The Saga of Harlan Waugh (The Mountain Men) (27 page)

Standing below the boys, Harlan and Big Eagle bade them a happy journey through tear-filled eyes. Then they turned and rode away forever. They now had other business on their minds, and it wasn’t the kind the good Lord favored.

Based on Bridger’s recommendation, Harlan and Big Eagle decided they would trade their trappings with the independent trader, Nathaniel Wyeth. Pulling out of camp at daylight the next day, they headed their long pack string north to his trading site.

With heavy hearts for their friends, Jim and Crooked Hand watched the sorrow-filled men with their pack string head off to Wyeth’s camp that cold, damp morning.

Life still has to go on out here, thought Bridger, but I sure as hell would hate to cross Harlan and Big Eagle now under these circumstances. And those who killed the boys, Lord have mercy on their souls because Harlan will find the killers, being the great mountain man he is, and mercy will not be on his mind!

Not a word was spoken as Harlan and Big Eagle headed toward Wyeth’s trading site. Both men were deep in their thoughts, and those thoughts were black indeed.

Hours later, the two men and their livestock had moved into the trader’s camp. Happy to see such a large pack string of plews and other furs, Wyeth was more than accommodating to the two men. Then he recognized Harlan and, having already heard the news about the deaths of his two boys, quickly filled two cups brimful of the flaming, uncut rum for the two wet, cold men.

“We come to trade,” announced Harlan in a quiet, determined voice.

After taking a long pull on his cup of rum, Harlan brought his section of the pack string holding the beaver plews forward. Without a word, Wyeth and another fur buyer began grading the furs. Watching carefully, Harlan could see that they were more than fair in their grading.

“Can only give you three dollars each for this here pile and two dollars each for these smaller plews,” said Wyeth, ever mindful of Harlan’s reputation as one tough mountain man, especially in light of the recent loss of his two sons.

“That be fair,” said Harlan in a flat tone indicating to one in the know the man speaking had recently lost part of his heart and soul.

Then Wyeth and his partner graded the other hides and furs. They were placed by species and grade in several piles, and once again Wyeth identified what each pile was worth. Harlan had no problem with the grading or prices offered. Last, Wyeth graded the buffalo hides, which had been well dressed by the Crow women back in their Indian villages in Montana.

“Damn fine buffalo hides, Harlan. I can go four and a half dollars on every one of them,” he said.

“That be a good price,” Harlan mumbled, still not into this fur-trading thing right now but realizing life had to go on if he and Big Eagle were to survive another year in the West.

Then Harlan spotted something almost lost under a huge pile of furs sitting off to one side. Walking over to the pile, he jerked the fur that had caught his eye out from under several dozen others. It was a pure albino grizzly-bear hide with pink claws still attached!

Turning to Wyeth with blood in his eyes, Harlan bellowed, “Wyeth, where the hell did you get this here white grizzly bear hide?”

Surprised by Harlan’s outbreak, Wyeth jumped like a bug on a hot rock. “We bought that hide yesterday. Ain’t it a beaut!” he exclaimed, trying to hide his surprise and concern over Harlan’s violent outburst.

By now Big Eagle had hold of the hide, and the look in his eyes told of a killing that was coming unless this trader was forthcoming in his information—and fast!

“Harlan, what the hell is with this Injun? He has a bad look in his eyes, and you need to get control of him before he does something uncalled-for!” Wyeth whined.

“That isn’t the half of it, Wyeth. If you aren’t forthcoming about who you bought that hide from, you will have the two of us to deal with!” growled Harlan.

“Who did we get that hide from, Jeff?” asked Wyeth, turning to his other fur buyer, who was standing thunderstruck at the turn of events.

“We got that from Patrick Bosco de Gamma and his band yesterday,” Jeff exclaimed with terror rising in his voice. “He told me not to say anything as to where it came from. Claimed he stole it off’n a dead trapper killed by varmints. That is why I hid it under those other furs, so as not to cause any unnecessary questions from other trappers,” he concluded lamely.

Now everything is falling into place! thought Harlan. Bosco de Gamma stole the hide that I had given to Chief White Bear during last fall’s raid and killing. Then by chance as he was coming to the rendezvous, he and his band stumbled across Winter Hawk and Runs Fast gutting out the buffalo.

Recognizing the two boys as part of the group that had chased his band over the mountain passes and down to the Madison, he took advantage of their situation and killed them both before they recognized him. That was why the killers didn’t take their valuable horses or rifles. They figured I would be at the rendezvous as well and, recognizing the boys ’property, would go crazy and kill them like I did the rest of the party back up on the Smith River.

Looking over at Big Eagle, Harlan saw in his eyes the understanding of what had happened. Now someone was going to die for their back-shooting actions, and it was going to start with Bosco de Gamma!

However, they had a problem. They had a world of credit coming from their furs plus a large string of horses to sell before they could move on to the killing business at hand.

What to do with all these profits? thought Harlan.

Motioning Big Eagle off to one side, Harlan discussed a plan now swirling around in his head regarding the fur trade and the selling of the horses yet to come. This plan would allow them to procure the supplies they would need for a year of pursuit of Bosco de Gamma and his band of cutthroats, yet allow them a way, without trapping, to have access to enough supplies to survive the following year.

They also discussed what would happen if neither of them survived. Big Eagle agreed with the plan, and Harlan turned to Wyeth.

“Nathaniel, I will make you a deal, but first I need some information,” said Harlan. “Do you plan on making it to the 1834 rendezvous at Horse Creek on the Green? And if so, will you allow Big Eagle and me to trade in part of our credit this year and the remainder at the next rendezvous?”

“Yes, I damn sure plan on making the next rendezvous on Horse Creek. I would be a fool not to with the price of furs the way they are. And if you want to trade part of your credit for this year and leave the rest hanging for next year, that would be just fine with me. Just understand that next year’s prices for the goods you need may be higher than this year,” Wyeth replied in a conciliatory tone.

“That be fine with us, and now the next part of the deal. We have a horse herd that needs to be sold. Most are horses, but we have a few mules to sell as well,” said Harlan as plans for the next year spun crazily around in his head.

“You have horses and mules for sale?” blurted out Wyeth.

“Sure do,” replied Harlan.

“I will buy everything you have to sell,” Wyeth exclaimed excitedly.

“Then let’s get to trading,” said a now very determined Harlan, eager to get moving.

An hour later, the two trappers had more than enough supplies to pursue Bosco de Gamma and his band for at least another year. They also had a paper from Wyeth indicating that Harlan and Big Eagle had ten thousand dollars in credit due from his company during the 1835 rendezvous. The men had all put their marks and signatures on the paper, and Harlan tucked it away in his saddle bag. There was another signed piece of paper that deeded all of Big Eagle’s and Harlan’s credit to Jim Bridger in the event that they did not return.

Then Harlan strode over to Wyeth’s fur buyer who had purchased the white bear skin. The poor fur buyer could see that Harlan still had blood in his eyes and was not to be fooled with.

“Jeff,” said Harlan, “where did that bastard Bosco de Gamma say he was going?”

Jeff, realizing his life might be in doubt if he was cautious with his answer, said, “He told me he would kill me if I said anything to anyone as to where he was a-goin’!”

“Jeff, I will kill you in the next heartbeat if you don’t tell me where he was going,” Harlan said coldly as his hand went menacingly to the butt of his pistol.

“He said he were going to trap the Wasatch and then drop down and trade at Ogden’s Trading Post near the Great Salt Lake after spring trapping ends. He figured you might be at the next rendezvous and had figured out something. I asked what that something was, and he just snarled and told me to leave it be!” Jeff blurted out.

Patting his shoulder to settle down the frightened little man and show that he believed him, Harlan turned toward Big Eagle. The smile on Big Eagle’s face was not one of this world.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Hunt for the Most Dangerous Game Begins

Returning to their campsite, Harlan and Big Eagle made ready to pack their remaining horses and mules for the trip soon to take place. Then, taking the ham from an elk they had killed en route to their camp, they staked great slabs of meat around the fire to cook for them and their campmates, Bridger and Fitzpatrick.

After dinner, Harlan motioned for Bridger to follow him away from the campfire. Harlan told Jim about his discovery of the white bear hide at Wyeth’s. After explaining how he had figured out who the killers of his sons were, Harlan laid out his plans. He told Jim that he and Big Eagle planned to hunt down Bosco de Gamma and his killing bunch of friends in the Wasatch. Jim nodded in agreement and asked if Harlan needed any company, since varmints of such a kind always needed lots of killing.

Harlan said, “No, not this time. I thank you for the offer, but this time, Big Eagle and I will do what needs doing, and may God forgive us.”

Jim nodded his understanding. Then Harlan dropped the other moccasin.

“Jim, you and me been good friends fer a number of years. What Big Eagle and I have at hand, it being four against two, may not do anything but add our carcasses to the soil down the road if we can’t do the killing right off and first. If that happens, 1 have left ten thousand worth of credit from my furs and horse and mule trades in the hands of Wyeth and his fur company for release to be made to you at the 1835 rendezvous.”

Jim took a step back at that surprising news. Ten thousand was a small fortune in that day and age, and both men knew it. He was so surprised by his friend’s offer that he didn’t know what to say.

Harlan continued, “You was always wanting to build a trading post when your old bones got the best of you, and now here is your chance. I figure we will be gone for at least a year tracking that varmint Bosco de Gamma and the rest of the killers. After that, if we don’t show up, take the credit and do with it what you want.”

With those words, Harlan produced the contract he had signed with Wyeth and handed it to Bridger. Jim just shook his head at his old friend’s generosity as he looked at the document in utter disbelief.

“Harlan, you sure you want to do this?” he asked, still not sure he wanted to take his old friend’s offer.

“Jim, you have always been right as rain in our dealings. If it takes the two of us longer than a year to get done what we have to do, we will return and you can stake us from the goods at your new trading post so we can last another year in the backcountry. How does that sound?”

Jim Bridger stuck out his hand; in those days a handshake was a contract not to be broken by any man, especially those in the mountain man fraternity.

The two men returned to camp as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. But before they did, Jim insisted on helping Harlan cut Bosco de Gamma’s sign leading from the rendezvous toward the mountains of Utah. Harlan was known as an expert tracker, but it didn’t hurt to have help from Bridger and Fitzpatrick because they were the best in the business, and the task at hand was a deadly one.

There were so many pack-string tracks coming and going into the Green River Valley from those trading at the rendezvous that it took the better part of a week for the men to cut the tracks of Bosco de Gamma’s ten-horse party. Finally, with Fitzpatrick’s expert tracking ability, they found Bosco de Gamma’s tracks south of the rendezvous on Black’s Fork, heading toward what is today known as the Unita Mountains.

There, over a final campfire and some fresh buffalo, the men split up. Jim and Fitzpatrick returned to the rendezvous, and Harlan and Big Eagle began their pursuit of Bosco de Gamma south to wherever it led and however it ended.

Cold-tracking Bosco de Gamma’s ten-horse pack string led Harlan and Big Eagle south to the Duchesne River in what is today northeastern Utah. Every cold camp they came across had obviously been made without haste, so it appeared that once Bosco de Gamma had left the area of the rendezvous, he had not feared pursuit.

Nonetheless, he had taken care to mix the tracks of his men and pack string with every other one he could find in his travels south. Harlan and Big Eagle did not push their chase of the group for fear of jading their horses so badly that they would lose them and end up afoot in a hostile land.

Speed was not an issue since the crew they were following did not appear to know they were being pursued. To Harlan’s and Big Eagle’s way of thinking, it was just a matter of time before justice would be done. And when it was, Even God will turn away, Harlan thought coldly.

Camping along the Duchesne River one evening, Harlan built a small fire while Big Eagle hunted the adjacent willows with his bow and arrow for a fat deer for supper. Currying down the stock and checking the condition of the animals’ shoes, Harlan was surprised at Big Eagle’s quick return. Thrown over his shoulder was a small, fat doe, which explained Big Eagle’s smile of success.

Laying the deer down by their campfire, Big Eagle said, “There is Indian sign upstream all along that river. We had better really hard-stake our animals this evening; otherwise we will lose them to thieving Indians. In this neck of the woods, I imagine they are Paiute and hungry for good horseflesh and anything else they can steal.”