Colter's Winter

by Greg Strandberg

  SMACK! CRACK!

  Lapu looked up and saw the white banging down with the end of his gun, hitting the ice and causing more cracks in it. All of those cracks were radiating toward him. He started forward, one step then another and then–

  SPLASH!

  Lapu had no idea what happened. One second he was stepping on the ice and the next he felt pinpricks of agony, thousands of icy arrows stabbing into his body. He kicked out with his legs, then flailed with his arms. Up, up…he had to go up! He did…and smacked right into the ice. He put his head up and looked, and saw the sky above, the trees, even snow upon them…but he couldn’t reach them. He began to panic, began to pound on the ice with the bottoms of his fists. Soon they were tearing open and a faint trail of blood could be seen. Still he pounded, hoping to get through the ice, hoping to break through, hoping for air, hoping to…breath,…hoping…to…

  ~~~

  “There!”

  Shappa’s head jerked to the left and he saw Honon waving his arm. He and Anoki bounded over, and his eyes went wide at the sight he saw.

  “Tadi,” he said, shocked that the young brave was dead. Honon stood next to the bank, looking down on the small offshoot of the river.

  Shappa gingerly approached the area of the bluff, the spot this particular pursuit had ended at. Below him he saw Lapu’s body, floating right there under the ice, just a few feet from the hole he’d most likely broken through. He’d panicked, started banging on the ice, and that was that. The Arikara chief sighed and shook his head. It was a shame, two of his most promising braves gone in a matter of minutes…and both at the hands of a white that didn’t belong here.

  “He’s fast,” Anoki said, coming up beside Shappa, “the white man is fast if he can outrun Tadi.”

  Shappa looked over at his medicine man and frowned. ‘Tadi’ meant ‘wind’ in the Arikara language, and the young brave had earned it in his youth, besting people twice his age in footraces. Now it seemed that he was the one bested.

  “Let’s go,” Shappa said.

  “Go?” Honon said, catching the words from where he was standing down on the ice. “What do you mean, ‘go’? We haven’t said the rights, honored Tadi’s spirit. We haven’t taken Lapu from the water.”

  “There’s no time for that,” Shappa said, his impatience growing by the second. “We have this white, he’s running and scared and just up ahead!”

  Honon looked from Shappa to Anoki, but the medicine man just shook his head.

  “Listen to your chief,” he said, and then started walking in the direction the white must have gone. Shappa was right behind him. Honon frowned, looked at Lapu there beneath the ice for another moment. The brave’s eyes were wide open, staring upward in fright and horror, but also a kind of unknowing nothingness. Honon looked down at those eyes and shuddered, and couldn’t help but think that if he followed his chief, his eyes would look like that in a short time.

  He stared down for a few moments more, then followed his chief.

  38 – The Cave

  It was midday by the time Colter made it back to the cave. Right away he knew something was wrong, for the canoe was gone. A quick inspection showed him that it’d been dragged back into the water, and likely some time ago – its track was completely covered by snow. The whole outside of the cave was covered in a thick, powdery snow, and the mountain man knew at a glance that no one was about. That didn’t stop him from calling out.

  “Joe!” he shouted, loud but not too loud. The last thing he wanted was for the remaining Indians to descend upon him. But he shouted nonetheless. “Joe…Joe, where are you…it’s John.”

  It was useless and Colter knew it, had known it since he’d first walked up. With a sigh he kept up that walking, right through the undisturbed snow and up to the mouth of the cave. The fire pit was right at the entrance, and it was covered with snow as well. Colter kicked at it and could tell from the logs that it’d been dormant for at least the past few days, if not a week. Could Joe have taken off right after we’d left him? Colter thought. No, he wouldn’t do that…would he?

  The mountain man dismissed the thoughts and headed further into the cave. It wasn’t much of a cave, more just an opening in the side of the mountain. It went back about seven or eight feet and then the wall and ceiling met. There was nothing around and no sign of Joe so Colter…

  What was that? Colter narrowed his eyes and stared at the floor near the back of the cave. There was a…skin, a solitary marmot skin. The men sometimes caught the smaller animals in their beaver traps, but always kept the skins. They didn’t bring much, but they brought something, and that’d add up after awhile. Why one was sitting at the back of the cave, Colter had no idea, but he walked up and grabbed hold of it. Flipping it over he saw that there was writing on the other side, etched there with a sooty stick from the fire by the looks of it. Colter read:

  Dear Forest and John,

  By now you know I’m gone. Sorry. I had to go. After you left a miracle happened, and I knew I couldn’t stay in the wilderness anymore. I left the furs, under the big tree and covered. Sorry about taking the canoe. And Forest, please tell him about that night and what happened.

  Your friend always,

  Joseph Dixon

  Colter stared at the letter after he’d read it and then read it again. “Tell him about that night,” he said out loud, echoing the letter’s words. Well, there’d be none of that now – Forest was dead, his body likely washed down the river…if it wasn’t scalped first and then washed down.

  “So something happened on the way up the Missouri, eh?” the mountain man said to himself. “Aye, I suspected as much…suspected something like that.”

  The men must have run into trouble while trying to pass the Arikara village. That would explain why their braves were now hunting him. He’d taken a good look at the brave under the ice, and the fact that he was Arikara had been clear. For all Colter knew, Joe was dead already, killed by the same band that had ambushed he and Forest. It could have happened several days ago, while the two of them had still been at the A’anninen village.

  Colter sighed. There was no way to know, and nothing to do for it now. He looked around the cave for a minute longer, thinking of what may have been. Could he have made it through the winter with those two? With Joe maybe…yes. But Forest? Probably not. But this? Colter thought to himself…this wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. And then a spark inside of him ignited. This wasn’t how things were going to turn out. Forest was dead and Joe might as well be, but he wasn’t. What’s more, he’d taken two of the Arikara down already. John Colter wasn’t one to give up, and the wheels in his head started to turn.

  ~~~

  Colter stayed back, got into a comfortable position, and watched. The day passed that way, with him sitting, observing, and noting down the movement of the Indians. The mountain man had hiked out from the cave, eager to get a look at who the Indians chasing him really were. He was careful to keep his distance, however, for he was unarmed. He’d been lucky to get one dry shot from his powder horn – the rest was wet and would take days still to dry. Worse, however, was that that was his only gun. Forest’s had fallen in the river while Joe had taken his. They’d traded one Northwest Trade Gun and Joe must have taken the other downriver with him. That had left the McCormick pistol, but without powder, it too was useless. So Colter had to come up with a new plan, though he’d keep his Kentucky Rifle on him still…the better to dissuade arrow fire with.

  There he sat, watching, waiting. It became clear to him right away that they were waiting too, staying stationary for the most part, right there beside the Yellowstone. They knew he had to go down it eventually, for moving overland this far south just wasn’t an option…at least that he knew of. If he was ever back in this area he might find out, but for now that was the least of his concerns. In all likelihood he wouldn’t be back, wouldn’t even live through this. Despite what he’d found at the cave, he was seriously low on supplies. Making it throu
gh the winter wasn’t likely at this point, and since the overland route was too questionable, his only choice was downriver. The Arikara knew that, and there they sat, waiting. Morning turned to afternoon and then into evening, but still Colter sat and waited. There were only three of them at this point, after the one Colter had shot and the other he’d gotten trapped under the ice. It was a hell of a way to go, the mountain man thought to himself, but he was glad it was the Indian and not himself. He still had three to contend with, and the men had been going out in pairs, to the west mostly, with one in camp always watching the river. Colter’s mind began to work, and he realized that this worked in his favor. The large beaver dams were to the west of that section of the Yellowstone, just a little further up and toward the offshoots. The Arikara had rightly avoided that section of the river for their staging area, knowing that its rapids could cause the surrounding banks to flood at any moment without warning, even in these wintery conditions. A plan began to form in his mind, one that involved the cache.

  39 – The Cache

  “’You’ve been gone a sight long.’”

  Colter said the words aloud again, just the way Forest had when he’d seen the mountain man come back. Colter said them because he was staring at the reason for that long trip – the cache.

  It was the cache that Lewis had left, the remnants of the Red Pirogue the expedition had stashed in June 1805. Returning to it the next July they’d found it decayed beyond belief, and without use. Colter scoffed at the memory. George had been with Captain Lewis on that trek, and he’d later told the mountain man how they and the two Field brothers had come upon the remains of the wooden boat. Lewis chalked it up to a loss, but George had been adamant in his talks with Colter that it hadn’t been.

  “The whole metal frame’s still there, usable and worth something,” he’d said.

  Colter remembered him mentioning the same during their last night together around the fire. It’d therefore been an easy decision once Forest had begun to get on his nerves. A solo trek for beavers and scouting was the reason given to go, but in reality he’d been intent on gathering the pieces that’d allow him to construct a boat that’d carry more beaver. The canoe the men had could only carry 400 pounds of fur, and Colter wasn’t going to be satisfied with a mere $800 split three ways. The wilderness had made him an entrepreneur, and by God, he’d get his share.

  Now there he stood, looking at the iron frame, or at least as much of it as he’d been able to reasonably cart back down the nearly 300 miles from the Marias River to the Yellowstone. It’d been quite the walk, but Colter figured there wasn’t much else to do. After all, what was the point of trapping more than 400 pounds of fur if you couldn’t get them back to St. Louis?

  Colter glanced over at the big tree outside the cave. There under it, well hidden and covered with branches and leaves, was the men’s earnings for their few months of work. A quick glance was all Colter needed in order to know that he had nearly 500 pounds of fur…and all of it to himself. He hadn’t wanted it that way, but now here he was, alone and in the wild, no one but himself to get him out.

  There’d be no fashioning a boat now – Colter was in a dash for his life at this point, not in a quest for profits. Besides, he didn’t have enough bars to make the boat, at least the way it should be. He’d make something, though. A dugout canoe would get him down to St. Louis, but these metal bars would help him survive long enough to do that. With a sigh at his lost opportunities, he hefted some up and set about with his task.

  ~~~

  Later that day the mountain man was moving about the offshoots of the Yellowstone, right around the area he’d seen the large beaver dams and other logjams gumming up that area of the river. It might have been the river at one point, he figured as he walked overland, careful to leave as few tracks as possible, and always watching over his shoulder and far up ahead. He was carrying a large beaver trap, and the chain was jingling despite his efforts. He knew that the area ahead was a maze of lefts and rights and ups and downs, made all the worse by the pointy sticks and misplaces branches. Speed was reduced, making it the ideal staging area for an ambush. The Arikara might have theirs along the river, but Colter would place his on the river’s offshoots. That’s where he hoped the action would take place, so long as he could lure the Indians out.

  The mountain man reached the dams and started across them. The wood was packed high, more than ten feet in some places, and higher still where it was bunching up against the banks. This area had been washed out before, and the earth was high in some spots and low in others. He walked through it, trying to remember where he’d seen the ‘Chief,’ the large beaver that was the likely king of the area. Colter wanted to steer clear of that creature, that he was sure. A beast that size…there’s no telling what it could do.

  Colter moved on and jumped down a rise. He looked at the area and nodded his head. It seemed like the ideal place to stage his ambush. After coming off the high rise he’d jump down to the small flat section, one next to a deep pool. It was currently covered over with a coat of ice, but that’d be easy to break up. There was another large bunch of twigs and logs and branches nestled up on one side, creating a kind of alcove, though one large enough to run through if need be. Colter frowned, but moved forward. The metal chains of the trap jingled as he started up the tight-packed side, digging into the branches, looking for just that…there! Colter pulled out a large specimen, a branch thick enough to support the trap’s weight, yet light enough to sail through the air. He looked around at the area again and nodded. This just might work.

  40 – Springing the Trap

  It was just after first light, and Colter was moving down the Yellowstone. He was travelling quickly, moving in the dugout canoe. The boat moved swiftly, and he was proud of the work he’d done with the beaten-up hatchet he’d found in the cache. What was really propelling him, however, was the metal-framed boat behind him. He’d managed to rig enough of the bars together with branches, deerskin, and what rope he had. It wasn’t the sturdiest of crafts, but it could hold weight. It was holding about 500 pounds of fur at the moment, and Colter sure hoped it held together.

  His plan was to come in sight of the Arikara, then…there!

  ~~~

  “There!”

  Shappa and Honon jerked their heads up to look at what the medicine man was pointing at. Sure enough, there was something coming down the river…two somethings!

  “What is it!” Honon said first, bounding to his feet and coving the distance from the fire to the shore in seconds.

  “It’s him!” Anoki cried out, then looked back at Shappa. The chief was still standing by the fire, a perplexed look on his face.

  “He’s got another boat behind him, but he’s in a canoe!” Honon called out next.

  “The white’s greed for furs will be his undoing,” Shappa said, understanding now. The mountain man was risking the river run because he couldn’t part from his precious furs. The chief laughed, and reached for his tomahawk. “This will be easier than I–”

  “Wait!” Honon shouted, and his arm jerked up to point toward the white. “He’s letting the larger boat loose…he’s paddling away!”

  “No!” Shappa shouted. Within moments the Arikara were rushing up the riverbank, chasing after the white in the dugout canoe.

  ~~~

  Colter saw the Indians rushing up the bank and smiled. Everything was working according to plan. He’d worried that one of them might try to go after the metal-framed boat, perhaps upending all his furs. They wanted blood, however, and were now coming after him. Good, he thought, good.

  The mountain man drove the dugout right up and onto the shore, then jumped out, not bothering to drag it forward. If it washed away, so be it – he’d be happy to live to make another. He dashed forward, over the loose stones of the bank and then up onto the rough dirt and then hard-packed snow. He didn’t have to go too far before the offshoots appeared, and then he was within sight of the logjams. He was also with
in earshot of his pursuers – the unmistakable sound of someone rushing through the brush was coming up on him fast. Within moments it seemed the brave was right on Colter’s heels, but they were both now rushing up and onto the wooden logjams. Their moccasins pounded across the wood, and each step took Colter closer to where he needed to be. Still, at any second he expected to feel the bite of an axe in his back. If he could just make it a…little…further…

  There!

  Colter jumped over the set of wood and logs that he’d marked with the feather and hoped it would work. Behind him the brave kept up his pursuit, confident that in another few steps he’d be in striking distance and–

  SNAP!

  “Aaahhh!” the brave shouted out as the steel jaws of the beaver trap snapped shut over his right foot. The pain was excruciating, but he kept the sense of mind to look up, knowing the white was–

  THUNK!

  Colter slammed the butt-end of the log into the brave’s face, sending him flying back onto the narrow ledge of wood. He landed on his back, just inches from the edge and the five-foot drop down to the pool of water below. The wind was knocked from the brave, something that cut off his cries of pain, and Colter was thankful he didn’t have to listen to them, or have them draw more attention to his location. Acting quickly, he moved forward and kicked at the logs fastened to the trap. They rolled over the ledge and then took the heavy rocks fastened to them. At the last moment the brave sensed what was happening, and made to cry out. His breath was still stolen from him, however, and all that came out were some croaks. The weight of the logs and rocks caught the trap and pulled it over the edge. It plunged into the pool of water and a moment later the Indian brave followed it in. Colter stood and looked over the ledge. The pool was a good ten feet deep, he’d stuck a long stick down into it himself. Now he just hoped the thing was heavy enough to stop the brave from swimming up. The amount of bubbles coming up from below seemed to prove it was, and that was enough for Colter. The mountain man rose up and dashed off, further down the long stretch of piled up river logs and debris, closer to his ultimate goal.