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  COLTER’S HELL

  Mountain Man Series, Book II

  Greg Strandberg

  Big Sky Words, Missoula

  Copyright © 2015 by Big Sky Words

  D2D Edition, 2017

  Written in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Connect with Greg Strandberg

  www.bigskywords.com

  The Mountain Man Series is an ongoing series that starts in 1806 and is now up to 1813.

  The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth volumes of this exciting series are now available.

  Get Colter’s Run, Colter’s Friend, Colter’s Revenge and Colter’s Escape today!

  Or...

  Get the books in a convenient box-set!

  The eleventh volume in the series is now out as well.

  See John Colter Maps Here

  See Montana Locations Here

  Table of Contents

  Yellowstone and Big Horn River Map

  Introduction – A Shot

  Part I – Into the Wilderness

  1 – The Outfit

  2 – The Arikara

  3 – Fire on the Water

  4 – The Mandan

  5 – Up Around the Bend

  6 – The Yellowstone

  7 – Fort Raymond

  8 – Around the Fire

  9 – The Blackfeet

  10 – A Vision Quest

  Part II – Sojourn

  11 – First Morning

  12 – The Shoshone River

  13 – The Frenchman

  14 – Colter’s Hell

  15 – Skirting the Mountains

  16 – At the Fort

  17 – The Wind River

  18 – On the Hunt

  19 – Crossing Paths

  20 – A Chance Encounter

  Part III – Tracking

  21 – Finding Trails

  22 – The Cree

  23 – A New Friend

  24 – Escape

  25 – Dropping In

  26 – On the Run

  27 – A Commotion

  28 – Unbeknownst

  29 – All Together Now

  Part IV – Vengeance

  30 – Taking Stock

  31 – High-Tailing It

  32 – A New Companion

  33 – Following the Snake

  34 – The Sky People

  35 – A Visit

  36 – Rude Awakening

  37 – On the Path

  38 – The Falls

  39 – Clarks Fork

  Conclusion – Back Home

  Historical Note

  About the Author

  Preview of Colter’s Run

  Yellowstone and Big Horn River Map

  Introduction – A Shot

  The sun was bright, the sky was big, and it didn’t seem like they’d find a better place in all of God’s Creation.

  Captain Meriwether Lewis put the butt of his rifle down on the ground and his arm up. “This will do,” he said, and the three men behind him came to a stop. Two of them let out sighs.

  “Haven’t even gone ten miles yet,” George Drouillard scoffed at the two. He adjusted his yellow head-cloth, which was soaked with sweat.

  “My feet say otherwise,” Joseph Field said with a frown.

  “They don’t say anything, but they sure do stink up a storm,” Joseph’s older brother Reubin said, and both he and George broke out laughing.

  “Alright, alright,” Lewis said ahead of them, picking up his rifle once again, “let’s get to making camp.”

  The men nodded and started doing just that, happy to get a break from the hot July sun overhead. They were still following the small creek that’d branched off from the Marias River, one they were calling Birch Creek on account of the trees growing up on its banks. The spot they were at now had the trees on just one side, the north, while the south was open grassland for a quarter of a mile before the ground rose up into a rocky ridge of hills a hundred feet high.

  “Sure this is a good spot, Captain?” George said as they started to unfurl the tarps and break out the cooking supplies.

  “Why wouldn’t it be, George?” Lewis already had one of his journals out and didn’t bother to look up.

  “Just seems a bit open is all, sir,” the half-Shawnee half-French-Canadian scout said. The Field brothers stopped their unpacking for a moment to look the captain’s way. Sensing the tension in the air, Lewis looked up, looked around, and then shook his head.

  “This will do,” he said a moment later, his pen beginning to move across the journal’s pages once again. George shrugged and started unpacking.

  ~~~

  Wolf Calf came to an abrupt stop, his long black hair swishing about as he did so. He kept his hair unbound and flowing long, for he thought it made him look more savage.

  The seven other young Blackfeet Indian braves behind him came to a stop as well. They were more boys than braves, really – Wolf Calf had just turned 13-years old, and though there were a few as old as him, none were older. They were armed as well, with sturdy bow and arrows. Wolf Calf even had a rifle, a good one too, or so Calf Looking thought. He was also 13-years old, and while he didn’t have the courage or as powerful a father like Wolf Calf did, he was fast and smart and the boys looked up to him.

  Calf Looking and the others were looking up to Wolf Calf now, for he’d begun creeping toward the edge of the ridge, the better to look over. The others held back, knowing that whatever their leader had seen below could just as easily spot them above if they moved forward. They also held back because of Wolf Calf’s temper. One look at the swollen black eye of Sidehill Calf could tell you that, and that’d only come about because the 11-year old had suggested they go back that morning. Wolf Calf hadn’t agreed to that, and now Sidehill Calf was sulking in the back of the band, wanting to go home more than ever.

  Calf Looking knew they couldn’t go back, not yet at least. He was with the Skunk Band of the Pikuni Tribe of the Piegan Blackfeet Nation, and coming back into camp with nothing to show for their three days of hunting would lower their worth in the eyes of the other bands. Calf Looking knew full well that Buffalo Child’s Otter Band was waiting for such an opportunity to move up in the eyes of the tribe. Buffalo Child was one of the tribe’s three Wise Ones, back at camp and no doubt scheming how he could become full chief. If he could use the young braves’ poor showing to make Stone Bear’s Skunk Band look bad, then he certainly would. Stone Bear was Wolf Calf’s father, and also a Wise One, though one that didn’t have as much ambition, or at least didn’t let it show as much as Buffalo Child did.

  Calf Looking sighed. He knew he shouldn’t be out with an opposing band of braves, but his father forbade him to go out. Silver Heart was the third Wise One of the tribe and he treated Calf Looking too much like his older brother had been treated. Dog Hair may have been obedient, but he wasn’t brave. Calf Looking was, and that’s why he was with the Skunk Band, braves who craved adventure and didn’t hide from it. Still, Calf Looking knew that his father didn’t get to his high position by being a coward. Silver Heart was indeed a powerful Wise One, and one that could take over when Chief He Who Shouts finally died. Wolf Calf knew that, and it was probably why he’d been pushing them so hard over the past day. Wolf Calf’s own father had been adamant that they go out for three days only. Today was that third day, and there was no way they could make it back to the tribe by morning...unless they had some horses.

  Wolf Calf reached the edge of the ridge and peered down. Sure enough, there wa
s a small band of fur trappers, four of them it looked like, and they had quite a few supplies. They had even more guns, four the young Piegan boy thought to himself, but that’s not what he was really interested in. The true prize were the horses, twenty-one of them, all milling about in the grass a short distance from the men’s camp. They had Nez Perce markings on them too, and must have been traded by the western tribe.

  Wolf Calf shook his head. The Blackfeet had cowed the Nez Perce, and they’d done so with the same guns the whites were carrying now, long-barreled rifles that sent shots far. Those shots came sudden and unexpectedly from horseback. The horses below had their legs hobbled, and Wolf Calf smiled – it’d be easy to cut the small ropes put in place so the horses wouldn’t move too far, and then all they’d have to do was ride on out of there, back to the village, and the admiration of the tribe. His father would be proud of him and Wolf Calf would gain much honor. That honor would be increased, the young brave knew, if he could bring the weapons back as well. Then his own father might have a chance at becoming chief, not just Looking Calf’s, or worse, Little Mouse’s. The thought made the young Blackfoot brave smile. Wolf Calf slowly began pushing himself backward, and after a minute he was back with the other seven boys.

  “Horses,” he said as soon as he reached them, “twenty-one horses and just four men, whites.”

  “Trappers?” Sidehill Calf asked, and Wolf Calf nodded.

  “Looks like it, and it also looks like they’re armed pretty good.”

  “So we’ll rush in after dark and take off with the horses before they know what hit ‘em,” Sidehill Calf said with a laugh, clapping Looking Calf on the back beside him. Several of the other braves smiled and mumbled their enthusiasm as well, even if Sidehill Calf was likely putting on a show, the better to get them home faster.

  Although he was happy to see some of the youngest of the braves’ enthusiasm return, Wolf Calf shook his head. “They’ll be watching, the sentries I mean. I doubt these men will sleep without posting someone to watch.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Calf Looking asked.

  “That we go down there and talk with them,” Wolf Calf said. That was met with silence, as well as a lot of shuffling feet and downward looks. “Ah, c’mon – don’t tell me you’re afraid,” Wolf Calf continued. “Those men have a lot of stuff down there – they want to trade. Let’s go and see what they’re doing, try to win their confidence, and see if we can bed down near them. When we know most are asleep and the sentry is dozing off, we’ll make our move and take the horses.” The 13-year old stared at the other boys, most younger than him. Only Calf Looking met his gaze, and Wolf Calf held it for several moments. Finally Calf Looking nodded, drawing the other boys’ attention.

  “Alright,” he said, “but let’s be careful – those trappers have enough guns for twelve men, and we don’t want to get hurt.”

  Wolf Calf smiled. “Of course!”

  After that they began to move down toward the creek.

  ~~~

  “Captain,” George said as quietly as he could, and then a little louder when he saw that Captain Lewis hadn’t heard him. Lewis looked over, and then toward what George was nodding at. There were Indians coming, a small band of them.

  “Men,” Lewis said loud enough to get the attention of the Field brothers a short distance away. The two were organizing the packs to fit Lewis’s latest samples, and they looked over and then quickly got up at the sight of the Indians. “Take it easy,” Lewis said after a moment as he started forward, “let’s see what they want.” He began moving forward, said “George,” and the scout was quickly at his side.

  “Blackfeet...or maybe A’anninen,” he said, “I’m not really sure. Sure are young though, I’d say 10-years to 13-years old for the lot of ‘em.”

  “Old enough to fight,” Lewis said quietly as they drew near.

  Wolf Calf came to a stop about twenty feet from the two whites, one of whom looked like he had a bit of Indian blood in him. He raised his hand up. Though still kept his bow in his other hand, it didn’t have an arrow nocked to it.

  Across the distance, Lewis also put his hand up in greeting, and said “hello.” Beside him George said a few Indian greetings in various tribal tongues, and after the fourth the young boy nodded and spoke up. He spoke for a few moments and then George nodded.

  “They’re Piegan Blackfeet,” George said, “from around this area. They’re young, and likely out on a small scouting or hunting trip for a day or two.”

  Lewis nodded, and then turned around and called out to the Field brothers. “Bring up some of the trade gifts.” The two brothers nodded and were soon rushing up with one of the packs. They started to hand it to Lewis but he shook his head. “Find them three items for gifts,” he said.

  Within moments Joseph had a medal, a small American flag, and a handkerchief out.

  “Those will do,” Lewis said with a nod when Joseph looked to him, and the young man got up and walked the items over to the boys.

  Wolf Calf took the items even though he didn’t really want them. He wanted horses and guns, and maybe some whiskey for his father, but he knew the whites weren’t likely to part with those. Still, he took the trinkets offered him and passed them back for the others to look at.

  “We’ve been out for three days and need to return to our village tomorrow,” Wolf Calf said once Joseph was back near his brother. “May we camp here for the night?”

  George translated and Lewis nodded immediately. “Yes, by all means, yes! Tell them that we’re eager to trade with them, just as we’ve been trading with their counterparts, the Nez Perce, Shoshone, and Kootenai.”

  “Sir, I’m not sure you want to say all that,” George said, “the Blackfeet–”

  “Oh, nonsense!” Lewis said with a laugh. “Tell them, will you.”

  George frowned, but did as he was asked. He’d known from the reactions upon hearing the tribal names from Lewis, however, that the news wouldn’t be received well. And it wasn’t. There were mutterings from the other braves and Wolf Calf had to turn around and silence them. When he turned back, it was with a business-like smile.

  “We appreciate the hospitality and also the gifts,” he said, “but what we’d really like to trade for are horses and maybe even a few of your guns.” Behind him, Calf Looking couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He never would have had the gall to ask the whites for those things, but then he supposed that’s why Wolf Calf was the leader of the Skunk Band in all but name and he wasn’t even much of a follower of his own band.

  George translated the boy’s words and Lewis looked on for several moments before answering. Finally he spoke. “We’re just four men in a much larger party,” he said, “and we don’t have enough of either horses or guns to trade at this time. If you meet us closer to the Mandan Villages, however, we could probably come to an arrangement.”

  The Mandan Villages, Wolf Calf thought after George translated the words, the dogs! Instead of saying that he smiled and said what the whites wanted to hear. “We’ll tell that good news to the elders and chiefs of our tribe.”

  “Wonderful!” Lewis said after George translated, and the two groups settled in to making camp for the night.

  ~~~

  The last dying embers of the whites’ campfire crackled and popped, and Wolf Calf knew it was time. For hours now there’d been silence from the three sleeping men while the sentry hadn’t moved in a good hour. It was time, and Wolf Calf got up to tell the others.

  It was clear from the conversations they’d had while gambling that the whites were trouble. The fact that they were trading with whatever tribes they came across showed that they knew nothing of the politics of the land. The Shoshone were weak, and always had been, so why would the whites want to give them guns? And the Kootenai? Wolf Calf had to suppress a laugh when he thought of that tribe handling a gun. Most likely the first brave would point the barrel at his head and pull the trigger. He smiled in spite of himself – maybe givin
g the Kootenai guns wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Within moments Wolf Calf had all the members of the band up and ready. All knew the plan, for they’d discussed it before bedding down. Even Calf Looking had been silenced, mainly because of how the gambling had gone. Everyone knew that you couldn’t beat a Blackfoot at a game of dice, though it seemed the whites hadn’t. And then to have the audacity to only pay out in beads and fishhooks and buttons? Wolf Calf still wondered how he’d been able to stay his dagger from biting into one of the whites’ throats over that insult. Alas, the whites would pay, and they’d do that as they should have all along, with their horses. Wolf Calf meant to take those horses, but he wasn’t greedy and would only take his fair share. The whites would still have five to get back to the Mandan dogs with, while his father would have sixteen more to his name. With that kind of collateral, there was no way anyone would be able to challenge him for the title of chief, once He Who Shouts finally did them all a favor and wandered off into the wilderness to die.

  Wolf Calf looked over at the others. He’d given Looking Calf his gun, for he’d never been that good of a shot with it at night. They and two others would go for the majority of the horses while Sidehill Calf and the rest of the braves would go after the rifles, and cause a diversion with them if need be. Wolf Calf knew that if the whites heard a few gunshots go off in the night, they’d likely jump down into the nearest hole they could find, and that meant they wouldn’t be going after the horses. The other braves would slowly slip away into the night, providing cover fire if need be until the last was finally gone. The whites wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.

  ~~~

  Joseph Field was dreaming of St. Louis, and the brothels the city held. He was well-known in them, and loved. Few, after all, could match his deep pockets, pockets that bulged with the proceeds of his vast fur trading empire. As usual, the choicest women were falling all over themselves before he’d even gotten fully into the door. One, the most beautiful and voluptuous brunette that Joseph had ever seen, came up to him. She started to reach out for his rifle, not his gun. Joseph’s eyes narrowed. This isn’t right...