by Terry Grosz
Temporary camp was set up near the killing field and shortly great fires roared forth staked with many huge slabs of still- bleeding meat. Those fires and the meat were tended by the very old and very young while the able-bodied continued butchering the carcasses strewn about on the plains. Soon travois groaned with the rich meat or stacks of buffalo skins, and in ones or pairs, the members headed back to the main Crow winter camp. Once there, the meat was cut into thin strips and placed on drying racks. The still-bloody hides were stretched and staked out with small wooden pegs, then the scraping of meat bits, fat and the like occurred until the hides were clean of such leavings. Then they were left out to dry in the waning fall sun.
Along with the others, Josh and Gabe returned to their camp’s location to begin the process of turning the bloody slabs of buffalo meat into thin strips for drying into jerky. Some larger hams and slabs of hump ribs were heavily smoked and then hung from the cabin’s interior wall pegs or rafters. Jerky was also placed in tanned deerskin bags and hung from pegs driven into the rafters as well to reduce any damage from the critters that normally inhabited cabins, such as mice and dusky-footed wood rats.
Later that fall, Josh and Gabe, after making known their intentions on joining Buffalo Calf’s Crow family, made many trips to that family’s tepees. When they were with Cone Flower and Little Fawn, their walks and visiting bouts were accompanied by other members of the female side of the family to make sure all moves were honorable. Those cousins and other family members always stayed back at a respectful distance when the trappers were with the young ladies, but their giggles and sometimes laughter always told the men they were nearby... But the courting went on as planned and just before the beaver came into their prime, Josh and Gabe took their Crow wives to their newly constructed and outfitted cabin for the beginning of their lives and the adventures it offered...
While adjusting to their new lives, many old things still needed doing. Beaver traps were repaired and smoked in preparation for the trapping season. Firearms were repaired, oiled, and made ready, as were small mountains of cast lead balls. Possibles bags were cleaned out and refilled, powder horns topped off, and those horses needing new shoes were shod. During those days of increased activity, the men also took time to teach their new wives how to shoot and the values of self-defense in the men’s absence. Soon, Little Fawn and Cone Flower were accomplished rifle shots, but couldn’t hit the side of the cabin with a pistol. As a result, the women were left with loaded fowling pieces for self-protection, as well as smaller caliber flintlocks when the men folk were away trapping.
That first fall morning of the 1813 trapping season, the men loaded their horses and pack animals with needed gear while their wives prepared breakfast. After a meal of venison stew laced with com, dried wild onions, and rice, accompanied with Dutch oven biscuits and coffee, the men grabbed their rifles and headed for their horses after giving each of their wives a hug and a kiss. Then off they went to the northwest along the upper reaches of the Box Elder River to the beaver trappin’s.
As they always did, Gabe made the first sets while Josh kept alert for any sign of hostile Blackfeet or mean-assed grizzly bears. Once Gabe had made his six sets, their roles were reversed and Josh made his sets while his brother sat on his horse keeping a sharp eye peeled for any signs of danger. Once that task was completed, the Dent Brothers explored further upstream on the Box Elder and surrounding drainages for more promising beaver waters always keeping a sharp eye peeled for the unexpected.
Later that afternoon, the brothers retraced their earlier steps checking their previous beaver sets. They were pleased that eight of the earlier set traps contained fresh caught beaver. Those beaver were removed from the traps, which were then scented and reset. Then moving off a safe distance from their trapping area, the men skinned out their catches leaving the carcasses for the critters of the woods. Setting their course for home, the men arrived just at dusk. While they hooped and fleshed out their catches, their wives, happy to see them home, commenced making supper for the now-hungry men.
For the next three months, this activity seldom changed except for the occasional buffalo hunt to make meat with other tribal members or the dragging into camp of more firewood. Soon, their cabin fairly brimmed with pleasant-smelling, still- curing beaver and river otter pelts. Adjacent to their cabin in their lean-to sat a stack of tanned buffalo hides, which the women had prepared in the men’s absence, waiting for the trader’s grading eye back at Fort Raymond. Life was good, but about to get problematic...
CHAPTER THIRTEEN : BLACKFEET!
The spring of 1814 proved to be a wet and wintry one. Many times the howling winter storms left snow piled eight feet high in drifts. That was oftentimes followed by freezing weather making it difficult for the horses to feed on the open ranges. But life in the trappers’ cabin was for the most part without fault. The cabin had been built hell-for-stout and roomy enough for all concerned to live comfortably. The inside front walls were lined with packs of beaver skins, and loose bales of river otter, pine marten, wolf, and coyote skins graced the back of the cabin. The dried and smoked meat supplies were adequate and oftentimes supplemented with fresh buffalo from the community hunts when the adverse weather allowed. Additionally, both Little Fawn and Cone Flower were now with child...
Come ice-out, the men were more than ready to begin trapping anew. Leaving that first morning, the men filled their saddlebags with buffalo jerky, kissed their wives, and then headed out for the beaver trapping grounds to the north and west of their cabin. Riding slowly along and looking over the freshly melted beaver waters, both men were very happy to see many of the furred critters along with numerous muskrats swimming in the ponds. That was exceptional to their way of thinking since they had trapped those areas before and areas previously trapped normally took over a year to recover the earlier numbers of furred rodents.
“Damn, Gabe,” said Josh with a grin, “there are so many beaver out and about, even you can catch them.
Just then. Josh said, “Watch out, Gabe. Over yonder in that dense stand of willow. I think I just saw a flash of brown that may be a feeding grizzly bear!”
Both men drew up their horses abruptly and sat there watching the suspect clump of dense willows heavy with spring’s leaves. Moments later, a grizzly bear dragged a winter-killed moose out from the beaver pond that had apparently broken through the ice previously and drowned. Standing up on its hind legs and suspecting something was amiss, the grizzly heavily scented the air looking for those clues causing its concern.
Boom! went the report of a heavy rifle as Josh spun out from his saddle and landed hard on the ground with a loud crump! Whirling in his saddle, Gabe caught sight of a Blackfoot Indian sitting on his horse partially concealed in another clump of willows away from the feeding bear hurriedly trying to reload his flintlock. Boom! went Gabe’s rifle as his heavy lead ball sped true clearing the Indian from his saddle with a chest shot. Boom- boom! went two more rifle shots sailing lead balls closely by Gabe’s head. Luckily, they sailed harmlessly by just as he bent over to retrieve his reserve rifle at that very moment from his pack animal. Had he been sitting erect in his saddle, he would have been on the ground with a wounded Josh...
Jerking that spare rifle from the scabbard on his packsaddle, Gabe spotted the two Blackfeet by a spruce tree trying to hurriedly reload their just-fired rifles. Boom! went Gabe’s second rifle shot. As luck would have it, the ball smacked one of the Indians squarely in his throat, spilling him heavily from his saddle. Boom! went a shot from a heavily bleeding, now-standing Josh cleanly hitting the other Indian in the side of his head as he was in the process of reloading his flintlock. A reloading effort no longer needed in the current world as the Cloud People called out to the Blackfoot warrior...
Slumping back to the ground, Josh went limp. Hurriedly reloading his spare rifle, Gabe quickly scanned the area looking for any more signs of danger. After a few moments of looking and seeing no other threats, he turn
ed his attention to his furiously bleeding brother. Josh, by then, was standing at his side and holding unsteadily onto the saddle horn of his brother’s horse to keep from falling once again in his wildly spinning world.
“Josh, are you alright?” yelled Gabe as he reached over to steady his brother.
“I think so, but my jaw and side of my head feel like that damn grizzly clamped his teeth down on it,” he mumbled through a fiercely bleeding side of his lower face.
Quickly stepping off his horse, Gabe grabbed his brother and lowered him to the ground in a sitting position. Then Gabe roughly probed the wound on the side of his brother’s face with his fingers to ascertain the degree of damage.
“Ouch!” mumbled Josh. “Damn, Gabe, you can be a little more gentle when grabbing my face. After all, that is where I have been shot and it is a little sensitive,” he grumbled.
“Sorry, Brother, but I had to see how badly you were hurt and am trying to get the damn bleeding to slow down so I can see where you are hit,” said Gabe, relieved that from first appearances, his brother would live. “Shore did mess up that pretty bush on your face you call a beard,” he continued with a grin, still probing the edge of the wound with his fingers.
“Damn, Gabe, go and get that grizzly to help you. After all, he can’t be any worse than you,” grumbled Josh coming back from the initial shock of being shot.
“Here, hold your hand over the wound and I will go and get some wrapping to tie up your face to slow the bleeding,” said Gabe.
Josh held his hand tightly over the bleeding wound while Gabe grabbed his rifle and walked over to the first Indian he had shot, but not before he reloaded Josh’s rifle just in case... Taking his knife, Gabe cut a section from the dead man’s buckskin shirt and walked back to his brother. Taking the long strip of buckskin, Gabe tied it around Josh’s head as one would for a person with a bad toothache.
“There,” said Gabe as he stepped back and examined his work. “That should stop the bleeding until we can get you back to our cabin and have our wives look at it to see what they can do with their sewing needles.”
Leaving Josh still sitting on the ground, Gabe walked over to where the dead Indians lay and gathered up their horses. Then leading them back to Josh, he had him hold their reins while he went back and collected the Indians’ rifles and possibles. That was when he discovered a lone packhorse that had belonged to the Indians standing off in the distance tied to a tree. Walking over to the packhorse, he discovered a sack of beaver traps hanging from the packsaddle along with four dead beaver and a prime river otter.
“Josh, these fellows were trapping beaver here same as us. I just found their packhorse and it is carrying a sack of traps and several dead critters. Can you imagine that? They was trapping for beaver same as you and me when they ran headlong into us doing the same thing.”
With that, Gabe brought the packhorse over to where Josh sat on the ground. “Well, Brother, we now have ourselves three new riding horses and a good pack animal, not to mention some more traps and a couple prime dead critters. What say once you feel up to it, that we backtrack them, pull the rest of their traps so there is no evidence that they were even here? We can haul their carcasses off into the brush and when that damn griz gets a gut full of that rotten moose, he can come over and feast on some fresh Indian eatin’s.”
Josh just mumbled his approval, trying hard not to move much, as his face, now not bleeding as much, was starting to swell up like a July bloated muskrat. Helping Josh to mount his horse and reloading their remaining rifles, Gabe let Josh lead the horses while he backtracked the Indians on foot. For the next two hours, Gabe managed to find and pull twelve beaver traps set by the Indians along the Box Elder River.
That evening when the two men returned to their cabin, all hell broke loose. The two women, seeing Josh’s bloody face and blood-soaked buckskin shirt, made all over him. Helping Josh off his horse, they sat him down on a sitting log by their out door campfire. Then they took off his bloody shirt and removed the buckskin rag tied around his head and still-oozing wound. With warm water, he was washed off as Cone Flower carefully shaved off his beard around the open wound. It was then the group could see the extent of the damage. The Indian had aimed for Josh’s head only to pull his shot and just crease the side of his face from his ear lobe to the comer of his mouth. The Indian’s speeding ball had clipped off Josh’s ear lobe and blown out his lower canine tooth but, other than that, no other bones had been broken.
Cone Flower, with her sister’s help, took a needle and thread and carefully sewed shut the gaping slice across Josh’s face but, much to Josh’s disgust, not before placing some bear grease with a foul-smelling herbal concoction mixed in to aid the healing wound. For the next two days, Josh’s face swelled up as big as a bucket, and then the redness and swelling began to go down under the care of Cone Flower’s native healing powers and careful attendance. Soon, he looked like his old ugly self, but the scar would always show an ugly reddish-purple color even under his bushy salt and pepper beard.
“Damn, Brother, I hope you have a better eye as our lookout than before,” said Gabe several days later with a grin as he waded into a beaver pond to retrieve a beaver from his trap. “Seems like the last two times I left you on guard, we got into a mess of red ants. In case you have forgotten, the first time you were on watch, we was captured and the last time, you got shot. One of these times you are going to get us into really big trouble,” smiled Gabe, as he walked out onto the bank with another dead beaver from his trap.
“You keep that up and I have half-a-mind to get off my horse and put some whup-ass on my kid brother,” said Josh, with a misshapen smile caused by the scar running from one side of his face to the other.
“You try to do that and even the grizzlies won’t know what happened to this piece of all-tore-up ground once we are done,” laughed Gabe.
When the beaver went out from their prime that spring, the Dent Brothers had eight compact packs of beaver plews—approximately 480 beaver plews, which was a remarkable catch for just two trappers—four loose bales of furs from other furbearers, and over thirty tanned buffalo hides. This was more than enough, even with Lisa’s scalping high prices charged back at the fort, for another year’s supplies. Come the latter part of June in 1814, the trappers and the nearby band of Crow made ready for their annual trip to Fort Raymond. Articles not needed for the trip were cached, meat was made from several small herds of buffalo, and horses shod as needed. Finally came the big day, as the Crow Tribe and the Brothers Dent headed back to Fort Raymond in a long noisy, dusty line of humanity, barking dogs, playing children, and heavily loaded pack animals. Since both Little Fawn and Cone Flower were heavy with child, Josh and Gabe kept a close eye on their well-being as they sometimes walked but most often rode. However, both ladies had come from tough, stoic stock. As such, they said not a word about their discomfort on the long trip other than stopping to go to the bathroom more frequently than normally.
Days later, Fort Raymond hove into view and soon the Crow set up their camp outside the fort’s main gates. Setting up their tepees, Josh and Gabe soon found themselves inside the fort, making old acquaintances and once again ascertaining who had wintered well and learning about those who were now either worm or grizzly bear fodder. The brothers also kept a hopeful sharp eye peeled for any sign of the killing Jenkins clan from Missouri, and once again they were disappointed. Even casual talk among the trappers after a snootful of Lisa’s fiery whiskey had loosened their tongues did not provide any idea as to the whereabouts of the Jenkins clan. Several trappers told of the mysterious deaths of a few of their friends and the killings that did not have the flavor or look of that done by Indians... Putting those tales of mysterious killings into the recesses of their minds, the brothers saw to it that their trading was done. Included in those trades were not only several sacks of hard candies, needles and thread, but bolts of red calico and linen cloth for their two very-expectant wives.
Th
ree weeks later after all the trading and visiting had been done, Buffalo Calf’s band of Crow headed back to their wintering grounds heavily loaded with trade goods from the fort. This time, however, the band traveled even more slowly than before due to the trappers’ wives and the close-at-hand births of their babies. However, no babies arrived due to the rigors of the trip and the band made it back to their winter encampment.
Shortly after their arrival, a buffalo herd grazed close to the Crow encampment and the hunt was on. The chiefs once again laid out the hunting plans and soon the buffalo began to fall to the arrow and rifle balls. After the hunt, groups and families began butchering out the shaggy beasts surrounded by much joy and laughter over their bounty provided by the Great Spirit.
That joy was further compounded when Cone Flower went into hard labor as she and her mother were skinning out a buffalo. Without much ado, Cone Flower gave birth to a bouncing baby girl right there on a still-bloody and warm buffalo hide. Josh and the rest of the men folk were run off until the baby was bom, cleaned up and made presentable. After that, the band members were allowed, according to Crow custom, to view the latest member of the tribe. Josh could hardly contain himself and almost dropped his baby girl when he was allowed to hold her for the first time. Even though it was her first baby, Cone Flower came through without incident and was soon nursing her daughter. Everyone pitched in, because of Cone Flower’s condition, in helping the trappers get their share of the meat back to the cabin. After getting Cone Flower settled in, the men and Little Fawn were soon processing and smoking the meat. The duties of processing the meat into jerky fell to Little Fawn as the men prepped the larger hams and racks of hump ribs for smoking. Within a week, the cabin bulged at the seams with nature’s bounty, and then it happened...