by Terry Grosz
As it turned out, Thomas Fitzpatrick had gone unsuccessfully to St. Louis for backing and supplies for the Cache, or Willow Valley, Rendezvous. Then Smith, Sublette, and Jackson, who were new owners of the company responsible for providing supplies to the current rendezvous, had gone clear to Santa Fe to check out the trapping and trade opportunities in that area and to procure supplies for the 1831 rendezvous.
En route, Jed Smith was killed by Comanche Indians on the Cimarron River. After outfitting Fitzpatrick in Santa Fe, Sublette and Jackson dissolved their partnership because of the loss of their friend Smith.
Realizing that many men depended on the supplies getting through, Fitzpatrick headed north for the rendezvous site with his supply train posthaste. When he met Henry Fraeb just east of South Pass in the current state of Wyoming, Fitzpatrick transferred his supplies to Fraeb. Then he turned around and headed back to St. Louis to make sure the next year’s supplies arrived on time. Fraeb, with the supplies, headed for the rendezvous site. But because of the delays, the general summer rendezvous of 1831 was not held. Only a shortened, later version took place because the trappers had to get back to the hunting grounds and prepare for winter camp before the snows fell, making trapping and travel difficult at best.
* * *
Returning to camp late one evening toward the end of July, Harlan dismounted and, without a word, began to care for his horse. It was obvious from the state of the horse and the tiredness of the man that he had ridden long and hard in his attempts to locate the rendezvous traders.
After caring for his horse and still without a word, Harlan strode toward the campfire. Grabbing his plate, he shoveled a mound of meat and beans onto it and began eating with gusto. It was clear that the jerky he had carried had not kept his big guts from eating the little guts. The boys, because of their Indian heritage and because they knew their dad, remained quiet and didn’t ask questions.
Once Harlan had finished his second heaping plate of meat and beans, he took his tin cup of boiling coffee into both hands and stared long and hard into the fire, just as he had on the earlier evening when there had been no news.
Then, as if relishing the moment, he said, “I saw the pack strings and wagons gathered about five miles south and west of here. There must be eighty complaining mules loaded from stem to stern with ever’thing under the sun. They also brought five wagons, heavily loaded by the looks of their wheels sinking into the dirt. Henry Fraeb is leading the pack and advised that he will be ready tomorrow to trade, so be sure to bring your plews and an empty gut because he plans to butcher an ox and load up our drinking cups!”
Harlan gushed out the words with a rush and a twinkle of anticipation in his eyes. Both boys exploded in glee over the long-awaited news, then quieted down as if embarrassed by their un-Indian-like outburst.
The trappers spent the rest of the evening making ready their year’s trapping efforts and the clothes they would wear grandly when they rode into the rendezvous.
***
Daylight found Harlan, Big Eagle, and Winter Hawk packed and on the move. By ten that morning the rendezvous grounds were in sight. Sitting high in their saddles, the boys searched eagerly with their eyes and ears for the sights and sounds coming from the trading grounds.
Approximately one hundred Indian tepees in two big camps dotted the meadows near a small creek. Around them swirled proud Indian men, brightly dressed women, Indian slaves carrying bundles of firewood for cooking, and scores of children, all interspersed with numerous barking camp dogs.
“Those be the Northern Cheyenne,” Harlan stated flatly, deeply aware of the connection between that tribe and the demise of the boys’ Crow clan. Both boys looked long and hard at the tribal members they passed, looking as if they might show some reaction to the destruction of their family. They wondered if any gathered there that day had been part of that sad moment from their past.
“Those tepee stands over there are of the Northern Utes,” Harlan informed them with a lighter tone. Forgetting the Northern Cheyenne for the moment, the boys looked at the other large Indian encampment that Harlan had pointed out. That camp also swirled with human activity in preparation for the trading to come. Pack strings of trappers with their pelts were streaming into the area from all points of the compass, making the meadows come alive with enough humanity to almost overwhelm the boys’ senses.
As they moved closer with their own pack string, the boys could see the trading wagons in a semicircle, with blankets and buffalo robes scattered around on the ground. Laid out in gay profusion were that year’s trade items and necessities. There were brass and cast-iron pots, frying pans, Dutch ovens, trade muskets, and a few Hawkens.
Scattered near that assortment of goods were numerous fowling pieces, horse pistols, and kegs of powder. Next were barrels of Green River skinning knives intermixed with bolts of brightly colored cloth and spools of rope and brass wire. The next wagon over was surrounded by piles of beaver traps and barrels of things neither of the boys had ever seen.
Those barrels contained hard candy, an item the boys had never tasted. On the other side of the trading lane were small mountains of sacks of coffee, pigs of lead, more kegs of powder, bags of flints, sharpening stones, fish hooks, and fishing line. Next on several buffalo rugs were axes, tomahawks, blankets from the Hudson Bay fur company, bridles, kegs of rum, and barrels of horse and mule shoes.
That array was followed by mounds of spare rifle and pistol parts, kegs of horse and mule shoe nails, tin pans, looking glasses, and everything else in between. At the end of the trading path were stacked bags of flour, cornmeal, raisins, more hard candy, sugar, dried fruits, coffee beans, and everything else a trapper could want for his next year of isolation.
At the end of this display were five blacksmiths, all with ringing hammers. They were repairing the trappers’ equipment or fashioning horse and mule shoes to fit particular animals brought forward by the trappers for specialty shoeing. The boys, never before having seen anything so grand or overwhelming, could scarcely contain their excitement.
Off to one side, Fraeb’s buyers were grading beaver plews and furs from other furbearers as trappers stood expectantly by, eyeing the grading process. Much talking was going on as the trappers tried to sell high and the buyers traditionally bought low. The talking got even more intense as the firewater slammed into empty bellies, with predictable results. However, the bottom line always remained the same.
This was the only “store in town,” and if you needed supplies for another year, it was either get them here or get them nowhere... Ultimately, transactions were made, and in most cases the trappers found themselves breaking even or in debt for the next year to the trading company. Few got rich other than the merchants bankrolling the rendezvous because of the 70 to 700 percent or higher markup the fur companies were raking into their coffers.
Watching these transactions, Harlan thought, Living in this beautiful land sure carries a high price… in more ways than one. To his way of thinking, the price could be found at the end of a speeding lead ball, at the point of an arrow or lance, under the cold steel of a knife or the killing force of a tomahawk, or in the clutches of a mean-ass varmint, including a high-dealing trader.
Many times your own kind saw to it that you died in the traces, he thought as he saw the pelt scalping between buyers and trappers at every processing station.
Then it was Harlan and the boys’ turn to move into the active trading zone.
“I don’t trade with no stinkin’ damn horse-stealin’ Crows or their Injun-lovin’ kin,” growled the fur company representative as he looked up from the pile of furs he had just purchased and stacked off to one side in anticipation of the next seller. He gave Harlan and the boys an angry look as if to emphasize his point.
In one quick, explosive movement, Harlan was off his horse and had his knife at the fur buyer’s throat before the man could even blink.
“Them is my boys, and if one is mean-ass to them, then he is mean-
ass to me. Do you read me right, friend?” Harlan asked coldly as the knife began to cut into the man’s skin and small droplets of blood rolled down the side of his neck.
“Put that knife away,” yelled a nearby fur buyer as he and another buyer quickly hoisted their rifles and aimed them at Harlan.
“Not a good move,” shouted Big Eagle as he and his brother covered the two with their own rifles and a look just as deadly as the Hawkens.
“Shoot them damn Indians,” yelled another fur buyer, coming to the aid of his buddies with a rifle in hand.
“Don’t reckon this needs to get any bigger or bloodier,” said a calm voice from the edge of the crowd.
Glancing quickly backward at the speaker of those words, Big Eagle spotted Joe Meek emerging from the crowd with rifle in hand and a killing meanness he had never seen on that man’s face before.
A blacksmith stepped forward with his hammer raised as if to strike Meek from behind when another voice said, “This here has gone far enough. Put that hammer down or, my friend, you have hammered the last nail into your coffin if Old Betsy here has her say.”
The boys would later learn that this man was Jim Bridger.
“Hold it right there!” yelled Henry Fraeb as he pushed his way through the crowd into the battle zone. “What the goddamned hell is going on here?” he demanded.
Harlan, still not letting go of the offending fur buyer, said, “Henry, I came here to trade in peace with my two sons. This here piece of buffalo crap had the gall to deny me and the boys from trading. Seems he hates Crows, and as I said, these here’n are mine.”
“Damnit, Harlan, I have known you for many years. What made you blow up like that? You usually are calm as the waters of the Missouri in the summer heat.”
“Maybe it were losing my brother up on the Yellowstone, or maybe it were being an orphan myself. Or maybe it were the fact these two young’uns saved my life after a griz worked me over. But whatever way, no man is going to insult me or my kin,” Harlan said in a killing tone.
“Put down that knife, Harlan. And you, Dan, go collect your wages, take a horse and saddle from my string, and draw the grub and necessities you need to get back to civilization. Now, get out of my sight,” growled Fraeb, who could be just as mean as Harlan.
Harlan removed his knife from the man’s neck, and the fur buyer scurried away, glad to be out of the clutches of one very angry and apparently crazy mountain man.
Looking over at Meek and Bridger, Harlan said, “Thanks for backing my play.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for all the world,” Meek answered with a smile.
Seeing that the hurrah was over, the two boys lowered their Hawkens. But never for a second did they take their eyes off the two other fur buyers who had backed up their companion and had hurriedly gathered with the man Harlan had just let go.
“Harlan, you and I will look over what you have to offer, and we will settle on a price,” Fraeb said loudly, hoping to defuse the tension in the air. “After all, that hell-raisin’ ain’t no good for business.”
With that, Fraeb started grading Harlan and the boys’ furs. He found himself looking at many very well-dressed, blanket-sized beaver plews. After the first two packs had produced only very large plews, Fraeb looked up at Harlan with a big grin.
“You and them boys have done very well if this here sample is representative of what you brought to trade,” he said.
Harlan, still mad over the comments by the first fur buyer, just nodded, but he never took his eyes off Fraeb and his fur grading.
“Harlan,” said Fraeb, “as I said, you and your’n have really done exceptionally well. I will say this hoard of furs will bring ... about six thousand in trade!” Without giving Harlan time to think over his answer, Fraeb added, “That gives you three dollars for each buffalo hide, four dollars for the beaver, three for your otter, and thirty-three cents a pound for the deer skins. I can only give you twenty-five cents for each coon skin and twenty cents for each muskrat hide, though.” Fraeb stood back and intently looked at Harlan for an answer.
“That be fair,” stated Harlan after a long moment figuring what they might need for the year and its potential cost. Even at Fraeb’s prices, they would have more than enough for all they needed and some left over. Little did Harlan realize at that time how great the need would be for that little bit left over.
“That be fair,” repeated Harlan as he and Fraeb shook on the deal.
The boys still kept their eyes on the two fur buyers who had taken offense at Harlan’s knife moves on their mouthy friend. They were still in heated conversation with the first offender, and all three were casting dark looks at the boys. Big Eagle had the feeling that they hadn’t seen the last of those men.
Harlan and the boys led their horses to the purchasing zone of the rendezvous and began looking over the goods and wares. After getting funny looks from several of the merchants, Harlan walked the boys a short distance away and said, “As long as the two of you wear the markings of a Crow, we will continue to be looked upon with suspicion. However, the Crow to my way of thinking are a noble people, and if you want to show your heritage through the beadwork on your clothing, it is fine with me. Just be prepared for trouble from those who are offended by your race or what your race has done to them in the past.”
The three of them turned and walked back to the trading as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. However, because their dad had backed the boys’ decision to display their heritage, they found their love for the man growing by leaps and bounds after that day.
Before the trading was done, Harlan and the boys had purchased six 25-pound kegs of powder (the mighty Hawkens swallowed a lot of powder) and 150 pounds of lead pigs (the Hawkens ate a lot of lead as well). They purchased two dozen Green River skinning knives for trading with Indians, enough horse and mule shoes for their string for a year (two cents per pound), a keg of shoeing nails (five cents per pound), and 100 pounds of cornmeal in 25-pound sacks.
That was soon followed by two 10-pound sacks of pepper, 150 pounds of salt, 50 pounds of brown-sugar cones, 100 pounds of dried apples, and another 50 pounds of raisins. After the boys had tasted the strange-looking items for the first time, Harlan saw to it that 20 pounds of hard rock candy was also purchased.
Getting serious once again, Harlan purchased 100 pounds of flour, three Hudson Bay five-point winter coats because theirs were wearing out, 10 pounds each of red and blue glass beads for trading, and two dozen fire steels (which were always being lost). He added eight sharpening stones (usually broken or lost), files to float the horses’ and mules’ teeth, and fancy bridles for each horse and mule.
Then he purchased 5,000 primers for the Hawkens and horse pistols, five nipple picks, two dozen nipples for the Hawkens (always deforming), and four more single-shot horse pistols to add to the four he already possessed.
As the boys toted supplies to their ever-growing pile of goods, Harlan purchased two bolts of calico, one red and the other blue, for trading with the Snakes for furs, as well as sewing needles and thread. Lastly, he added two dozen fish hooks and line, four square axes, twenty assorted iron buckles, eight dozen flints for Indian trading, 30 pounds of top-quality James River tobacco, a new coffee mill, and 100 pounds of beans. As an afterthought, he had the traders throw in 100 pounds of rice in four 25-pound bags.
Harlan had two extra horses, so he proposed to the boys that they sell them to the Indians for their remaining buffalo hides and then sell those hides to Fraeb as well. With that credit, they could buy a dozen or so of the Northwest fusil rifles for resale to the Snakes for more furs. (It is a little-known fact that the bulk of the furs taken during the heyday of the mountain men actually came from Indian trappers.)
Both boys nodded in agreement. Harlan also suggested, because of the Indian’s mystic associations with the grizzly bear, that they take their three grizzly hides, including that from the great white bear, and sell those to the Indians as well.
; Again the boys agreed, and off the trio went to the first Indian village with their goods and wares for trade. Their just-acquired goods were left under the watchful eye of Henry Fraeb and his partners for them to pick up at later time.
Chapter Ten
“No Sell Um”
Reining up in front of the central tepee he knew would house a tribal chief or important leader, as indicated by the eagle staff sticking up from the ground outside the door, Harlan dismounted. Then he realized his error!
The tepee bore the markings of the Northern Cheyenne. Before Harlan could leave because of the boys’ discomfort, out strode the chief in all his finery. Not wanting to create a ruckus by departing now that he had been seen, Harlan made the sign of peace, as did the Indian. In sign, Harlan spoke of wanting to sell his two horses for buffalo hides. The chief grunted his approval and then moved past Harlan to inspect the horseflesh. As he did, the two boys silently sitting on their horses all of a sudden froze as they stared hard into the Indian camp. Not three tepees away was a young woman carrying a large bundle of sticks for the evening’s fire. It was the boys’ older sister!
Harlan instantly sensed the boys’ uneasiness and agitation. Looking past the chief’s tepee in the direction of the boys’ gaze, he spotted the young woman.
Nothing out of the ordinary other than she is really pretty, he thought as he turned to the boys for an explanation. The words the boys spoke staggered Harlan as if he had been hit by a well-thrown tomahawk!
“Are you sure?” he asked in disbelief. Neither boy spoke, but their stares and tight-knuckled grips on their Hawkens said it all.
Then there was a piercing scream! Before he knew it, the young woman recognized the boys, ran over, and seized Big Eagle’s leg, frantically talking and crying at the same time.