by Terry Grosz
The chief, stunned by the action of the young woman, quit examining the two horses, picked up a stick, and started to swing it at the woman to make her get back to her chores. It was obvious to Harlan that she was a slave. However, before the chief could strike the young woman, Big Eagle took the limb away and broke it over his knee in fury and contempt.
The surprised chief stood there for a moment and then let out a blood-curdling yell that aroused the entire tribe. Soon the three trappers were surrounded by howling Indians who didn’t even know yet why their chief had called them, but his yell was all they needed.
Harlan, quickly realizing this was a no-win situation, tried through sign to get control of the rapidly escalating events. What had started out as a simple horse trade was now heading in the direction of a bloodletting.
The chief was having none of the contempt shown by the young Indian sitting on his horse, especially because he now realized from their beaded markings that the two young men with the Hawkens were from the hated Crow Nation.
The ruckus had not gone unnoticed by the large numbers of trappers interspersed among the Indians. The call went out among the trappers that one of their kind was surrounded by the Northern Cheyenne, and soon a hundred or more had gathered alongside Harlan and the boys. A battle was in the offing unless cooler heads prevailed, and once again Jim Bridger strode to the forefront of the action.
“Harlan,” he said, “what the hell is this all about?”
Harlan explained the situation, and a cloud of concern spread across Jim’s face and those of the trappers near enough to overhear his words. Most of them disapproved of slavery. Squaw- swapping was all right because a business deal was struck in the process, but slavery stuck in the craw of most trappers.
It turned out that the Big Eagle and Winter Hawk’s sister belonged to the chief Harlan was dealing with over the horses! Hoping a deal could be struck and bloodshed averted, Harlan asked the chief in sign if he would trade for the young girl.
“No,” was his cold reply.
Then trouble came in a double dose! Out from the chief’s tepee stepped another young woman to see what the noise was all about. She was younger then the first woman and, from her general appearance, had been badly abused. Winter Hawk jumped off his horse in an instant, ran to the young girl, and wrapped her in his arms before she even knew what was happening. She was another sister of the boys who had been taken prisoner by the Northern Cheyenne during the same raid on their village.
Now Harlan had his hands doubly full of hornets, and so did peacemaker, Jim Bridger.
“What else good do you have to trade for the women?” asked Jim with a hopeful look on his face as he nervously fingered the hammer on his rifle. He knew full well this could blow up in a heartbeat, leaving this rendezvous with a special note in the history books—if anyone survived to describe the bloodbath between the trappers and the Indians over a couple of young squaws.
Harlan, realizing the danger that any spark could set off, told Winter Hawk to let go of his sister and return to his horse. There was a long, heartfelt moment as the two separated, but Winter Hawk did as he was told. Harlan then walked to his pack mule, took off a large tanned grizzly-bear hide, and walked back to the chief with a flourish and show of importance. Laying it on the ground, spread out with the fur side up for the full effect, he bade the chief in sign to sit. After a moment’s hesitation, the chief sat down across from Harlan with a scowl that seemed as wide as the mighty Missouri was long, and just as cloudy.
In sign Harlan explained, “The two young girls are sisters to my two boys. These sisters were captured in a fight many moons earlier between the mighty Northern Cheyenne and the horse-stealing, dog-eating Crows.”
Those words, deriding the Crows to smooth matters over, brought a flicker of a smile to the chief’s face ... but just a little one. Harlan went on to quietly explain that he would like to purchase the girls from the great chief.
"No sell um, " the chief said flatly in a tone of finality.
Harlan continued as if he had not heard the chief, “I will give you one horse for each woman.”
For a moment Harlan thought he saw a glimmer of greed cross the chiefs eyes because it was a very good trade in a horse-starved wilderness.
“No sell um,” the chief repeated. This time he spoke with a little less certainty.
Rising, Harlan returned to the mule and brought forth an even larger tanned grizzly-bear skin with all its claws intact. He laid it at the chief’s feet.
“The grizzly-bear hide you are sitting on and this one along with the horses for the two girls,” he bargained once again.
By now one could have heard a pin drop among the Indians and the trappers gathered around the two men seated on the bear skin.
“No sell um,” persisted the chief. But Harlan knew he was weakening in light of the more than generous offer lying at his feet. Then, removing his necklace of twenty massive grizzly-bear claws given to him by his sons from the bear that had almost killed him, Harlan laid it at the feet of the chief.
For a moment, the chief just stared at this new treasure. Then he slowly reached for the necklace in a most respectful way, illustrating the full power felt in the bear’s magic represented by the claws. As he fingered each long claw, Harlan let him be for the moment because of the magical effect the necklace was having.
Then the chief threw the necklace back down by Harlan’s knees, saying, “No sell um!”
Harlan still had an ace up his sleeve. Getting up slowly for maximum effect, he walked again to his pack mule. Removing one of his spare older Hawkens, Harlan messed with the rifle’s sights momentarily in order to create a dramatic effect for the chief. Then he slowly walked back, noticing that the chiefs eyes never left the valuable, highly prized rifle. Sitting in front of the chief once again, Harlan cradled the rifle in his arms and then, for show, lovingly caressed it. By now, one could have cut the suspense with a knife, and the crowd of trappers or Indians made no sound that would break the spell.
Then Harlan laid the heavy rifle across the chief’s knees, saying, “The two horses, the two grizzly-bear skins, the necklace, and this fine rifle for the two women—but no more!”
The tone in Harlan’s voice was not lost on the chief. The chief had bargained hard, and now it was time to make his move—or refuse the more than generous offer for the two scrawny slaves from the lowly Crow Nation. For the longest time the chief fingered the highly respected long-shooting rifle. This rifle was twice as powerful as anything his entire tribe had in its arsenal. Finally, the chief slowly laid the rifle back at Harlan’s knees, saying, “A keg of rum in addition to all this, and you shall have the squaws.”
Holding back his glee, Harlan, without taking his eyes off the chief’s, asked one of the nearby trappers to run and fetch a keg of rum, and he would make it good with Fraeb.
Soon two trappers returned, toting a keg of rum between them, and set it beside Harlan. Harlan took the heavy keg and slowly rolled it over to the chief. Then he extended his hand to close the deal. The chief skipped taking Harlan’s hand, jumped up holding the Hawken high over his head, and let out a yell of success.
His tribe joined him in hollering over the good bargain their chief had made with the crazy white man for two scrawny Crow women. When things settled down, the chief grabbed the two women and pushed them down at Harlan’s feet. Terror registered in their eyes as they looked up into the grizzly-damaged face, and that of a white man at that.
An even greater surprise awaited Harlan. A couple of Cheyenne women roughly thrust two babies into the Crow women’s laps! Harlan realized these babies belonged to the women he had just acquired in the trade. Turning, he told Big Eagle and Winter Hawk to mount their sisters and their babies on the backs of their horses and return to camp.
The women and infants were gently helped up onto the boys’ horses by the surrounding trappers. Both boys waited for a moment, looking at Harlan with tears in their eyes. Then they quickly di
sappeared in the direction of their camp. Rising, Harlan turned and faced those trappers who had stepped forward to back his hand, sight unseen.
“Follow me, lads,” he said. “The rum is on me, and rightfully so.”
The cheering crowd of trappers descended on Fraeb’s fur company liquor stall, and with some of his remaining credit, Harlan procured four large, uncut kegs of rum. With that, the party began in earnest!
Finally slipping unseen into the night, Harlan left the roaring-drunk party of trappers and headed for his camp. He found the boys on high alert, guarding the two shaken women and their goods.
As Harlan dismounted from his horse, Winter Hawk quickly took the reins and told him he would see that the animal was curried, fed, and watered. Surprised, Harlan walked over to the fire and discovered a pot of beans merrily cooking away and numerous pieces of fresh mule deer roasting on green willow sticks. The smell of freshly brewed coffee flooded his nostrils, and he realized just how tired and hungry he was.
Sitting on a log by the fire, he was again surprised when the older of the two Indian women served him a plate of steaming beans and several large, choice pieces of deer meat. Smiling, she turned and poured him a cup of coffee. Surprised by all the special treatment, Harlan looked over at Big Eagle with a questioning look.
Big Eagle had a smile a mile wide, and he looked back at Harlan and said, “Enjoy the attention, for it is now part of the way of this family!”
Harlan fell to the chow and ate until he was more than full. Leaning back on his log, he summoned Big Eagle and Winter Hawk over to the fire while the women excused themselves and breast-fed their babies in the lean-to.
“Would the two of you let me know what the hell is going on?” requested Harlan with a big grin matching Big Eagle’s.
Big Eagle said, “These are two of our three sisters. We just found out that the youngest of the three was killed after the raid because she could not keep up with the war party after they left the battle site.”
There was a sorrowful pause, and then he continued like the man he was fast becoming. “However, we at least have two of our sisters back! The one who provided you dinner tonight is Birdsong. She was named by my father after the morning songs of the birds that brought great joy to my people. She is seventeen summers old, and her baby is from being raped many times by the young men from the Northern Cheyenne tribe.”
There was no misunderstanding those words, recounted through tight lips and with hate-filled eyes.
“Our younger sister is named Autumn Flower. She is fifteen summers old and was raped many times by the Northern Cheyenne before and after the arrival of her baby. Despite the abuse they suffered as slaves in that tribe, they are healthy and ready to go with us. As for the babies, they are strong, if not noisy, and healthy. Can they go with us back to our trapping grounds and cabin?” asked Big Eagle as his voice hopefully trailed off into nothingness.
Winter Hawk, who had been quiet throughout his brother’s explanation, now spoke. “I will work very hard and never again say bad things about the work I have to do if we can take our sisters and their babies with us. You and they are all the family we have, and we would like to be together once again if that is all right?”
“Well, that poses a small problem,” said Harlan. “I just traded our two extra horses for your sisters, and now we have nothing for them to ride. I suppose we can try trading some of our remaining credit from Fraeb for some horses, but that may be hard to do with horses being so valuable and in such short supply.”
Continuing to think aloud, he said, “We still have the great white bear hide, which we could try to trade for some horses with the Northern Utes. But that may be a tough trail to follow as well because of the overall horse shortage. They have always been short of good horseflesh, and I don’t think they will have any in excess now.”
Big Eagle spoke up, saying, “Harlan, Winter Hawk and I have been thinking and have a plan. We realized when we left the Indian camp that we were short of horses. When we return tomorrow to the rendezvous to pick up our supplies, we will need the hide from the great white bear so we can bargain. We may be able to turn it into some horses.”
Harlan looked hard at the boys but was not able to discern from their stoic faces what they had in mind. They had been good commonsense thinkers until now, so on a whim he said, “All right, you can have the great bear hide and let’s see just how good you two are at turning the hide into horses. Good horses, mind you. No nags, or you will find yourself riding the nags and the women riding your horses.”
The two boys gave each other calculating looks and smiled. Somehow, Harlan thought, this whole thing of letting the boys have their heads could be heading us for one hell of a “horse” wreck.
Chapter Eleven
Big Guns, Little Men
The next morning the new family left camp and headed for the activities at the rendezvous. Harlan rode his horse in the lead, and the two boys gave up their horses so their sisters and the babies could ride. On foot, Big Eagle and Winter Hawk led the six pack mules soon to be loaded down with supplies for the next year’s adventurers at Willow Lake.
When they arrived at the main trading camp, Harlan saw many trappers lying on the ground asleep or staggering around trying to get the “rum demons” out of their heads—the demons Harlan had placed there with the four kegs of rum he had purchased for the party the night before. Harlan had to smile and was glad he had left the shindig early.
Over at the wagons, fur buying and the procuring of supplies continued at a furious pace among the more or less sober trappers. After all, it was getting into late summer, and the trappers needed to return to their trapping grounds to prepare for winter by repairing their cabins, especially the roofs; hauling in wood; and cutting hay to feed their livestock when the snows became too deep for the animals to graze. They also had to make meat and trap beaver before the winter winds and thick ice became too difficult to overcome.
The two boys took the pack mule with the great bear hide and headed for the fur traders’ wagons. They unloaded the hide and struggled to unroll it until it was spread massively over the top and side of one of the trade wagons. In an instant, all fur buying and procurement of supplies halted as an amazed crowd of Indians and trappers gathered to examine the exceptional white bear skin. For the longest time there was absolute, almost reverent silence. Then a gush of talking ensued among those witnessing the freak of nature before them. The talk was soon interrupted by Big Eagle.
“Sixty beaver pelts against the bear hide if any one of you can outshoot me,” he said in a loud, challenging voice.
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Sixty beaver pelts for such a magnificent item was a joke! The rare white bear hide was worth at least one hundred beaver hides, if not more. Soon a throng of trappers pushed to the forefront of the crowd to lay wagers that they could outshoot this pipsqueak of a lad—and a Crow Indian at that. Fraeb opened a keg of rum to encourage the betting, and soon a small target was set up in the field at the one-hundred-yard mark.
A brief scuffle broke out among the trappers as they argued over who would go first—because surely that first man could outshoot a young Indian boy and walk off with the prize albino grizzly hide. Finally, Big Jim Tandy drew the short straw and stepped forward to shoot in the contest.
Still a little wobbly from the party the night before, he settled down and shot— boom! Dirt spewed up from beneath the target, and a laugh as well as a groan went up from the crowd. Tandy and Bridger were considered the best shots in the group, and Big Jim could be a bit of a bully because of his size, so the crowd enjoyed as well as commiserated with his missed shot.
Not believing his eyes but acknowledging the acclaimed judge of the event, Jim Bridger, when he announced a miss, Big Jim just stood shaking his head in disbelief. Big Eagle stepped forward, hefted the heavy Hawken, and in less than a heartbeat sent his shot down range—boom! Jim Bridger declared it a hit, and the crowd went wild with shouts of encourage
ment for the next trapper to step up to the shooting mark. Meanwhile, Winter Hawk dragged Big Jim's bundle of beaver plews off to one side where he could watch over them.
Next to shoot was Dan “Good Book” Beamer, another excellent shooter, and a religious man at that. He had not gotten drunk the night before, and Harlan began to worry a mite. Dropping his entry fee of one ninety-pound pack of beaver plews in the shooting arena, he stepped to the line, said a short prayer with a reverent look skyward, and fired—boom!
“A hit,” declared Bridger.
Big Eagle once again stepped forward and fired in less time than it takes to talk about it—boom!
“Another hit,” said Bridger.
Now the crowd was alive with the noise of excitement, gambling, anticipation, and speculation about the shoot’s outcome.
“To break the tie, both of you must shoot again,” said Bridger.
Dan reloaded, stepped forward, said a prayer once again, and fired—boom!
“A clean miss,” stated Bridger.
A groan went up from the crowd, but the men were happy because Fraeb’s keg of rum was still gushing forth into their empty tin cups. Big Eagle, taking his cue from Bridger, stepped forward and fired.
“A clean hit dead center, and the winner,” Bridger announced, laughing at Dan’s embarrassment over being bested by an Indian kid with a good shooting eye.
Six more shooters stepped forward with their packs of plews for the chance to win the albino bear hide, and six times Big Eagle beat them where they stood. Soon, no more takers entered the contest after watching those rounds of shooting by the young man. Big Eagle looked over at his brother and gave him a knowing wink, then stepped away from the firing line as his even smaller brother replaced him.
Now the crowd was excited again. Here was a shooter even younger than the last one, and surely he could be beaten. With renewed interest, five more shooters strode forth to best Winter Hawk, and five more bit the dust. Little did they know that Winter Hawk was an even better marksman than Big Eagle or Harlan—and that was exceptional because Harlan rarely missed! Soon thirteen packs of beaver plews were piled up by the wagon, more than enough to purchase two horses for the women to ride without sacrificing the great white bear skin.