by Terry Grosz
“Who did we get that hide from, Jeff?” asked Wyeth, turning to his other fur buyer, who was standing thunderstruck at the turn of events.
“We got that from Patrick Bosco de Gamma and his band yesterday,” Jeff exclaimed with terror rising in his voice. “He told me not to say anything as to where it came from. Claimed he stole it off’n a dead trapper killed by varmints. That is why I hid it under those other furs, so as not to cause any unnecessary questions from other trappers,” he concluded lamely.
Now everything is falling into place! thought Harlan. Bosco de Gamma stole the hide that I had given to Chief White Bear during last fall’s raid and killing. Then by chance as he was coming to the rendezvous, he and his band stumbled across Winter Hawk and Runs Fast gutting out the buffalo.
Recognizing the two boys as part of the group that had chased his band over the mountain passes and down to the Madison, he took advantage of their situation and killed them both before they recognized him. That was why the killers didn’t take their valuable horses or rifles. They figured I would be at the rendezvous as well and, recognizing the boys ’property, would go crazy and kill them like I did the rest of the party back up on the Smith River.
Looking over at Big Eagle, Harlan saw in his eyes the understanding of what had happened. Now someone was going to die for their back-shooting actions, and it was going to start with Bosco de Gamma!
However, they had a problem. They had a world of credit coming from their furs plus a large string of horses to sell before they could move on to the killing business at hand.
What to do with all these profits? thought Harlan.
Motioning Big Eagle off to one side, Harlan discussed a plan now swirling around in his head regarding the fur trade and the selling of the horses yet to come. This plan would allow them to procure the supplies they would need for a year of pursuit of Bosco de Gamma and his band of cutthroats, yet allow them a way, without trapping, to have access to enough supplies to survive the following year.
They also discussed what would happen if neither of them survived. Big Eagle agreed with the plan, and Harlan turned to Wyeth.
“Nathaniel, I will make you a deal, but first I need some information,” said Harlan. “Do you plan on making it to the 1834 rendezvous at Horse Creek on the Green? And if so, will you allow Big Eagle and me to trade in part of our credit this year and the remainder at the next rendezvous?”
“Yes, I damn sure plan on making the next rendezvous on Horse Creek. I would be a fool not to with the price of furs the way they are. And if you want to trade part of your credit for this year and leave the rest hanging for next year, that would be just fine with me. Just understand that next year’s prices for the goods you need may be higher than this year,” Wyeth replied in a conciliatory tone.
“That be fine with us, and now the next part of the deal. We have a horse herd that needs to be sold. Most are horses, but we have a few mules to sell as well,” said Harlan as plans for the next year spun crazily around in his head.
“You have horses and mules for sale?” blurted out Wyeth.
“Sure do,” replied Harlan.
“I will buy everything you have to sell,” Wyeth exclaimed excitedly.
“Then let’s get to trading,” said a now very determined Harlan, eager to get moving.
An hour later, the two trappers had more than enough supplies to pursue Bosco de Gamma and his band for at least another year. They also had a paper from Wyeth indicating that Harlan and Big Eagle had ten thousand dollars in credit due from his company during the 1835 rendezvous. The men had all put their marks and signatures on the paper, and Harlan tucked it away in his saddle bag. There was another signed piece of paper that deeded all of Big Eagle’s and Harlan’s credit to Jim Bridger in the event that they did not return.
Then Harlan strode over to Wyeth’s fur buyer who had purchased the white bear skin. The poor fur buyer could see that Harlan still had blood in his eyes and was not to be fooled with.
“Jeff,” said Harlan, “where did that bastard Bosco de Gamma say he was going?”
Jeff, realizing his life might be in doubt if he was cautious with his answer, said, “He told me he would kill me if I said anything to anyone as to where he was a-goin’!”
“Jeff, I will kill you in the next heartbeat if you don’t tell me where he was going,” Harlan said coldly as his hand went menacingly to the butt of his pistol.
“He said he were going to trap the Wasatch and then drop down and trade at Ogden’s Trading Post near the Great Salt Lake after spring trapping ends. He figured you might be at the next rendezvous and had figured out something. I asked what that something was, and he just snarled and told me to leave it be!” Jeff blurted out.
Patting his shoulder to settle down the frightened little man and show that he believed him, Harlan turned toward Big Eagle. The smile on Big Eagle’s face was not one of this world.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Hunt for the Most Dangerous Game Begins
Returning to their campsite, Harlan and Big Eagle made ready to pack their remaining horses and mules for the trip soon to take place. Then, taking the ham from an elk they had killed en route to their camp, they staked great slabs of meat around the fire to cook for them and their campmates, Bridger and Fitzpatrick.
After dinner, Harlan motioned for Bridger to follow him away from the campfire. Harlan told Jim about his discovery of the white bear hide at Wyeth’s. After explaining how he had figured out who the killers of his sons were, Harlan laid out his plans. He told Jim that he and Big Eagle planned to hunt down Bosco de Gamma and his killing bunch of friends in the Wasatch. Jim nodded in agreement and asked if Harlan needed any company, since varmints of such a kind always needed lots of killing.
Harlan said, “No, not this time. I thank you for the offer, but this time, Big Eagle and I will do what needs doing, and may God forgive us.”
Jim nodded his understanding. Then Harlan dropped the other moccasin.
“Jim, you and me been good friends fer a number of years. What Big Eagle and I have at hand, it being four against two, may not do anything but add our carcasses to the soil down the road if we can’t do the killing right off and first. If that happens, 1 have left ten thousand worth of credit from my furs and horse and mule trades in the hands of Wyeth and his fur company for release to be made to you at the 1835 rendezvous.”
Jim took a step back at that surprising news. Ten thousand was a small fortune in that day and age, and both men knew it. He was so surprised by his friend’s offer that he didn’t know what to say.
Harlan continued, “You was always wanting to build a trading post when your old bones got the best of you, and now here is your chance. I figure we will be gone for at least a year tracking that varmint Bosco de Gamma and the rest of the killers. After that, if we don’t show up, take the credit and do with it what you want.”
With those words, Harlan produced the contract he had signed with Wyeth and handed it to Bridger. Jim just shook his head at his old friend’s generosity as he looked at the document in utter disbelief.
“Harlan, you sure you want to do this?” he asked, still not sure he wanted to take his old friend’s offer.
“Jim, you have always been right as rain in our dealings. If it takes the two of us longer than a year to get done what we have to do, we will return and you can stake us from the goods at your new trading post so we can last another year in the backcountry. How does that sound?”
Jim Bridger stuck out his hand; in those days a handshake was a contract not to be broken by any man, especially those in the mountain man fraternity.
The two men returned to camp as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. But before they did, Jim insisted on helping Harlan cut Bosco de Gamma’s sign leading from the rendezvous toward the mountains of Utah. Harlan was known as an expert tracker, but it didn’t hurt to have help from Bridger and Fitzpatrick because they were the best in the business, and the task at hand w
as a deadly one.
There were so many pack-string tracks coming and going into the Green River Valley from those trading at the rendezvous that it took the better part of a week for the men to cut the tracks of Bosco de Gamma’s ten-horse party. Finally, with Fitzpatrick’s expert tracking ability, they found Bosco de Gamma’s tracks south of the rendezvous on Black’s Fork, heading toward what is today known as the Unita Mountains.
There, over a final campfire and some fresh buffalo, the men split up. Jim and Fitzpatrick returned to the rendezvous, and Harlan and Big Eagle began their pursuit of Bosco de Gamma south to wherever it led and however it ended.
Cold-tracking Bosco de Gamma’s ten-horse pack string led Harlan and Big Eagle south to the Duchesne River in what is today northeastern Utah. Every cold camp they came across had obviously been made without haste, so it appeared that once Bosco de Gamma had left the area of the rendezvous, he had not feared pursuit.
Nonetheless, he had taken care to mix the tracks of his men and pack string with every other one he could find in his travels south. Harlan and Big Eagle did not push their chase of the group for fear of jading their horses so badly that they would lose them and end up afoot in a hostile land.
Speed was not an issue since the crew they were following did not appear to know they were being pursued. To Harlan’s and Big Eagle’s way of thinking, it was just a matter of time before justice would be done. And when it was, Even God will turn away, Harlan thought coldly.
Camping along the Duchesne River one evening, Harlan built a small fire while Big Eagle hunted the adjacent willows with his bow and arrow for a fat deer for supper. Currying down the stock and checking the condition of the animals’ shoes, Harlan was surprised at Big Eagle’s quick return. Thrown over his shoulder was a small, fat doe, which explained Big Eagle’s smile of success.
Laying the deer down by their campfire, Big Eagle said, “There is Indian sign upstream all along that river. We had better really hard-stake our animals this evening; otherwise we will lose them to thieving Indians. In this neck of the woods, I imagine they are Paiute and hungry for good horseflesh and anything else they can steal.”
Looking over Big Eagle’s shoulder as if expecting to see the Indians charging over the ground in pursuit, Harlan said, “That we can do, and we will keep a small fire for cooking this evening so we don’t advertise our position to unwanted eyes.”
After dinner, the two men staked out their horses with Martha the bell mule in the middle of the livestock for the warnings she always offered when around Indians of any sort. Then, crawling under some nearby clumps of overhanging willows for the cover they offered, the two tired men rolled up in their sleeping furs and went to sleep alongside their Hawkens.
Eee-haaw went Martha in the darkness amid the nervous pawing of the rest of the horses’ hoofs.
Both men were instantly awake but did not move for fear of giving away their positions before they could pinpoint the danger. It would do them no good to walk around presenting a target until they figured out what had riled up Martha, be it man or critter.
Soon a darkened figure slowly crept between Harlan and Big Eagle. Zip-thunk went an arrow from Big Eagle’s bow into the darkness. Without a word, the figure pitched forward to the ground, wiggled some in his death dance, and then lay still.
Then another darkened figure, unaware of what had happened to his partner, appeared out of the willows right beside Harlan! Thwack went Harlan’s tomahawk into the intruder, followed by an inhuman screech!
Then the darkness of the night closed in around the mountain men as if nothing had happened. Harlan and Big Eagle continued their vigil for the rest of the night. By dawn, it was obvious that there were no more Indians, and the two men rose from their concealment in the willows to look over their camp and animals.
“Paiutes,” exclaimed Big Eagle as he rolled over the one he had shot in the head at point-blank range with his bow and arrow.
“The same for my man,” said Harlan as he removed his tomahawk and wiped the blood and chunks of brains off the blade on the dead man’s buckskins.
“Good old Martha,” said Big Eagle as he took a clump of grass outside her reach and fed her out of satisfaction and respect.
“Time to move on, and fast,” said Harlan. “There will be more where these two came from once the tribe realizes these are gone or killed.”
“That being the case, we must try to hide our tracks and watch our back trail if we don’t want to experience the same kind of treatment,” Big Eagle commented.
Finishing the last of the venison from the previous evening, the two men hurriedly packed their animals and headed into the shallows of the river to hide their tracks after they had hidden the Indian’s bodies in a small wash. Following the river for a good mile, they finally left the water in a dense, brushy area as they headed deeper into the mountains.
Four days later, the two men finally discovered Bosco de Gamma’s permanent camp, complete with lean-tos and horse corrals, in a densely wooded draw out of sight of prying eyes.
From the tracks and warm fire-pit ashes, it was apparent that two men had gone farther into the mountains to find new trappings while the other two had set out on foot to follow a nearby stream full of beaver dams, ponds, and beaver. In the corral were the group’s leftover seven horses. Three of the missing horses, by their trail, had struck out from camp scouting for other beaver- trapping waters to the south.
This is too easy, thought Harlan as he closely scanned the surrounding terrain for any sign of danger.
At that point, Big Eagle didn’t care about caution or concern for danger because, to his way of thinking, a deserved killing of varmints was not far off.
Bring it on, he carelessly thought as his rage and lust to kill continued to grow. He had nothing but violence in his heart for those who had had a hand in the killing and raping of the love of his life, not to mention the rest of his family.
Now that he was this close to his quarry, nothing but a bullet or an arrow would stop him from killing those who had killed his loved ones. Soon someone is to die, he thought with narrowed set of eyes as the emotion rose in him to a dangerous, almost unthinking, fever pitch.
Staking their horses in a little meadow at a safe distance from the trappers’ camp, Big Eagle and Harlan made ready. Stalking back over the hill and down into the creek bottom and beaver- dam areas, they moved carefully and quietly downstream. Below them about fifty yards away, they noticed some movement!
Two trappers could be seen setting their traps along several beaver dams and ponds. Big Eagle unlimbered his bow and handed his Hawken to Harlan. Then, sneaking around the two unsuspecting trappers, he disappeared into the undergrowth. Giving Big Eagle a few minutes to get into position, Harlan began sneaking downstream, using the beaver dams and clumps of willows for cover as he walked directly toward the two unsuspecting trappers.
The two men, having set out all their traps, turned and started walking back toward their campsite. Peering through the clump of willows hiding him, Harlan saw that one of them was none other than Dick Nance, a vicious individual and bully who loved beating the stuffing out of men smaller than himself.
The other was Jacques Puzier, a mean-ass Frenchman. Both men were longtime traveling companions of Bosco de Gamma and killers in their own right. In fact, they had been the ones at the rendezvous who had beaten Runs Fast while Bosco de Gamma had taken on Winter Hawk in the contest for the boy’s Hawken.
No two men deserve dying more, thought Harlan with a look of clouded violence on his face.
Rising from his hiding place in the willow patch, Harlan faced the two men as they continued walking away from the trapping area. For a few seconds, the sight of Harlan standing before them did not register. Then it did!
Puzier began to raise his rifle, suspecting that he was looking at death. He never saw it coming as Big Eagle’s arrow caught him right between the shoulder blades with a resounding whack! Lurching forward screaming and in t
he process dropping his rifle, he desperately reached behind his back in agony in an attempt to pull the arrow out. His effort was in vain as Big Eagle ran up to him and in one fell swoop spun him around and scalped him while he was still alive. His screaming was now ungodly, to say the least, and could be heard at least half a mile away.
Big Eagle let him go to roll around on the ground in pain and let out a yell of triumph as he waved the bloody rag of a scalp over his head. Nance, totally surprised by the suddenness and ferocity of the attack, slowly lowered his rifle to the ground in a sign of submission, but that didn’t stop Big Eagle, who was on him in a flash.
Grabbing Nance’s shoulder-length hair, he jerked his head back and, in several quick swipes of his gutting knife, scalped Nance as well. His screaming was unholy as he jumped around holding the madly bleeding top of his head in abject pain. It got worse as Big Eagle continued hacking at the man with his knife. First Big Eagle sliced off the fingers on Nance’s right hand as he tried to disarm Big Eagle; then, with another swipe of his knife, Big Eagle hamstrung his right leg so he couldn’t run. The sounds coming from the trapper were inhuman as the blood continued gushing from his scalped head and down over his buckskin shirt as he stood wobbling on his one good leg.
Harlan just stood there and let Big Eagle continue in an attempt to get the murderous fury out of his system. Puzier was gasping his last as the hemorrhaging in his lungs from the arrow caused him to drown in his own blood. Then, Big Eagle disemboweled Nance with another vicious swipe of his knife! With his intestines flowing over the ground and into the dirt, Nance fell onto the forest floor, writhing in pain as he also began to bleed out.
Lowering his rifle, Harlan watched the life run out of the two men. He felt a certain satisfaction that six of the eight who had wreaked havoc on White Bear and all the people in his camp and also on his sons, were now in the In-Between World. He felt even better that the stirring in him relating to the loss of the love of his life was also partially avenged. Only two of the original killers remained to be reckoned with, and he would not rest until Bosco de Gamma and his partner in crime were bleeding out on the ground as well.