Colter's Escape: Mountain Man Series, #6

By Greg Strandberg

The New Year of 1810 approaches. Mountain man John Colter moves north into Blackfeet lands, prepared to make the final kill. 

To the south, Andrew Henry and his men plan their escape from the Three Forks of the Missouri. An unforeseen enemy has other ideas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Strandberg
• Release date: Mar 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524237707

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

COLTER’S ESCAPE

Mountain Man Series, Book VI

Greg Strandberg

Big Sky Words, Missoula

Copyright © 2016 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

Table of Contents

Map of Fort Three Forks

Map of Upper Missouri Area

Introduction – From His Majesty

Part I – Picking Up the Pieces

1 – Reunited

2 – Following

3 – Moving North

Part II – Attack

4 – From Afar

5 – A Plan

6 – Fire

7 – Into Motion

8 – A Retreat

9 – In Ruins

10 – Running

11 – The Blizzard

12 – A Survivor

13 – Turning the Tables

14 – Sticking It to ‘Em

15 – Coming Out

Part III – Diplomacy

16 – A Sighting

17 – Picture Talk

18 – The Iroquois

19 – Two Big Dogs

20 – Of Chief Concern

21 – A Legend on High

22 – A King’s Man

23 – A Company Man

24 – On Sage Creek

25 – Riding By

Part IV – War

26 – Fort Raymond

27 – Riding Up

28 – The Inferno

29 – A Lost Cause

30 – The Boat

31 – Growing Restless

32 – Recon

33 – Held Captive

34 – Off Guard

35 – Slipping By

36 – A Chaotic Scene

37 – In the Cage

38 – Reunion

39 – Cutting Them Off

40 – The Split

41 – A Fight at Little Creek

42 – Sheep Mountain Canyon

Part V – Peace

Conclusion – A Return

Epilogue – The End

Coda – Rising Up

Historical Note

About the Author

Preview of Fortin’s Furs

Map of Fort Three Forks

Map of Upper Missouri Area

Introduction – From His Majesty

Montreal was spread out far across the 30-mile long island that also bore its name. Snow covered everything that far north as 1809 got ready to turn to 1810, the fir, spruce, pine, junipers and most of all the buildings of men. There were a lot of those buildings now, as more than 10,000 called the place home. She was the commercial center of Upper Canada, Montreal was, situated as she was at the confluence of the St. Lawrence and Ottawa Rivers. She was also the most secure western fortification the British had, and served the dual-purpose of defending the fur trade while giving the military a jumping-off point for further excursions inland. That military in Canada was commanded by a single man, Isaac Brock. He sat in Montreal’s original Fort Ville-Marie, going over his correspondence in a shabby barracks building.

A knock came at the door of the barracks and without looking up from his quill and paper, Isaac Brock waved his hand dismissively and called out.

Come in.

The door opened, revealing Brock’s chief aid and subordinate, Major Garrett, a polished and circumspect man that did as he was told, when he was told.

Sir, he said, entering the room and coming up to the desk, "the latest dispatch.

Brock looked up for the first time, stopping his writing as he did so. He was tall for an Englishman, an even six feet that was topped off with brown hair with a tinge of red in it. He had a straight nose, a kind mouth, and keen eyes. The men respected him for his hard looks and eye for discipline, the ladies for his dimpled chin and unwavering confidence. Both had allowed him to rise in His Majesty’s Service, though he’d yet to attain the level of wealth his station called for. His brows were thick and arched upward in a perpetual look of invitation, curiosity, and adventure. It was the latter that he owed his military career to. He’d joined the King’s Regiment of Foot back in 1785 at the ripe old age of fifteen. He spent five years working his way up before his older brother William purchased his commission, as was the norm, thus allowing him to rise to the rank of lieutenant. That’d made it possible for him to raise his own company of men, something he did so right away, thus earning the rank of captain. Overseas duty was a requirement of further advancement and Brock did his in the Caribbean, even falling ill with the fever and nearly dying because of it. He’d made it back to England, however, and two years later, in 1795, his brother William came through for him again, purchasing the commission he needed to reach the rank of Major. From there it was to the Netherlands, a short round of battle with Napoleon’s forces, and then to the New World in 1802. The rank of Colonel had come in 1805 and then Brigadier General in 1807. Now he commanded the entirety of His Majesty’s forces in Upper Canada, and he meant to use them to good effect against the American scoundrels to the south.

It was only in the past few months that he he’d been sent far to the west. Now a new assignment was in hand. He did a double-take at the orders Garret handed him, scoffed at the second reading. Could it really be happening, he’d thought after going through them for a third time, the letter falling to his side as he stared off to the mountainous west in disbelief, was the crown really taking them back?

He smiled when he’d thought on it long enough, for the rebels needed taking back. Americans? Bah! He scoffed at that title, scoffed at their independent ways. Indebted mongrels the whole lot of them, degenerates who couldn’t pay their debts and instead of going to the debtor’s prison where they belonged, rose up and convinced their ignorant and poverty-ridden countrymen to do the same. Somehow, and God knew how, they’d won. Brock still cursed Cornwallis at least once a day, twice on Sunday. And now it was finally happening.

By God, Brock said, rising up from his chair, we’ll drive those Americans out of this land, drive them out like the dogs they are! We’ll have them on the run, by George, and we’ll keep them there all the way down to St. Louis, and beyond if we have to! Ha – it’ll be splendid, Garrett, quite splendid indeed.

Very good, sir.

Brock looked over at his valet and servant, a man that always had his back. It was a look of pride and admiration, not in anyone around him or even the fateful choices that had led him there. No, it was a pride in himself, a strong pride and a happy and healthy one...as far as he was concerned. He nodded, satisfied at all he’d done, all he would do. God was on his side after all, and more, England.

For King and country, he said, looking at Garret and giving a self-satisfied nod.

For King and country, Major Garret dutifully repeated.

Part I – Picking Up the Pieces

1 – Reunited

Daniel Boone crawled up from the side-hole in Fort Henry’s eastern wall. The men gathered in the yard of the fort took a step back as he started to stand. The man was old, at least in his seventies it looked like, and had the thin, scraggly gray hair to prove it. His face was lined and wrinkled something fierce, although those blue eyes of his had a mischievous sparkle to them still.

Who...? Joe Whitehouse started to say. The gateman was quite a ways from his usual post, but then most of the men were. It’d been a helluva night, what with the shots all around them, the fire flaring up on the southern bluff, and then some of their long-lost companions coming back to them, and in the most unusual and inexplicable of ways.

Straightening up and brushing himself off, Boone gave a hard look at Joe, a man he’d never seen before and didn’t know hide nor hair about.

Who? the pioneering explorer said, putting his hands on his hips. Well, who the hell do ya think it is? The man that saved your sorry asses, that’s who. He scoffed, spit over his shoulder, and while doing remembered the bow he’d slung there. "And the one that sent you that letter earlier today."

This here’s Daniel Boone, Schaefer said, drawing the men’s eyes. Schaefer was a 41-year-old Pennsylvanian, quite ugly owing to the large burn down one cheek and several missing teeth to boot. He gripped ol’ Gertrude, the .54 caliber 1805 Kentucky Rifle that measured 33 inches and had a range of 100 to 120 yards. He was the leader of what was left of the main party of twenty men that’d gone out nearly two weeks before and he sighed and shook his head. We had a helluva time of it out there, that much is true, he said. If it wasn’t for Boone and Colter comin’ upon us when they did, I’m afraid you’d never have heard from any of us again.

Where is Colter? a voice came from above, and the men looked up to see Andrew Henry, the fort’s captain, staring down at them. Henry was tall, slender of build, though quite muscular in the arms. He had dark hair and blue eyes and quite the reputation for honesty.

Boone shook his head. Stayed out there.

"What do you mean...stayed out there?" Rueben called down. He was Henry’s second in command and he and Henry were twelve feet up on the wall but directly over the side-hole that the new arrivals had come in through.

Said somethin’ was happenin’ out there and for me to get you men safely to St. Louis.

"Safely to..." Edward Rose started to say before trailing off and shaking his head. The muscled mulatto even rolled his eyes a bit and looked over at LeCompt. The half-Blood trapper and explorer couldn’t believe what he was hearing either.

What did he mean...’something was happening’? Sal Jessup said. The young trapper was just then ambling up to the gathered men, leaving his spot at the swivel gun now that the fighting was done.

Boone shook his head again. Beats me. Last I saw him before just now was when we all split up to take out them Blackfeet.

What happened exactly? Henry called down.

All eyes went back to Boone, but also to Schaefer and Peter and Claude, even Menard. After all, the men didn’t know that the man had lost his mind.

Hell, Schaefer, Boone said with a laugh, I’ve talked about more just now than I do in a day – you tell ‘em.

Peter got a laugh out of that one – he for one didn’t know the old explorer to shut up – but settled down as Schaefer started to talk. The grizzled and scarred trapper told of the two-day ride south from the fort, then the storm that’d forced them into the cave. After that came the Blackfeet that’d pinned ‘em, the long wait, gradual loss of men, and then finally the day they’d decided to break-out, the fires the Indians had thrown into the cave, and the saving grace of Colter reappearing. He told of the trek back, Menard losing it, and how they’d attacked the Indians just that night. The men in the yard took it all in, all twenty-eight of them that hadn’t been along. Now with the reunion of the main party men they were back up to thirty-three.

So we’re right back where we started two weeks ago, Edward Robinson said.

Worse, we’ve got half the men we had then, John Hoback added.

And God knows how many Blackfeet are still out there, Jacob Reznor chimed-in.

Or comin’ back with reinforcements to do us in, Michel added.

"We did just wipe out a large bunch of ‘em," Samuel said.

They’ll be mad, Daniels said, nodding to the previous comment.

And lookin’ to get even, John Collins said.

It’ll be a helluva fight, Pierre Cruzatte added.

We’ll all die! Menard shouted out, laughing hysterically as he did so, "we’ll all die! Ha ha ha ha ha!

Someone shut him the hell up, will ya? Henry called out from the top of the wall. Several men went at Menard to grab him and stop that maniacal laughing. Meanwhile, Henry headed for the ladder. Within moments he was to it and down and coming up to the gathered men in the yard.

Listen, he said loudly, just as Schaefer and Sal were getting Menard quieted down with the help of rag in the man’s mouth, listen to us! He looked around at the men, hands on hips, giving them a stern and warning look. If we keep this up, we’ll be dead in days. The Blackfeet out there, that’s what they want – panic. Well, you’re doin’ a mighty fine job of it so far. He threw his hands up into the air. Soundin’ like a bunch of women, to me!

That shamed the men, into silence at least. Most looked down, drew in the mud with their boots, looking anywhere but at Henry or the other men in command.

"The good news is that word did get out," Schaefer said after a few moments of silence had fallen.

That’s right, Claude added, that’s why Colter was comin’ for us.

Henry looked to Boone. "What exactly did you hear?"

Way Colter told it, Boone began, word had filtered down from upriver at the Mandan villages that you men were under siege.

Who got out? several of the men shouted, while several more started rattling off possible names. Boone just shook his head to it all.

Don’t know who got out, but get out someone did. Sent a rider straight down to St. Louis and he got there the same day that Colter did, the way he tells it. Also... he trailed off, looked around at the men, there was other news that day...news about Captain Lewis.

"Captain Lewis? Reuben said from up on the wall. He was rushing for the ladder and was soon down it. What did you hear? he said, now facing Boone in the yard.

Boone sighed and shook his head, put his hand on the man’s shoulder. Killed himself in Tennessee, riding back to Washington to talk over some expenses, from what I’ve been told.

Killed... Rueben said, trailing