Mountain Man Series, Books 1-3

By Greg Strandberg

Join mountain man John Colter as he first heads up the Yellowstone alone in the winter of 1806, just two trappers for company. See him enter the lands of Yellowstone National Park over the winter of 1807, Indians on his tail. Watch him run during the summer of 1808, the Blackfeet in fast pursuit. 

Learn about the early days of the Upper Missouri fur trade in a fun and exciting way. Get the first three volumes of the Mountain Man Series today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Strandberg
• Release date: Jan 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524224462

Greg Strandberg

Greg Strandberg was born and raised in Helena, Montana. He graduated from the University of Montana in 2008 with a BA in History.When the American economy began to collapse Greg quickly moved to China, where he became a slave for the English language industry. After five years of that nonsense he returned to Montana in June, 2013.When not writing his blogs, novels, or web content for others, Greg enjoys reading, hiking, biking, and spending time with his wife and young son.

Book preview

The Mountain Man Series

Books 1-3

Greg Strandberg

Big Sky Words, Missoula

Copyright © 2015 by Big Sky Words

D2D Edition, 2016

Written in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Connect with Greg Strandberg

www.bigskywords.com

Colter’s Winter Table of Contents

Missouri River Map

Introduction – Upriver

Part I – A New Journey Begins

1 – Hunting

2 – The Mandan Villages

3 – Visitors

4 – The Captains

5 – Friends

6 – Last Night

7 – Around the Fire

8 – A Powwow

Part II – Travelling

9 – First Morning

10 – Outfitting

11 – Up the River

12 – Through the Years

13 – Riding the Rapids

14 – A Meeting

15 – A New Outlook

16 – The Beaver

17 – Dams

18 – Trapping

19 – Landfall

20 – Travelling Pains

21 – The First Snow

22 – A Grim Discovery

Part III – Trapping

23 – The Yellowstone

24 – Making Camp

25 – Farther Afield

26 – Following Fast

27 – Arguments

28 – On the Trail

29 – Rushing at Night

30 – A Sighting

31 – Distracted Thinking

32 – Snowed In

33 – Back to Work

34 – Overturned

Part IV – Hunting

35 – The Cold

36 – Fire

37 – Pursuit

38 – The Cave

39 – The Cache

40 – Springing the Trap

41 – The Chief

Conclusion – Downriver

Historical Note

Colter’s Hell Table of Contents

Yellowstone and Big Horn River Map

Introduction – A Shot

Part I – Into the Wilderness

1 – The Outfit

2 – The Arikara

3 – Fire on the Water

4 – The Mandan

5 – Up Around the Bend

6 – The Yellowstone

7 – Fort Raymond

8 – Around the Fire

9 – The Blackfeet

10 – A Vision Quest

Part II – Sojourn

11 – First Morning

12 – The Shoshone River

13 – The Frenchman

14 – Colter’s Hell

15 – Skirting the Mountains

16 – At the Fort

17 – The Wind River

18 – On the Hunt

19 – Crossing Paths

20 – A Chance Encounter

Part III – Tracking

21 – Finding Trails

22 – The Cree

23 – A New Friend

24 – Escape

25 – Dropping In

26 – On the Run

27 – A Commotion

28 – Unbeknownst

29 – All Together Now

Part IV – Vengeance

30 – Taking Stock

31 – High-Tailing It

32 – A New Companion

33 – Following the Snake

34 – The Sky People

35 – A Visit

36 – Rude Awakening

37 – On the Path

38 – The Falls

39 – Clarks Fork

Conclusion – Back Home

Historical Note

Colter’s Run Table of Contents

Map of Three Forks Region

Introduction – The Warpath

Part I – Taking Stock

1 – Back at the Fort

2 – Back in the Village

3 – The Financial Outlook

4 – Taking Advice

5 – Another Heads Out

6 – Plans for St. Louis

7 – Talking War

8 – Seeking Trade

Part II – The Battle

9 – The Nation

10 – Out Again

11 – An Audience with Big Dog

12 – Strong Breeze

13 – Meeting the Bands

14 – On a Mission

15 – The Battle on the Forks

Part III – Downriver

16 – Problems at the Fort

17 – Summer Comes

18 – The Departure

19 – Shooting It Out

20 – Show of Force

21 – Hanging It Up

22 – Second Thoughts

Part IV – The Run

23 – The Jefferson

24 – Seized

25 – Strong German

26 – A Council

27 – The Run

28 – The Pursuer

29 – A New Chase

30– At the River

Part V – The Escape

31 – Hiding

32 – Regrouping

33 – Moving and Tracking

34 – On the Rocks

35 – Troubles in the Night

36 – Easy Prey

37 – Come Morning

38 – A Helping Hand

39 – The Musselshell

40 – A Fight on Porcupine Creek

41 – The Fort

Conclusion – Safe

Historical Note

Bibliography

About the Author

Preview of Colter’s Friend

COLTER’S WINTER

Greg Strandberg

Big Sky Words, Missoula

Copyright © 2015 by Big Sky Words

Missouri River Map

––––––––

Introduction – Upriver

The clouds covering the moon moved ever so slightly, allowing the world to lighten just a little.

Damn! Joseph Dixon said from the prow of the small, dugout canoe.

Just keep ‘er steady and those paddles quiet, Forest Hancock whispered up from his spot at the stern.

Joe bit his lip to keep from saying what he thought of Forest’s words, and concentrated instead on keeping his paddle dipping into the black waters of the Missouri as quietly as possible, the better to sneak past the Indian village.

They were Arikaras, the two trappers knew, and from the looks they’d received after pushing into this area of the river the day before, they figured it’d be better to sneak past at night than make the attempt by day. Already they’d had a good amount of their earnings stolen by some Sioux down near Floyd’s Bluff, and both men had been firm in the decision that’d not happen again.

The men had known the tribe was coming up somewhere around the Grand River, fellow trappers had told them as much the winter before, when they’d still been close to St. Louis. That seemed like ages ago now, and they were pushing further than most had before, most that is except for the Lewis and Clark Expedition that’d set out from the Gateway to the West back in 1804, just two years before, and only three months before they themselves had set about trapping on the upper-Missouri. Most figured the Corps of Discovery was long dead, killed by Indians further upriver that no one else had encountered yet, or some other unspeakable fate, too worse to think on.

Forest shook the thought from his mind and chanced a glance back over his shoulder. Joe was still there of course, paddling silently away, but what he hadn’t expected to see was the village, now a good half-mile downriver. The look of surprise must have shown clearly on his face, for the moonlight caught a glint of white off Joe’s smile.

Told you we’d be alright, he said quietly.

Forest scoffed. We’re not out of the woods yet.

No, but we’ll be into ‘em here real quick. He nodded further upriver, at something Forest’s bad eyes weren’t able to pick out. The trapper squinted and put his hand up to his forehead as if that’d help in the night, but somehow it did, and after another few moments he made out a faint, black outline.

Copse of trees, Joe said behind him, hopefully thick enough to pull the boat up into a bit and get some shuteye before dawn, eh?

Forest nodded. That sounded like just the thing, especially after the day of rowing upriver, their nerves more taut than usual with the threat of Arikaras nearby and possibly around every bend.

The men paddled on and were soon at the copse of trees, which really wasn’t that large, but was far enough away from the village to obscure them so they wouldn’t be seen. What’s more, it was quiet and with their tired minds and bodies, it wasn’t even a choice – they were going ashore and they were getting some rest.

Tie ‘er up and I’ll find us a spot to bed down, Joe said as he got out of the front of the boat. Forest nodded and was soon pulling the boat further up to a sturdy-looking bush while Joe walked ashore. The trees were Cottonwoods and their branches reached low to the ground. What’s more, he now saw, there was a smattering of boulders about, providing even more cover from the village downstream. Joe hefted his pack up on his back and headed toward the largest, then set himself down once he was there. He opened the pack and started to undo his bedroll when a sound stopped him. He sat stone still, listening.

Hm...mmm...

Joe’s brow knitted. What the hell was that? he thought to himself, then heard it again.

Hm...mmm...oh...

His eyes went wide at the realization of what he was hearing, and slowly, he began to stand up, creeping ever closer to the boulder so he could look over it. Sure enough, there was an Indian man and woman, in the throes of passion, right there on a bed of grass and leaves and–

Got ‘er tied off, Forest called out behind him.

Joe’s eyes went wide and he spun back to see his partner coming up, then he spun around to see both the Indian man and woman staring up at him.

"Oh, shit!" he said, then spun around again and started running toward Forest and the river and the boat and safety. Before he’d gone more than a few steps, however, Forest’s eyes went wide and he knew the Indian was up. In an instant he saw Forest reach for his belt knife and in the most causal of flicks of the wrist, sent the blade flying through the air.

Joe didn’t see it but he swore he heard it, the knife going into the Indian. What he heard next after that was the night pierced with wailing screams as the woman saw her lover topple down to the ground dead, a knife in his chest.

C’mon! Joe shouted, reaching Forest and pulling at him to come to the river, the woman still shrieking behind him. He hadn’t yet seen what happened, but then he didn’t need to.

What about the woman! Forest yelled, grabbing hold of Joe’s arm and holding him there.

What about her?

She’ll run back to that village and we’ll have the whole tribe on us in minutes.

Joe looked up at him. I ain’t killin’ no woman!

If it wasn’t for me and my knife, you’d be dead right now – go look at that tomahawk he was about to hurl at your back!

Joe swallowed the knot in his throat and for the first time, looked back in the direction he’d just come from. There was only the boulder, and nothing else, except for the terrible wailing still coming from behind it...wailing which might well drift back to the village downstream, if it hadn’t already.

Forest looked into his eyes. Do it, or we’re both dead.

Joe let out a sigh, nodded, then headed toward the boulder. A few moments later the wailing stopped.

Part I – A New Journey Begins

1 – Hunting

The crickets were chirping away like there was no tomorrow, but John Colter knew that the slightest snap of a twig would–

Damn!

Ahead the 6-point buck lifted its head quickly, its ears pointing the mountain man’s way. Colter glanced over at John Potts and George Drouillard, both of whom had stopped their slow pacing forward and were standing as stock-still as he.

George took one hand from his musket and waved a few fingers. Colter nodded – the men had been together for more than two years now, they didn’t need to use sound to communicate.

Colter advanced steadily, around the Cottonwood tree he’d been skirting and then over the row of small boulders. There was a fallen tree he was trying to get up to, one beside a few more Cottonwoods. They were the only things between the buck and Colter, that and a good one hundred yards of grass, scrub brush and the stray Cottonwood tree.

The buck knew someone was there, but it kept chewing, even putting its head back down for another bite. Colter sighed inwardly, then took the last few feet to the fallen tree. He bent down, and not taking his eyes form the dear, loosed his powder horn and began filling his barrel. Glancing over told him that both John and George were holding back, letting him take this one. It was a responsibility he’d been given a lot over the past two years of the expedition, especially when they’d been near starvation. Now, this close to the Mandan Villages and with St. Louis just forty-five days away, caution didn’t seem to be something so necessary.

Colter went through the motions, rammed his ball home, and put stock to shoulder, taking aim. The buck looked up once again, and Colter closed his eye.

BOOM!

The sound was thunderous and scared a flight of birds from a nearby stand of trees. Even with the cloud of white smoke obscuring his vision, however, Colter knew his round had struck home.

Damn, right in the chest, George said from behind as he came up, clapping Colter on the back as he started to rise, didn’t even have a chance to run before you took its legs out from under it.

Colter nodded. He’d heard it all before, but didn’t mind hearing it again. It’s just that he didn’t want George to have to waste his breath, either – two years together made the men a bit tired of frivolous compliments, of which all were at that point.

George was part-Shawnee, part-French-Canadian and the best scout the thirty-three-member expedition had, even including the captains. His hair was long and black and mostly covered up by the bandanas the man wore. He had four, and for the past several days he’d been sporting yellow, though now it was so caked with dust that it was becoming tan.

She’ll be hell to drag back to camp, John said.

Colter nodded to his other companions’ words. John Potts was a good four years younger than he and George, but Colter knew him to be trustworthy and a hard worker. It was likely that work ethic came from the fact that Potts was the only foreigner amongst the men, born in Germany. Wouldn’t tell it by the black hair, but those blue eyes and that fair complexion made it clear. That and the accent.

Colter shouldered his rifle, then started around the fallen tree to move toward the deer.

Aye, hell to drag, he said, echoing John’s words. We’d best get on it then – St. Louis isn’t getting any closer.

2 – The Mandan Villages

Yip...yip...ee-haw!

The three men heard the whooping and hollering of the Mandan Indian Villages long before they saw them. It was the sign they’d been waiting for, and they put their shoulders back into it and to make it the last bit with their prize.

There! a shout went up from ahead, and George put his arm up to block out the sun’s rays.

Pierre? John asked beside him.

George nodded. Looks like he’s still on watch.

Captain’s probably still damn sore about what happened, Colter said from his spot at the rear of the travois. They’d fashioned the carrier out of two long tree branches and several smaller laid crosswise, lashing them together to haul the buck.

I’d imagine, George said, stifling a laugh, shot in the ass ain’t no easy thing to get over.

Or sit on, Colter said.

And it ain’t something you can exactly walk off, either, John said before the three men fell into laugher. Just two days before Captain Lewis and Private Pierre Cruzatte had been out hunting just like the three of them were today. The only problem was that Pierre mistook the captain for a bear and put a bullet right in his backside, literally. The men had been ready to get back to St. Louis, just about 1,500 miles away, but now they were ready to get back there more than ever, Pierre most of all.

That’s what you get when you go hunting with a man that’s blind in one eye and near-sighted in the other, George said with a laugh. He should never have been given a gun!

I guess the captain thought he could hunt like he could play that fiddle, John joked, and the men had another good laugh. It was their laughs more than anything that probably allowed Pierre to focus in on them, and a moment later he saw them and gave a wave.

Something’s up, George said, noting right away that something was amiss from the way Pierre was waving his arm. Before he could get another word in, however, Colter took off, running fast ahead. George and John gave each other a look then shrugged and started after him. By the time they covered the hundred yards they were panting, but what they heard Pierre say gave them their wind back mighty quick.

...came up on a dug-out not more than ten minutes ago, he was saying to Colter, who was standing there with hands on hips and eyes as wide as saucers.

Who came up? John said quickly before inhaling a large breath of air.

Two trappers, Colter said to him, and they’re still unloading from the river now – let’s go!

All three men started off at the same time, while Pierre just kicked at a clod in the dirt and cursed his bad luck in getting guard duty at the most exciting moment the expedition had seen in months.

3 – Visitors

Joseph Dixon turned around with yet another crate in his arms and nearly had his eyes pop out if his head.

You, you there...stop that!

The two Mandan Indian boys that’d been poking at the pile of crates with a stick laughed and scampered off, back toward the village. Joe just stood there fuming, his anger at having their trade goods harassed nearly causing him to drop those still in his hands.

Take it easy, his partner Forest Hancock said while coming up behind him, an identical crate in his arms.

I’ll take it easy when we’re back on the safety of the river, Joe said as Forest walked off the plank leading from the boat to the shore. Nonetheless, he fell in behind him and in a few moments another two crates were stacked on the bank.

They won’t cause you no harm, sirs, George Shannon said a little sheepishly. He was the youngest member of the expedition, not yet twenty, and being out in the wild for these past years hadn’t done much to cure his already noticeable shyness. Why the captains had sent him to help the men, he hadn’t a clue. The two trappers felt about the same.

"It’s not us I’m worried about, Forest said gruffly, it’s our goods here – these are our livelihood for the next two years out here. He gave Shannon a narrow look. You did say this was near where the Yellowstone starts, didn’t you?"

Shannon gave a firm nod, several times in fact, and nearly stuttered over his words. Y-y-yes, sir.

Good, and...

Forest trailed-off as he heard footfalls coming up fast, and turned slightly to see a roughshod-looking man, bearded and muscled and coming at the three of them full-bore, a musket clutched tightly in one hand. If he hadn’t put the crate down a moment before, Forest would have dropped it from shock and surprise.

Colter! Shannon gave a shout out when he turned to see what’d spooked the two trappers so.

Colter came up and gave Shannon a friendly clap on the back, though his eyes were locked on the two new arrivals.

John Colter, these men here are Joseph Dixon and Forest Hancock, two fur trapping men heading upriver.

And looking for a guide that can show us the way, Forest said, giving Colter a good once over while he did so. The mountain man looked to be in his early-30s, though it was hard to tell with the unkempt hair growing long and wild, the full beard with parts already going to grey. He looked like something right out of the wild, or at least an Indian show – a threadbare red shirt faded to a pinkish-white, tan workmen’s pants that didn’t have an inch not resewn, and moccasins that probably weren’t as rough as the feet wearing them. It took Forest only a few seconds to know he was looking on a real mountain man, someone that knew the wilds of this country like the back of his hand. At least that’s what he hoped.

A guide, huh? Colter said, all thoughts of St. Louis suddenly gone from his mind as visions of the wilderness began dancing in his memory.

We mean to talk with your Captains Lewis and Clark–

Just as soon as we finish unloading this canoe, Joe began and Forest finished.

Colter narrowed his eyes just as George and John rushed up, finally catching up with the faster Colter.

Do the captains know? Colter asked Shannon before the other two men could get a word in.

Shannon shook his head. I’m not sure, but Captain Clark was here when these two rowed up, and he told ‘em to get secured while he took care of the rest.

Colter smiled. Well, you heard him – let’s get these men secured and then get ‘em to the captains!

4 – The Captains

Captain Meriwether Lewis scrunched up his face and braced himself before lowering down onto the chair. Despite his efforts, a pain shot up from the bullet wound in his backside, causing him to flinch and grimace further. In the corner, Captain William Clark chuckled under his breath, though not quietly enough.

Oh, shut up!

What!

It damn well could have been you that Pierre shot in the ass just as it was me.

Clark shrugged. I suppose that’s possible, though I’d never have put myself into such a compromising position to begin with.

Lewis frowned and was about to offer a rejoinder, a really good one too, when the tent flap opened and John Colter appeared.

Oh, beg pardon, captains, he said, then closed it and shouted out, Captains, Private John Colter here, permission to enter.

Lewis looked over at Clark, who only shook his head, so he turned back and called out. Permission granted, Private Colter.

John Colter entered the tent this time, a large smile on his face.

Sirs, he began, rubbing at his beard and stepping from one foot to the other, there are two trappers heading upriver.

Yes, Clark said from his spot at the desk, I met them on the Knife myself, the first of the party to do so. It seems they’re heading up to the headwaters of the Missouri, or at least think they are.

He scoffed and looked over at Lewis, who only offered a slight smile.

They’ll have a helluva time of it, captain, Colter said, his face firm and without humor.

That they will, Clark agreed, but I don’t see what concern it is of ours.

The thing of it is, sir, Colter began with a fair amount of hesitation, for he was always a bit reticent of questioning the two captains, especially after the leniency they’d shown him in Pittsburgh when he’d threatened to shoot Sergeant Ordway. Clark seemed to sense this.

Go on.

Colter nodded. The thing of it is, sirs...I’d like to guide those men upriver.

Lewis and Clark both stared at Colter, neither surprised at what they were hearing.

"I feel that I know both the Upper-Missouri route and the Yellowstone route," Colter said quickly when he felt his previous words had been hanging in the air too long.

Oh, and how do you figure that, Private? Lewis asked with a slight smile.

Because you had George with you on your team of four, Colter replied evenly. Since you got back on the 12th, we’ve been discussing the route.

Can’t be discussing much, Lewis laughed when he thought of the small party he’d led to the Marias River a few weeks before, we damn-well got run out of there!

Nonetheless, sir, George is pretty convincing on the route.

Lewis leaned back on his stool and crossed his arms, staring at Colter for a moment before looking to Clark. He shrugged, as if to say ‘what do you want me to do?’ Clark took in a breath and let it out slowly, then turned his attention back to Colter.

This is what you want then, are you sure?

Colter nodded. Aye, sir, it is.

Very well, Clark said with a smile before nodding toward the tent flap, now why not let those other two gentlemen in.

Colter turned and opened the tent flap, stuck his head out, and saw Joe and Forest over near the fire pit a short distance away. They locked onto him a moment later and were scurrying over even before the mountain man waved to them.

Well? Forest said while he was still a good ten paces away. Colter just motioned for them to come once again, and in a moment the three men were inside the tent and staring at the two captains of the Corps of Discovery.

So you men came up from St. Louis, then? Clark said in that jovial tone that Colter knew so well, the one he used when he was going to get his way with you, no...already had, but you just didn’t know it yet. Colter did his best to suppress the smile that was trying to edge onto his face.

Well, sir... Joe began, a bit apprehensive and looking to Forest for support. The other trapper gamely stared at his feet or pretended something on the other side of the tent had gotten his attention.

Well, sir... Joe began again, to the tune of Lewis’s fingers beginning to tap on the desk, we left St. Louis in August of 1804 and wintered near Floyd’s Bluff. Come spring we headed further on up until we reached the bend in the Missouri by the Niobrara around summer. We spent all that year trapping with Charles Courtin’s group and wintered near the Teton Sioux. This spring we set out alone, eager to get into these upper reaches where we heard the trapping was plum.

Any Indian encounters along the way? Clark asked.

Joe nodded. We ran into–

Nothing, Forest butted-in real quick, we ran into nothing, all throughout the early Dakotas.

Is that right, Lewis said more than asked, looking from Joe to Forest and back again.

Joe nodded vigorously. Aye, that it is, sirs, that it is – we didn’t run into any trouble.

On account of the fact that we kept to ourselves and made good time, Forest added.

Getting past the Niobrara River and into the Dakotas is easy enough, Lewis said, it’s getting up past the Grand River that’s tricky. How did you get past the Arikaras...just the two of you?

Joe swallowed and looked to Forest, who frowned. Very carefully, he said, and by cover of night.

Lewis and Forest stared at one another for several moments, their eyes locked for so long that the other three men in the tent began to grow uneasy. Finally Lewis nodded and rose up, his face grimacing a bit from the pain still clearly in his backside.

Well, all I can say is that you’ll be in the best of hands, whatever you may find out there on the Missouri or the Yellowstone or any of the other, smaller tributaries you may take...or whatever finds you. Lewis came up and clapped Colter on the shoulder. I have to admit, I hate the idea of losing my best shot with nearly 1,500 miles still to go to St. Louis and civilization, but if that’s the way you want it, Private, then it’s in my power to give. Lewis glanced over quickly at the two trappers before giving Colter a hard look in the eye. You do want this...you’re sure?

Colter firmed his shoulders and stuck out his chest. Aye, sir.

Then by the power invested in me by the President of the United States of America and as his military representative this far west into the hinterland of the country, I declare that your service to the government of the United States, Private John Colter, is now complete. You’re hereby honorably discharged from the United States Army with the rank of Private, and the promise that your pay will be awaiting you in St. Louis, all... he glanced back at Clark who was still seated at the table, and the co-captain of the expedition began flipping through a ledger there.

$179.33¹/³, he said after finding the appropriate entry, you’ll have $179.33¹/³waiting for you for your service.

And I sincerely hope you don’t spend it all in one place, or on one woman, Lewis said with a laugh, and even Colter broke out into a smile at that.

I trust you’ll not leave us until morning, is that right, Private? Clark said, coming up and around from the table.

I couldn’t rightly leave without saying goodbye to the men first, Colter said.

Clark smiled. No, John, no you couldn’t.

5 – Friends

Colter left the tent and saw George and John over by a stand of trees on the riverbank. They perked up when they saw him leave the captains’ tent, and he quickly started over to them.

Well, what’d they say? John asked as he drew near.

They said my commission’s up, I’m a free man, Colter said with a smile.

Well I’ll be, George said, taking a straw from his mouth that he’d been chewing on. It would have fallen otherwise, so large was the scout’s smile.

So when do you ship out? John asked, the German’s accent clear.

In the morning, Colter said. Those men are eager to get a move on, eager to make their fortune.

Ha! a laugh came from behind the trees, and the men turned to see Sergeant John Ordway approaching. George and John frowned, but Colter just kept that stoic look on his face, the one he’d been wearing ever since he’d been put on trial for mutiny after threatening Ordway back in St. Louis. It’d been more than two years ago now, but everyone always figured there was tension between the two men. There wasn’t, and the two nodded at one another.

Headin’ out with two trappers, eh, Colter?

Colter nodded as he sat down on a fallen log. Can’t keep proppin’ you boys up forever, you know?

That got a laugh from Ordway, and eased the tension a bit for the others. Ordway was a few years younger than Colter, but he had a lot more discipline. Being in the regular army would do that to a fellow, Colter supposed, something he wouldn’t know since he’d only been on the government’s payroll since signing up for the expedition. For Ordway it just seemed to have firmed up his face and made his way of talking more clipped. He was a good fellow, though, and the men respected his command.

What do you know about them, Ord? Colter asked next, eager to hear the man’s opinion of the first whites the group had seen since setting out in 1804.

The one named Dixon got a slight wound in the leg after getting away from Sioux near Floyd’s Bluff, at least that’s what he reported to Captain Lewis, Ordway said.

Joe was his name, George pointed out, and he and his partner Forest were low on ammunition by the time they reached us.

It’s lucky they reached us when they did, what with the Blackfeet out there, Ordway said.

Colter nodded to that. He remembered well the encounter with the small band of young braves at the end of July. They’d tried to steal the men’s rifles and two had been killed. It was the worst thing that could have happened, and they’d hurried out of that area real quick. Colter knew that area well now, and he knew that he’d be avoiding it. It was the trapping that he was most interested in at this point. The mountain man had quite a bag of beaver pelts built up, as did most of the men. George took the prize in that department, however, and it was clear he had machinations about taking up the trade once his enlistment was up. Oh how Colter getting out earlier must have rubbed him the wrong way! Once again the mountain man gave a slight smile and thanked his good fortune that the men had grown into such good friends on the expedition. He also thanked his good fortune that the captains were such good men. The three of them would have twenty traps when they went upriver, a sight more than the he’d had to work with while on the expedition. It hadn’t come cheaply, that was for sure. At $5 a month he’d earned $179.33¹/³ for the thirty-five months and twenty-six days he’d put in, though that paled in comparison to what he’d made in secret, or at least off the army rolls.

The Missouri had been good to the men of the expedition, and they stood to profit handsomely. Colter imagined what it’d be like when this trade really got going. Right now it was just Hudson’s Bay and Northwest Company men primarily, but in a few years there’d be many more. It’d be rough, that’s for sure, and things would be scarce. Colter tried to think back on some of the things he’d bought when last in civilization, and their prices. Coffee was $1.50 a pound and sugar to put in it ran $1.50 a pound as well. If you wanted a smoke to go along with it the tobacco would put you back $3 a pound. But then there were the other items, the ones few thought of except when they needed ‘em. Those were things like scissors at $2 a pair or buttons at $1.50 a dozen. All of those things were secondary to the furs, however. George knew most what the market for furs was like, and he was adamant that the men could get $2 a fur. It was an unheard of sum, considering a good man could bag two to three of the animals a day if he was lucky, and ensured he’d have his month’s earnings in but a few hours. But that supposed each man would have room to stow and carry his many furs, to the coast and back in some cases. The captains made it clear right from the get-go that that would not be the case. Each beaver fur weighed on average 1.64 pounds, and since there were half a dozen men trapping regularly, that’d be an extra 137 pounds on the boats each week. It simply wasn’t doable, so the men improvised. After they’d gotten into the plum trapping area of the Missouri, further on up and past the Mandan villages – and the exact area Colter was going to now – they’d quickly realized they’d have to change their strategy. No longer would the typical 1.64-pound beaver fur be accurate. In actuality they were dealing with a 25- to 50-pound beaver, if you added everything under the fur. That often meant they’d be carting out 3- and 4-pound furs. And it didn’t take too long to realize that they didn’t even really have to try to catch the things. The Rocky Mountain beaver were plentiful and hadn’t been trapped before. By the time the expedition had gotten back to the Mandan Villages from the coast, the men had 400 pounds of fur, 104 pounds belonging to Colter. If George’s rough estimates held true, that’d put the total haul at $800, with Colter’s share being $208 of that.

Of course it took work to get all that money, and quite a bit of it. It was work that couldn’t be done from riverboats that were constantly moving either, not with the traps that had to be set and then checked and rechecked again more often than not. It’s not like you just set the trap down anywhere you wanted, walked away, and came back to find it full. No, it was a lot more work than that. It started with the previous catch, or at least what was left of it. The trap had to be cleaned and any stray fur or hair removed. That went doubly for blood, for there was nothing worse than coming back to find a wolf or coyote had eaten your catch. Of course cleaning was the easy part. After that was done the trap had to be set again, but that meant it had to be either moved or repositioned. Both were a pain, though the first more so. Fur traps were heavy, cumbersome and noisy. They weighed a good five pounds or more and even one or two could quickly weigh a man down. And forget hunting when you were carrying the things – any animal with one working ear would hear you a mile off, at least. It was a helluva life, in other words, and Colter couldn’t believe a man would just let it all go.

You know damn well that there’s money out there, Ord, Colter said.

Ordway took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’m not sayin’ there ain’t, John, I’m just sayin’ that you’re getting into a tight spot here, one that’s much tighter than you’re in now.

I’m doing alright, Colter said.

Only because the captains have been so good to us. Ordway sighed again and came over to sit next to Colter on the log. They skirted rules, allowing us to take our pick like that. Oh, you might argue they didn’t have a choice, what with us making only $5 a month and all that river currency just floatin’ right on by us, or even built up under dams as we floated past. He quieted down for a moment. Hell, why you think George only ever focused on beaver when all that other, easier game was ripe for the pickings? It’s because that other game’s only good for eatin’ and not selling to those dandies in Europe!

You ever eat a beaver, Ord?

Hell no! Ordway shot back, and both men laughed, a needed respite after their curt words. They stared out at the Missouri for a few moments, watching it eddy and roll its way south, toward St. Louis and eventually home...whatever that meant.

You’re so close, John...why do you want to give it up?

I could ask you the same thing, about this, Colter said, gesturing at the land around them.

It’s been more than two years now since we’ve been back in civilization, or even on the frontiers of it...don’t you miss that?

Ain’t much to miss, if you ask me, Colter said sullenly, and Ordway looked over at him. Here was a hunter, the best in a bunch of hunters, all fraught with anxiety and fear and apprehension, though about the wrong things. He was a mountain man, had been one ever since his earliest days in Virginia and then Kentucky, and the things that scared most mortals were the very things he sought out, found solace in, and excelled at. It was the people part that he wasn’t good at.

Maybe not, Ordway said after a moment, maybe not.

6 – Last Night

The fire crackled and popped and shot embers soaring into the night sky. Up above were Sagittarius the centaur and Cygnus the swan, two constellations of many that touched the edges of the Milky Way Galaxy looking down. Colter traced them in his mind’s eye and remembered the nights the captains had explained them.

Haven’t you spent enough time looking up at the stars over the past God knows how many months? a voice called from behind Colter, one he recognized right away.

Oh, you’re just sore still that you couldn’t benefit from the captain’s celestial knowledge, Pierre, what will that one blind eye of yours and the other being bum.

Hell, I can see enough out of this old orb still to see your ugly mug, Colter, though I wouldn’t need to – any Injun a mile off could smell the beaver stink comin’ off ya!

Private Pierre Cruzatte laughed and clapped Colter on the back as he said that last, and Colter couldn’t help but laugh as well. In a quick moment, however, Pierre was lowering his head and whispering close to Colter’s ear.

You saw the captain today, John, he said, that slight Cajun accent of his coming through a bit with his voice low, was he still mad?

If you’re asking if he’s still mad you shot him in the ass, Pierre, then I’d say yes, he probably is.

Pierre stood back, and a frown came across his face. No doubt he was still thinking of how many weeks yet he had to go before getting to St. Louis, and if Captain Lewis would make his life a living hell during that time.

He’ll always be sore over that, and in more ways than one, another voice called out, and both men spun around to see the Fields brothers coming up, Joseph and the older Reubin. It’d been Reubin that’d stabbed that Blackfoot Indian through the heart when Lewis and his small band of three had run into the group of eight young braves just a few weeks before, and the death had resulted in the men rushing over one hundred miles in a single day to put enough ground between themselves and however many Blackfeet would soon be on their tail. Thankfully they’d never heard anything from the aggressive Blackfeet, and Colter could see some of the earlier edge gone from Joseph’s eyes – he was one of the best shots on the expedition, and looking over his shoulder for Indians every day had taken its toll. Thankfully three weeks was enough time to let their guard down.

And what’s this I hear about you leaving us, John? Pierre continued as he reached the two men.

Colter shrugged, just as Pierre looked over at him, a look of surprise on his face.

What on earth are you doing? he said, that Cajun unmistakable.

I’m guiding Dixon and Hancock up the river, as far as they want to go until winter sets in.

"And then you’ll stay with them, trapping?" Pierre said. It was well-known he didn’t think much of trappers, probably because a man didn’t need to be any good with a rifle to lure an animal into a baited hunk of metal with steel jaws. Not to mention the smell. Anyone handling the oily furs or the scent needed to bait the traps didn’t smell that good. Strangely, the trapper himself didn’t seem to notice.

Might, Colter said with another shrug, haven’t thought about it much.

Guess you’ll just play it by season, huh? Reubin said from behind his brother.

Or at least play it until you can’t stand them two no more, Joseph laughed. Hell, John, you wouldn’t have been able to stand all of us if the captains weren’t ordering you to! You’re a damn loner if there ever was one – these mountains’ll accept you again, but just not with company, I’m afraid.

Colter gave Joseph a long and hard look, but the burly man didn’t back down. And he was right, Colter knew it too, and nodded accordingly.

I’m gonna miss you, Joseph.

Joseph clapped him on the shoulder. I’m gonna miss you too, John. Now let’s get over to that fire pit – I hear your new friends have got some gills of whiskey!

7 – Around the Fire

Ha, there he is!

Colter narrowed his eyes and looked around the fire to try and see who’d shouted, but it was too hard to tell. One thing that wasn’t hard to tell, however, was that alcohol was coursing through the men’s blood again, and for the first time since the previous November. Colter knew Joe and Forest had some, and now that they were back among the Mandans, he knew the traders always had some close by. The men were enjoying it tonight, and that meant the captains must be as well, back in their tent.

The man of the hour, another shout came, and Colter saw this one came from Private John Shields, the expedition’s blacksmith, gunsmith and carpenter. Colter gave him a good clap on the back as he came up, and took a liberal drink from the wineskin he was offered. It was whiskey alright, and he let out a satisfied Ah, much to the delight of the rest of the men.

Good to have a drop again, eh? Private Peter Weiser laughed at him, and Colter nodded at the man.

It sure gives me back a relief, I’ll say that much.

Colter nodded and was about to clap Private William Bratton on the back when he remembered not to and stopped himself. Private John Collins didn’t restrain himself, and went ahead and gave William a hard swat, one that elicited a grunt of pain.

Ain’t nothin’ like a little whisky to lighten your mood, eh Colter?

Or get you a hundred lashes again, Collins! Private George Gibson said with a laugh, and the others joined in quickly, remembering the hundred Collins had received for stealing the expedition’s whiskey from the official supply while he’d supposed to have been guarding it.

Oh, shut up and give us a tune, will ya! Collins shouted back.

Don’t mind if I do, Gibson said, and picked up his fiddle and started in on a boisterous round of Old Molly Hare.

Ha, that’s more like it! Private Silas Goodrich chimed in, and he and several of the other men began to dance around the fire, joined in by a few of the young Mandan boys and even a maiden or two when they could pull one near, an older squaw if not. Colter stood back and took it all in. He was with most of the men he’d travelled with for two years, and these men here were some of the best. Private Hugh Hall was dancing away, and Colter laughed as he remembered him drunk as can be the day after helping Collins steal the whisky. Oh how he’d begged for leniency! Then there was Private Thomas Howard, who’d gotten court-martialed for climbing over the wall of Fort Mandan one night after the gate had been closed, showing any Indian watching how it was done. Dancing right along there too was Private George Shannon, who hadn’t looked so happy after being found out in the wild after getting lost for two weeks and damn near dying of starvation. All the men he knew and loved were there, and he’d miss them, that much he knew.

So how’s it feel not to be a member of the U.S. Army anymore, John? George Drouillard came up and asked. He had a small, metal cup in his hand and offered it to Colter. Colter put it to his nose and took a whiff, and for the second time that year smelled alcohol.

Feels good!