Death on the Mountain
© 2004 W. R. Benton, All Rights Reserved
To be published by Saga Books
This manuscript may not be reproduced in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, recording, or in any information shorage or retrieval system. All rights belong to the author and the publisher. All characters are from the imaginations of the authors and do not represent any persons living or dead. Any similarities between real persons and the characters in this manuscript are a coincidence.
CHAPTER 1
Jarel made his way slowly up the steep and winding deer trail, keeping a close watch for potential sites for ambushers. He had escaped the Blackfoot two days before, but he knew them to be untiring pursuers and not likely to have quit the search just yet. He was as naked as the day he was born and chilled to the bone. He was lucky to be alive and he knew it. Nonetheless, he was a mountain man quitting was not an option and he would keep moving until his body stopped on its own. Blood still oozed from a number of small cuts and his whole being ached from the bruises he had sustained when he had ran the gantlet the warriors had prepared for him.
He glanced up at the sky and noticed dark rain clouds moving toward the mountain. He knew shelter was needed, but so far he had been unable to locate much that would keep him alive. A light misty rain started to fall and he could feel the temperature going down. It was at that moment that Jarel spotted a ridgeline off to his right and made his way off of the trail in that direction.
The ridge had been exposed to countless years of wind and water erosion and Jarel saw immediately a slight outcrop that would have to suffice as a temporary shelter. It was more of just a simple overhang of dirt than a real shelter, but he knew at that moment any shelter was better than none. He had just stepped under the protection of the ridge when the rain starting coming down heavier. Looking around the small shelter he noticed leaves that had fallen from the nearby trees lining the floor and small pieces of dried wood. He knew he could get a fire going by using friction, if he could find the right types of wood he needed.
Jarel found a long slender piece of hard wood and looking around he discovered a flat slice of soft wood. Using a sharp rock he found, he cut a small notch in the flat piece of wood and then placed it on the ground. With his feet he held the wood in position as he placed the tip of the long piece of wood in the notch. Then, he began to twist the slender wood as quickly as he could, using the flat of his hands to rotate it. It was difficult and time consuming work, but he knew he had to have a fire, or he was dead. After a period of about ten minutes, the wooden base began to slightly give off smoke. Jarel didn’t stop at that point, he continued for a couple of more minutes to insure the wood would have a burning spark.
Finally he lifted the flat piece of wood with trembling hands. He noticed the small glowing dots in the wood. Gently he added some dried grasses and small bits of dried leaves, hoping all the while his fire would start. He was rewarded with a small burst of flames, which grew in size as he added additional small pieces of tinder. Less than fifteen minutes after he had started, Jarel had a fire.
The young mountain man figured he had a good night’s worth of dried wood under the outcrop, as long as he kept his fire small. With the Blackfoot around, the last thing he wanted was a large fire, so he kept it slightly larger than a coffee cup. He pushed all of the dried leaves together to make a bed and then leaned back against the rear wall of his shelter to enjoy the heat. It was then he heard the voice.
“Hello the camp! I be white and friendly. Can I come in?”
Jarel was confused about who it could be and yet he needed help. While it was unusual to meet other white men in the shinning mountains, it did happen off and on. In the mountains most of the mountain men helped each other, but a man alone was prime pickin’s fer any ruthless white or red men bent on murder. He would prove to be a very easy target for someone who wanted to kill him. Yet, knowing that and understanding he had little choice, Jarel responded, “Y’all can come in, but I ain’t actually dressed fer comp’nee.”
“Comin’ in!” answered the voice.
From the rain a dark form started moving toward his shelter. Jarel picked up a rock and placed it in his right hand, deciding while it was a poor weapon it was better than nothing at all. With rain dripping from his buckskins a man walked into the shelter of the overhang.
“Well, now, young coon, you were right. You ain’t dressed fer comp’nee,” the unknown man commented and then gave a loud laugh.
“I ran into a bunch of Blackfoot two days a go and got away from ‘em that afternoon.”
The man removed his backpack and opened it. Reaching in he pulled out a trade blanket and handed it to Jarel as he said, “Cain’t have you settin’ there naked like that, cover up with this while I get us some grub cookin’. I’ll tell ya, any time you can get away from the Blackfoot and still have yer balls hangin’ twixt yer legs yer one lucky coon!”
As the stranger began to remove things from his pack, Jarel noticed he was of medium size, had long dark brown hair and a full beard with strands of gray. His eyes were soft and gentle, but there was quickness to his movements that told the young man this was an experienced man. The buckskins the man wore were stained from months of use and smelled slightly of wood smoke.
The man placed two large pieces of meat on sticks and leaned the meat over the fire to roast. Turning slowly toward Jarel he said, “My name’s Buzz. Yer lucky to be alive son.”
“Names, Jarel. The Sioux call me Proudly.”
“Well, I have heard of you Proudly, from the Sioux Chief Wolf. He seems to think highly of you.”
As the meat roasted over the fire, Jarel watched the flames flare up as hot juices fell. Wrapping the blanket tighter around his shoulders, the young man asked, “You a free trapper or a comp’nee man?”
“Wintered with old Hatch and his boys last year. Not sure what to do this coming winter. I was on my way to Butterfield’s tradin’ post when I noticed yer tracks on the trail. Since you didn’t walk like a Injun, I followed you.”
“I know Hatch. He’s a man with a lot of bark on ‘em. He’s as tough as a bull buffalo and twice as mean when he has to be,” Jarel replied with a smile.
“Yep, good he’s a man to ride the river with. So, what do we do now? I ain’t no tradin’ post and all the clothes I own in the world I am wearin’. I got an extra horse pistol I can loan ya, but that’s ‘bout it.”
“Well, if we can get to Butterfield’s, I can get supplies there. In the mean time, I am thinking I can cut a hole in this blanket to make me a crude set of clothes. On the way to the tradin’ post mayhap we can get some skins or meet up with somebody that can help me. Otherwise, we go as we are. The only problem is, we cannot go down my back trail, them Blackfoot will be on it.”
Buzz gave a deep laugh, slapped his right knee, and said, “I know. I was just thinkin’ how lucky I was I saw yer tracks. If I had not seen ‘em, why, I would have walked right into Bug’s Boys. I do thank you fer that, Proudly!”
The meat was done just the way a real mountain man liked it, burned on the outside and raw in the middle. Buzz gave one stick to Jarel and kept the other for himself. As he chewed on his meat the younger man said, “I need some skins so I can make some moccasins. I won’t get far without coverin’ fer my feet.”
The old mountain man wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his left hand and replied, “Skins we can get as soon as this rain stops long enough to allow me to hunt. I think the best idea right now would be for ya to eat, then sleep.”
Dawn broke over the trees without a hint of rain in the sky. The temperature was still chilly, but Jarel had actually slept well wrapped up in the blanket next to the fire. Buzz most likely had had little sleep because the young mountain man had heard him moving all through the night adding wood to the fire.
“Mornin’ young pup! You sleep good?”
“Mornin’ Buzz. Yep, I guess all that running for the last couple of days caught up with me.”
Buzz handed Jarel an old beat up tin cup and said, “Drink this. It’s the last of the honest to God coffee I have. I done had me a cup, so I saved this one fer ya.” The old man noticed Jarel hesitate and continued, “Go on son, it’s ok. When we get to Butterfield’s, I’ll get some mo’.”
Jarel took a drink of the hot liquid and groaned with delight at the heat and taste. There was something about coffee on cold mornings to make a man appreciate a new day. He slowly savored the taste and looking over at Buzz he gave the old man a crooked smile.
“You finish that coffee…” Buzz said as he stood and checked the load on his Hawken rifle. “I’ll be back directly. We need skins and meat if we are gonna make this trip.”
“You watch yer topknot out there. Them Blackfoot may still be on my trail.”
“I always keep my topknot screwed on tight young coon, but thanks fer the warnin’.” As soon as he had spoken, Buzz walked from the shelter.
Two hours later Jarel was placing wood on the fire when he heard Buzz call out,
”Hello the camp! I have some meat and I am coming in.”
As soon as the older man entered the shelter he put the deer on the floor, turned to Jarel and said, “I left without giving you my other horse pistol I promised you.”
Buzz pulled a large fifty-caliber pistol from his sash and handed it to Jarel as he continued to speak, “That was a pilgrim thing for me to do. If-un them Blackfoot had come up on ya by yerself, you would have gone beaver on me.”
The younger man held the heavy weapon in his right hand and suddenly felt much less vulnerable. As he was checking the load, Buzz handed him a small bag of powder and a handful of lead balls.
Barrowing a knife from Buzz, Jarel started skinning the deer. In almost no time he had the meat cut into thin slices and ready to dry. He had also kept a couple of large roasts from the rear quarters so they could eat fresh meat for the next couple of days. Then, taking the skin he began to flesh it to remove all fat and blood from the skin. Buzz had brought the internal organs from the animal, so as he worked the smell of roasting liver and heart filled the tiny shelter.
“I don’t have the time to cure this leather. I will have to make my moccasins from green hide.”
“Yep, that you will have to do. But, I have done it a time or two myself. Be crude makin’s but they’ll do until we get to Butterfield’s. Best make yourself ‘bout four pairs, ‘cause they will wear out fast on the trail.”
Picking up a large piece of sinew, Jarel said, “Now, this thang is just what I wanted. Now I can make me a bow!”
“You know how to shoot a bow? I’ll be damned! Where did you learn that at, from the Sioux?”
Jarel gave a grin and replied, “Nope, old Zee taught me how to shoot a bow years ago in a cave during a snow storm that lasted fer days on end. I am fair with one now.”
“You mean the Zee that runs with Teacher?”
The young man noticed a trace of uneasiness in Buzz’s question, but answered him honestly, “Yep, he rides with Teacher.”
“That sonofabitch! If I see ‘em, he’s a gone beaver! He cost me a load of prime pews once. I swore if-un I ever saw him again, I’d kill ‘em!”
“Buzz, there had to be a reason for him to do it.” Jarel replied as he placed the sinew down on the ground beside his left foot. Looking at Buzz he noticed the man’s gentle eyes had grown hard with hate.
“Aye, he says there was a good reason. Onliest thing is, I disagree with ‘em. We was comin’ back to Saint Louie with a large load of pews. Why, we must have had more than two or three hundred skins with us all baled up as nice as you please. Out on the plains we was surrounded one mornin’ by a group of Injuns, Pawnee they was.” Buzz quit speaking for a minute as he pulled a plug of chewing tobacco from his possibles bag and cut off a piece. He handed the plug of brown leaf to Jarel and continued, “Ole Zee, now, he wants to parley with them damn Injuns. To make a long story short, them thievin’ Pawnee took all we owned, ‘cept our clothes and left us without even a horse to ride. It was about a five-day walk to the nearest fort and it almost kilt me! We should have fought them red niggers!”
Jarel looked right into Buzz’s eyes and asked, “Do you think you would have won that fight old coon?”
“Damn it to hell son, it don’t matter if we would have won it or not. It goes against my grain to give my hard work away to a red bastard for no reason and without a fight. Sure, I might have died, but I would have died with honor. To just give them pew away…Waugh, that was cowardly in my way of thinkin’.”
“Mayhap it was cowardly, Buzz. Then again, it might have saved yer life. I know Zee like a brother and the man is one to walk the mountains with.”
Long minutes pasted in total silence as Buzz did not respond to the comment. Jarel was surprised to notice the sun was setting and it would be dark soon. He had not realized how long it had taken him to cut the meat, prepare the green hide, and to do the odd jobs needed for the coming trip.
Finally, realizing Buzz was not going to discuss Zee any longer, Jarel took two large pieces of meat and stuck them on two green sticks. He placed them over the hot coals to roast as he fashioned a rough belt from the green deer hide to keep his blanket around his waist and then left the shelter before it was dark. He needed wood for a bow.
When he returned it was dark and Buzz was turning the meat over the coals. Jarel returned the knife he had borrowed from the older man earlier that day and placed his wood near the fire to dry out. In the morning he would fashion a crude but affective bow. It would have been better to have had been better to use seasoned wood, but the green wood would work almost as well. What was more important now was the making of a weapon.
Buzz had just taken his first bite of meat when an arrow flew through the air and struck in his upper left shoulder. Grunting against the impact, the old mountain man reached up and quickly broke the shaft off. He had just picked up his Hawken when three Blackfoot braves ran toward the shelter. Jarel lined the sights of his horse pistol on the first brave and squeezed the trigger.
The impact of the lead slug hitting him threw the warrior back against the second one and knocked the two of them to the ground. Buzz quickly shifted his target from the second brave to the third. The loud roar of his rifle filled the early evening air. The third brave’s head exploded and the man dropped. The second brave hadn’t been hit at all and was up and running toward the two white men, neither of which had had the time to reload. Buzz had just pulled his pistol from his sash when he saw the brave collide with Jarel. Unable to shoot for fear of hitting the young man, Buzz stood by helpless and watched the fight take place.
Over and over they rolled on the ground. The Blackfoot brave had a large skinning knife in his right hand and Jarel had nothing. He knew he had to keep that knife hand away from him or he was a dead man. The warrior was smaller than Jarel and the young mountain man soon was on top of the Indian, pushing the braves knife back at his own chest. Suddenly the brave’s strength seemed to leave him and the knife sunk in his chest to the handle. He quivered and arched his back violently, but it was all over in less than a minute.
Standing, Jarel looked over at Buzz and asked, “Why didn’t you help me?”
Buzz, grinning, replied, “You was a-doin’ just fine young pup. You’ll do to walk the tail with.”
Jarel spent almost an hour looking at the wounded shoulder that Buzz had and finally gave up, “Buzz, I will have to look at this tomorrow. It’s too dark for me to see the wound clear ‘nough to remove that arrow. Can you hold off until then?”
“Jarel, wrap it good to keep the bleedin’ down and I will make ‘er all right.”
After scalping the braves Jarel was able to find a set of buckskins from the largest of the three attackers. Foot covering though, was not to be found. Quickly dressing in the bloody buckskins, Jarel thought of how lucky he was to be dressed at all. He would just have to wear some moccasins made from green skins. The two men picked up one rifle, two bows and two quivers of arrows. Also, Buzz found a small bag of powder and shot. Of the three knives found on the Blackfoot, Jarel kept two and gave the other one to Buzz. Now both men had two knives and were armed with guns. Things were looking up.
Order this book
Mountain Man Links
