The Adventurous Life of Tom Iron Hand Warren: Mountain Man (The Mountain Men Book 5) Read online

  In fact, both Crooked Hand and Tom were two of the best shooters at Fort Union with their rifles or single shot pistols, as time was to tell. A learned skill by Tom from his days with the U.S. Military, and for Crooked Hand, a skill learned under some of the most trying of times while defending his life as a trapper in Indian Country or providing food for himself from nature’s vast storehouse of resources. Skills that were to come in useful time and time again once the men were out and about in Indian Country, trapping and surviving on their own...

  Nearing the end of the most intensive portion of work in building the fort, Tom, based on his military background, figured it was time to make final plans to ‘provision up’ and head out onto the trapping grounds with his friends before the rest of the Company Trappers were turned loose and became the main competition for some of the best areas and the fort’s many-times scarce supplies. Sitting down one evening with Old Potts, Big Foot and Crooked Hand, Tom laid out his hoped-for departure plans for the group from the fort and up onto the trapping grounds, solely based on his ex-military experience and the necessity of preparedness. He figured out loud among the group that since only Old Potts knew the territory from his previous trapping experiences with the 1807 expedition with Vasquez, that would be a built-in advantage over the rest of the Company Trappers. Plus, it would take them awhile to get located on the best beaver trapping grounds, get their winter camp constructed, set up their trapping territory and get to work. Additionally and without saying anything to the rest of his group, the quicker he could get into trapping on the dangerous frontier, maybe the faster he could forget about the loss of his wife and young son to smallpox…

  All the men agreed and decided they would ‘provision up’ with what they figured the four of them would need for the year and with McKenzie’s blessing, leave by week’s end. The men figured with what money they had between them and the wages owed them by McKenzie, they would have enough for a ‘stake’ that would supply them for the coming year and into the following summer. Plus, they wanted to make sure they got what provisions they needed before the fort opened for business and then because of the trading factor, found that some supplies would soon be in short supply or unavailable until the annual keelboats arrived the following spring with new supplies. That concern and knowing the next supplies would not arrive at the fort until the spring during the period of high water when the keelboats could get over the many sandbars and safely upstream to the fort, the decision was made by the group to fill their supply needs while the getting was good.

  The following day, Tom met with McKenzie who was currently overseeing the building of the fort’s two blockhouses. “What can I do for you, Tom?” McKenzie asked upon seeing the quiet giant of a Free Trapper approaching.

  “Mr. McKenzie, me, Crooked Hand Harris, Old Potts and Big Foot Johnson plan on leaving for the trapping grounds very soon. In fact, we plan on leaving once we ‘provision up’. We would like to get on some decent beaver trapping grounds, get our winter quarters set up and get to trapping so we can start making some money before everyone else floods out into the field. The four of us would like to settle up with you and the company, get our provisions and head out before the first winter storms begin coming down from the north and making our travel difficult. Would that be alright with you if we did so?”

  “Well, Tom, I knew I would lose you just as soon as the geese headed south and I guess now is the time, eh? I knew you wanted to be a Free Trapper but was hoping I could convince you to stay on as one of my main men and work for me and Mr. Astor. But I know the lure of the wilderness and once it begins ‘calling’, it is hard for anyone to resist. OK, let us meet tonight at the Clerk’s house and I will see to it that we are square with each other in the wages department. You have been more than fair with me and the company, and I at least owe you that in return. Then if you would like, I will give you company credit for your labors in the form of the provisions you and your group will need. If that sits well with you, let us meet at sundown and we will get our business done to both of our satisfactions. However, you sure you will not stay on as one of my main men? I surely would hate to lose you or any of the hardworking and skilled men you mentioned that you have teamed up with for your proposed trapping expedition.”

  “No, we four have made up our minds. We came out here to see what lies over the next horizon and get in some trapping before the critters are all trapped out, make some money, see this neck of the woods throughout and that is that. We do however, thank you for letting us come north in the main brigade for the protections it offered and then employing us so we could make some money and be able to afford the provisions we needed,” said Tom.

  “OK, then. Have it your way. I will see you at sundown at the Clerk’s house and we can settle up over what is owed the four of you men,” said McKenzie with a smile.

  With a handshake out of respect for McKenzie over what had just been proposed and agreed to, Tom strode back to his three fellow Free Trappers sawing away on blockhouse timbers with the good news.

  That evening, Tom, Crooked Hand, Big Foot and Old Potts met with McKenzie, settled up and then headed for one of his warehouses holding a slew of provisions the men knew they would need for the coming year out on the trapping grounds and away from any vestiges of civilization.

  Once in the warehouse, Tom, Crooked Hand and Big Foot began gathering up the needed provisions, as Old Potts read off a previously prepared list of what they would need and the amounts he figured they would need for the coming months. On and on droned Old Potts, as Tom, Crooked Hand and Big Foot gathered into a huge pile on the warehouse floor those things the men figured they would need until they could return to the fort the following summer and resupply.

  As they did, Old Potts and one of the Company Clerks kept track of what the three other men were digging out from the vast stores at hand. Those provisions collected included two kegs of first quality gunpowder at a dollar a pound; 40 pounds of lead at one dollar per pound; 12 three-point blankets at nine dollars each; six butcher knives at seventy-five cents each; six sheet-iron kettles at two dollars and twenty-five cents per pound; four square axes at two dollars and fifty cents each; 40 beaver traps at nine dollars each; 50 pounds of sugar at one dollar per pound; 80 pounds of coffee at one dollar and twenty-five cents per pound; replacement horseshoes; five pounds of nails; six files; four kegs of rum; several spools of thread; iron rings; four extra bridles; 30 pounds of pipe tobacco; red ribbons for trade; three copper kettles; 12 iron buckles for strapping; a dozen fire steels; 30 pounds of dried apples; 20 pounds of dried raisins; two spools of brass wire for rifle stock repairs in case they were cracked or broken because of hard use; five pounds of washing soap; and on and on it went until the men figured they had everything they would need for the next eight to ten months living in the backcountry with no chance for resupply!

  When everything was selected and accounted for, minus the costs of all those goods against the four trappers’ wages and the money they collectively possessed and contributed to the pot, they were twelve-and-a-half cents to the good when everything was said and done! So much said for the increased costs of goods in the far west, with company profits on all goods hauled up from the stores in St. Louis, running from 70 to 400% profit on each and every item!

  CHAPTER TWO: MEDICINE LAKE COUNTRY AND UNWANTED COMPANY!

  By noon the following day, with Old Potts in the lead since he had trapped in roughly the same country to which they were heading years earlier and with Tom bringing up the rear of their long and heavily packed string of horses, the four men planned on heading northwesterly up the Missouri River and riding along its north side. Little did they realize that when they left Fort Union, they created quite a stir in a Blackfoot encampment of many young men camped in the adjacent river bottoms. An encampment whose members had been trading their furs, bearskins and buffalo robes for the white man’s goods, mainly liquor for the last two weeks! That river bottom encampment comprised a small component o
f the Medicine Lake Band of Blackfeet, an extremely aggressive group of Indians, who had a history of not getting along with a number of what they considered trespassing white men, especially after they had been drinking the white man’s whiskey. However, in need of necessary supplies, especially powder, lead pigs, salt, and their extreme thirst for the white man’s liquor, they were forced to ‘pull in their horns’ and trade with the much-hated Americans for those necessary provisions.

  As Old Potts led, Tom and company left out from the Fort Union area trailing a fully loaded and valuable pack string of horses. As they did, a lone, young Blackfoot warrior quietly left the nearby Indian encampment from along the river... Several days of travel along the northern bank of the Missouri River brought the trappers to the confluence of the Big Muddy River. There they left the Missouri and turned north along the Big Muddy’s eastern bank, heading for familiar beaver trapping grounds known to Old Potts from his previous trapping days working for an earlier trader, merchant, trapper and explorer from St. Louis, whose last name was Vasquez.

  Several days later into their travels, Tom noticed that Old Potts had turned over the lead of his small pack string to Big Foot and was now casually riding down the remainder of the string of packed horses towards his location at the end of the group. Old Potts kind of wandered along as if inspecting the animals for any signs of injury or evidence of pack sores from the heavy packs they were carrying. Riding up alongside Tom and without showing any signs of alarm or discovery, Old Potts said, “Tom, we have picked up an Indian outrider following us. He is too far away for me to make out what tribe he is from, but we are deep in Blackfoot country and they can be killing son-of-a-bitches if they get all riled up. If I was a betting man, I would say he is a Blackfoot sent here to keep an eye on us, our direction of travel and our final destination for maybe a later ambush. After all, we represent quite a sizeable catch in horses and equipment, especially if they could catch us out in the open with our pants down. I think I may recognize him from his large size. I remember him because he is almost as big as you, Tom, and a muscular chap at that as well. I am not positive but I think he was back at the fort in that Blackfoot encampment down by the river. You know, the ones who were whooping and hollering it up every night after they got all liquored up after trading their furs for the fort’s ‘demon rum’.”

  Without looking in the direction of the Indian outrider trailing the men so as not to give away their knowledge that they were aware that he was ‘dogging’ them, Tom said, “I know. I have been watching him out of the corner of my eyes ever since we left the fort and you are right. He is sticking to our trail like the ugly on your mug. I also think you are right about who he is as well. He is the same Indian who kept paying such close attention to us as we packed up our horses back in our camp in preparation for leaving Fort Union. Pass the word along to the other two men in case they have not noticed our new ‘friend’ and in leading us, maybe keep us out from the brush of the river bottoms and out in the open as much as you can. That way, if he has any friends with bad intentions, we will not be so easy to ambush if that is what he and any of his friends have in store for us. But whatever it is, it cannot be good with only four of us and one hell of a long and valuable, heavily loaded string of packhorses and a mess of supplies moving out here in the middle of damn nowhere. Nothing like bringing flies to a jug of honey I would say,” concluded Tom.

  “I would agree. I will let the other two know that we have company if they don’t already realize it, so they will be on their toes as well,” said Old Potts, as he turned his horse around and slowly rode back to his own pack string and the head of the line like nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

  Two days later, the men were at the confluence of the Medicine Lake outlet and turned east towards the familiar beaver waters Old Potts had personally trapped in ’07. Shortly thereafter, in and among hundreds of small herds of quietly feeding and resting buffalo as far as the eye could see, the men made the western shore of Medicine Lake. Stopping near a mess of well-rubbed “Buffalo Rocks” left behind by the receding glaciers and in the shade of a large grove of aspens, the men reined up, lit down, stretched their tired and sore knees after so many long hours in the saddle, and made camp.

  (Author’s Note: Buffalo Rocks were so named by early pioneers, because over thousands of years of the buffalo rubbing off their itchy winter coats come summer against those rocks, the standing-upright glacier boulders had taken on a smooth and well-burnished outer quality. They are still there to view in the Medicine Lake area of eastern Montana for those who have a keen eye and a knowledge of American history and what those rocks silently portray.)

  Tom’s practiced eyes noticed upon lighting down from his horse that their grove of aspens contained a small, clear running, spring-fed stream running through the center of the grove, which led down into the distant lake. Also of note, the dense grove of aspens provided some much-needed shade from the hot prairie sun and was so positioned that surrounding their grove of trees they had a hundred yards of open prairie running in all directions around their newly found sanctuary, giving them a clear, full field of fire if they were ever attacked by Indians.

  Old Potts has chosen good ground for a defensive stand if our Indian outrider brings any of his friends for a not so casual visit, thought Tom with a grin, as he reached back into the memory banks of his prior military training. Then looking once again around his aspen grove surroundings, Tom realized white men had been there before. Not 20 yards away, Tom could see the old makings of a previous campsite near a small mountain of sheltering glacial boulders. Then he noticed Old Potts walking towards him with a big grin on his heavily whiskered face.

  “What do you think, Tom? How is this for a great spot in which to make camp? In the summer we have the shade from the aspens, in the winter we have the shelter of a cave in that small mountain of boulders behind you, along with providing us a natural windbreak and in the case of trouble, have a clear field of fire all around us.” Tom, ever the cautious one and being an ex-Topographical Engineer from late his stint in the Army, had already approvingly eyeballed the lay of the land surrounding their current location.

  Then a happy Old Potts sounded off once again before Tom could answer the first question, with “Tom, go look in the cave in that jumble of boulders, up yonder. You will see my name spelled out on the west side of the rock wall inside the cave. That I did with a burnt piece of charcoal the first time me and my fellow trappers camped here in ’07. How is that for having a good eye and nose for finding my old campsite?”

  Tom just grinned over his friend’s obvious enthusiasm and excitement over being back on familiar grounds once again. “Not too bad, Old Potts, but how come there is not any good buffalo steak roasting over an open fire when we got here?” asked Tom, as he chided his friend through his own heavily whiskered grin. Just then arriving near the cave site were Big Foot and Crooked Hand with their pack strings. Upon hearing Tom making a ‘funny’ at Old Potts’s expense, all had a good laugh, generated by Tom’s normally quiet and dry sense of humor.

  “However, we still have our ‘old friend’ out there by that other pile of boulders on that distant hillside watching us. So, with that in mind and since this appears to be a good spot for our new home for the next few months, I say we get our tired horses unpacked, let them graze for a while, while it is still light and we can keep an eye on them. I would not want to come all this way, only to get lazy and have the local Indians make off with our stock and leave us a-foot in this country. In the meantime, I say we build up a corral here in the aspens next to our cave so we can make sure no damn Indian can easily run off with our horseflesh,” said Tom quietly.

  There was a murmur of agreement over Tom’s cautionary words, as the men headed for their pack strings and marched them over to their new cave home in the rocks. There the animals were unpacked, double hobbled and turned out on the close at hand nutritious prairie grasses so they could put on the ‘feed bag’. I
n the meantime, Old Potts and Tom stacked up their provisions into the far recesses of their spacious cave, dragged in a mess of firewood, made a better fire ring than the old one already on site from nearby rocks in their creek and began setting up the rest of their campsite. In the meantime, Big Foot and Crooked Hand built up a stout corral with cut aspen timbers and rope, so their horse herd would be close at hand and semi-safe from being easily run off by any marauding Indians.