Chapter 1

Brady Boyd, that’s me, and I’m Brady to everyone. I am headed for the Montana Mountains and the trapping it provides. This is a little about my past and if you are reading this, it means I have a future. This is my story. I had two big Missouri pack mules loaded with supplies for the winter and a gelding I trusted to carry me forth and back. I carried a double bit axe, a three foot piece of saw made from a worn out crosscut and a spy glass. The saw had clearers between the teeth to cut wood fast. I carried a bastard file to keep the saw and the axe sharp.

My long gun was a double barreled rifle that I took off a dead Indian three years ago. Where he got it, I had no idea. He objected to me being on his hunting grounds, but he didn’t have as many bullets poured as I had. I was looking to keep my scalp and I walked away with my hair still attached and the rifled gun in my hand.

The caliber of the gun was unknown, and I surmised some small-town gunsmith had made the piece. The pouch hanging from the Indian’s neck hadn’t stopped my bullet before it went through his breast bone and that was for certain. In the pouch there was a bullet mold to make bullets, and a mite of powder to go along with a few lead shavings stuck in the bottom. The Indian was out of everything including his soul. That had gone to the happy hunting grounds. I prayed so, for he was a worthy foe.

This year I also had a five shot Colt Paterson, caliber .36, at my side, and I planned to draw and dry fire it until I got faster than the man I hoped never to have to face. That was my aim anyway.

My animals were loaded down heavy. I couldn’t pay Fort Union Post prices where most trappers provisioned up before heading into the mountains. Prices there would be ten times what I paid in Saint Louis. I had spent the summer in and around the jumping off place and at the last minute decided I would make this my last trip up into the mountains for fur.

It was time I settled down. I had been putting it off because I hated to give up the freedom. Women were scarce and I didn’t know if I would find one to my liking. I saw how my Ma bossed my Pa around and I wasn’t going to settle for a woman like she was. I was sixteen and man-sized when I got sick of Ma bossing me in the same fashion as she did Pa. I moved out and on, making my way west.

I have been up and over the mountain since then. I had some regrets as I made my way, especially when I sometime found myself cold, wet, hungry, and maybe a little homesick. I first stopped at a holding in Ohio and helped out a farmer. He was old and sickly and needed a hand. He lasted three years. His youngish widow climbed into the loft three weeks after we planted him.

She didn’t have anything I wanted, so I left of a sudden. I did gain some from my three year stopping. The couple were well educated and had books, all about history and such gave me a sense of what the world was like outside of my knowledge of the time.

More valuable and useful knowledge came to me of the wild western lands came to me from the trapper who lived with his sister down the nearby creek. He was crippled up and couldn’t travel, but he could tell some yarns. I took them all for true. I listened and I headed west when I ran out on the widow. Those yarns–lies or truth—, I would check to see which.

It took me another year to work my way to the jumping off place and the doorway to the west. I hung around there for several months. I had learned to listen to what was being said by anyone who was talking, knowing not all of it was brag. It was hard for one to listen if he was the one talking so I rarely said much. I headed up the Missouri River the year I was twenty-one.

Brigades were made up in Saint Louis to work for the fur companies where most were headquartered. I became one of several trappers all heading into the same area of the wilderness together. We took boat up the Missouri River for Fort Union, a trading post where white and red man came together to trade.

Trappers rendezvoused at Fort Union on the way in, selling to trappers their over-priced supplies. On the way out, fur buyers were there waiting to snatch up the trapper’s take of the winter’s effort, giving little for the season’s work. Trappers were thirsty for whiskey and often ended up broke a day after coming out of the woods. That first year, my listening to yarns was paying off.

Everyone took me for a tenderfoot, but I was a tenderfoot with a head full of knowledge about where we were headed in the far country. No, I had never been up there, but I had a map in my head. That old trapper had drawn his travels in the dust while he was yarning. Lewis and Clark had paved the way and opened the country forty years before. The old trapper had gone in there shortly after they came out.

Five years I trapped. Furs were getting scarcer and scarcer and the Indians were getting more and more upset. I was holding my own and saying this just to prove I was still alive to say it. That gun still had some good rifling in it and was accurate as hell. I shot it off only when necessary. I rarely fired it at an animal unless it was charging me. Bear or wolf, for certain and a time or two I guess I could have collected me a scalp or three of someone who ran on two legs.

This year the packet me and my animals were on, grounded on a sandbar two thirds up the river. If rain didn’t raise the water soon, I knew we would be late getting to the trapping grounds. I remembered back to that old trapper in Ohio. He had mentioned a hidden valley in the short hills of the Montana Mountains. I didn’t know how long by it would take to get me there by horseback, but if I started now I would get here sometime.

I was above the Black Hills and the going was good. I could cut off a hundred miles and more by leaving the river where I did and bypassing Fort Union. I’d see the post in the spring on the way out before heading down river. That is if I still had my scalp and had a good winter collecting pelts. I’d be traveling light, going downriver after selling my furs at the rendezvous.

I would look to see if I could find that valley on the way in. If it looked promising, I might winter there. I was a free trapper this year and not beholden to any of the fur companies. I had lain in my own supplies so I wouldn’t have to pay the high prices the fur companies charged. This year I might make a few dollars. Two years out of the five I had been trapping were bust for me. Last year had been real good. I made out better gambling though, on the waterfront in Saint Louis during the off season, than by trapping. Both were dangerous and you had to keep your gun handy and your pocket buttoned tight.

I jumped my horse and mules off the boat and swam them to shore. I hired the ship’s punt to take off my supplies. Noon I was loaded up and set off to the west. I ran onto occasional cattle outfit that were trying to run some stock. There were settlements here and there as well. The country appeared more heavily populated now than it was just five years ago. You couldn’t go twenty miles without running into some soul. That would change as I got further away from the river.

All the huts and log houses had holes out of which to fire a gun. Indians were apt to go on the prowl anytime. I didn’t plan on staying in the Dakotas any longer than it took me to get through. The Sioux were in an uproar over their tribal lands being infringed on. The government would make treaties with tribes, but almost certainly they would be soon broken. Not by the Redskins always, but by the Whites looking to settle on land they thought was free. This was another reason for me to make this my last expedition for I knew real trouble was coming.

I crossed into Montana well south of the Fort Union trading post and kept going west. I was a little nervous. The supplies and the two mules carrying them were worth a fortune to the right person. The old trapper told me to cross one of the Yellowstone River tributaries and keep on going for three days travel by horse or seven to ten by foot.

He told me of landmarks he remembered. That conversation took place seven years ago and he been out of the mountains ten years before that. I was to hit the mountains and keep to the eastern edge until I saw a peak that looked like a crow’s beak. Head for that and work your way up the second little valley still going in the direction of the peak. He said when you came to the head of the valley, turn right for a couple of hundred yards.

I was getting skittish. I had seen dust out on the prairie coming along behind me the last two days. I had to slow down because I didn’t want to miss any landmarks. Finally I spotted my destination, but I didn’t travel up the valley to the peak. I wanted to find out what was coming along behind.

I hitched the mules and my horse. I turned and at twilight made my way on foot toward where I knew the stranger’s camp would be. At full dark I was fifty yards shy of coming up to where I could hear the camp being made. Brush was thick and I had to thread my way though it by feel. It wasn’t long before I could see the twinkling of the fire. I guess there was someone else besides me being guided here toward those sitting by the lighted fire.

Suddenly there was a rush of a horse coming in and then two gunshots. There was a scream and it sounded like a woman. I kept inching forward until I could see what was going on. There was a man’s body lying almost in the campfire.

There was a big rough character standing over him, “Come here, woman, I bin following your cart all the way from Fort Union. Your man wasn’t much, and I knew I’d get you sometime. Lost your trail a few times, but I knew you were out here. C’mere.”

The woman shook her head no. Tears were running down her face. Her hands were in the pockets of her kirtle. She had leggings or men’s pants on under this. She stood her ground until he told her he was going to whip the hell of her. She raised her head and slowly made her way toward him. I was about to take up for her when he grabbed her by the shoulders to pull her into him.

It looked like he was going to kiss her. He got kissed alright. There was the muffled sound of a gunshot. That was with her left hand. Out came the other hand, holding a two shot small gun. Not very big, but it could sure mess up a man’s face. He was done for and toppled into the fire. She just stood there looking down at him. She went over to her man and looked to see if he had any life left in him. He didn’t. There was a trunk that had been pulled from the cart to sit on. She put her guns on that and sat down.

I had no idea what was going through her head. I wondered if she realized what kind of trouble she was in. She was a woman out here in the foothills and leagues from anywhere all alone. I’d like to help her, but I didn’t want to die doing it. She was damned quick and more than deadly in my book. My break came. The fire got to the gun the killer had been using. The fire set it off scaring the bejesus out of both of us. I jumped but didn’t move.

The woman took off running out of the firelight. She was gone ten minutes and slowly came back wrapping a blanket around her. She sat down on the ground on the far side of the trunk. Head was down and she not moving at all. I watched her for a few minutes. The man lying in the fire was beginning to smell like spitted meat and burning leather. The woman pulled the blanket up over her head.

I walked over and picked up her guns. I looked at them. I didn’t recognize the two barreled one. The one she first fired was a Colt .28 Baby Paterson. Her man had a pistol and I scooped that up sticking it in my belt. That was the same as mine, a .36 Paterson. The gun in the fire now wasn’t worth the bother. There was a blanket on the ground and I spread that over her man.

I grabbed the arm of the burning man and pulled him across the camp and out into the dark. It was sandy some and I scooped some on him to put the fire out. It cut down on the smell considerably. When I got back to the camp fire she was sitting on the trunk watching me.

“Who are you? Are you with him?” She looked toward the brush.

“Nope, I was just passing by. You took care of things pretty good so I didn’t interfere. I was too late to do anything for your man and I’m sorry about that. Where were you headed for?” “Oregon and family.”

“You’d never have made it ‘cause it’s too late in the season. Snow will be in the high passes already. I don’t know what you have for food in your cart, but it wouldn’t have been enough even if the weather didn’t hold you up.”

“I wondered. My Brother Felix said it was easy. It hasn’t been bad so far.”

“You haven’t reached the mountains yet and the cold isn’t on us. They’ll be twenty-five feet of snow in some places. You had better turn back.”

“What about you?” What are you doing out here? Are you alone?”

“I’m alone. I’m a trapper, trapping for pelts. I have my outfit a half mile from here. I was just ahead of you. I saw your dust coming across the prairie behind me. It bothered me some, so I came down to look you over.”

“Are you going to be here all winter? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I suppose it is if a person isn’t careful. Don’t worry about it, you should be worrying about yourself

“What are my options? It doesn’t look like there are any good ones.”

“Well, if it was me and I wanted to get out of here, I’d head for Wyoming and try to make the Mormon Crossing, or you might make Denver if you hurry.”

“Can’t I stay with you? I can cook and keep your place clean.”

“Yes, and eat half my food. You have two horses of your own and that killer’s mount is around here some place. That’s yours by right. Feed has to be found for them and my three.” Tears started falling. I got up and left her sitting there. She was nothing to me. Ma had used tears to keep Pa in line and that’s why I took off from home. “What’s your name?” she startled me when she came up close.

“Brady Boyd. What’s yours?”

“Berta Gorski, you can call me Berta. My folks were from Poland.” “Uh huh. I’m Yankee from way back.” I made the comment, “Your tears dried up sudden.” I let that statement lie out there.

“I’m a woman and have to use what I have. About all I have left now is my body.”

“You want to put that up?”

“No, not really, but I suppose I will have to.”

“I tell you what. Moon will be up in a bit. I’m going up to my camp and see to my animals. I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll think on your problem. I’ll help bury your brother and see if I can round up that stray horse. If you stay out here in the wilderness, you might want to plan on sleeping away from your campfire. This way strangers aren’t so apt to sneak up on you.

“Thanks Brady.”

“Nite, Berta.” I found where I’d pinned my horse. I moved the stakes for my horse and mules. There was a seep I got some water out of with a metal cup. Took a couple pieces of jerky to eat and made do. I didn’t sleep much thinking about the woman that was downhill from me. She wasn’t one to rattle easy and that was for sure. Killed a man and was more bothered by the smell of him burning than in the deed itself. Maybe I should figure out some way to keep her around or maybe I should leave her and run like hell.

There was a tiny round-pointed shovel lying beside her brother’s body. I had the grave half dug by the time Berta came out of the brush. I knew where her bed was for I had looked in on her wrapped up all in blankets and had seen nothing except for a little of her face. I still didn’t know whether she was pretty or ugly. Didn’t matter, pretty women had an easier life if they were good. If they weren’t good they were trouble and it was usually of their own making.

Berta didn’t watch me dig the grave. She put an enameled pot on the fire I started for her. I spent an hour and got the grave down about two and a half feet when I hit ledge. There were enough flat stone around to place on the grave to keep animals from digging up the body. Berta was putting together breakfast to eat after her brother was buried. I cut a stick off a twisted tree branch I had brought down off the hillside with me. I sharpened one end and shaved off a flat spot with my axe on the other. I took an iron poker and burned the name ‘Gorski’ reading down it.

Felix Gorski wasn’t a big man. I easily could carry the body to the grave. I didn’t cover the face. “Berta, we can’t wash him all over, but maybe we should wash his face. Would you do that?”

She did and she gently kissed her brother’s brow, being the one to now cover his face. I lowered the blanket covered burden into the grave. “I’ll recite the Twenty-third Psalm if you don’t mind.” After I finished the recitation, I said, “Lord, I believe this man’s soul is already with you. For his remains, it is ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Amen.” Filling in the hole I then drove the stick into the ground. Putting my arm around Berta, now sadly weeping, I hugged her momentarily for consolation. I then guided her back to the campfire.

The water was hot and Berta put some coffee into it. The tin frying pan received the bacon while she whipped up a batter of flour, baking soda and water, mixing a small amount of bacon grease with it. When the bacon was done she made pancakes. “There’s only a bit of sorghum. Brother said we would look for a bee tree for sweetening after this was gone.”

“That’s fine. I do have some honey at camp. Coffee is good. I like it strong. You’re a good cook.”

“Thank you.” Breakfast was finished in silence.

Berta spoke, “What are we going to do with that thing you dragged out of sight last night?”

“Cover it with some stone. I’ll clean out his pockets for you and take his boots. Is there anything else you want off him?”

“I don’t want anything at all.”

“Don’t be too hasty. You can trade the boots to some Indians. Put any money I find in your pocket. I’ll gather up his horse and see what’s in his pack. I saw it browsing with your two hobbled animals on the way down this morning.” I paused and then said, “We had better talk a minute and decide what you are going to do. If you decide to get out of here, you had better travel light and go fast. There isn’t much time before snow fall.”

“I asked you last night if I couldn’t stay with you for the winter.”

“Thought about it some. This will only work if we can get rid three of the horses. The only way we can do that is to trade them to the Indians. I have a big horse for my mount. I also have two big Missouri mules for pack animals. I don’t want to get rid of them, so it is your three that has to go.”

“Two only, I’m not claiming the killer’s.”

“He is yours by rite of combat. You fought a fight and you won. If you don’t take ownership of it, the Indians will look down on you. You have enough to make up for as it is. Squaws don’t have much value.”

Berta burst out laughing. “So now I’m a squaw, am I? Whose, may I ask?”

“In front of the world, mine I guess. I’ll not make demands on you. You must remember if you stay with me, you are going to be with me for six months and maybe more. We have to get along and that is something very hard to do being as close as we will be. I don’t even have a shelter to live in yet. I’ve heard of best friends going into a cabin in the fall and hating each other so much by February they tried to kill each other.

“I’ll concede that you can be a big help to me ‘cause there is a lot more to trapping than most people realize.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t have very many metal traps with me. I have to make snares and dead falls to trap the animals. There is the skinning and the stretching of the pelts. Setting traps is an art in itself. Animals are leery of strange scents and won’t come near a trap if they suspect anything out of the ordinary. Remember in the wild, each animal has some predator that is after them. Think back to last night. Man is the highest in the order and they are just as apt to prey on each other.

“How do you catch anything then?”

“Through experience and being smarter than what you are trapping. Man has been wearing furs for eons.”

“Brady you amaze me. You are so articulate and intelligent. How old are you?”

“Twenty six. How old are you?”

“A few months younger than you, maybe. I was twenty five six months ago. Where did you go to school?”

“I’m from the State of New York. I left there when I was sixteen. I’ve been banging around all over for the last ten years. I can read and write, but I’m not any great shucks at it either.”

“I wouldn’t know about that. Felix and I were from a little town near Chicago. Our parents died in a fire when we were in our teens. I could have gotten married a dozen times, but for some reason I didn’t go through with it. Guess I’m going to be a spinster all of my life. Felix heard from an uncle of ours out in Oregon. He promised us some land if we came out. It took us two years to get enough money for the cart and what’s in it. I guess we didn’t plan our trip very well at all.”

“That happens to a lot of people. I’m really sorry you lost your brother. I guess I still have a Ma and Pa. I never liked them much and that’s why I left. I never had a sister. You can be mine for the winter. Next spring we can figure a way to get you out of here safely. How’s that for planning?”

“Okay, my new brother, it’s a deal.

I examined the cart. It was sturdy and well made. Basically it was a box set on an axel between two wheels. There was a single pair of shafts for one horse to pull. Sometimes I had seen the same thing being pulled by people, a horse or ox. There could be room for two people to stand side by side between the short shafts and push against a bar.

If it was a heavy load, sometimes people helped by pulling with a neck yoke like an ox. The Mormons were traveling this way to some place in Utah. They mostly kept to themselves. They called themselves The Saints, but they looked no different than me. I guess they had troubles back in Ohio and that’s why they were looking for a new place to settle.

I rounded up the three horses not mine. The cart horse was medium sized. One of my mules would make a good replacement pulling the cart. Felix mount wasn’t anything special. According to its teeth it wasn’t too old but looked in poor shape. The killers horse was bigger and a handsome animal. He was well built and looked like a good traveler. Berta was going to get a lot of pelts in trade for this one.

We packed up the camp ready to look for a place for us to winter. First I stripped the killer. I took the boots off him. No matter what Berta said they would bring two or three prime pelts in trade with the Indians. When I looked in his pockets, I found three different wallets. This person wasn’t just a killer looking for a woman; he was a robber as well.

There was his wallet of course. It had sixty seven dollars in coins. Money was still in the other wallets. A few gold pieces in each and I left them as they were, but transferred the robber’s to my own. I’d settle up with Berta when the shock of what happened faded a little.

There was more loot. Four excellent knives and one two shot pocket pistol very similar to the one Berta had used to kill him. There were two women’s lockets with pictures in a small leather sack ... some keepsakes worn by a loved one, most likely. No way to trace them. Maybe they were his mothers, if he had one. I lugged stones and covered the killer up the best I could. I didn’t take much time. Parts of him were still showing. The animals would worry around the stones and get all of him eventually. His problem, not mine, but he wouldn’t know.

The old trapper back in Ohio had laid directions out in the dust those years ago. A big slab of rock looked as if it was blocking the path, but come up close and you would find passage around and under it. I poked my head in. Twenty years ago the valley was there and today it still was too. There was room for a horse to enter into the sweetest of a little valley.

It was about ten miles in length and had a crick bubbling along its distance. He claimed he had trapped it and brought out the best of all kinds prime fur. The trapper intended to return, but had gotten crippled up that next fall. It should be fully restocked by this time if some other trapper hadn’t found it.

We managed to get the six animals and cart through the opening behind the big rock. There was brush both inside and outside the opening and it took me some time to whack it down. We came down into a valley between two high mountains. The crow’s beak landmark was at the head of it. There were acres of swamp at this end and we could see beyond that to a stream of running water in the center of the valley.

If the valley hadn’t been trapped out, this should be a trapper’s paradise. I could see a black spot not far up the canyon wall it looked like an opening to a cave. If it were, then I wouldn’t have to spend time building a cabin. The horses could make do with minimal shelter. The brushed-over swamp would be good browse for my animals. Berta and I made our way around the area.

We came to a narrow spot and had to leave the cart where it was. That was okay and as long as it was inside the valley, we could use it for storage if the cave wasn’t big enough. We headed that way, finding a path of sorts leading up to it. It would be treacherous going with snow or ice on the ground, but I could make it a little wider.

The opening to the cave was small. The roof sloped up inside and we could stand upright in most places the further back you went into it. There was a fire pit on one side. You could see where the smoke drifted up and out through a small opening above the entrance. Perfect. I was pleased and Berta was attuned to my excitement.

I explained, “We have good shelter with plenty of room. We’ll get wood in here to keep it dry. There must be plenty of wood if we can get from blow-downs and dead trees? We’ll cut some of the swamp over for horse feed. Not all of it or it will destroy the habitat of the animals that live there. We’ll be warm, well fed, and have a place to work out of the weather.

“Not only that we’ll be company for each other. You can talk about your life, hopes and desires. I’ll do the same. That way we can gain knowledge about things we don’t know about now. Let’s explore the rest of the canyon today. I want to find out what there is for game in here. Tomorrow we will plan on heading for an Indian village and do some trading.”

“Can you talk to them? I mean do you know their language?”

“Not too much, but sign language is pretty much universal among the tribes. I think we will find this area belongs to the Crow Tribe. I know a few words and enough to trade with anyway. First we have to decide what we want to trade away.”

“You are going to get rid of most of my stuff?”

“Only what you say you will part with. Remember, we hope to be loaded down with pelts come spring. A person who has trade goods is a rich person. I don’t have much extra, but you do. You may come out of this richer than me.”

“What do you have to trade?”

“Some pretties for the squaws. You know beads, a roll of bright colored cloth and a few small tin dishes. Some thread and some heavy steel needles. For the braves, I have some knives, a couple of hatchets and some nails. Those things they can use. Some of the trappers bring whisky, get the Indians drunk and then cheat the hell out of them. They also can lose their hair when the Indians sober up and go after them. No man, red or white likes to be cheated.”

“And what would I trade?”

“You have a lot. You have the three horses and everything that was on the man you killed and what was on his horse. You probably should trade everything from the cart that is the same of what I have and we don’t need. We may have to leave it if we don’t trade it off. We’ll look at everything and decide. That saddle your brother was on isn’t much good. The one on the killer’s horse is much better. Trade yours away.”

“Brady, you look at everything and decide. You’ll have to do the trading. You’re going to keep me alive this winter and that’s worth a lot. I would have died if you hadn’t been here and I surely would have died after the first snow. Come spring you can give me a few dollars and I’ll join up with a wagon train and go on my way.”

“Okay, that’s settled. I am going to work you though, just as if you were my tenderfoot partner.”

“I’m good with that.”

“Let’s do some exploring. I want to see what we have here. I know tracks and I can tell what is living here.”

“Shouldn’t we eat first?”

“No, when we get to trapping we’ll eat in the morning and not again until we come in late afternoon. Two meals are all we’ll have. You’ll get used to it and find the third isn’t necessary.” I handed her a stick of jerky to satisfy her craving for now. Berta didn’t look as if she liked it, but she didn’t argue the point and chewed the tough stringy meat. I had hopes, and after seeing her reaction to the flavor, we just might make it through the winter.

Chapter 2 »