by Terry Grosz
The garments were not Indian-beautiful by any means, but they were hell-for-stout and warm. The boys took to the clothing in a heartbeat because the cool of fall was upon them. By day three, the youth with the thigh wound was hobbling around camp with a makeshift crutch and was now known to Harlan by his Crow name of Big Eagle. The one with the trembles was getting better as well, and Big Eagle told Harlan that his brother’s name was Winter Hawk.
Harlan discovered that Big Eagle was fourteen summers in age and Winter Hawk was twelve. The boys had three sisters, twelve to sixteen summers in age, but they didn’t know what had happened to them after the raid by the Lakota and Northern Cheyenne.
“They were either killed or taken prisoner,” Big Eagle said quietly with a deadly look of vengeance in his eyes.
He had seen his dad, Buffalo Calf, killed in the opening moments of the fight and his mother, Plum Flower, killed and scalped as she tried to flee with her girls to the safety of the brushy creek. After that, he had lost contact in the confusion and had barely managed to escape to the creek with his little brother before they too were killed.
Harlan, sensing the depth of the boy’s grief, quietly explained to Big Eagle, “All my family are now dead as well, so I know how you feel.”
Big Eagle seemed surprised in light of the many white mountain men he had seen in his young life crossing Crow territory. He figured there were so many that they must all have big families and live forever. When he understood that Harlan was alone, like him and his brother. Big Eagle sat looking into the fire for a long time.
Then Big Eagle said, ‘It looks like we are all brothers with a past from the fire of life, and we are now destined to wander together in a time of the unknown.”
Harlan’s grasp of the Crow language was fast returning, and Big Eagle’s words stung like a harsh winter wind, especially coming from a young man of just fourteen. But Harlan had to admit that the three of them were now adrift from any family bonds other than those they created themselves.
Yes, Harlan thought, we are destined to roam and live in this great land during a time of the unknown when it comes to the destination of our souls.
The grizzly bear’s hams, ribs, and shoulders were smoked to perfection on the drying racks, and the great gobs of fat had been rendered out by Winter Hawk in a large cast-iron pot after instruction from Harlan regarding how not burn the precious contents. Harlan and Big Eagle staked out the great bear's hide and scraped the remaining flesh from it so it wouldn’t spoil. Then they salted it and placed it in the sun, fur side down, over an unused smoking rack so that it could cure as well.
This will bring a fair price at the rendezvous next summer for someone wanting a good bear-skin coat, thought Harlan, especially with its twenty long claws still attached.
During that time, Harlan had cut, notched, and placed all the wall logs for their winter cabin. Now, he was in the process of cutting out the windows, front and back doors, and shooting slots for each side of the cabin.
One week later, the roof was a done deal, and everything of value had been removed from the lean-tos and placed inside the cabin. By then, both boys were a great help to Harlan and had learned some words of English. As each day passed, they seemed more and more comfortable in his presence and he in theirs—almost like a family.
Three of us against the wilderness and all its fury, Harlan thought as he watched the young men progress in everything they did around the camp.
Yes, Big Eagle had it right about the three of them adrift in life as a family.
Chapter Four
A Movement in the Willows
After finishing the cabin, they moved in the last of their gear, including the pack frames, saddles, and bridles. This was to keep the leather items from being stolen or eaten by the resident porcupines for the salt they had soaked up from the horses’ sweat. Then, Harlan and the boys cut their winter wood and dragged it to the cabin with the horses so they’d have plenty of fuel when the winds whistled and the snow drifted up past the eaves of their cabin.
That finished, they turned to the real business at hand: making meat and trapping beaver. The area surrounding the site Harlan had chosen for their cabin was alive with elk, deer, and moose. Soon, hundreds of pounds of drying and jerked meat filled the cabin and the drying racks. Both boys proved their worth at the end of a sharp knife. They took to cutting and smoking the great hoard of meat like a sage grouse takes to exposed black sage leaves on a windswept, barren hillside during the winter.
Observing the boys from a distance, Harlan concluded, They have done this kind of work before and done it well. It’s a real tribute to the training they received from their folks.
Using two mules in harness to drag back another gutted moose carcass, Harlan realized that their little cabin was now chock-full of deer-skin bags of jerky and salted and smoked meat. He could hardly move inside without banging his head on a low-hanging bag of jerky or smoked bear hams. However, he had to find a means of caching more meat if the three of them were to make it through the harsh Wyoming winter with any meat left on their own bones.
But, Harlan concluded, therein existed a problem. The area they had chosen for their home site was chock-full of grizzlies and black bears! They are everywhere, and I’ll have to be damn careful or risk getting chomped in all the wrong places, he thought.
Hanging meat outside in their lean-to or caching it high in the trees was out of the question, at least until hibernation, because black bears could climb trees. He would also have to contend with meat-eating birds if he left exposed slabs of meat hanging on a long-term basis.
Looking up as his mules struggled to drag the 1,100-pound moose carcass back to camp, Harlan saw four closely growing lodge-pole pines next to the corner of their cabin. Within a week, those four trees had a platform floor, walls, and roof forming a seven-by-seven-by-four-foot-high cache-house. Sitting back and looking over his latest efforts, Harlan mentally affirmed that its contents would remain dry during the snows and rains and that it was reachable only with the use of a twelve-foot removable ladder.
That sure as hell would be out of the reach of any bear or varmint in the area, including the hated and fearsome wolverine, he concluded with a satisfied smile. Soon, the aerial cache-house was also bursting at the seams with winter provisions of salted meat, jerky, dried onions dug by the boys on the rocky hillsides, and numerous elk-stomach bags full of bear grease.
Sensing that they were ready for whatever Old Man Winter could throw their way, Harlan began planning his fall beaver trapping. He had scouted several nearby streams entering Willow Lake while hunting for their winter provisions and had found all to be loaded with the furry rodent.
He and the boys began smoking his traps (to remove the human scent) and tearing out part of a nearby beaver dam. Setting their traps on the break, the three of them shot another cow moose on the way back to the cabin and hauled the hams and shoulders to their camp for some needed fresh meat. The rest of the moose was left for the critters to enjoy.
Back at camp, Harlan placed generous chunks of the dark, coarse-grained meat in a large cooking pot along with some bear grease and water and set the pot beside the fire but not directly on it so it would simmer while the boys went for some fresh wild onions located on a nearby rocky hillside.
In the meantime, Harlan threw in a handful of salt and pepper and a small sack of dried beans. After the pot had simmered for two long hours, he tossed a pound of rice into the pot, which by now was giving forth many great smells. In the following hour, he placed several Dutch ovens by the fire. Into one holding water went several large handfuls of dried fruit, and into the other went bear grease and biscuit makings. He built up the fire for the warmth it offered, and soon all that could be heard was the sound of three human beings eating after working hard and going hungry all day.
In short, nothing like a celebration, thought Harlan as he surveyed the fruits of their previous weeks’ labors with a smile.
It was at that ex
act time that Winter Hawk suddenly stopped his trembling. It was noticed first by his brother and then Harlan as they consumed their moose dinner. Winter Hawk just grinned with the revelation and reached for another helping of moose stew. But in the hearts of Big Eagle and Harlan, there was Great Medicine that day in the moose stew, along with much happiness. Now they were a healthy family as well.
***
Kneeling by the busted stick-and-mud beaver dam where they had opened a hole earlier, Harlan removed three dead beaver from the water-set traps. Loading them onto their spare pack horse, the three rode back to camp. Dismounting, Harlan took the three beaver and showed the boys how to remove the rear scent glands and save the oily-scented liquid in a small bottle with a wooden stopper. He had six such bottles that had formerly contained spices.
Now, he planned to have one bottle for each of them, with three in reserve in case any got broken. Then they skinned the beaver carcasses, fleshed them out, and properly hooped them with willow branches from a nearby creek. Harlan showed the boys how he wanted the beaver carcasses boned out for the wonderful meat they supplied. As the boys gathered more willow branches for future hooping, the beaver meat merrily boiled away, laced with many spices. With the later addition of several handfuls of rice, it was soon a dinner to be savored.
During the entire process, neither boy said anything, but they carefully observed what the trapper was teaching them. By now they realized that to catch and process beaver along with other furbearers would allow them to procure the necessities of life from something called a “rendezvous.”
Neither boy had experienced one of these events, but they quickly understood from Harlan that the rendezvous provided supplies and allowed them to continue living in the wild. That was just fine because, to their way of thinking, this would be their way of life until they stepped across the Great Divide into the Happy Hunting Grounds.
Harlan happily noticed that the boys paid great attention to detail. It would serve all of them well, especially in the immediate future...
Dawn the next morning found the three kneeling by a promising beaver drag, where Winter Hawk made his first set under the watchful eyes and counsel of Harlan. Then it was Big Eagle's turn. Picking a likely place, he made a water set that made Harlan smile with pride. The two young men are doing very well, he thought like a proud father.
During the rest of the day the three of them made twenty- four sets in some of the richest beaver water Harlan had ever seen. The following day, every trap held a dead beaver, and all, but one, were large, blanket-sized animals!
In the process, they had run across eight grizzly bears, including one with three yearling cubs. For once, Harlan was glad he carried the heavy but much-needed Hawken across the saddle of his horse. Even those fearful weapons with their .54-caliber bullets at times seemed almost too small in the face of a fierce charge by an aroused grizzly. All three of them became more and more aware that vigilance would have to be the word of the day if they were to survive a fall of trapping in these beaver-rich waters. As they returned to their cabin, the mules had all they wanted to carry of the day’s catch of heavy beaver carcasses.
For the next five days, this routine was not broken. The hard work involved removing and setting the traps, loading the beaver onto the mules, and returning to camp. The first thing they did was save the oil from the castors, placing it into the bottles that hung from each of their necks by a leather thong for easy access when trapping. Next, they skinned the beaver and hooped the skins before getting something to eat. Finally, the three sleepily climbed into their sleeping furs to await another day’s work of intense beaver harvest.
As each day came and went, Harlan observed the boys were quickly developing into very good beaver trappers on their way to becoming great mountain men. They set their traps well, read the ground accurately when it came to tracking, could already read the signs of weather, and were skillful with a knife—and Big Eagle was getting better day by day with his bow and arrow. Life couldn’t be any better, to Harlan’s way of thinking.
***
Roaaaar! Ummmph, ummmph, crash, flooosh, roaaaar. An enormous grizzly boar suddenly burst from the water and willows as Harlan knelt to remove a large beaver from a trap. The bear was just feet away and was on him before he could grab the Hawken lying on the bank by his side.
With the sudden onslaught, the horses and mules carrying the boys and their gear quickly spooked away from the battle scene. Harlan just had time to grab his .79-caliber, single-shot pistol from his belt and shoot the bear under the chin as it grabbed him to give a fatal bite and crushing hug.
Ka-pow went the pistol, but it hardly slowed the enraged bear. Grabbing Harlan in its muscular forelegs, the bear bit down hard on the top of his head, its great canine teeth tearing open an eyebrow and ripping off nearly half of his scalp. Fighting the burning pain and the terror of his assailant’s hot, fetid breath, Harlan dropped his now useless pistol.
Grabbing his long-bladed gutting knife from its sheath, he plunged it deeply into the bear’s upper vitals. Hot blood spewed over his knife hand and down his arm as the steel found its target. Again and again, Harlan furiously drove the knife into the bear’s vitals, trying to keep low as the bear continued tearing at his bleeding head, shoulder, and arm.
Lurching backward, the bear tried to drag Harlan into the deep water of the beaver pond. If the bear was successful, he realized he was a dead man because once in the deep water he would lose his footing on the muddy bottom and not be able to defend himself. With renewed energy, Harlan fought savagely to stay at the edge of the bank and out of the deep water.
Reaching back and grabbing his Hawken from the bank, Harlan cocked the hammer and drove the end of the barrel into the chest of the bear, only to have the gun promptly smashed from his hand. Then, the bear crunched down hard, this time through his left shoulder. The pain and tearing of his shoulder muscles almost made Harlan pass out. But he hung on and kept plunging the long-bladed knife with his other hand into the bear’s vitals for all he was worth.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Big Eagle bravely run right up to the bear, draw his bow, and shoot an arrow into the side of its massive head. Ignoring this new pain, the bear grasped Harlan with the strength of ten men and again bit down hard on his head. Plunging the knife one more time with his fast-ebbing strength upward toward the bear’s heart, Harlan quietly dissolved into a quiet, peaceful world of darkness.
Chapter Five
The Boys Become Men
First, there was the sound of a woodpecker hammering on a dead tree limb in the far-off distance. Then there was the smell of a cooking fire and distant, muffled sounds of talking. Next there was a soft light and blurry visions and shadows of someone walking nearby.
Then, the pain! Oh, God, the burning sensation of pain in his face, head, and shoulder. The throbbing pain coming over him in waves from his shoulder was the worst. Harlan remembered his mauling by a surprised grizzly bear at the edge of the beaver pond just as the lights quietly and thankfully went out once again...
Five days later, Harlan began again to come back to reality from the spirit world. Slowly opening his eyes, he became aware that he was hazily looking through one eye that was still full of blood. It would be another two weeks before that eye would clear enough to see.
He realized it was hard to smile or frown due to the damage done to his face by the grizzly’s tearing, six-inch-long front claws. Trying to reach his face, he discovered that his left arm was sore as a boil and would not work. He made an attempt with his other arm and felt a hand grabbing it and stopping him from reaching those damaged places on his head and face.
“Welcome back from the spirit world,” came the reassuring voice of Big Eagle.
“Is he gonna be all right?” said another worried voice, that of Winter Hawk in his broken English.
“Yes, he will be fine, but not as good looking as he once was,” said Big Eagle.
“Are you hungry?” Big Eagle a
sked Harlan.
Realizing he was famished, Harlan roared out that he was starved and then regretted his animated talking and movement as the pain returned with a rush like the maddened grizzly. Soon, Big Eagle was spooning the best-tasting thick onion-and-meat soup that he had ever eaten into his mouth. After his third bowl, Harlan asked, “What is this? It’s great!”
“Soup from that old griz’ you tangled with back there at the beaver dam many days ago,” replied Big Eagle with a pleased grin.
That struck Harlan as funny. The bear had come to kill and eat him, and now their fortunes had been reversed. Harlan smiled and then started to laugh, only to regret it as he did. His face burned and hurt like hell, as did his shoulder, with any kind of movement. The top of his head, on the other hand, was totally numb. That he couldn’t quite figure out...
***
A week later a wobbly Harlan was on his feet, and what a surprise was in store for him. In the looking glass from the cabin stores, he saw himself for the first time since he and the grizzly had “danced.”
His scalp had been almost tom off but had been sewn back on with a needle and thread. It was swollen and had taken on many shades of color, much hair had fallen out, and he smelled like hell, partly from putrefaction and partly from the evil-smelling poultice Big Eagle had squashed all over the damaged areas. His left eyebrow had been almost completely removed but sewn back as well and, aside from being bright red with infection around the edges, appeared to be healing.
His left shoulder was another matter. It had four large canine-tooth holes, two in the front and two in the back, driven deeply to the bone. It was leaking green-and-yellow pus, and he could not move it at all due to its stiffness. In short, he was alive but in one hell of a stinking mess.