by Terry Grosz
However, none other harbored the horrible dark thoughts Harlan had. When he finished, if he had his druthers, every man he was following would cry out to the devil to come take him to the fires of hell!
After a week of hard going south in snowstorm after snowstorm, Harlan and the boys finally arrived back at camp, exhausted, as were their saddle horses and Indian ponies. They had long since run out of grain, and the horses had been forced to fend for themselves in the ever-deepening snow. With nighttime temperatures dropping below zero, the men had damn near frozen to death every time the sun had gone down.
Thank heaven for the blankets we acquired from the dead Indians before leaving the Gros Ventres killing field, thought Harlan.
After unsaddling their horses, they hobbled them and let them out into the trees and field near the cabins to feed. The Indian ponies, not used to hobbles, were hobbled anyway with ones made from rope. There was a fair amount of bucking, snorting, and crow-hopping, but the ponies soon settled down and joined the other horses and mules. Now the trappers had a horse and mule string that numbered thirty-one horses and ten mules, which was of major value in the West, but it was a small thing in light of the loss of their loved ones.
For the first two weeks back at the cabins, the men had a hard time adjusting. It seemed as if everything they saw or touched reminded them of the two women who had been such a huge part of their lives.
It also made Runs Fast and Harlan think of their sons and wonder what they might have been like if they had been allowed to live and grow into young men. The dark thoughts of the two married men did not rival those of Big Eagle. His life had just started and had now been snuffed out, to his way of thinking, by those dead Indians to the north and the white men still living comfortably in their trappers’ cabins in the Big Belt Mountains.
The fury they will feel to their bodies will be far from anything earthly. Big Eagle darkly thought many times a day and night with tear-filled eyes.
Come spring, Harlan took to looking daily at the new grass shoots poking their heads out of the semi- frozen ground. Without good feed for the horses, we will have a difficult time accomplishing our goals of hunting down and killing the trappers, he thought. This time we will not fail, and woe to those at the ends of our rifle barrels or blades of our knives.
His feelings, suppressed by the long winter months, began to rekindle and surfaced continually with a hatred not of this world.
Finally, the grass was of sufficient length for the trip north. Having made arrangements with their friends the Crow to once again take care of their cabins, stores, and livestock, the four men made ready to strike out for where they believed the trappers were living and trapping beaver in the Big Belt Mountains, or more probably along the waters of the Smith River, where beaver trapping would soon commence.
“Everyone loaded and ready to go?” Harlan asked grimly.
His three sons nodded as they sat astride their horses, each trailing a pack mule loaded with supplies. This time they had several months before the beaver went out of prime, and in that time they hoped to procure eight more horses, tack, and plews.
Carefully looking to see that each pack mule carried the boys’ spare Hawkens, Harlan turned and walked his horse the five miles to White Bear’s old campsite. As they passed slowly by the burial platforms of the women and their children, still high in the oak trees, each man made a pact with his God, a pact of promised revenge on those who had murdered their loved ones.
***
In a camp along the Smith River, just north of what would become the town of White Sulphur Springs, Montana, were four trappers skinning, fleshing, and hooping out beaver plews. Quietly circling the men, Harlan stepped out from the surrounding brush and told them to air out their hands.
Surprised by the onslaught, one went for his rifle, only to have the unseen stock of Big Eagle’s Hawken smash in the side of his face! That was all it took for the remaining three to do as they were told, seeing that they were surrounded and outgunned.
When Harlan looked at their faces, he nearly swallowed his tongue! These men were from the bunch who had tried to take Winter Hawk’s Hawken at the earlier rendezvous. They had been with that venomous Patrick Bosco de Gamma! Harlan’s eyes narrowed into killing slits as he realized the grade of men they were after was the most dangerous kind.
His killing feeling went double for their leader, who was still on the loose. Sitting down on a log after the men had been disarmed, Harlan took a big chew of tobacco and let it swirl around in his mouth for a few moments for the effect it had on his prisoners.
Then, with a big spit of juice, he looked each man in the eyes and said, “We tracked you men this far after you raided that Crow village down on Bear Creek Valley in December last.” Pausing after those accusing words, Harlan watched for any reaction from the trappers.
The three who were still standing, without the bloody and sore-headed man who had been smashed by the rifle butt, took a hurried look at each other as if to say, “Who told this guy? How did he know what we did and where we were last fall?”
That quick, guilty look was all it took for Harlan to realize they were part of the group he and his sons had been looking for.
Then the man with the bleeding head growled his way into eternity: “What were it to you? Them was nothin’ but stinkin’ Crow Injuns, but they screwed good when we had ’em down and under us.”
In a flash, before Harlan could say anything, Big Eagle had drawn his knife and, with three quick swipes, cut off both of the man’s ears and the end of his nose! As the man lay on the ground screaming in terror and agony, his three companions froze in abject panic.
Rolling the man over on his back, Big Eagle tore open the front of his pants and, grabbing the man’s testicles, took them off with another quick swipe of his razor-sharp gutting knife. There was another screech, and then the man passed out from the pain. His bright red blood pooled between his legs until it ran no more...
That was all it took. The three remaining trappers told Harlan the whole story as fast as it could roll off their lips in the hope of saving their lives. It seemed that Bosco de Gamma had married a Gros Ventre, and her brother had been leading a war party south of their normal territory the previous fall.
Mindful of the fact that the Plains Indians scattered during the winter to better feed their horses, which placed them in smaller, easier-to- raid groups, Bosco de Gamma decided to strike while the Crow were ripe for the picking, and the unusually good weather had allowed Bosco de Gamma and his trappers to hook up with the Gros Ventre brother-in-law to raid the hated Crows for their furs and horses. In the ensuing battle, the white men were to have all the women they could handle and after that would kill them as one would a prairie dog.
Surprising the camp right at daylight, they had overrun White Bear’s few defenders and then spent the day after the killing was done raping the surviving women and taking anything of value. However, they had spooked off the camp’s horse herd and had therefore come away without the main reason for the raid.
The men, fearing they would run into more Crow, had not pursued the livestock. Afterward they had drifted north and finally separated, with the trappers going to their winter camp in the Big Belt Mountains, as Harlan had suspected, and the Gros Ventre returning home with their spoils.
“Well,” Harlan said, speaking slowly for the deadly effect, “all your Gros Ventre Indian friends are looking for their body parts south of the Happy Hunting Grounds as I speak.”
After a pause, Harlan asked “Where is Bosco de Gamma now?” as he ominously and calmly cleaned his fingernails with the sharp tip of his gutting knife.
“He is still at the winter camp with all our plews except what we have here, and most of our horses. He is just due west of the mineral springs. He will continue to trap the waters in the Big Belts and will meet us at the rendezvous at Ham’s Fork come summer,” said a man named Grudgley, who was shaking so badly he could hardly talk.
He mu
st have figured out what’s coming next, thought Harlan, observing the shaking.
As Harlan and the boys rode off toward the Big Belts, trailing their horse herd that had now expanded with the animals taken from the trappers, they could hear the three men still screaming.
With no fingers left on any of their hands so they could untie themselves and their hamstrings cut clear through on both legs, being tied alive to a tree in the wilderness with all the hungry varmints running around was not a good idea. And they knew it, if the tenor of their screaming was any indicator of the terror and pain they were now experiencing.
They had taken the men’s riding horses and four pack horses. On those horses also rode their victims’ fall catch of furs and their rifles. They had left the rest of the men’s gear to whoever found the campsite after the animals cleaned up the four human carcasses.
For the next two months, Harlan and the boys searched for Bosco de Gamma and his renegade henchmen. They found his old camp, but the signs showed that it had been deserted in haste several weeks before the arrival of Harlan and the boys. It occurred to Harlan that Bosco de Gamma was somehow on to them and their bloody mission. But how could he know in such big country with few sources of information to divulge that secret?
Harlan and the boys did not realize that Bosco de Gamma had swung by his buddies’ camp and discovered their remains shortly after the wolves and grizzly bears had finished.
Then one of his men had spotted Harlan and the boys in their neck of the woods and put two and two together. Realizing he was being hunted, especially when he saw his dead friends’ pack animals in tow by the four men tracking them, Bosco de Gamma figured that if he and his men wanted to see the next sunrise, they’d best leave the country.
A spring snowstorm ended Harlan and the boys’ cold-tracking of Bosco de Gamma and his remaining renegade buddies. That act of God allowed Bosco de Gamma and his killing companions to put a lot of ground between them and their relentless pursuers.
Harlan’s party was held up by the deep snows as they tried to follow the tracks over the mountain passes. Realizing his quarry would have a big lead in escaping from them while they waited for the snows in the mountains and passes to diminish, Harlan grimaced.
Bosco de Gamma’s haste to get across the country and to the south so his progress would not be held up by the snows told Harlan that the man had to know the hunters were hot on his track for something he and his men had done. With that realization, Harlan and his boys just sat on their horses in mounting frustration and violent, black-hearted anger.
“They are heading for the Madison River, sure, and then south. It will do us no good to pursue them any further, as Bosco de Gamma’s lead is just too great. It will be best for us to return home and make ready for the rendezvous. If our paths ever cross again, we will take care of business at that time," Harlan grimly concluded.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A Crow Surprise
Rounding the last turn in the forest below their cabin, the men were surprised to see a young Crow teenager bringing their horses and mules back to the corral. Good old Limps-Ahead-of-His Horses, thought Harlan. His word was good when it came to taking good care of our livestock.
The boy, upon seeing the arrival of his trapper friends, spurred his horse ahead of the herd in his hurry to meet the returning men.
“Did you get the white men who helped in the killing of White Bear’s people?” he eagerly blurted out, already aware of the Gros Ventre whom the four trappers had pursued and killed the winter before.
“We managed to kill four of the eight trappers who were involved,” said Harlan as he tiredly dismounted.
“What happened to the rest?” asked the Indian lad, who was named He-Who-Shoots.
“They got away when it snowed, and we lost their trail,” replied Winter Hawk as he also dismounted stiffly.
“Are you going back after them after resting up some and changing horses?” continued He-Who-Shoots.
“No,” replied Harlan, not wanting to dwell on the subject. “We have work to do around here for now with our livestock, furs, and supplies before we go out once more to avenge White Bear, his people, and our wives and children.”
Big Eagle and Runs Fast dismounted and began unsaddling the horses and mules.
“Have you been the one tending our livestock all these months?” asked Harlan.
“Yes,” He-Who-Shoots answered proudly.
Looking out over the livestock and seeing that the animals were in good shape and all accounted for, Harlan was pleased.
“It looks like all our supplies are here and untouched except by a few mice,” said Runs Fast coming out of the cabin they used as a storehouse.
“All our furs and hides are here as well,” said Big Eagle as he came out of the fur storage cabin.
“All our tack appears to be all right as well,” said Winter Hawk, who had been checking the storage tepee.
Turning, now more than pleased by what they had discovered upon their return, Harlan said, “He-Who-Shoots, you have done a good job taking care of our property. I appreciate that and have something to show my appreciation for your friendship and good work.”
Walking to the four dead trappers’ eight horses and taking their reins in both hands, Harlan took them over to the young boy.
“Here, these are yours!” said Harlan.
For a moment, the boy was frozen in his tracks, awestruck by the unheard-of reward for his work. One horse was a big present on the plains, much less eight! Plain and simple, he was looking at a fortune in Crow coin of the realm. Still not knowing what to say, the boy just stood with a stunned look on his face.
“Here,” said Harlan, taking the boy’s hands and putting the horses’ reins into them. “They are all yours for a job very well done.”
That broke the spell, and with a huge grin, He-Who-Shoots swung easily up onto the back of the closest horse and, taking the other reins into his left hand, let out a yell and headed for home at a trot with his unbelievable fortune. Harlan just grinned, as did the boys. It was their first set of smiles in many moons.
“Hell, he has enough horses now to buy the bride of his choice,” thought Harlan.
Since they had already owned thirty-one horses and ten mules, more than enough, he felt it only proper to reward the young man for doing such a good job of protecting their homestead. Little did Harlan realize what handsome rewards that gesture would shortly reap.
For the next two months, Harlan and his sons tended to their herd of livestock, horseshoeing, and such. Tack was repaired, as were the pack saddles, and then the furs and hides were prepared for the trip to the rendezvous. All the beaver furs were packed in tight packs, and the rest of the furs were bound in bundles. The buffalo hides were bound in stacks of ten, as were the deer and elk hides.
In between those preparations, the men made meat, but they noticed that their Crow neighbors never joined them. In fact, Harlan was aware that the tribe had never moved back onto its summer grounds, where White Bear used to put his tepee. It almost seemed as if the trappers were no longer welcome in the company of the Crow now that White Bear was dead.
That feeling was brought to a head when, now that the meat had sloughed away, the men went to collect the bones of their loved ones from the burial platforms and place them into Mother Earth, as was the Crow tradition.
As they finished covering the bones with soil, He-Who-Shoots rode up and stopped at a respectful distance. Sitting on his horse, he waited until the men were finished with their moments of sorrow. Then, riding forward, he said to Harlan, “You need to leave as soon as possible! The rest of the tribe thinks your presence here is bad medicine. It all started when White Bear’s only son and seven others from the tribe went south two winters ago to take horses from our enemies the Snakes. He never returned, and neither did any of the others.”
Harlan’s thoughts quickly went back to the winter when his home-site had been raided by eight Crows who were trying to take th
eir horses and mules. It now appeared that Harlan and the boys might have killed Chief White Bear’s only son!
“Then,” the young man continued, “the tribe had no such troubles as befell White Bear and his band until after you arrived. With their killings, many have had bad thoughts and feel the spirit world is angry with them for allowing the white man and his family to live among us in the land of the Crow. Now, many other bad things have happened, and the tribal elders think you are bad medicine. There is much talk among the young warriors that you need to be attacked and driven from the country of the Crow as soon as possible!”
Shocked but not surprised by the young man’s words, Harlan just shook his head, wondering what else could possibly go wrong. Realizing the futility of trying to talk to the elders about such matters as bad medicine, he wondered if they really now wanted to stay in the land of the Crow anyway. It was a land of much sorrow for the remaining family, not to mention the everyday feeling of loss that surrounded the cabins.
“Thank you, He-Who-Shoots. What you said to us here today will remain with the soil and the rocks and will go no further. The boys and I will discuss this matter and let you know what our response will be,” said Harlan.
He-Who-Shoots, his message delivered to his friends, left hurriedly so as not to be discovered talking to the trappers and suffer the wrath of his band.
“Well, boys, what is it going to be?” asked Harlan.
Big Eagle slowly said, “We still have unfinished business to the south.”
“Runs Fast and Winter Hawk, what say you?” asked Harlan.
“The business to the south needs to be taken care of,” said Winter Hawk as Runs Fast nodded in the affirmative at the wisdom of his brother’s words.