to the lot of you,” said Warren with a knowing grin about the ways of many Mountain Men and their loose escapades with squaws.
Without another word, the two friends shook hands and Griz went back to the trading action and his partners. Boy, will they be surprised, thought Griz with a big grin, especially when I bring a woman and wife into camp. Then he thought to himself, What the damn hell did Ijest up and do on the spur of the moment?
That evening around one of Lisa’s last kegs of whiskey, the trappers who had survived the previous trapping season’s rigors—one quarter of his trappers had disappeared each year, according to Lisa’s figures—sat quietly listening to what Manuel had to say.
“Men, I am sorry that I have to leave the fort empty for the time being, but I just don’t have enough men on hand to defend it if the British and Blackfeet attack. So, we will be leaving tomorrow on the keelboats for St. Louis. However, if at all possible, I will be back next year with more trade goods than ever. Plus, I will make sure I have a lot more men with me to defend the fort once the ice goes out from the rivers come spring. So, make sure when the beaver go out of prime in the spring that you come back to the fort to see if I am here. If I am not here, go east on the Yellowstone to where she makes the first big bend from here. If possible, I will be there in the summer with a couple of keelboats and your supplies. So, keep the faith and the good Lord willing, we will continue our trade. This war can’t go on forever so keep your hopes up. In the meantime, be on your toes and keep your eyes peeled sharp and your powder cracker dry because I am told the Hudson’s Bay Fur Company is paying the Blackfeet good money or supplies for every Yankee trapper’s scalp they bring in. And with their liberal use of whiskey and crooked ways, I am sure they will have the Blackfeet all fired-up over the prospects of lifting your hair for those kinds of rewards.”
Those last words rippled through the trappers like a cold winter north wind. A bounty on the scalp for every trappe
r was not what they wanted to hear. After the meeting with Lisa, a brisk trade was opened up for more kegs of powder, pigs of lead, and sacks of flints, not to mention extra rifles and pistols for those who didn’t change their minds on the spot and decided to end it and head down river with Lisa... While the kegs of whiskey and roasted oxen lasted, the men enjoyed each other’s company but for the Dent Brothers. They had another chore to attend to. They worked their way through the various trapper camps and still-arriving trappers looking for a certain set of individuals. To their disappointment once again, they found not what they were looking for. Realizing they had lost another year in their vision quest of locating Black Bill and his brothers, they returned to their campsite.
Shortly thereafter, the Dent Brothers found time to have a sit-down supper with their good friend Tom Warren, the keelboat’s owner and captain. They talked of happier times and occasions in St. Louis and of what was to come of the trappers in this time of war. Tom suggested that in case Lisa never returned, the trappers always could return to St. Louis, trade their furs for a good price and then the three of them could once again have some good times together. This, Josh advised, had already crossed his mind and if push came to shove, that is what he and his brother would do in the future.
Then Tom spotted Gabe’s new, highly decorated rifle with German silver tacks on one side of the stock celebrating the love he had for his mother and father, and the elaborate and colorful grizzly bear outlined with silver tacks on the other. Hefting the rifle for its balance and examining the fine decorations, Tom teasingly asked Gabe if he cared to arm wrestle for it. Gabe just laughed, realizing that to arm wrestle with the powerfully built riverboat man would lose his rifle in a heartbeat.
“No, Tom. I know when I am whipped. But I am here to say, this here rifle means the world to me. The only way it will ever leave my hands is only after someone has bushwhacked and kilt me in the process. And for anyone to do that, he better be prepared for one hell of a fight to the death,” grinned Gabe.
Finally, Tom had to leave the brothers to oversee the last of the loadings taking place. He vowed to return the following summer on the Yellowstone with Lisa, the good Lord willing. Before he left, he promised the Dent Brothers he would bring back a keg of the best brandy he could buy in St. Louis for the three of them to drink once he returned. With a hearty laugh and a wave of his huge hands, the giant river man disappeared into the dark of night towards the docks and his loaded keelboats.
***
Later the next afternoon, with their amply loaded pack strings, the men headed back to the comfort of the country they had just left. However, before they left the confines of the fort’s grounds, Griz swung the men by the tepee of his old friend. Stopping out front, Griz yelled for Warren. Moments later Warren exited his tepee, followed by a young, long-haired, lithe Indian woman in her late-twenties. Like others in her culture, out of respect, she only looked at the ground as she walked by the horsed men, not quite knowing what to expect over her life’s fortunes that were to follow.
“Warren, we are ready to go. Is Flower ready as well?” Griz asked calmly like he was asking if the sky was blue...
The rest of the group just sat there stunned over what was transpiring in front of their eyes! “She sure is, Jim. Those are her horses standing over there and she is ready to go.” With that, Warren said something quietly to Flower who then turned and walked over to the two horses standing at the ready. One was packed with goods and the other was a riding horse. Deftly she swung up onto the saddle with the grace of an individual who had been raised among the breed.
Then Warren walked over to her, handed up a rifle along with a gaily decorated possibles bag, and pointed to Griz. Her eyes quickly looked at Griz and then were averted downward once again. Griz shook Warren’s hand warmly and then the trappers, without a further word, trailed by a Lakota woman of her own making and status, left the fort without a backward glance. Not a word was uttered by the still surprised trappers over their newest “partner” as they headed north towards their old cabin up on the Musselshell River. They were used to surprises and adventures almost on a daily basis on the frontier and one more, like had taken place that afternoon, would make little difference. One more and the adventures the War of 1812 brought would be faced like all the rest. That is, with a cautious look, a ready rifle and a clear shootin’ eye.
Back at the cabin days later, the men soon realized who was now the camp boss. That first evening when Gabe and Josh, the normal camp cooks, set about making supper, they were gracefully interrupted by Flower. She made it very plain through the use of sign that she was the woman of the camp’s affairs and from now on Josh and Gabe were there to trap. At first, it was a little awkward adjusting to having a woman in camp. Soon, the quality of camp life improved as did the taste of their food and coffee as the men gratefully acquiesced to their newest partner, Flower.
Also, since the cabin had been initially made for six men, two of whom had since stepped over the Great Divide, there was plenty of room for the newcomer. With that in mind, its sleeping platforms were arranged so Flower and Griz could have some privacy. Flower took to Josh and Gabe like they were her own children and she treated Big-Eye like a grandfatherly type, a treatment that suited all the men immensely. It wasn’t but a short time later before the four men and Flower were a tightly knit frontier family...
Because of the now-expanding conflicts between the warring Blackfoot Nation and the trappers, the four men trapped as a team along the southwestern reaches of the Musselshell. Flower, on the other hand, stayed back at camp taking care of duties there, all the while remaining armed with her rifle and pistol during the trappers’ absence. The trappers always suspected they were being carefully watched by hostile eyes, but with four sharp-shooting trappers working together, nothing came of that uneasiness for the moment. Frequently, the trappers ran across fresh, unshod hoof prints of war parties and occasional shooting could be heard far off in the distance, but the trappers’ vigilance kept them safe for the moment. As a result of their collective
efforts, beaver and otter pelts flowed into their cabin as did those from the ever-present muskrat and buffalo.
One morning, Josh and Gabe separated from Griz and Big-Eye in order to trap out several promising-looking nearby beaver ponds dotted with massive beaver houses. Using sign, Gabe quietly let Griz know they were going to move several hundred yards distant to trap out the huge beaver ponds. Griz nodded and the two teams separated but still remained within hearing distance of each other.
Like always, Gabe took to the water first and began making a set near a promising beaver slide while Josh remained seated on his horse nearby standing guard. Struggling in the water and deeper-than-normal mud in the bottom of the pond, Gabe finally got his trap set. Then he cut a short stick, stuck it into the muddy bank at an angle over the pan of the trap, and daubed a small amount of the castoreum on the end of it. Swirling the muddy water over the pan of the trap, he soon had it covered with a light film of mud to hide the device.
Stepping back, he admired his set and then, looking over to his brother as if to say “How is that,’ was surprised to not see his brother or his horse! Struggling out from the deep mud of the beaver pond and onto the bank, Gabe was further surprised in not seeing either his brother, his own horse or their pack animal! Quickly looking towards the direction from whence they had just ridden, he saw nothing... Turning back around, Gabe found himself looking into four leveled rifle barrels from about ten feet away being steadily held by an equal number of grim-faced, silent, fiercely painted Blackfoot warriors!
One warrior, in sign, told Gabe to slowly lower his pistols from his sash down to the ground alongside where he had laid his rifle on the bank for earlier fast retrieval. Gabe’s eyes quickly looked at the locks of the rifles leveled at him and saw that all of them were cocked and ready to fire if he did not do as he was told. He would have courted sure death to do otherwise and, with that realization, slowly lifted his p
istols out from his sash and placed them on the ground. That same Indian, again with sign, told Gabe to turn around, which he did. A rifle butt struck him on the back of his head with a loud thump and that was the last thing he remembered!
With his head roaring like a mad grizzly and hurting like a beaver trap had snapped shut unexpectedly on his hand, Gabe began slowly coming out from unconsciousness. He found himself lying strapped belly down across his horse’s back and his head being fiercely scratched by the bushes as the animal was being led down a narrow, brushy trail. Turning his head to avoid another bout with the bushes, Gabe observed another horse trailing his with his brother strapped across the back of his horse as well. Gabe could see that Josh’s head was dripping blood from a frontal head wound, probably a tomahawk strike he figured through his still-foggy brain. But he appeared to still be alive.
For the next several hours, the Blackfoot raiding party with their prisoners kept heading north as if they knew where they were going. Trying to figure out if he could escape, Gabe found himself with his hands tightly bound behind his back with leather thongs and his feet tied together as well. Looking back at his brother, Gabe could see that his eyes were now open and the fierce bleeding from his head had somewhat slacked off. His brother was also well tied but still seemed to be dazed over what had happened. Looking as best as he could, he found that Griz and Big-Eye were nowhere to be seen. Gabe wondered what had happened to those two since they had been so close-at-hand, and at that moment his thinking stopped as the Blackfeet reined up in a small clearing. Dismounting, they let their horses feed and then walked back to Gabe and Josh. Untying them from the horses and taking both men down without saying a word, they laid them in the meadow’s grasses as they let the brothers’ matching buckskin horses feed with the others.