The Saga of Harlan Waugh (The Mountain Men)

by Terry Grosz

  Big Eagle and Winter Hawk nodded in agreement, and by daylight they were long gone. Harlan and Runs Fast began cutting and trimming nearby lodge-pole pine logs to build another smaller cabin just for storage of winter meat, and when the women had time, they assisted as well. However, both were beginning to show that they were carrying babies, and Harlan restricted them to lighter duty than the men.

  Three days later, the two boys returned with the pack mules loaded with many hams and shoulders of rich moose meat. Moving next to the smoking racks, Big Eagle unloaded all the meat except one very large and choice moose ham for the women to section and start the smoking process.

  Without a word, Big Eagle took the pack animal carrying the moose ham and, saying nothing to anyone in his family, walked the animal across the meadow straight to the tepee of Chief White Bear. Watching from a distance, Harlan saw White Bear come out of his tepee and talk to Big Eagle. White Bear then turned and said something to those inside the tepee, and out came the two women. After a brief conversation with White Bear, the two Indian women removed the moose ham and struggled with its weight as they carried it to their drying racks.

  With that, Big Eagle turned and headed back to camp, while White Bear reentered the tepee and disappeared. Meanwhile, the two women commenced cutting up the huge moose ham for smoking and drying.

  When Big Eagle returned, no one said a thing, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. What Harlan had hoped for in returning to the Crow Nation was now beginning to happen. The men finished the new cache cabin just in time for the women to store the newly smoked and jerked moose meat away from the weather and critters.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fall Trapping

  The ritual for fall trapping and all its adventures now began. The honing of skinning knives, smoking of beaver traps, casting of bullets, horseshoeing, and equipment repair led the list. Soon the men were almost ready as the women filled their powder horns, topped off their possibles bags, and stuffed their saddlebags with jerky. By daylight, they were gone, leaving the women to fend for themselves under the watchful eyes of their Crow neighbors. However, each woman still carried a very sharp knife and a loaded pistol, just in case.

  Traveling due west, the men soon found good beaver waters, not like those they had found in the Bighorn and Willow Lake areas, but still sufficient numbers to make the trapping pay. Harlan and Winter Hawk continued due west a few more miles and started trapping other beaver-rich waters they discovered as Runs Fast and Big Eagle set up camp. Once camp was made, the latter two headed north and soon discovered beaver waters to trap themselves.

  That evening, Harlan and Winter Hawk headed toward the small dot of light ahead of them in the pitch-black forest. The traveling was made easier because horses, even in the darkest of night, can see the faintest of trails and bring their riders home. Soon they were all gathered around Big Eagle’s roaring campfire, horses and all. Around it were slabs of roasting deer meat, along with a boiling pot of coffee casting its wonderful smells to the heavens.

  Bailing off his horse, Harlan said, “How did it go for you two fellas today?”

  “Not bad, Dad,” Big Eagle sang out proudly. “We set out all our traps and had four beaver and a river otter in them by the time we had scouted out tomorrow’s area and returned. How did the two of you do?”

  “Not bad either. We caught five, but there isn’t a whole lot of good beaver water left out our way. We will look in another direction tomorrow after we run our traps,” replied Harlan.

  Runs Fast said, “Dinner is ready if you two are hungry.” With that, the four hungry men wolfed down great gobs of partially cooked venison and sipped their scalding cups of coffee in silence. After dinner, the four mules and four horses were hobbled and let out into the small meadow to feed and water. The men still had work to do. They had nine beaver to pelt out and hoop, and soon that was accomplished.

  Finished with their day’s work, the men bedded down in their lean-to and soon were asleep with their rifles close by. After all, they had a forest full of varmints at hand who could be attracted to their camp by all the good smells, especially the livestock.

  For the next five days the men trapped hard and lived off the land. Every day’s routine was the same: up at daylight, trap beaver, and return to the camp to skin and hoop out the day’s catch by dark. By day five and the time they planned to return home, they had fifty-seven beaver plews to load on the pack mules. However, the beaver in the waters they had trapped were no more. It was time to move on to better trapping grounds farther north. Harlan chose north because the Yellowstone River and what it meant in the earlier loss of his brother was to the south...

  Returning home, the men rode into a camp containing two happy women and a mean-ass-looking dog of huge proportions! They were afraid to step off their spooked horses, and Harlan yelled, “Someone get that barking damned dog under control!”

  Autumn Flower, laughing all the way, ran and grabbed the dog, which she told them was called Timber.

  Once the animal was under control, the men dismounted and Harlan asked, “Where the hell did that damn wolf-dog come from?”

  Running Fawn, Chief White Bear’s daughter, stepped out from inside Harlan’s cabin. She looked embarrassed at being present when the men came home from trapping. Seeing the chief’s daughter, whom he was sweet on, Big Eagle flew out of the saddle, slipped, and damned near fell on his hind end in front of her.

  Quickly composing himself, he sternly walked back to his horse and mule, leading them to the corral as if nothing had happened. But the rest of the group had seen what had happened and chuckled inside. The two young people were fond of each other, and the process of new life on the frontier would soon begin.

  As it turned out, Timber was part trapper’s dog of many mixes and part prairie wolf. He had been a present from White Bear to help in protecting the two women while their menfolk were out trapping. With that information, Harlan’s feathers were somewhat smoothed out, and he accepted the gift. It took about a week before Timber took to Harlan, but when he did, he was a friend for life. Timber had really taken to Autumn Flower’s little daughter, and woe to anyone causing her to cry.

  For the next two days, the clan was happy at being together once again. But preparations were already under way for another trip into the western forests in the quest for beaver and other furbearers before the winter snows flew.

  In the meantime, Big Eagle had time to be with Running Fawn, but only under the ever-present and watchful eye of her father, mother, and several cousins.

  By the second day after leaving the camp, Harlan and his sons had ridden far to the north, then headed west once more into the deep of the forest and high mountain valleys. They discovered lots of watered areas but few beaver. Apparently the area had been trapped out by White Bear’s band of Crow trappers years earlier. Continuing deeper into the forest, they chanced upon what is today the Stillwater River. It was not as loaded with beaver as the waters around Willow Lake had been, but the animals were there in large enough numbers for the trappers to be encouraged.

  Setting up camp in a small meadow adjacent to the river, the men began trapping. Soon the number of beaver coming into camp was so great that at times two of the men had to stay behind and spend a day skinning and hooping out the skins instead of trapping.

  Wanting to avoid repeating the long ride home and back to their current trapping area, Harlan decided they would stay for two weeks instead of the usual one and continue trapping. Soon the hoops of beaver dominated their camp, and although tired, the men were happy with their success. As they moved farther north on the river, the beaver continued to be plentiful.

  Finally, the men had caught all their pack animals could carry. Loading up their animals, they began the long trek home. That trek was made all the better by the thought that they had caught and hooped one hundred and thirty-seven beaver in just two weeks’ time!

  Coming out of the forest near present-day Nye, Montana, H
arlan turned the group southeast toward home. Two days of hard riding put them just north of their campsite when they crossed a pony trail of about thirty unknown riders. All the ponies were unshod, which told Harlan they were Indians. But what nation? he asked himself, worried that they might be the dreaded Blackfoot.

  Off to one side, as if they were riding with the Indians, were the tracks of eight other horses, and they were shod! Stopping, Harlan got off his horse and closely examined those tracks. Four days, five at the most, he deduced as to the age of the tracks. Maybe other trappers ... but maybe not.

  In the meantime, the boys sat rigidly in their saddles, alertly looking all around. This was the land of White Bear, and he had not told them of other trappers or Indians in the area, so caution was in order.

  Mounting up, Harlan said, “Let’s go, boys. Them is old tracks, and we can’t do nothing about them now.”

  Hours later, they pulled into their camp just ahead of a winter storm boiling off the mountains to the west. The two women came flying out of Harlan’s cabin with strain written all over their faces. Birdsong started to say something to Harlan about their being a week later than they had expected but decided against it when she saw the clouded look on his face.

  She had seen it before when he got into a killing mode or went into a “do-or-die” battle. Something was on his mind, and she decided she would get it out of him later in bed. In the meantime, Timber the dog was happy to see everybody and showed it by nipping the trappers’ rear ends for attention.

  “Boys, would you unload the furs and cache them away? I am going over to White Bear’s to discuss those pony tracks,” Harlan said quietly.

  Turning his tired horse toward the Crow camp, he rode off to see his friend and talk over what was bothering him. It was bothering him enough to make it an issue, and that raised the concern of the boys as well. Our dad is not one to run at the first whiff of gunpowder, they thought, but when he hunkers down like h’ s doing now, a fight is not long in the offing.

  Sitting around the fire in White Bear’s tepee, Harlan discussed the shod ponies with the chief. Harlan told him the location and direction the band were going. He said they acted as if they owned the place and were not in a hurry or concerned that they were in Crow country. More importantly, the eight shod ponies were carrying weight like that of riders and traveling gear.

  For the longest time, White Bear just looked introspectively into the small fire crackling away at his feet. Then he began, “It is not good. I feel that the Blackfoot or the Gros Ventres may be ranging below their country, either hunting the buffalo or looking for places to raid. I have heard such things from other nearby clans of Crow but did not think they had ranged this far already. Tomorrow I will lead a war party to look into those tracks, especially the ones of the shod horses being ridden by maybe whites.”

  “Do you want me or the boys to go with you?” asked Harlan.

  “No,” replied White Bear. “This is the country of the Crow, and we will find out who the strangers are and take care of the problem if there is one. I know the trail is cold, but my warriors can trail fast, and with our fresh horses, we will do so.”

  The chief then stared even more deeply into the fire, which was his way of saying the talking was done for now. Harlan got up, bade him good-bye, and left for his cabin, a good meal, and a warm bed. The chief and his band of twenty-five warriors were gone before daylight the next day.

  ***

  The storm that finally blew in the next evening was rain that eventually turned to heavy, wet snow. Lying in his sleeping furs, Harlan wondered whether the chief would be able to follow the cold trail in light of the newly fallen snows. He received his answer several hours later when the war party returned, stymied by the lack of tracks now covered by snow.

  Making ready, the trappers left the following morning to follow the trail they had blazed on the trees when they had had left the forest after trapping the Stillwater. Two days later found them on the Stillwater trapping in decidedly colder weather.

  Winter was on its way earlier than usual, and with it came a sense of urgency to trap hard in case they could not make it back because of the weather that far north. In the first week, they had to move their camp twice to accommodate the distance they were traveling north on the river to trap the beaver.

  But the trapping was good, and despite the foul weather, they managed to catch another forty-three beaver and sixteen river otter. Realizing another week might be all they had before bad weather set in, the men continued trapping with a fury they had never applied before. However, the long days wading in deep, icy waters to set their traps and working late into the night hooping the skins finally took their toll.

  One morning Harlan called a halt to the hard work and asked Big Eagle to kill a deer so they could cook the whole thing that night for dinner instead of eating jerky. Big Eagle complied, and even though they were big meat eaters, the men could not finish the whole deer. There was just enough left for breakfast the following morning.

  Fixing their gear, packing the furs into loose bundles, and repairing their clothing and tack, the men spent a busy day in camp. The partial week had gone well. By Harlan’s rough calculation, they now had almost three hundred beaver skins in total, which, if the price held, would be worth about nine hundred dollars at the next rendezvous. That amount was two or three times what most men made per year in those days.

  They still had the winter trapping of other furbearers such as fox, wolf, coyote, and lynx before them, and those furs they could trade with the Crow. They could also trade the buffalo hides from the hunts with the Crows. Things are looking good for the next year, Harlan thought as he hooped the last beaver, and they still had spring beaver trapping ahead of them.

  Harlan had never been happier, especially with his firstborn due sometime in February.

  * * *

  Winter finally roared out of the north, almost catching Harlan and his group on the open plains as they returned home from their beaver-trapping excursion. They had hit the northern reaches of the Stillwater and cleaned it out of beaver on this last trip. They had another fifty-nine beaver plews for their efforts, but they had earned everything they had caught.

  Big Eagle had taken a spill in deep, fast-moving water and almost drowned. Harlan had caught a branch in his left eye while on horseback when he was not looking and damned near lost the eye. A week later, he was still seeing double with it.

  As for Winter Hawk, he had run into a grizzly feeding on a dead moose carcass who had instantly charged and managed to slash his right leg with four large claw marks an inch deep before he could escape. Only Runs Fast had escaped damage of any kind.

  Turning south from the dense forest, all the men were relieved when their cabins hove into sight, along with the thirty or so tepees of White Bear’s clan.

  The usual homecoming awaited them as the men tended to their worn-out stock. The smell from the cooking fire was overwhelming, and the entire clan fell to moose and rice stew with biscuits.

  As he finished his second plate of food, Harlan noticed White Bear walking across the dried grass meadow toward him. Getting up, Harlan greeted his friend. They spoke of the latest trapping trip and of going hunting together soon for more buffalo. Then White Bear told Harlan that the clan was breaking up into three smaller groups and moving off into different winter quarters so there would be enough grass throughout the winter for their pony herds. He said his clan would be moving the shortest distance away, about five miles to the east into the Bear Creek Valley.

  “There will be much grass, water, and firewood, plus cover from the north winds in the draws of the valley. However, before we go, my group wants to trade our buffalo hides and beaver to you, my brother. With those, we hope to get additional winter supplies,” White Bear said with his characteristic smile. There was no talk about the mysterious shod and unshod pony tracks discovered earlier.

  Harlan said, “Have them come tomorrow, and we will trade. Now, my brother, h
ow about some very fine moose meat and rice stew?”

  The following day turned out clear but cool. Surrounding Harlan’s cabin was a gaily dressed crowd of Crow Indians trading various furs and deer, elk, and buffalo hides for the supplies the trappers held in their cabins.

  At the end of the day, Harlan had acquired ninety buffalo hides, one hundred and fifty-two beaver plews, sixty deer- hides, and twenty-four elk hides, all beautifully tanned by the Crow women. They still had a vast treasure of supplies for spring trading, and Harlan knew his group would do very well at the next rendezvous or nearest trading post regardless of beaver-plew prices.

  The day following the trading session, the Indians broke into smaller bands and, after many good-byes, left for their winter camps several miles away. Hardest hit was Big Eagle because with the clan breakup went the woman who was becoming the love of his life.

  Walking up to Big Eagle and putting his hand on his shoulder, Harlan said, “There is nothing stopping you from riding over and visiting them when your work here is done.”

  Big Eagle turned and said, “I will visit her many times, Father, for I love her so.”

  The two men continued watching the last Indian caravan disappear into the river bottoms to the east.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Destiny from Beyond the North Wind

  The winter snows seemed to be holding off from covering the land that December in Montana, unlike many years past. In fact, many warm winds blew, and the buffalo herds were everywhere, making killing easy for the trappers and Indians alike. Numerous community roasting fires that winter supplied many meals of the rich buffalo meat and joyfulness among the various visiting Indian families, but it couldn’t last—and wouldn’t.

  “We should be back in no more than three days,” said Harlan, as he and the boys made ready to run their trap-line of snares, deadfalls, and leg-hold traps in the forest to the west.