Into the Savage Country (17 page)

A month passed in this way, with Layton learning the art of trapping. Then, in late June, we were riding together as a brigade in the rolling foothills north of the Crow village when we came across three Snake natives stranded on a grassy hilltop. There were
two dead horses nearby with packs of pelts still cinched to their backs. The dead horses had halters with the iron rings welded together and unornamented leather like the British used. By the prints there had been many other horses, at least fifteen, some of them shoed. There were no live horses. Up the slope a dead native lay in the tall grass, a piece of his scalp missing and hatcheted below the knee. Smith motioned for Glass and Ferris to scout the area. The rest of us took up defensive positions on the hilltop. Branch walked down the grassy slope and Pegleg followed at some distance with his musket and long gun, though there was little need for this, as the natives seemed utterly defeated.

Branch knelt next to the closest native, who had an arrow wound in his bicep, and the two conversed for at least a quarter of an hour. Then Branch walked back to where we had secured ourselves on the hilltop and said, “There’s a Hudson’s Bay brigade half a day’s ride to the north. These Snake are employees of that brigade and were sent to trap these mountains.”

“On Crow land?” Smith asked.

“On our land,” Branch said. “The Crow have tongues like everyone else. The Brits heard of our bargain and sent the Snake to poach. They were returning when a party of eight Gros Ventre came across them. They have lost their horses and one man is dead. They want transport back to the HBC brigade.”

“And who leads the brigade?” Smith asked.

“Captain Pike.”

Smith held still for a moment, considering this. Sebastian Pike was the most powerful man in the trapping regions, second in the hierarchy of the western arm of the Hudson’s Bay Company, the world’s largest corporation at the time. He was a feared man in all the west, known for his iron will and ill humor.

“The natives say they’ll pay twenty pelts for the use of horses
and an escort,” Branch said. “And we’ll receive Pike’s goodwill for the favor.”

Smith began to agree to the arrangement, but Layton said, “The British are here on American territory and were too cowardly to try to trap on this land themselves, but sent the Snake natives to do it for them. And now we’ll reward them for their attempted theft by returning their furs to the brigade? No. We will not take twenty pelts. We will take all the furs the Snake gathered. But will spare their lives.”

“Pike will be displeased,” Smith said.

“I am not concerned with his state of mind,” Layton said.

Branch and Pegleg grinned at each other. They had writhed under Layton’s tongue and peevishness enough that it pleased them to think that same quality would be turned on one of their enemies.

Smith motioned disapprovingly, as there was an unspoken rule of accommodation to anyone in distress no matter which company they worked for. Two years earlier Smith and his entire brigade had been sheltered for a whole winter at Fort Vancouver after trying to poach on the HBC’s territory on the west coast.

Smith said, “The Brits are weary of giving us sustenance so we can survive to compete with them. They were generous with me two years past. We must be generous in return.”

“They are on our territory and are poaching on our drainages,” Layton said.

“As I was on theirs when given hospitality,” Smith said. “I cannot return their hospitality by stealing their furs.”

“Which they have already stolen from us,” Layton said. “I absolve you from all responsibility. It is not your decision. I am the majority owner of the company. They are on the wrong side of the mountains and they know it. It is true we have had little
chance to be generous but also little chance to show our displeasure. They move arrogantly in large brigades and cross into our territory because we can do nothing about it. They squash our livelihood and leave a fur desert behind and then boast that this land will be theirs. I am not so much a gentleman that I am not offended by this policy. We’ll take the British furs but aid the natives by returning them to safety.”

Smith looked off toward the north and said, “Pike won’t be happy.”

“I am not in the habit of asking the British permission to make my decisions. Who will accompany me to return the natives to the British encampment?”

All of us volunteered. No one wanted to miss a confrontation between the St. Louis dandy and the hot-tempered British brigade leader.

“Good,” Layton said. “Tell the natives the terms. We leave instantly.”

Branch broke off a piece of pemmican from a sack of provisions, and then another, and then a third. He walked back down the slope and handed each of the three natives a piece of the sustenance, and while they were eating Branch sat near them and made them understand what he offered. They seemed indifferent to the terms as long as they were returned to the brigade. After ten minutes Branch waved for three horses.

“Ask them what they want to do with the body,” Layton said.

“I don’t need to ask,” Branch said. “They’re Snake. They leave the body where it fell and don’t touch it.”

Glass and Bridger stayed with the supplies and the rest of the horses and furs and Layton, Smith, Branch, Ferris, Pegleg, Grignon, and I started north. As we passed the dead native I saw where his body had begun to bloat and decompose with flies
buzzing over him, and the leg hatcheted and the bone protruding. We left this body in the grass and rode over rolling hills and through rocky lowlands, heading north.

The Hudson’s Bay encampment was on the southern bank of a creek we called Big Rock. This was on the plains just north of the Wind River Mountains and it was debatable whether this was American or British territory, as the borders described by the Treaty of 1818 were vague at best and were based on inaccurate maps.

As we rode, Smith, who was normally the most stolid of riders, was nervy and impatient, barking out orders when it was not necessary to do so. There had been skirmishes between British and American brigades in the past, and the jockeying for position among the brigades had escalated as the land became trapped out and as the stakes for the continuing renegotiation of the Treaty of 1818 became clearly connected to returns from the trapping brigades. We were just about to confiscate half a season’s worth of pelts from three natives commissioned to a brigade run by the second-in-command of the most powerful company in the world. Smith knew that Pike would not be pleased and that John McLoughlin, the administrator for all of North America who had shown him hospitality at Fort Vancouver two years earlier, would hear of his ingratitude. It rankled.

Layton, on the other hand, was particularly jovial. He detested drudgery and monotony but enjoyed confrontation and battles of any sort. Furthermore, he reveled in any situation that gave vent to his able tongue. We had been on the trail for three months and now there was something to do other than wade through icy water and scrape the pelts. The men responded to Layton’s mood, taking many jibes at the Brits.

The ride took four hours.

As we neared the rolling, scrubby grasslands where the British were encamped we saw a hundred sailcloth and native lodges and three hundred horses in a makeshift corral. Layton motioned for the Snake to get off their horses and they did. They did not wait for Layton’s signal but simply walked down the slope toward the native encampment. Smith motioned for Ferris and Pegleg to stay back. They got off their horses and tied them off to a scrubby tree and tied off the three horses the Snake had been riding and positioned themselves in a natural fortification to make a stand if necessary. Layton, Smith, Grignon, Branch, and I rode down to the encampment of clean-shaven Brits and bearded French trappers, and as we neared the encampment Pike emerged from his lodging and spoke briefly with the three natives.

Sebastian Pike was a brisk, efficient man in his mid-thirties. He had been on the march since he was sixteen and knew the western lands and the life of a trapper like few others. Above all else, he hated American trapping companies. He knew, as we all did, that the struggle over the fur-bearing creatures would likely decide whether that land became American or British, and he knew that in many respects the British had the upper hand. They had superior forts, superior supply lines, and superior support from their government. I am sure he felt they had superior men as well. The British were ordered and hierarchical, and the Americans were impulsive and scattered. But America was closer to the trapping lands, and the waves of Americans willing to risk their lives for profit must have seemed endless.

Still, it was undoubtedly true that the large Hudson’s Bay expeditions led by Pike were the most powerful force in the mountains. It was rare that a trapper defied him openly, as Pike’s word was law beyond the Missouri.

When Pike heard the terms of the native’s rescue he stood in place for a moment, then turned briskly and strode toward us.

“Smith! Jedediah Smith! You have stolen two packs of high-quality beaver and muskrat that belong to the Hudson’s Bay Company and the British Crown.”

Smith blanched and Layton moved his bay forward.

“They belonged to those three Snake Indians,” Layton said. “Our agreement was with them. If they broke their agreement with you, then that is not our worry.”

“Whoever you are, you have stolen British property, you have had the gall to come into my camp and do it, and you have trespassed on British territory.”

“You’re east of the mountains.”

“I’m east of these mountains. But west of others.” Pike turned on Smith. “Smith, speak. You wintered with us two years past and were given every convenience, including the generous offer to lead a brigade. You foolishly refused and were released in the spring to return to your country. Now you have chosen to repay our generosity by stealing from these natives who are our employees.”

Smith would have given much, I think, to say he had argued against taking all the furs.

“I have taken a leave from the Rocky Mountain Fur Company and am here only as a scout and captain for the Market Street Fur Company.”

“The what?”

“The Market Street Fur Company.”

“It’s my company,” Layton said. “I am captain and owner of the brigade.”

“Well that at least explains your impertinence, if not your audacity. What is the name of the company again?”

“The Market Street Fur Company. Based on Market Street in St. Louis. And it is owned by me and several others in the brigade. Smith is our captain and scout.”

Pike paused at this news. He seemed genuinely interested. Here was this twenty-six-year-old with dimples and a St. Louis accent, out in the wilds of North America, saying he was a brigade leader and company owner. The Hudson’s Bay Company was a model of order, organization, and regulation. No captain would receive a command before spending at least five years in the mountains, and usually much longer. The belief among the British was that the incapacity of the Americans to work cohesively would result in the land reverting to the British. But Smith was seen as an exception. His Rocky Mountain Fur Company had trapped successfully for three seasons, competing and even out-trapping the British.

“And who are you?”

“Henry Layton,” Layton said, reaching down. “Pleased to meet you.”

Pike ignored his hand. “I know your father.”

“Glad to hear it,” Layton said.

“It was not my pleasure. I had a shipping dispute with him five years ago. You are the admirable son who was bringing such joy to his life at the time, now here to brighten my day. Thank you for visiting.”

Pike turned abruptly and started back for his camp. Smith motioned for us to withdraw, but Layton could not help himself.

“We have returned three natives who were stranded on the slopes of our drainages, encouraged by you no doubt to poach on our lands.”

“The Crow lands are hardly your drainages,” Pike said, turning back.

“They are for these months.”

“Because, against all treaties and agreements, you have armed them with long guns that even my lieutenants cannot afford.”

“You arm your own allies. We have armed ours.”

“We arm our allies with Northwest Trade guns. Muskets.

Not long guns. And in accordance with long-standing custom.”

“It is your habit to believe any of your own actions are sanctioned by custom and any of ours are egregious. Captain Smith is a gentleman and an honorable man and would have returned the natives for the cost of twenty pelts.”

“An acceptable sum.”

“I am not a gentleman when the agreements are all to the advantage of my enemies who are poaching on my land and hide behind custom to try to steal my furs. These natives were stealing from us. Despite that fact, we rescued them and returned them to safety. It is not my custom to help my enemies steal from me. Yet we saved their lives. I am waiting for our thanks.”

Smith, Branch, and I all stifled laughter. Pike turned white with anger.

“Your aid was hardly worth half a season’s returns.”

“That was the negotiated price for guiding them back.”

“Three Snake natives who were born in these hills hardly need guiding from a St. Louis dandy out on a wander. It was extortion and theft.”

“It was the price of their survival,” Layton said. “Perhaps it is not worth the cost to you, though I imagine it was to them. Good day.”

Pike reached for his hip and I found my pistol pointing at Pike’s chest. I had followed the argument with growing admiration for Layton. He could be an impatient, ill-tempered dandy, as we all had witnessed, and he undoubtedly had a poisonous
tongue in his worst moments, but he was wonderfully energetic when it came to defending his position, and he had said openly what we all believed about the British brigades but had never dared say in their hearing: that under the guise of custom, and with the implicit threat of their government-funded forts and giant brigades, the British had muscled their way into our territory, and when confronted with their encroachment had fallen back on what they called protocol or custom. I resented this encroachment, as all American trappers did, but we were cowed by their numbers. Layton was never cowed by anyone. And in that moment we all admired him.