The Saga of Harlan Waugh (The Mountain Men) (7 page)

After about twenty minutes of silence, Harlan said, “This ain’t getting it done. Let’s get to cutting and gutting and see if this here fellow can be loaded on the mules or horses. Most likely we will have to build a long pole travois and have the mules pack it in that-away because of their great fear of anything smelling of bear.”

Big Eagle, looking at the moose the bear had killed, said, “Dad, there is a lot of good meat left on the moose; shall we bring that home as well?”

Glancing over and seeing that to be true, Harlan nodded. With that, Winter Hawk commenced dressing out the largely undamaged remains of the moose while Big Eagle and Harlan struggled over skinning, gutting, and quartering out the bear. An hour later, several mounds of meat represented what had once been the mighty moose and the great bear. Off to one side lay the mound of fur, still magnificent in its whiteness against the rich dark brown of the creek bank.

Harlan had been right in his assumption that the mules would refuse to haul anything smelling of bear. A long poled travois had to be constructed, and only Big Eagle’s horse would pull the contraption with the load of bear meat and hide. Three trips had to be made before the entire load had been carried back to the cabin.

Leaving Winter Hawk to stake the bear hide and flesh it out, Big Eagle and Harlan finished running and resetting the beaver trap-line they had been working when they had crossed paths with the great bear. Upon their return, everyone fell to fixing fresh moose roast for dinner and processing the rest of the moose meat for the drying racks.

As it turned out, most of the bear meat was not edible because it was too strong-flavored and stringy from its long period of hibernation. After making that discovery, they hauled the remains to the far end of the meadow, where the wolves and other bear made short work of them. But as luck would have it, the hide held its hair because it had been a spring bear and hadn’t been much rubbed. It cleaned up beautifully after two days of being washed by the rushing creek waters into which it had been staked down over a riffle.

When they staked out the hide on dry ground after its spell in the creek, it measured over eleven feet in length before final fleshing began. After final fleshing, it was even longer!

Since there were no rub spots on the hide, Harlan proclaimed it more than a fit prize to take to the rendezvous for sale or trade. Little did he realize the real value the hide would eventually bring at a future meeting with a great Crow chief... and the extensive killing it would ultimately cause.

Chapter Nine

The Trip to the Utah Rendezvous

Soon the beaver went out of their prime, and the trapping stopped. Then the real work began. Repairing all the horse and pack equipment became the first priority for Harlan and his adopted sons, for without the livestock, they would not survive in the wilds of the frontier.

Then came the bundling and packing of the beaver hides. Since the boys had never seen it done, Harlan had another chance to teach them a necessary part of the fur trade. First, the one-and-a-half-pound dried beaver hides were folded in half, fur side in. Then they were stacked about sixty hides to a bundle and compressed under a long pole. One end of the pole was tied to a large log as the other end was pulled down over the bundle by the combined weight of Harlan and Big Eagle.

Winter Hawk had the job of tying the compacted bundle in a four-way tie suitable for packing the eighty-five- to ninety-pound bundles on a horse or mule. Soon, the cabin was filled with eight fresh bundles of beaver plews and nine loosely packed bundles of hides from other furbearers trapped during the months when beaver trapping was almost impossible because of thick ice.

Rounding out those furs came the eight packs of beaver hides from the ill-fated Yellowstone expedition. Next they packed five buffalo rugs, ten deer-hides, eight elk-hides, and three grizzly hides, including the fur of the great white bear. As Harlan surveyed the hoard of furs, he smiled broadly. That cache would make any mountain man proud, not to mention independent for another year in the backcountry. Looking over at the boys, Harlan noticed that they seemed to be smiling with pride at their accomplishments as well.

Next came the shoeing of the horses and mules, followed by the repair of clothing and the making of new outfits so they could make a good showing among their brethren at the rendezvous. Then the fun work, more or less, began. Several barren cow elk and four mule deer were killed and the entire bunch turned into jerky for the trip to the Utah rendezvous. This place was known to Harlan, and although it was only a name from the air for the two boys, it had become a magical one in its connotations.

Then came the serious work: the repair of all the weapons, the making of bullets, and the sharpening of knives and tomahawks in case they encountered any dangers during the trip to the rendezvous. Lastly, any items not needed for the trip were cached in a large hole dug into the ground behind their cabin and lined with fir boughs and dried buffalo hides. Into the pit went their traps, extra axes, pigs of lead, extra knives, sharpening stones, cast-iron gear not needed for the trip, and extra kegs of powder. Now the three were ready for what the world would throw at them on the long trip across country and during the rendezvous.

The time to leave was nearing, and the boys could hardly contain themselves. If they had only known what awaited them, they might have been a little more patient. Then again, maybe not...

***

Come the morning of departure, the three trappers were up early. While Winter Hawk cooked a huge, rib-sticking breakfast, Big Eagle and Harlan packed the two extra horses and six remaining mules. Then the three riding horses were saddled, and to breakfast the man and youths went. Fried moose steaks two inches thick, all slopped up in a rich and peppery heavy gravy, awaited them. With that, were Dutch-oven biscuits by the score, with honey from a stone jar for the topping. A second Dutch oven was merrily boiling a mixture of sugar, dried fruit, and water. Scalding coffee as stout as an angry mule’s kick rounded out the fare. The three ate heavily, knowing full well that, because of the Indian country they had to cross and the danger they would face, their next meal might not be until after dark.

While Winter Hawk tended to the cleanup, Big Eagle and Harlan made another pass through camp to make sure everything was left in order for their return. Returning to the fire, they picked up the cleaned Dutch ovens, frying pans, and coffee pot and loaded them onto several mules standing patiently, ready to go.

With one last look around, Harlan took the lead, posting Big Eagle at the rear of the pack string and having Winter Hawk ride the sides. Moving slowly through the trees with care born from being mountain men in Indian country, the trio headed southwest toward that magical place called the rendezvous.

Harlan headed due west for what are today the Bridger-Teton Mountains, then south down the edge of that mountain range to its southernmost tip. As they continued southwest, the little party constantly marveled at the great herds of buffalo, elk, deer, and pronghorn antelope.

Underfoot almost constantly were coveys of sage grouse, and wherever there was water, hordes of ducks and other shorebirds greeted their eyes. Angling ever south and west, Harlan led them to the southern tip of Bear Lake in the extreme northeastern tip of present-day Utah. The lake had been appropriately named, for everywhere they looked, the moving brown humps of grizzly bear could be seen feeding on roots, tubers, and what water birds and eggs they could gather along the shoreline.

For the boys, these new experiences were pure heaven. For Harlan, who had seen such wonders many times before, it was Mother Nature at her best.

The trio continued southwest over the northern reaches of what is today the Wasatch-Cache Mountains and down into Willow Valley near the present-day town of Hyrum, Utah. Moving toward a large grove of cottonwoods at the confluence of several small streams in the valley, the tired trappers stopped and happily made camp.

After they unloaded the animals and put on their hobbles, they let the livestock out to feed and water. The three then commenced building a small corral among the cottonwoods to hold the horses and mules at night. Immediately adjacent to the corral, they set up camp, building one lean-to for sleeping and another in which to store their gear and keep out the summer rains. In a central spot between the lean-tos and the corral they built a fire pit for cooking, evening warmth, and keeping at bay the ever-present swarms of hungry mosquitoes. It was now June-hot in the year of 1831, and they appreciated the nearness of the cold running streams for bathing and the coolness of the cottonwoods’ leafy shade.

***

After resting for two days, Harlan began to wonder why he had not seen or heard another soul since their arrival in the valley.

That is not right, he thought, concerned. There should be pack strings of eager mountain men and Indians streaming in from all points of the compass to trade and make merry.

When he couldn’t stand the emptiness of the valley any longer. Harlan arose early, ate a cold breakfast of fried elk steak, and, telling the boys to guard the camp and livestock, rode off toward the west. He returned several hours after dark. After wolfing down a large dinner of deer steak roasted over the fire and getting a large cup of the evil brew they called coffee, he sat quietly on a log by the fire amid the ever-present swarm of mosquitoes.

“Well, I saw a lot of Indians, mostly Northern Utes and Northern Cheyennes, gathered in several camps awaiting the arrival of the supply trains from back East. I also ran across numerous campsites where trappers were awaiting the supply train’s arrival as well. To date, no one has arrived to trade goods from back East for our furs.”

With those somber words, Harlan took another deep swallow of coffee, then just sat looking into the fire as if the dancing flames had something to say regarding the events at hand.

He added, “I also ran across our friend Joe Meek, in camp with a very famous trapper and old friend named Jim Bridger over near the west side of the valley. They say to just wait, that the supply train will appear before it is time to return to our cabins for fall trapping. I don’t see that we can do much other than to wait as well. We need those supplies for the coming year, so we will wait as the others are doing until just before the snow flies. Then we will have to skedaddle for home so we can gather our winter provisions and make do with what we have.”

Both boys were deeply disappointed, but they tried not to show it. They had been waiting and working for months to see this thing called a rendezvous, and now it might not happen. Their faces would have dragged in the dirt if they had let them.

***

Soon the sight of heavily laden trapper pack strings and great swarms of gaily dressed Indians moving into the valley became an everyday occurrence. People were streaming into Willow Valley by the score in anticipation of the rendezvous and festivities such as drinking, foot races, shooting matches, whoring around, squaw trading, and horse trading. They were also eager for the latest news about who had made it through the winter and who had perished by accident, been eaten by a bear, or lost his hair to hostile Indians.

Soon tepees and lean-tos dotted the valley floor along the many creeks and cottonwood groves in anticipation of being supplied for the coming season. Come the first of July, however, no supply trains graced the valley.

As it turned out, Thomas Fitzpatrick had gone unsuccessfully to St. Louis for backing and supplies for the Cache, or Willow Valley, Rendezvous. Then Smith, Sublette, and Jackson, who were new owners of the company responsible for providing supplies to the current rendezvous, had gone clear to Santa Fe to check out the trapping and trade opportunities in that area and to procure supplies for the 1831 rendezvous.

En route, Jed Smith was killed by Comanche Indians on the Cimarron River. After outfitting Fitzpatrick in Santa Fe, Sublette and Jackson dissolved their partnership because of the loss of their friend Smith.

Realizing that many men depended on the supplies getting through, Fitzpatrick headed north for the rendezvous site with his supply train posthaste. When he met Henry Fraeb just east of South Pass in the current state of Wyoming, Fitzpatrick transferred his supplies to Fraeb. Then he turned around and headed back to St. Louis to make sure the next year’s supplies arrived on time. Fraeb, with the supplies, headed for the rendezvous site. But because of the delays, the general summer rendezvous of 1831 was not held. Only a shortened, later version took place because the trappers had to get back to the hunting grounds and prepare for winter camp before the snows fell, making trapping and travel difficult at best.

* * *

Returning to camp late one evening toward the end of July, Harlan dismounted and, without a word, began to care for his horse. It was obvious from the state of the horse and the tiredness of the man that he had ridden long and hard in his attempts to locate the rendezvous traders.

After caring for his horse and still without a word, Harlan strode toward the campfire. Grabbing his plate, he shoveled a mound of meat and beans onto it and began eating with gusto. It was clear that the jerky he had carried had not kept his big guts from eating the little guts. The boys, because of their Indian heritage and because they knew their dad, remained quiet and didn’t ask questions.

Once Harlan had finished his second heaping plate of meat and beans, he took his tin cup of boiling coffee into both hands and stared long and hard into the fire, just as he had on the earlier evening when there had been no news.