To the River's End Read online

  * * *

  Jug came out from behind the big rock that stood on one side of the cave they had dug. “I swear!” he exclaimed. “Looks like you found what you was lookin’ for.”

  Luke stepped down from the saddle and the horses he was leading all gathered around him creating a small dust cloud. “I reckon you could say that,” he replied.

  “You was gone a while,” Jug said. “I was thinkin’ I might have to go look for you, if you didn’t show up pretty soon.”

  “It took a while to pick up all our supplies they stole,” Luke explained. “They didn’t wanna give ’em back, but they finally realized they were in the wrong.”

  “Blackfoot,” Jug pronounced in disgust.

  Luke couldn’t resist japing him. “Oh, they weren’t Blackfoot. They were Flatheads.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Jug blurted. “There ain’t no Flathead over this far. They was Blackfoot.” When Luke laughed, Jug knew he was japing him. “You ain’t much of a liar, are you? Was there three of ’em, like we figured?”

  “Yep,” Luke answered, “and they had a dandy place to make a camp. Might be better’n ours. We can take a ride back over there, so you can see it. You might wanna move over there when the real cold sets in and we can’t trap no more.”

  “Don’t see no harm in it, but I’m satisfied with this’un we worked on already. ’Course it don’t look like it’s too hard to find, does it?” He changed the subject abruptly. “You ain’t asked if we caught any beaver last night.”

  “That’s right,” Luke replied, his confrontation with the Blackfoot still occupying his thoughts. “You got there pretty late this mornin’. What kinda luck did we have?”

  “Three of the four traps we left in the pond had beaver in ’em. I took seven more outta the traps we set in the streams. I was workin’ on those plews when I heard you comin’ up the canyon soundin’ like a war party of Injuns and I got behind this rock.”

  Luke grinned and nodded his head. “That ain’t a bad start, is it? Looks like we picked us a good spot. We’ll just keep on workin’ those streams till we get down to the river. What about the pond? Did you reset those four traps, or do you think we oughta leave the pond be for a while?”

  “I set ’em one more time,” Jug answered. “Then I think we oughta move on toward the river. We’ll see what we got tonight. We can work right on up this mountain range, but I got a feelin’ we’d be smart to work on down the Judith before it starts to get real winter. Tomorrow, after we check our traps, let’s take that ride over to where you found them Blackfoot. You got my curiosity up.”

  * * *

  The days that followed were not as productive in beaver pelts as the first days in the Little Belt Mountains, but there was not a day when there was no catch. Luke led Jug to the hidden valley where the three Blackfoot hunters had made their camp by the waterfall, and Jug was as impressed by the potential as Luke had been. He was also pleased to see beaver sign in the creek that split the grassy valley before the waterfall. “With that creek and that grass valley, we won’t have to hunt for meat. The game will come to us,” Jug declared. “Them three Blackfoot musta been sent here to show us this valley was what we needed to make it through the winter.”

  “I just hope to hell this little hard-to-find valley ain’t a favorite huntin’ spot for the rest of their village,” Luke said, “and come the first hard freeze, they all show up expectin’ supper.” On a serious note then, he suggested, “We need to see if we’ve got a back door outta this place, in case we need to leave in a hurry.” He paused then while he watched Jug’s reactions to all the positive aspects of this hidden camp. Finally, he said, “You ain’t said the first thing about that bunch of cottonwood trees where the creek comes off the mountain.”

  “I saw ’em right off,” Jug lied. “Didn’t see no reason to say anything about it.” It irritated him that he had not noticed something that almost made this valley a perfect winter camp. Cottonwoods meant feed for their horses when the snow covered the grass. When the bark was peeled off the trunks of a felled tree, the horses readily ate it. And they would peel the small limbs and branches themselves. The thing that made this camp unique was the existence of the trees this close to the mountains, where the only trees that grew there were fir and lodgepole pines. Cottonwoods didn’t grow in the higher altitudes, but they were seen along the waterways of the plains and lower elevations—like the creek at the foot of this mountain. “I was fixin’ to mention that we might not have to even think about goin’ to Cache Valley to winter,” Jug offered lamely.

  Once again, they were faced with the work of preparing a camp for the coming cold weather. And since a cave was not feasible, due to the slope of the mountain, they decided they would have to build a tipi. Their major concern before they got to that, however, was for their horses. As it was, they had three more horses than they had when they left the rendezvous, again thanks to the Indians that raided their cave. They decided to build themselves a shelter, making a roof by threading small trees horizontally through the branches of two large fir trees, then crisscrossing those small trees with heavier fir limbs until fashioning a wide enough area to give some protection—and hope the roof was strong enough to support a heavy snowfall. They figured the horses would naturally gather under the makeshift roof and consequently help keep each other warm. So there was plenty of work to occupy their daylight hours between the morning and evening trapping, which had to go on uninterrupted as long as the weather permitted.

  * * *

  To satisfy Jug’s urges, after they trapped out the streams where they first started, they followed the Judith River north for a mile or more to work the streams that emptied into it. Much to Jug’s disappointment, they enjoyed extremely limited success, and that prompted Luke to offer his advice. “Next time you feel one of those urges, you’d best just go over behind the bushes and squat for a while till you get rid of it.” Jug had no comeback, so he had to grin and bear it. Still, they made an honest attempt to find the busy beaver colonies until the snow began to fall and they decided to follow the streams back up into the mountains, where they were catching beaver before.

  “I still think there’s beaver in this river,” Jug insisted. “If it weren’t for the fact we’d be gettin’ too far from our camp, I’da liked to go a little farther up this river. If we’da kept on followin’ the river for about another fifteen miles, you coulda said howdy to Nate Jolley,” Jug declared.

  “Nate Jolley?” Luke repeated. “You know somebody farther up this river?”

  “I sure do,” Jug replied. “Nate Jolley’s got a tradin’ post on the Judith. Been there for twelve years that I know of.”

  “Is that a fact?” Luke responded, surprised to hear it. “And the Blackfeet let him run a tradin’ post? How come?”

  “Nate’s married to a Blackfoot woman and he’s got a half-breed son, name of Pike. And that boy’s got more Blackfoot blood in him than anything he got from Nate. I reckon that’s the reason the Blackfeet let Nate stay there. They trade with him for whiskey and powder and lead.”

  “I reckon it’s just as well we didn’t get that far up this river,” Luke said. “We mighta run into some of his customers.”

  “We coulda just told ’em we worked for Hudson’s Bay,” Jug replied. “We mighta been hard put to explain why we was trappin’ their beaver, though.”

  So it was back to concentrating on the mountain streams and ponds until they froze over and had to stop. Unlike the open plain of the Judith, there had been no real snowfall as yet, there in the mountains, but they expected it any day. The completion of the tipi they planned was the most pressing need, since they had done pretty much all they could for their horses. The framework for their tipi was built using young lodgepole pines. They covered their smaller version of an Indian tipi with the three buffalo hides they had bought at rendezvous for temporary shelter. Unlike a typical Indian tipi, which required fifteen or twenty hides, it was not anywhere near the size, area-wise
, and it was not tall enough to stand in, even for Jug. But there was room to build a fire in the center of the floor and they fashioned a chimney hole in the top. Even as small as it was, there was still a sizable gap over the door, and this was patched with the hide from the deer Luke had killed. They tied the hides on securely and held the skirts down by storing all their belongings and beaver pelts around the diameter of their tipi. To complete the domicile, they chopped a good supply of aspen for firewood. It would produce a warm, smokeless fire that would warm their little tipi without burning their eyes, and just as important, would not signal their presence from afar. The grove of aspen trees was found when they were scouting out a route of escape up the mountain behind their camp. “I swear,” Jug declared, “cottonwoods below and aspen above. If that ain’t a sign of a perfect winter camp, I don’t know what is.”

  “Well, if we wanted it to be really perfect,” Luke countered, “maybe we could have the beaver comin’ in on their own to surrender. Then we wouldn’t have to wade around in that ice-cold creek.”

  * * *

  When they had done all they felt they could to prepare their camp for the winter, there was time for other activities, along with the drying of their pelts. Well aware of the importance of exercising their horses, Luke and Jug took time to scout the mountains beyond their camp to find likely spots for their traps. They found that the mountains had numerous ponds and streams making the Little Belts prime country for beaver as well as deer, elk, and bear. The availability of deer, mule deer and white tail, inspired Luke to start practicing with his bow. It would be silent, and it would conserve his ammunition for his rifles and pistol. His efforts to interest Jug were unsuccessful, however. Jug reluctantly tried one of the two bows, shooting at a target Luke hung on a lodgepole pine. His first shot missed the whole tree. His second arrow burrowed in the dirt at the foot of the pine. He promptly handed the bow back to Luke with a huffy snort. “Dang bows and arrows is meant for ignorant savages.”

  Luke, on the other hand, was intrigued with the notion of killing a deer without announcing the fact to anyone who might be a mile or two away. He was encouraged to practice more with the weapon when he found that he was good at it. Now, as each day seemed to offer warnings that winter was at hand, the animals began to come down from the higher mountain meadows to seek the protection of the lower valleys. It was critical for Luke and Jug to prepare as much food as they could before the weather made it more difficult. Since the little valley they had built their camp in would seem to be one that attracted the deer or elk herds, they decided to do their initial hunting farther away from home. Their thinking was to save the food supply on their doorstep for the really hard part of the winter, when it was difficult to go searching for game. “What if we’re wrong, and the game doesn’t hang around when they find us here?” Luke asked.

  “Hell,” Jug snorted, “they won’t pay no attention to us, ’long as we ain’t shootin’ at ’em. Then when it gets so bad you can’t get outta this valley to hunt, you can just quietly pick off one or two with that bow you’re so good at. And them animals won’t even know what’s goin’ on.”

  Chapter 6

  “They have been gone too long,” Standing Elk said. “I think they have found some trouble. They should have been back before now. We have had a good hunt, and we should go back to our village before the heavy snows come.” Standing Elk was the leader of this band of twelve Blackfoot hunters who came down from their village on the Missouri, close to the five great waterfalls to hunt in the Little Belt Mountains. The mountain chain had always been known to the Blackfeet as a place where the game was plentiful. His concern was for his brother, Iron Pony. He, Two Bears, and Hears the Wind wanted to scout the southern end of the mountain chain for future hunts. So they had set out to hunt on the lower end of the range. They had not returned after four days. At first thinking they had not found the game so plentiful as that found at the upper end of the range, Standing Elk expected them to return in a day or two. Now, he felt genuine concern for his brother’s well-being. In recent weeks, scouts had reported seeing Crow hunting parties north of the Yellowstone River, clearly in Blackfoot territory. He feared that his brother had run afoul of one of these Crow parties.

  “Maybe they did find good hunting,” Lame Foot suggested, “and they have not come back because they are butchering their kill.”

  “It should not have taken this long to get back here,” Standing Elk insisted. “They took no packhorses with them, so they couldn’t carry enough meat to take this long.”

  “We need to get this meat we’ve already packed on the horses back to the village,” Lame Foot commented as he looked up at the heavy clouds overhead. There was not yet a covering of snow on the ground, but as if to emphasize his concern, a gentle shower of snowflakes began to fall.

  “I must find my brother,” Standing Elk stated flatly. “You are right, the meat must be taken to the village right away. But I will go in search of Iron Pony and Hears the Wind and Two Bears. You must lead the others back. Maybe we will catch up with you on your way back.”

  “I would go with you to find them,” Lame Foot volunteered.

  “No,” Standing Elk said. “I would rather have you with the hunting party, in case you meet a Crow party. The village is counting on us to provide for them, so you must make sure the meat gets there safely.”

  “Iron Pony and the others might have been captured by the Crows,” Lame Foot cautioned. “You might need help, if you find them.”

  “Don’t worry, my friend,” Standing Elk told him. “I will be very cautious. It is important that you lead the hunters back with food for our village.”

  “As you wish,” Lame Foot said, “I’ll leave right away.” He told himself not to worry about Standing Elk, for there was no more fierce a fighter than Standing Elk, and no more skillful hunter than the warrior who had earned his name when he once stalked an elk. Wearing an elk hide as disguise, he was able to sneak up to a bull elk, standing at a berry bush, close enough to kill him with his war hatchet.

  Standing Elk walked back to the campfire with Lame Foot to tell the other members of the hunting party of his decision. “Lame Foot will lead you back to the village. It is important that you start back right away, for it looks like the weather is going to get worse. I will stay here to look for our three missing brothers. They may be on their way back, so we’ll catch up with you when you camp tonight.” Like Lame Foot, every one of the other seven volunteered to accompany Standing Elk in the search. But Standing Elk once again stressed the importance of seeing the supply of deer meat safely to the village. So they finished packing the meat on the packhorses, extinguished the fire, and started out for home.

  Standing Elk watched them go, then he climbed on his horse and struck out in the opposite direction, taking the same trail Iron Pony had taken. He truly hoped he would meet the three of them on their way back, for it was forty miles to the south end of the range, where Iron Pony had talked about scouting. Unfortunately, there was just enough snow on the ground to cover any tracks that might have been useful to him. As he rode the road that circled the base of the mountain range, he passed many draws and valleys that looked interesting. But with no tracks, there was no way to guess if any of these valleys had attracted Iron Pony’s interest. So, knowing he was gambling on blind luck, he continued to ride, down to the lower end of the range, as Iron Pony said he was going to do. He camped that night by the Judith River near the southern end of the range. He cooked some supper of fresh-killed deer meat and promised himself he would find some sign that would lead him to his brother.

  He was awake at sunup the next morning to find his horses snuffling around in the light covering of snow, looking for grass under the cottonwoods that grew along a creek that emptied into the river. He took his war axe and hacked off an armload of small cottonwood branches and fed them to his horses. He decided to give them plenty because he knew he wouldn’t see any more cottonwoods when he started up into the mountains
, so he cut a few more branches. He was about to drop the branches between the horses but paused when something caught his eye. On the ground at his feet, he saw the remains of a small animal. Because of the cottonwood boughs over the bank, the remains had not been completely covered with snow. Inspired to look more closely then, he discovered more remains a few feet away, and he knew at once—trappers! These were the remains of beavers, after they were taken from the traps. Standing Elk was immediately enraged. He hated trappers more than he hated Crows. For the white trappers came into Blackfoot territory to trap the beaver and hunt the deer and elk, stealing the furs that the Blackfeet could trade to Hudson’s Bay Company. Looking at the entrails and heads, he knew that they had not been there very long. Pausing to take a good look at the lay of the land and the many streams that funneled down to the river at this point, he believed the trappers were still working in this bottom. He had to wonder if Iron Pony had encountered the trappers. At any rate, he was determined to search out the streams to see if he could find the white devils.