Colter's Winter Page 13

  ~~~

  Shappa and Anoki tore through the debris and river wash, jumping over fallen trees, lodged logs and more broken sticks then they thought could ever be washed up on a bank. They weren’t even running on the bank anymore, they realized, but on piles and piles of debris, most of it likely stacked by industrious beaver. The wood was loose in spots and tight in others, and it made for slow going. How Honon had been able to barrel through it was beyond the chief, but then he knew that ‘the bear’ could do just about anything he set his mind to.

  Shappa was set to move around another rise in their path when from behind him Anoki reached out and grabbed hold of his arm. The chief immediately spun around, expecting to have the white’s dead body pointed out to him. Instead his gaze fell on the medicine man’s face, and he didn’t like what he saw.

  “What is it?” he said, doubt creeping into his voice.

  Anoki just frowned, then lowered his eyes to look at something on the ‘ground’ beneath their feet. It was a tomahawk…Honon’s tomahawk.

  “What…where…” Shappa began, at a loss for words. Honon was the strongest brave he’d ever seen, ever, in all his years!

  Anoki slowly began to move toward the edge of the huge logjam they were running on. Below was a small pool, but one that looked to be deep. The medicine man looked over the ledge and down into it, then immediately recoiled with a shudder and started to say some of those esoteric words of his.

  Shappa rushed up and past the man, looking down into the pool. There was Honon, his sightless eyes staring up at him, his mouth open in a desperate cry for air.

  The Arikara chief turned back. How the white had done this he had no idea, but the man would pay. Oh yes, he would pay.

  41 – The Chief

  Colter moved forward over the massive and seemingly-endless logjam. He knew what he sought, he just didn’t know how close the other Indians were on his tail. He’d killed three of them so far, and he knew that there were at least two more. He suspected those last two would be the most dangerous, and he wasn’t sure he’d make it out of this alive. He would try though.

  ~~~

  Shappa pulled Anoki aside.

  “Listen,” the chief said, his eyes nearly bloodshot from the anger he was feeling, “this white is mine. Do not interfere with this…his death is mine!”

  The medicine man nodded and said nothing. He had a bad feeling about this, a bad feeling for Shappa. For himself he only felt good things.

  “We both saw him run that way, right onto the logjam,” Shappa said after a moment. The two looked that way, looked at the massiveness of the beaver dam area in front of them. “We both saw him, but we don’t know which way.”

  “My heart is telling me left,” Anoki said.

  “Then I will go right,” Shappa said.

  Anoki frowned.

  “Remember,” Shappa said, grinning this time, “his death is mine, so if you spot him first, give the call and I’ll be right there.”

  Anoki nodded, and silently vowed that he’d take his time moving forward.

  ~~~

  Colter was moving ahead, but slowly. He’d seen the two Arikaras, and he knew they were following. But now that he was this close, he had to make sure they were following him the right way.

  With a deep breath he stopped completely and began climbing up some of the higher sections. If he could just get–

  “There!”

  Colter heard the shout and his head shot over for a look. There were both Indians, right at the area where the logjam split in two. The chief was moving ahead first, and as the medicine man shouted out, he’d gotten sight of Colter. Colter saw this and dropped down. The race was on.

  He dashed forward, moving through the ups and downs of the river-created but beaver-formed logjam. He knew exactly where he needed to get, but it was still a ways off yet. He had to move quickly, but not so quickly that he’d throw off his pursuers. He kept on, moving around this bend and sidling around that. It was up a cascade of fallen branches and then down a sheer drop of logs. Onward he ran, and if he could just get a…little…further…

  There!

  One last jump and Colter was at the spot, the center spot in the large logjam-dam area. It was near the spot he’d first seen the ‘Chief’ at, and also the last staging area of his trap. With nowhere left to run, Colter slowly turned around, waiting for the other chief to show up. He wasn’t disappointed.

  Right upon turning around, the Indian appeared. For his part, Shappa was surprised the white had stopped running. He still had his rifle, and still looked in good health. Then why did he stop? Shappa shook off the thought and jumped down the last few feet to get at the white’s level.

  “Your race is up, white man,” Shappa said, knowing the white couldn’t understand his words, but not caring in spite of that.

  Colter nodded at the man, nodded at his smile. He was gloating, toying with his kill. To him it seemed the jig was up, the noose was set and all he had to do was move in for the kill. Colter hoped he would move in, and he shifted about, getting to where he needed to be.

  “You killed three of my best men,” Shappa continued, closing in on Colter, “three of my best, and for that you will suffer.”

  “C’mon, just keep comin’,” Colter said.

  “Because of you my son Patamon is dead. He would have followed me as chief one day.” From behind him, Shappa could detect movement. A quick glance told him Anoki had arrived. He smiled, knowing it was finished.

  “Keep talking,” Colter said, moving ever so slightly to where he needed to be. He too saw the medicine man arrive, but he couldn’t worry about that just yet. The Arikara chief was moving forward, just about in the spot he needed to be…now!

  Colter tugged on the wooden branch, the one he’d rigged the last of his trap to. Nothing happened.

  Ahead of him, the Indian chief cocked his head, then began to smile. He realized what had just happened, and turned around to laugh and say something to his companion, who also started to laugh. By the time the chief turned back, Colter knew he was dead. He’d given it his all, but it hadn’t been enough. He was too busy feeling sorry for himself that he didn’t detect some movement from the large hold hidden under an overhang to his left. All he could do was back off a bit, hoping he’d find a way out.

  Shappa frowned, and narrowed his eyes. “Stop moving, white man, and accept your fate,” he said, moving closer to the area that Colter had just been, “accept that you’ll always be a stranger in these lands, that you’ll never–”

  Shappa’s words were cutoff as the largest beaver he’d ever seen lunged out and latched onto his arm.

  “Aaahhh!” the chief screamed.

  Colter stood watching in amazement as the large beaver, the ‘Chief,’ loosened his bite on the Arikara chief’s arm and then swiveled its head ever so slightly to the right. It then bit down, right on the Indian’s wrist. Shappa screamed even louder as his right hand fell to the hard-packed wood at his feet, the fingers still clutching his feathered-tomahawk tightly.

  “Aaahhh….aaahhhh….aaahhh!” he screamed again and again as the blood shot forth in torrents from the stub at the end of his arm. The screaming must have displeased the ‘Chief’, for the large beaver redirected itself and tore up the Indian’s body. Shappa’s scream’s continued as the animal’s claws ripped into his stomach and then chest and then with one leap the beaver was on his face, and gnawing.

  Colter looked away as a spray of blood shot out from the Indian chief’s face. Shappa threw his arms to his face to try and stop the animal that was digging its razor sharp fangs into his face, but there was little he could do. With a few shudders, he fell backward. The ‘Chief’ leapt from the falling Indian’s face and Colter was forced to jump out of their way. He fell to the ground at the same moment the Indian hit the wooden logjam, hard. The Arikara chief shuddered a few more times, and then was still.

  Colter lay there, staring up. He was prone, but ready to move. The Indian ahead of hi
m, however – a medicine man by the look of him – was poised and ready, his tomahawk ready to swing, swipe or sail.

  Anoki smiled. He had the white man right where he wanted, the last of them too. The medicine man had seen the other, late one night several days past, heading downriver in a well-built canoe. He’d summoned his stones and cast them out under the evening stars, and what they’d told him had been clear – do not follow. And so he hadn’t…not that one at least. He’d continued to follow the other, the one that Shappa had had his sights on, and who was now in front of him. That hadn’t ended well for the Arikara chief at all. Now Anoki was set to become the chief, what with Shappa’s son Patamon dead. In a week of good travel he’d be back at the village, hailed as a hero, the white man’s scalp for all to see, as well as Shappa’s beads and bracelets and tomahawk, testament to the wise chief’s demise. Anoki would proclaim a special day for Shappa, a star in the heavens even, and his people would rejoice.

  The medicine man thought all those things and he thought them quick, for the white mountain man before him was darting his eyes about, looking wily and dangerous. Best to do him in quick, and that’s what Anoki moved forward to do.

  Colter saw the Indian start forward and he tensed up. He’d been expecting this, and he only had…now!

  Colter sprung forward, pushing himself up off his back with his arms behind him, enough so that he was in a sort of standing-crouch.

  Anoki was taken off guard by the move, but not surprised by it. He lowered his tomahawk and adjusted his aim accordingly.

  Colter saw the Indian lower the tomahawk, just as he’d expected. He dove back down and grabbed hold of the stick holding the trap line. He pulled with all his might…and again nothing happened. The look of surprise on his face must have been plain, for the Indian above him stopped his forward momentum and began to chuckle.

  Anoki couldn’t help it. The white had been trying for something, some kind of trap or some weapon that wasn’t there. The medicine man almost pitied him, but quickly shoved those thoughts aside. He raised the tomahawk and moved forward.

  Colter knew he was dead. The Indian was just a couple feet from him and the axe was poised. In seconds he’d join Forest and most likely Joe, dead and–

  Faster than Colter could think, a figure leapt from the packed wood at his back. He’d kicked out, and his foot met solidly with the medicine man’s face, sending him staggering backward. Colter’s eyes went wide when he saw another Indian brave now standing before him…and Arikara no less…but fighting his own kinsmen!

  Anoki’s eyes were wide as he drew his hand across his mouth, right where the foot had connected. He looked down and saw a bright red streak of blood. Ahead of him the Indian’s face remained impassive, emotionless, and the medicine man felt a twinge of fear.

  “Snow Eye,” he said, raising his hand up as if to both offer something or fend something off, whichever need should arise, “Snow Eye…what are you doing here?”

  “You mean, why am I not dead?”

  Anoki chuckled despite himself. “Yes, why aren’t you dead?”

  Because your plan failed, Anoki…or should I say, Shappa’s plan failed?” Snow Eye stared hard with his one good eye, stared right into the Arikara medicine man. Anoki backed up a step, and Snow Eye took a step forward, bringing his tomahawk up as well. He held it, poised above his shoulder, ready to swing or throw.

  “The plan was Shappa’s,” Anoki said, “in order that you might–”

  The medicine man’s words were cutoff as Snow Eye took another step forward, this time stepping on a loose twig. It was just enough to topple a balancing log, which triggered the trap Colter had been trying to trip. A cascade of logs resulted and that sent the beaver trap sailing down on its branch. It connected solidly with Snow Eye’s right side. That triggered the beaver trap, which slammed shut on the Indian’s arm, clamping it firmly to his side. The force of the moving branch knocked the logs holding it off-kilter, and they cascaded down toward both Snow Eye and Anoki. The shifting weight was too much for that side of the giant logjam, and it simply gave way. Colter watched wide-eyed as the two men fell down to the deep pools of collected river water below, then heard the loud splash a moment later. He scurried to the edge of the water and looked down. There were bubbles and foam and everything was disturbed, but the depth was such that the mountain man could see down to what was happening…and he couldn’t believe his eyes. The Indian that’d had the trap locked to his side was on top of the other Indian, the one that’d been about to kill Colter.

  Down in that pool Anoki struggled, struggled mightily for all he was worth. One leg was pinned by some logs and sent pangs of agony up him. The rest of him was pinned by Snow Eye. That milky white eye stared down at him, while the other was gone, smashed inward by a log or the fall or something at the bottom of the pool. All the medicine man knew was that the brave that’d been hunting them all that time was dead, and so was he. The weight of the Indian and the branch and trap pinned to him was too much. The medicine man’s last thoughts were of the tribe he should have rightly led, and then the air escaped his chest and he too stared off into nothingness.

  Colter watched as the last air bubbles came up from the pool, and then watched a minute more. Finally he rolled over onto his back, let out a deep sigh, and hoped to God that it was only six Arikara following him and no more.

  Conclusion – Downriver

  Colter looked over his shoulder, saw nothing, then fell back into the bed of the canoe. He’d go straight down to St. Louis like that if he had to, but then he knew the terror was over. The chief was dead, whoever he’d been and whatever his real name had been. So were Joe and Forest for all he knew, though something told him that wasn’t the case. If asked why, he couldn’t say – it was just a feeling.

  He’d spent the rest of the winter in the cave, biding his time until spring. The metal-framed boat was easy enough to fetch, for it’d only washed down river a few miles before lodging itself on the bank. With what he’d scrounged together over the rest of the months, Colter figured he had a good $1,200 or more in furs…if the price in St. Louis was still $2 a fur.

  Those were the thoughts the mountain man held in his head as he came down the Missouri the next May. He was just around the Niobrara River when it happened.

  “Ho, there!”

  Colter’s eyes went wide and he sprang up from the canoe bed, stopping himself just before going over the lip of the dugout. Could it be a trick? He thought to himself that it was unlikely, but still…

  “Ho, there – in the canoe!”

  The shout came again and Colter somehow knew it wasn’t a trick of the Indians, that it was in fact more trappers coming upstream. He stuck his head out and saw a pirogue coming upstream, and there, at the prow was…

  “George!”

  From the prow, George Drouillard put his hand up to his eyes to block out the sun and then slapped his knee with a laugh.

  “Colter, is that you?” he said loudly, and quite a few murmurs came from the other men on the boat.

  “Damn right it’s me, George, and what the hell are you doing going upriver – you should be in St. Louis!”

  “Was!” George laughed, and now other men in the boat were starting to come around, to get a sight of Colter, a man many had heard about.

  “Was?” Colter said.

  “Was,” George said again with a nod, “was that is, until Manuel Lisa got it into his head to get backing for a trapping expedition.” He slapped his chest and gave another laugh. “Will you look at me, John – I’m a goddamn fur trapper now!”

  He gave another laugh and just as the second boat, this a larger keelboat with more men, reached them. A moment later there was Manuel Lisa himself, and Colter was staring at not just one, but two of his former expedition companions.

  “Well I’ll be!” Manuel said. “I thought you’d be dead by now!”

  “Came close,” Colter said.

  “Aye,” George said next, “where are those
two men you headed off with last fall?”

  “Oh, that’s quite the story,” Colter said with a scoff and a shake of the head.

  “Done up and left you, huh?” Manuel asked.

  “You could say that,” Colter said with a hard look.

  George and Manuel gave each other a look, then after a moment Manuel turned back to Colter.

  “Looks like you’ve got quite the supply of furs there.” He motioned with his head toward the metal-framed boat the mountain man was towing behind the dugout canoe.

  Colter nodded. “About $1,200 worth, if the going price’s still $2 a fur.”

  $1,200…” George said before trailing off. “Hell, John…furs are going for $3 now.”

  Colter couldn’t help having his eyes go wide at that. In the span of a few seconds he’d just become $600 richer.

  “Wouldn’t want to let one of my boys run that back down to St. Louis for you, would you?” Manuel asked, then quickly held up his hand before Colter could get a word in edgewise. “The reason I’m asking is because we could use another man.”

  “Lost one to typhoid a week out of St. Louis,” George piped-in, “just about the same area we lost Floyd back in ’04.”