A Mountain Man

The first explorers of Indian Territory

The “Tales From Wyoming” are a collection of interconnected short stories of the Pioneers and the Old West. Each story combines some fiction with some legend with a liberal dose of real history.

Following the Lewis and Clark Expedition, the Western mountains and plains were explored by the fur-trapping Mountain Men.

“Hey, lad, you look’n for work?”

It was 1839, and fifteen year old Sam Potter was sitting on the pier using a crust of cornbread to scoop cold beans from a tin cup. Discerning the question had been directed at him, he looked up to study the barrel-shaped man on the deck of a keelboat.

“I got a job,” Sam answered.

While Sam worked loading and unloading cargo for the steamboats on the Mississippi River, the allure of the Wild West and the lands visited by the keelboats on the Missouri River drew him to pay attention to the boatman’s words.

“Yeah, you have a job for today and tomorrow, but I can offer you a job for the next four months.”

This was a true concern. Sam did have to look for work continuously.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked.

“West, young man, west across the Great Plains with grass as tall as your chin stretched out for a thousand miles, and then on to the giant Rocky Mountains beyond. That is to say, we’re bound for Fort Union. Come along, son, it’s the future.”

Sam had heard these tall tales before, but this was the first time he had been offered an opportunity to see this vast land for himself. John Jacob Astor had founded Fort Union in 1828. At the junction of the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers, it provided a focal point for the trappers to sell their furs. Fort Union was a civilian establishment fashioned after a military bastion. Originally, it was nothing more than a trading post, but the nearby Indians had become hostile towards the paleface invaders and the fort’s cannon protected the American Fur Company headquarters.

“Sir, let me finish my job today and I will join you tomorrow,” Sam said, deciding to test his fate.

In the morning, Sam returned to the pier with a small bundle containing the sum total of his worldly possessions. He found not one, but five keelboats and more than a hundred men. It took him several minutes to locate the man who had offered him the job.

“Aye, sir, Sam Potter reporting for wok,” he said to the muscled boatman.

“Aye, lad, you’ll get twenty dollars and a pence for every ten dollars earned when we sell our cargo in Fort Union. Fair enough?”

Sam nodded. Twenty dollars was far more money than he had ever seen before; however, he didn’t understand the second suggestion of more money. But, he would figure it out later.

“I’m Jack Trawick the bosseman of this here keelboat.” He pointed to the first of the five tied to the pier. “Stow your kit and meet some of the lads. We shove off in an hour.”

The fact Sam had never worked a keelboat before did not seem to matter to Jack. Sam jumped aboard and came face to face with a man a few years older than himself. This man had an unmanaged mass of blonde curls atop his head, but no facial hair. Sam was also too young to grow a beard.

“Excuse me, I’m Sam Potter. Where do I stow my kit?” Sam asked, adopting the name Jack had used for the bundle of his goods.

“Over there, in the box at the bow. The name’s Karl Kursk.” He stuck out his hand and the two young men shook. “You ever ride one of these before?”

“No, afraid not. You?”

“Nope, never, but I’ll show ya what I know.” Karl toured Sam around the boat. “This here boat is called a keelboat on account of the keel running from stem to stern with both ends tapered. She’s seventy feet long and eighteen feet wide at the center. This monstrosity is the cargo box.” Karl rapped his knuckles on the four foot high structure which occupied the majority of the deck. They continued around the box along a narrow walkway. Sam looked down; the deck was no more than two feet above murky water. Compared to the Mississippi River steamers, it was quite small. Having apparently run out of things to say about the boat, Karl changed the subject. “Are ya heading to the mountains to try yer hand at fur trapping? That’s what I’m gonna do.”

“You mean, for you this is a one way trip?”

“Aye, if I have to walk to Fort Union, I might as well get room, board, and twenty dollars to boot, eh?”

“Yeah.” Sam had not considered the possibility of staying in the West. He had heard about the mountain men who trapped beaver and other furry animals for a living.

“We should get there at prime time to start trapping,” Karl continued. “Ya have to trap them in the winter when the critters got their thick fur coats.”

A train of horse-drawn wagons arrived at the pier and Jack called everyone over. There were five boats and each one had 25 crewmen. They formed brigades and quickly loaded 30 tons of cargo into each boat. Sam carried crates of rifles, barrels of gunpowder, and bags of shot along with an assortment of other goods. With very little ceremony, a steam powered tug secured a line to the bow of the keelboat and began towing it north on the Mississippi River. The remaining four keelboats were daisy chained behind and they looked like a mother duck with five ducklings as they slowly made their way upstream.

Sam suddenly remembered he had not sent word to his father about the change in careers. It would be several months before he returned to the docks at St. Louis. If he joined Karl as a fur trapper, he might never come back. Sam wondered how long it would take his parents to notice he was gone.

In the beginning, working the keelboat was easy. At the junction of the two mighty rivers, the steam tugboat turned west and pulled the ducklings into the channel of the Missouri River.

Jack used the time to teach the new crewmen how to pole the boat.

“These here poles are not just any ole sticks, so don’t be letting go of them. You drop one in the water, and you go swimming after it, ya hear?” The poles were ash wood about 20 feet long. Carved from a single log, the poles had a shoe at one end and a knob at the other end. The knob was pressed into the hollow of a man’s shoulder as he pushed against the pole. With the shoe braced against the muddy river bottom, the keelboat was propelled forward when the man walked toward the stern. Jack instructed the three new men to practice the maneuver while the tug pulled the keelboats upstream.

“Get ready, lads,” Jack called out. “Men to the poles.”

Ten men lined up on narrow walkway on each side of the cargo box. Standing at the bow, as close together as possible, they waited while holding the poles in the air. When the tug boat reached a sharp bend in the river, it cast loose the tow line and released the five ducklings to swim on their own. The tug blew a long blast on her steam whistle and turned around, returning to the Mississippi.

“Poles down,” Jack commanded, and released the line towing the keelboat behind them.

While one man in the bow pulled in the tow line, Sam and the others pressed the shoe of the poles into the mud and pushed. They walked toward the stern as a unit, pushing the keelboat forward. Reaching the stern, they tilted the poles to break the shoe free from the mud and raised them out of the water. Turning around, they quickly walked back to the bow and repeated the process. Over and over they pushed against the river bottom, and the boat moved forward against the current.

Jack steered the boat toward the bank where the strength of the current decreased. They moved a bit faster. Sam thought about Jesus walking on the water. However, they only used the poles for less than an hour. When they came to a long straight stretch, they pulled to the bank and began to cordelle. This process was the primary means of propelling the keelboat. Using the line which had been attached to the tugboat, twenty men walked along the riverbank pulling the keelboat. Jack used one of the poles to keep the boat away from the bank. One man took the free end of the rope and scampered ahead to string it along a path free from snags, brush, rocks, and other things along the bank.

There was no established path. With Karl and the others, Sam trudged through underbrush and sloshed through the mud. Upon reaching an obstacle, they returned to the deck of the keelboat and the poles. One or two men hunted for food for the crew. At night, the five boats gathered together and the men camped on the bank.

Thus, Sam walked a couple of thousand miles up the Missouri River to Fort Union.

They encountered lots of Indians. These considered the keelboat troupe to be a comical lot. Not at all hostile, the Indians often helped to pull the rope to drag the boat. While friendly enough, they were a thieving lot. They knew nothing about the Ten Commandments and stealing was not a sin for them. Anything laid down was fair game to them.

At one time, they did encounter a troubling tribe. This chief wanted to charge a toll to allow them to proceed.

Their Indian guide knew a few words spoken by this specific tribe and, with some pantomime gestures, their meaning was clear. Captain Farling, commander of the flotilla, brought a hundred men from our boats — some with rifles and all carrying knives. Captain Farling smiled and gave the Chief an iron hatchet. The chief looked the armed men over. Then he laughed and accepted the gift. No more was said about a toll.

Arriving in Fort Union, Karl and Sam each drew twenty dollars and an extra five as their share of the profits from selling the cargo. Pooling their money, they bought rifles, traps, and heavy winter clothes. There was already snow on the ground, so they were in a hurry to get into the mountains. They joined with Kit Carson and One-Eye Jack. His name was really Charles Dubois, and he had two eyes, but he had the annoying habit of squinting his right eye nearly closed and causing his left eye to bug outward when he talked. For the next six years, the men worked the Rocky Mountains from the South Pass to the Canadian border.

✽✽✽

In 1845, Sam, Karl, and Charlie rode a keelboat downstream on the Missouri River from Fort Union to Council Bluffs, Iowa. They had left shortly after the winter ice covering the river had broken open. Theirs was a small keelboat, and the trip downriver was vastly easier than traveling upriver. Thus, the three of them managed the trip to sell their furs easily. In Council Bluffs, they sold the fur pelts to a wholesaler who would take them to New Orleans via a steamboat, and then on to Europe.

“Aw, come on, Sam, it’ll be fun,” Karl said. The two friends sat in adjacent tubs in a bathhouse close to the wharf. This was their annual bath and shave. “There’s nothing to it. We just keep following the Platte River upstream until we get to South Pass, then downstream to the Pacific Ocean.”

“I don’t know, Karl. It just doesn’t seem fair to the pilgrims. They’re paying good money for an experienced guide. We know the mountains, and I’ve no doubt we can find South Pass easy enough, but we’ve never been west of there.” The pair had been as far west as Fort Bridger, and they knew the Oregon Trail followed the Snake River from that point. “Seems like we’d be cheating them. What would happen if ya got lost and all their food was et up?”

“Sam, I don’t want to part ways with ya, but I’m done with the fur game. I’m tired of being cold. I want to settle down with a warm woman and raise cows and babies.”

“I’ve no argument with ya there, but not in Oregon.”

In the end, Sam agreed to think about it. They had money in their pockets and they weren’t in a hurry to leave Council Bluffs. However, an additional opportunity presented itself.

“You boys should signup too. This English Lord is throwing money around like it’s confetti. He’d hire youse two too,” One-Eye Jack said.

The three mountain men were standing on the wharf watching their furs being loaded onto a steamboat. They had sold the keelboat to a carpenter. Wood was plentiful in the mountains, but scarce on the plains. The lumber from the boat was worth almost as much as the furs.

Charlie squinted and cocked his bulging left eye towards an adjacent steamboat. That there English man wants a hunt’n guide to help him shoot a grizzle, a buffalo, and every other animal in these parts. He’s taking that steamboat as far north as it will go.”

Hunting was something Sam knew better than trail blazing, but this was not what drew his interest toward Charlie’s plan. While watching the English man direct the boat’s crew in their effort to load crates onto the steamboat, Karl spotted the women and children. There were plenty of women in Fort Union and Council Bluffs, but they were all Indian women. He could not recall the last time he had seen a white woman. There were three males and five females following the Englishman. Two of the males and one of the females were clearly children. One of the females was clearly the man’s wife. The others were all dressed up fancy and Sam could not judge if they were children or grown women, but they had drawn his undivided attention.

“Yeah, I think I will come along with ya,” Sam said.

Karl argued with him, but to no avail. Sam’s mind was made up. He was going to ride the steamboat with those English women. Hunting was merely an excuse. He and Karl would meet up another time.

The next day Charlie and Sam transferred their gear to the steamboat. The captain, Joe Hampton, was known to Charlie, but Sam had never crossed paths with him. However, they were quickly making friends.

“That one,” Joe said, pointing at a man following Lord Gifford, “is the butler, or manservant, or whatever they call ’em. His name is Mr. Benson and he’s always following the Lord about, but I don’t know what he actually does.” The three of them were in the wheelhouse sharing a flask of whiskey. Joe pointed down to the wharf. “Them’s are the children and the governess. And, that’s the wife and her maid.”

Charlie said, “Quite a gob of greenhorns to be taking into Indian Territory.”

“I tried to talk ’em out of it. Told him Indian Territory was no place to be taking women and children. He should leave them here in Council Bluffs. But…” Joe didn’t finish the thought.

The eldest of the girls caught Sam’s eye. He was drawn to the dark brown ringlets of hair framing her face. It was a small riverboat and he looked forward to getting a closer look at her. He wondered what her name was.

Joe continued, as though reading Sam’s mind, “The youngest, the little girl, is Juliette. I think she’s ten years old and very precocious. If any of the lot strikes up a conversation with you, it’ll be her. The twin boys are thirteen and their names are Matthew and Mark; I don’t know which is which. The eldest boy is sixteen. He’s Patrick and he’ll probably go hunting with y’all some. He seems to be a decent boy. The woman-child is Jennifer. She’s seventeen and a bit of a flirt with the crew. I’ve warned them all that I’d castrate ’em if they lay a finger on her.” Again, reading his mind, Joe tilted his head toward Sam.

Sam held Joe’s stare for a moment, and then nodded. Sam understood that Jennifer was offlimits.

Returning his attention to the women, Joe continued, “The three women are Lady Gifford, her maid Mrs. Brandley, and the children’s governess Mrs. Howard.” They each drew a swig from the flask before Joe resumed. “Charley, there’s something else I need to tell ya. The French and English have been warring more or less continuously for a long time. And, ole Lord Gifford had a younger brother killed by a Frenchie in one of these wars. He still carries a hatred for yer kin.” Joe paused to study Charlie. “At first he didn’t want to hire you, but I convinced him there was no better guide to be found. And, I told him you had been in these here mountains for the past thirty years and had nothing to do with the politics of France.”

Charlie’s eye bulged as he waited for Joe to finish his point.

“So, yer on-board, but I think ya should let young Sam here do most of the talking when the Lord is about.” Joe swallowed. “I don’t mean no disrespect to ya. Just saying it’ll make things go easier.”

One-Eye turned his attention to Lord Gifford as he strode across the deck below the wheelhouse. “Yes, I can see how that might be best.” He nodded to accentuate his agreement.

The riverboat castoff and headed upriver under a full head of steam. Sam marveled at how slowly they traveled. The spring flood was full-on. This created two conditions specific to the riverboat’s attempt to move northward. First, the flood deepened the river to accommodate the steamboat’s draft; it could never have made the trip during the summer. Second, the current was faster; nothing short of full steam ahead would keep the boat gaining ground against the swift water.

Several hours later, Sam and Charlie were invited to meet the Lord and his family during their afternoon tea.

“Potter, that’s an English name, isn’t it?” Lord Gifford said to Sam after the introductions.

Sam was careful to keep his attention away from Jennifer. “Yes, sir, but the only family I know is right here in America. My grandparents were born in Virginia.”

“Ah, your people came over on the Mayflower, eh?”

Sam didn’t understand the comment, but everyone chuckled — including Jennifer — so he laughed at the apparent joke as well.

“Captain Hampton tells me you’ve spent a number of years exploring the mountains to the west.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve been from Canada to South Pass and kilt every animal between muskrats and grizzly bears.” The later part was true; however, he’d had the help of Karl and Kit. Between the three of them, they had fired six shots into the beast before bringing it down.

“Well, Mr. Potter, tell us more about what you have planned for us.” Lord Gifford pushed the tea set aside and unfurled a map on the table. Mr. Benson and Patrick leaned in for a look.

Sam prepared to recite the plan Charlie had concocted.

“Here along this stretch of the Missouri River there is another, intersecting river not shown on your map. It’s called the Niobrara River. There’s a finger of land between this river and the Missouri which no Indian tribe claims dominion. It’s an excellent place to start our hunting trip as most all big game animals pass through here.”

Sam and Charlie hoped this would be as far as the Lord cared to go upriver. The actual Rocky Mountains were many hundreds of miles further. Charlie had chosen the site because the finger of land was bounded by the rivers. “Should anyone get lost, they only have to find water and follow it downstream back to the riverboat,” One-Eye had told Sam.

“We’ll find elk and grizzlies there?”

“Yes, if you don’t get your fill we can move further upriver.” Sam knew they were unlikely to find a grizzly bear, but a big brown bear could be formidable.

Day after day the riverboat slowly made its way along the twisting river. While it had a hold full of coal, Captain Hampton held this in reserve. Three times a day, the boat stopped for the crew to chop wood. During these stops, the passengers had their meals and other necessity breaks. At night the men camped ashore while the women slept atop the boat. All in all, the trip was slower than Sam’s first journey up the Missouri in the keelboat. However, this was a much more comfortable way to travel.

Every other day the women would use the afternoon stop to find a secluded bend in the river to bathe. Sam was impressed with the cleanliness of the English women. Sam wasn’t conscious of intentionally seeking to spy upon the women, but one day he happened upon their bathing location. He did not turn away. While the older women stood watch from the bank, the younger women removed their frocks, shoes, and stockings. Sam watched Jennifer as she disrobed until she was wearing only her white chemise and underskirt. Along with Juliette and Mrs. Howard, Jennifer waded into the river. Reaching under their clothing, the three scrubbed with soap and then rinsed in the current. They giggled and splashed each other. Sam’s attention was tightly focused upon the alabaster skin revealed as Jennifer raised her chemise to wash. He could not resist the opportunity to open his trousers and release the tension which had been building within his core since he first saw Jennifer.

The three young women returned to the bank. While they dried in the warm sun, the older women took their turn. Sam backed away from the scene and returned to the riverboat.

While Sam and Charlie helped the crew load wood into the hold, Charlie fixed his eye on Sam, and said, “Get a snoot full, did ya?”

“What?”

“On yer walk along the shore — did ya see something ya shouldn’t have?”

Sam grit his teeth, but made no response.

“Well,” Charlie continued, “these people are visitors in our country. Additionally, they are our employers. As such, they deserve our respect and that means we turn way from such temptations. When I said they trusted us to watch over ’em, spying on the womenfolk was not what I meant. Ya git my meaning?”

Sam nodded, but he wondered how Charlie had known about the event unless he had also been a witness.

“From now on, you’ll be encouraging the Lord to take short hunting adventures on the days the womenfolk bathe,” Charlie finished.

Additionally, Sam evaded contact with Jennifer, but he couldn’t avoid watching her as she walked about on the deck. She was an English Lady and he was a no account fur trapper. She barely knew he existed. This tiny riverboat was the only intersection between their two worlds. He did his best to shut down his lust for her.

A week later, Sam was conversing with the youngest child, Juliette.

“That’s the Big Spur River,” Sam said, directing her attention to the large tributary joining the Missouri from the northeast. “From here, the Missouri will widen and the current will slack some. We’ll be able to go faster, is the point of it.” What Sam did not add was that the river would also become shallower and the frequent sandbars would become more difficult to avoid.

That afternoon, Sam, Charlie, Lord Gifford, Mr. Benson, and Patrick ventured away from the river. Sam led the way with Lord Gifford at his side. Mr. Benson carried the Lord’s rifle while Patrick and Charlie brought up the rear. They found no game along the river, and Sam led them further away. Cresting a hill, the Englishmen got their first sight of the Great Plains.

“My word, what is this?” Lord Gifford exclaimed. He swept his arm from horizon to horizon. “It’s a sea of grass. Nothing as far as the eye can see but grassland.”

“This is the Great Plains,” Sam said. “It goes on, just like this, for a thousand miles.”

“Astounding!”

“Actually, many people see it as being akin to the ocean. I’ve never seen the ocean, mind you, but people say the white canvas tops of the wagons look like ships on the sea as they roll through the grass. They call them prairie schooners.”

They walked along through the chest-high grass. After less than a mile, Lord Gifford got his first sight of a buffalo.

“I say, Mr. Potter, this is a most wonderful day. That beast is magnificent.”

Crouching low in the grass, they crept closer. Approaching, they saw this was one of a thousand. Carpeting the valley between two hills were buffalo so close together they looked like a single black mass.

“Best not try to get closer,” Sam cautioned, when they were a hundred yards away. “They spook easy and can stampede in most any direction. They could turn and trample us.”

“No bother, I’ll bag one from here.” Lord Gifford retrieved his rifle from Benson, carefully aimed, and fired.

The nearest animal went down and, just as Sam had predicted, the remaining thousand buffalo stampeded. Both Sam and Charlie carried a rifle and two pistols; they fired all six rounds over the heads of the racing animals. Thankfully, the buffalo turned and ran in the opposite direction. In less than a minute, they were gone.

Lord Gifford trotted to view his kill. “Truly a mammoth beast. Only an elephant is larger.”

Sam didn’t know whether or not this was true, but he knew it was verging on sinful to leave the meat and hide to rot. However, there was no way they could possible carry the carcass back to the river. Charlie carved portions of the choicest meat, a segment of hide, and the ears.

Forgetting he was supposed to remain silent, Charlie said, “We’ll be eating good tonight, and I’ve got ya a fine souvenir as well. I’ll make ya a hat to be the envy of all the other lords in London.”

“Sir, it is getting late. Do you think we should return to the boat now?” Mr. Benson asked, when Charlie handed him a portion of the bundle to carry.

“Yes.” Lord Gifford glanced one way and then the other. Seeing no differentiation in the terrain, he said, “I say, I’ve become turned around in the excitement. Which way is it back to the river?”

Sam understood the wisdom in Charlie’s choice of the land between the two rivers as their primary hunting ground.

“This way, milord,” Sam said, and led the troupe to the north.

They had been gone for hours and Captain Hampton was in a near panic when they arrived at the riverboat. However, he said nothing as the exuberant Lord Gifford told and retold the story of the Great Plains and the buffalo herd.

The boat cast off and resumed its way upstream. Sam and Charlie were invited to afternoon tea where Sam recounted his version of the day and praised Lord Gifford’s excellent marksmanship. The tea was replaced with brandy as the sun settled low in the sky. They were traveling in a westerly direction, and the low sun made it difficult to see the shoals and snags. Thus, Captain Hampton piloted the boat to the bank to end the day early.

“We’ll put on an extra load of wood tonight and make up the time tomorrow,” he said.

However, they did not make up the time. Lord Gifford had the hunting bug and he spent extra hours each afternoon hunting with Sam on the plains. Day after day, they found and shot buffalo. All this ended when the Lord finally understood that shooting buffalo was more like target practice than hunting. As long as one was quiet, they could sneak up as close as they liked to the animals. The dumb beasts wouldn’t move until one of them was shot. After killing and wasting a half-dozen of them, Lord Gifford finally tired of the effort.

Captain Hampton used the change to make haste. A month after leaving the wharf in Council Bluffs, the riverboat dropped anchor on the southern bank of the Missouri River a hundred yards beyond its junction with the Niobrara River.

That evening, as the Lord was offering liberal quantities of whiskey, Sam used a piece of charcoal to draw additional lines on Lord Gifford’s map.

“The Niobrara River runs like this,” Sam said. “There’s a line of mountains separating the two rivers along the southern bank of the Missouri here. While these are not exactly the Rocky Mountains, they will serve our purpose as they are a home to a wide variety of game animals. We’ll do most of our hunting along the southern side of the mountains. If we get separated, and you forget the direction to return to the riverboat, simply walk north, south, or east until you find water. Follow this downstream and you will arrive at the riverboat.” He didn’t tell them that if they went too far westward they would enter Lakota Indian Territory.

✽✽✽

Most every day Sam and Lord Gifford hunted. Charlie usually accompanied them, and sometimes Mr. Benson or Patrick joined them. Most days, they only hunted for a few hours and returned to the boat in the afternoon. Lord Gifford had shot several deer, two bull elk and two brown bears. He was looking for more. Thus, they were venturing deeper into the mountains with the intention of spending the night.

“Did you see that?” Sam asked.

“See what?” Lord Gifford replied.

The two men were lying on their bellies on the crest of a hill scanning the valley floor below them. Lord Gifford was using his spyglass which he occasionally offered to Sam.

“Keep your eye on those white rocks way over there.” Sam pointed to a location several hundred yards distant.

Lord Gifford trained his spyglass on the opposite side of the valley. A minute later he whispered, “It moved! What is that?”

“That, sir, is an antelope. What looks like white rocks are really their white bellies. They aren’t very big, a hundred pounds or so, but they are very hard to kill. They are keenly aware of their surroundings and spook easily. It’s very difficult to get close enough to shoot one.”

Lord Gifford studied the herd on the hillside. “By golly, there must be a hundred of them. We’ve got to get one.”

Sam glanced to his left. Charlie’s eye was upon him. He had seen the antelope as well, and had heard their conversation. Charlie nodded and crept away.

“Very well, milord, Charlie is going to work his way around the other side of the valley. He will try to disturb the antelope sufficiently to make them move over here, but he will try not to scare them into running away. This will be a hard trick. We must stay here, hold still, and be very quiet.”

They waited an hour, and then another hour. Suddenly, what had appeared to be white rocks began to move in unison. They slowly drifted down the hillside.

“Here, sir, use my rifle. You’ll have to shoot while they are more than a hundred yards away.” Sam carried a 32-caliber rifle with a yard long barrel. It didn’t have the killing power of Lord Gifford’s 53-caliber gun, but Sam’s weapon was more accurate.

As Sam had expected, the antelope did not remain in the bottom of the valley. They preferred the high ground. Lord Gifford readied the rifle, and the herd eased closer. The wind shifted. What had been a breeze blowing in their faces suddenly changed and came from behind them.

“They’ll catch our scent in a moment. Shoot now,” Sam commanded.

Although the nearest antelope was still two hundred yards away, a difficult shot even for Sam’s long rifle, Lord Gifford pulled the trigger. When the cloud of gun smoke cleared, the herd was gone. The antelope had vanished in a few seconds. But one animal was on the ground.

It was wounded and struggling to regain its feet. Sam ran up and fired a round from his pistol into its head to put it out of its misery.

“By golly, I got it!” Lord Gifford joined Sam.

The two men looked down on the carcass of what had moments before been a beautiful animal. What bothered Sam most about hunting with Lord Gifford was all the waste. He had no issue concerning killing God’s creations when it was for a purpose greater than the mere moment of excitement associated with the kill.

Boom!

The sound jerked Sam’s attention to the far hillside. He scanned the land until he found the puff of smoke drifting away from where Charlie had discharged one of his pistols. Charlie should not have fired. Even if he had come upon a rattlesnake, he would not have shot it. Charlie was clearly sending Sam a signal. From the location of the smoke, Sam examined the crest of the hill until he spotted them — Indians.

“Come on! Grab a leg and let’s go,” Sam shouted at Lord Gifford. Sam picked up a hind leg of the antelope and began dragging the dead animal up the hill.

“Why?”

Sam ignored him and, after a moment, Lord Gifford picked up the other hind leg. When they dropped behind the crest of the hill, Sam looked back. The Indians were still watching them. He counted six braves lined up on the opposite hillside.

“Get down!” Sam dropped to his belly.

Lord Gifford did likewise. Sam pulled the spyglass out of its case around Lord Gifford’s neck and focused.

“Indians,” he whispered. “I count six braves over there, on the far hillside where the antelope were.” He returned the spyglass to its owner. “See.”

“Yes, I do see them. Are they dangerous? Why did we drag that carcass with us?”

“They’re Lakota, and probably dangerous. I don’t plan on getting close enough to ask them. As for the antelope, they take a very dim view when someone kills one of their animals. They really hate it when the carcass is left to rot. For them, it’s some kind of sin.”

From their location, the Indians could not see Charlie; however, the gunshot had alerted them to the fact another paleface was there.

“They’re not coming after us,” Lord Gifford said.

“Nope, they don’t know how many of us there are, and they know how powerful rifles are. They’re not stupid savages as many folks call them. They will watch and wait for the right moment to attack, if they attack at all. It’s possible they won’t think we are worth the trouble.”

“Hey, there are only four of them now. Do you think they are giving up?”

“Nah, the other two are looking for Charlie. They know he’s out there, and don’t want him flanking ‘em.”

“Will they kill Mr. Dubois?”

“Charlie has a rifle and two pistols. In a fight with two Indians, he’s the odds-on favorite. I don’t think they’ll attack. I think they just want to know where he is. Sooner or later, they’ll come over here to see if we have left.”

“There are only two of them now. How much longer are we going to wait for Mr. Dubois?”

Sam sighed. “No longer. It’s time for us to go. We have to move fast.”

Abandoning the antelope carcass, they ran down the hill, and then changed direction. Walking as fast as they could, they headed east towards the riverboat.

“Do you think they will be able to track us?” Lord Gifford asked.

“Of course. They’ve probably been around here for quite a while. It’s likely they’ve been watching us and already know where we are going.”

They continued trudging for hours until darkness fell.

“Mr. Potter, I must insist that we stop. The Indians can’t possibly track us in the darkness.”

“All right.” It wasn’t that Sam thought they were safe from the Indians, rather he knew moving fast in the darkness was more dangerous. Besides, he wanted to allow Charlie to catch up with them.

They didn’t light a fire. Instead, they ate dried meat from their packs without speaking. Sam did not sleep. At first light, they set off again. An hour later Charlie over took them.

“Did you find their camp?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, best I can tell there are only the six braves. They have three squaws and a horse. Looks to be a simple hunting party.”

“Are they following us?” Lord Gifford asked.

“Not exactly. Two of the braves have gone around you. They’re up ahead somewhere.”

Sam frowned and nodded.

“What does that mean?” Lord Gifford asked.

Sam replied, “It means they do indeed know where the riverboat is and they are positioning themselves to ambush us as we approach it.”

“No,” Charlie said. “That can’t be what they are doing. They don’t have any rifles and they know two braves don’t stand a chance against the three of us. They have another purpose.”

“What?” Lord Gifford asked.

Charlie shook his head to indicate he didn’t know, but Sam had an idea what the two braves were planning.

An hour later, they heard three quick gunshots.

“Are the Indians attacking the boat?” Lord Gifford asked.

“Doesn’t stand to reason,” Charlie answered. “They must know there are many men and rifles on that boat. I think it’s Captain Hampton signaling us. Three shots must mean he wants us to hurry.”

Sam and Charlie left the Lord to fend for himself and ran ahead.

Captain Hampton and two other men with rifles met them as they approached the river.

“Ah, there ya are,” Joe said. “They’ve taken ‘em.”

Charlie responded, “The Indians? Who did they take?”

“It was the little girl, Juliette, and Mrs. Howard. They and Patrick went exploring along the Niobrara. We had no reason to suspect trouble. Anyway, Patrick said two Indians jumped them. He had a pistol, but didn’t have a chance to fire it before one of ’em knocked him on the head. When he came to, the girl and the governess were gone.”

“Blast it all,” Charlie exclaimed. “Son, take me to the spot,” he said to Patrick, and then turned back to Captain Hampton. “You keep everyone here. Pull the boat away from the bank and keep watch for ’em. The Lord is close behind us. Lead on,” he said, once again to Patrick.

Sam went to the riverboat and refilled his pack with food, water, and extra gunpowder. The Indians had a head start and a horse; it could take days to catch them. He then raced south along the Niobrara in the direction Patrick and Charlie had gone. After a half-mile run, he found Patrick walking the opposite direction.

“Mr. Dubois has gone off tracking the Indians. They were heading due west and he said you should join him.”

“How much farther to where they were abducted?” Sam didn’t need to see the site, but it would be easier to follow them if he knew what their prints looked like. Alternately, it would be faster to turn southwest now to rejoin Charlie.

“Just over there,” Patrick pointed. “Not more than a quarter mile.”

Sam decided to cut the diagonal instead of going to the abduction site. Running southwest, he spotted Charlie a half-hour later. They dropped to a fast walk and talked between panting breaths.

“Two of ’em, no horse.” Charlie pointed to the footprints of two sets of moccasins on the ground. “Two smallish braves, perhaps boys. And here are Mrs. Howard’s shoe prints. She must be tied and is being pulled along. The strides are long. They’re forcing her to run. She falls down now and again. The little girl’s shoe prints were on the ground at the river, but I’ve not seen ’em since. One of ’em must be carrying her.”

Sam nodded, not daring to voice the unspeakable alternative that she was dead. This was unlikely; Charlie would have spotted the body.

“We’ll catch ’em before dark. While the braves can run for hours, poor Mrs. Howard will soon collapse if they don’t slow to a walk. They won’t be able to carry her or drag her.” Again, Sam didn’t suggest that the Indians would simply kill her if she failed to keep up the pace. He knew they didn’t really want the woman; they were after the girl. Mrs. Howard was a trade commodity, if she survived the trip, but the girl was a trophy.

Late in the afternoon the sun was low on the horizon and shining in their eyes. This made following the tracks difficult. Sam and Charlie had to slow their pace.

“Charlie, look at this.” Sam pointed down at a large group of moccasin prints in the sandy soil. “They’ve met up with the Indian on the horse and the squaws.” He toed a set of horse hoof prints.”

“Don’t that beat all!”

All of the footprints entered an area and seemed to move around in a series of circles. Sam didn’t think the braves would imagine this trick would confuse any trackers, but it did slow them down for several minutes as they searched for the point where the tracks exited the circles.

“Here,” Charlie said. “They turn and head due south.” He pointed at several sets of moccasin prints and the hoof prints. To add confusion, the owners of the footprints were walking backwards. This didn’t confuse Charlie since the horse was walking forward.

“Not exactly,” Sam replied, pointing down. “Mrs. Howard and two braves have split away and are heading northwest. Or, do you think one of the braves is now wearing her shoes?”

“If they are, they won’t be for long. They must be watching us. They know there are two of us. Two men with rifles and pistols can easily get the best of six Indian braves. They’ve split us up.” Charlie sighed. “I’ll go after the girl. You see if you can rescue Mrs. Howard. We’ll meet back at the riverboat in a couple of days.”

It was nearing darkness, but Sam pressed on. In the late springtime, the days were long in the northern latitudes; the twilight seemed to last forever. From the marks on the ground, Mrs. Howard was falling frequently. They could not possibly be very much further ahead. As he topped a hill, he crouched low to see if the Indians and Mrs. Howard were within sight. Sam released a sigh of relief when he spotted them. One Indian was leading Mrs. Howard by a tether attached to the binding around her wrists. The second Indian was trailing them; he was keeping a close eye for anyone following them. Sam held his breath, knowing the brave would spot the slightest movement.

Mrs. Howard and the first brave disappeared over a hilltop. At the moment his head dropped below the hill crest, the second brave stopped. He remained, watching for whoever was following. Sam reasoned the brave would stay there until the other two reached the next hill; he would then race to catch up just as they were crossing the next hilltop. This would keep Sam from catching them unawares. No matter what he did, the second Indian would see him approaching long before he could get into rifle range of the leading Indian. He could easily shoot the second Indian, but then the first Indian would simply kill Mrs. Howard and run away.

Sam rested as darkness fell. He could try and sneak up on them. They might stop for the night, but they might keep going. The moon would rise soon. If the Indians slowed their pace, moving in the moonlight would be easy. However, tracking them would be impossible.

But, Sam didn’t need to track them anymore. He merely had to stay close enough to follow them. Alternately, he knew where they were going. He could run around them and shoot the lead Indian as he approached. For the past two hours, the Indians had been moving in a straight line. They were clearly heading directly to the trading post at Fort Randall on the Missouri River. They doubtlessly intended to trade Mrs. Howard. The men at the post would be shocked to see a white woman with the Indians. They would probably trade something of significant value to rescue her. Sam imagined the Indians wanted a rifle or two for her, and they would probably get them.

However, if Sam did leave the trail and attempt to get in front of them, he risked losing them. If Fort Randall was not their destination and they changed direction, they would disappear. Sam swallowed hard, and began running northeast. Running, he also risked tripping in a gopher hole and breaking his leg, but he ran anyway. After a half-hour, he returned to the northwest direction and slowed to a fast walk. Judging they would be moving considerably slower, he turned due north for half an hour.

He stopped. Breathing hard, he waited.

Sam was east of the Indians, and the moon was rising. He was hidden deep in the dark shadows created by the bright moonlight. As expected, Sam spotted the two Indians and Mrs. Howard cresting a hill. As before, the second Indian stayed at the hilltop to keep watch for anyone following them. The Indians were keeping watch for him to approach from behind. Additionally, they would have difficultly seeing him against the light of the rising moon. Thus, he crept closer to their intended track.

He formulated a plan. When the first Indian was at his closest approach to Sam’s hiding position, Sam would leap out and shoot him with a pistol. Once certain the brave could not kill Mrs. Howard, Sam would draw a bead on the second Indian with his rifle. This Indian would probably turn and run. If he chose to charge, Sam would shoot him.

Minute by minute, they got closer. The leading Indian was looking at the ground, watching where he stepped, and not looking for an attacker. Sam waited for the best possible shot at a time when they were at their closest, but the woman was not between him and the Indian.

Suddenly, circumstances changed. The trailing Indian gave up his vigil early. He came running to the other two. His arrival surprised Mrs. Howard. When she turned toward the sudden noise, she stumbled and fell. Both Indians were close enough to kill Mrs. Howard. Sam didn’t have time to devise an alternate plan. Without conscious thought, his body acted of its own accord.

Sam stood, pulled back the hammer on his rifle, and fired.

The Indian holding Mrs. Howard’s tether went down. Sam dropped his rifle and raced toward the second Indian. As he ran, he drew a pistol from the bandolier around his neck. The second Indian froze. Apparently, he had never before heard the thunderous roar of a rifle close up. It was undoubtedly the loudest sound he had ever heard. Additionally, he was sprayed with the blood and bits of body as the bullet passed through the Indian. Sam’s rifle could drop a 500 pound elk at a hundred yards. At this close range, the force had blown the 150 pound Indian off his feet. The second Indian was immobilized only for a moment, but it was long enough for Sam to run him down. Sam knocked him to the ground, and then turned. While the Indian struggled to regain his footing, Sam shot him with the pistol.

Mrs. Howard screamed.

“Mrs. Howard, it’s me, Sam Potter. You’re safe now.”

Sam verified both Indians were dead.

Sam recovered his rifle and joined Mrs. Howard. He cut the leather strap binding her wrists.

“You’re safe now.” He helped her to sit. Lacking any kind of blanket, he wrapped his arms around her to comfort her. At first she wept, but then she choked back the tears.

“What about Juliette? Where is she?”

“Charlie, that is Mr. Dubois, is rescuing her. We’ll meet them at the riverboat. Let’s get some rest and return to the boat in the morning.”

Sam had been running for hours. He had crossed many miles without sleep in the past two days, and now he was dead tired. Sam gave Mrs. Howard a long drink of water, and then drained the flask himself. In a moment, they were both sound asleep.

✽✽✽

The rising sun awakened them. Sam gave Mrs. Howard a portion of dried meat, and stuffed another piece into his mouth.

“I’m sorry, but we drank the last of the water last night,” he said.

Finishing their meager breakfast, Sam helped her up.

“What about them?” she asked, pointing to the two Indian corpses.

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m not saying I’m bemoaning their death, mind you,” she added. “But, should we just leave them like that?”

“Indians don’t bury their dead. They’re face up. That’s the best anyone would do for them.” They were not the first Indians Sam had killed, and he was sure future circumstances would require him to kill more. He had known from the moment Patrick had told his account of the abduction that he would have to kill the Indians. There had been no other way to ensure Mrs. Howard’s safety.

He directed her to walk eastward, toward the riverboat.

“Last night, what was it you said about Juliette and Mr. Dubois?”

Sam told her about his and Charlie’s effort to track the Indians. He explained how Charlie had followed the larger group while Sam had continued tracking the two Indians who had abducted her.

“Yes, I remember the Indian on horseback,” she said. “Also, there were a couple other men and some women with them. Why did only one Indian have a horse?”

“The Indians around here don’t have much contact with the white people from the East. They live north of the Oregon Trail, and south of the Missouri River traffic. They don’t have many opportunities to get horses or rifles. That’s what they wanted to do with you. Trade you for a rifle or a horse at the Fort Randall trading post.”

“And, what about Juliette?”

Sam sighed. “She’s a bit different. You see, stealing and kidnapping are common ways of life with Indians. Anything that’s not nailed down is free to be stolen. This goes with people as well. When an Indian gets mad, his first inclination is to steal something from the person who crossed him. Sometimes they kidnap someone. Most times, they sell the person back. The Indians who took you, knew the men at the trading post would buy you. They, in turn, would then take you back to the riverboat and receive a big reward. It’s just the way things are with ‘em.”

“I understand, Mr. Potter, but what about Juliette? Why did they not take her to the trading post as well?”

“Children are something different. You see, not many Indian infants survive their first years. Thus, a child of ten or so is a very valuable family member. Indians do love their children and do anything to protect them.” Sam swallowed. “Kidnapping a child is the worst thing one Indian can do to another. They won’t give the child back. Instead, they will raise it as though a child of their own. This way, the real father of the child must live their life knowing their son or daughter will grow up loving another man as their father. This, to an Indian, is worse than death.”

“The man on the horse is going to keep Juliette? Raise her as an Indian?”

“That’s his plan, but Charlie is tracking them.”

“Why take Juliette? Who are they mad at?”

“They are mad at us in general, but Lord Gifford specifically. You see, it’s all this hunting. The Indians hunt to survive. They eat what they kill and use every scrap of the carcass for something. It’s the only way they can live. So, when they see Lord Gifford killing animal after animal and discarding the carcasses to rot, it infuriates them. That’s why they did it.”

Mrs. Howard looked away. “There are at least four men and I don’t know how many women. Can Mr. Dubois really save her?”

“I don’t know for sure, but if anyone can, he can.” Charlie had a rifle and two pistols. He could likely take on three Indians. Sam wished he had thought to give Charlie one of his pistols, then he would have a chance against four.

“You’re not going to help him?”

“I have to get you back to the riverboat. Then I’ll set out and try to help him. But, I expect whatever is going to happen will have already happened by the time I catch up with ‘em.”

Mrs. Howard stopped dead in her tracks.

“No, Mr. Potter, that will not do. I cannot go back to Lady Gifford without Juliette. She is my responsibility. Turn around and let’s find Mr. Dubois now.”

“No, Mrs. Howard, I did not rescue you just to put you back into harm’s way. I promise, once you are safely aboard the riverboat, I’ll go after Juliette.”

She turned around and began walking back the way they had come.

“I’m going back to help Mr. Dubois with or without you.”

Sam watched her walk away. He reasoned, she was bluffing. This was her grief talking. After a bit, sanity would return. He waited and she walked out of sight.

“Darn that woman!” Sam cursed. At a jog, he went after her. Catching up with her, he said, “Very well, Mrs. Howard, we’ll go together, but you must promise that you will do what I say. When the bullets and arrows start flying, you will duck down and stay down.”

“I will always do what is prudent,” she replied.

Sam wasn’t sure what this statement meant.

“In that case, I suggest we go that way.” Sam pointed more to the south. “I know a short cut back to the location where they split up. They are already a day ahead of us, we need to hurry.” Sam didn’t mention that the fight between Charley and the Indians had probably already taken place. Either Juliette was safely on her way back to the riverboat, or Charlie was dead. Sam prayed they would cross Charlie’s tracks heading back to the riverboat before they got to the place where they had separated.

With fresh determination, Mrs. Howard added an extra spring to her step and their pace quickened. It was a long march across the dry, empty land, but they eventually arrived at the location where Sam and Charlie had found the confusing markings on the ground.

“They don’t call this area the sand hills for nothing,” Sam said, pointing at the moccasin footprints. “The soil is a soft sandy mixture and it’s impossible to walk around without leaving prints. The wind will sweep them away in a few days, but for now we can follow them.” Sam studied the ground. “These are your shoe prints and this is the direction you and the two braves went.” Pointing to another collection of markings, he added, “This is where the other Indians changed direction and headed due south. Here are the hoof prints of the horse, and these markings are where the squaws were dragging a travois. This group of Indians is a small hunting party for a much larger tribe. They have been successful, and are dragging the travois heaping with meat back to their home.” Sam drew a breath. He didn’t mention that the horse was probably intended to pull the travois, but the Indian had decided to ride it, displaying his trophy — little Juliette. However, with the women dragging the load they would be traveling slower — a blessing for Charlie.

“So, if that’s the way they went, let’s get going,” Mrs. Howard said, when Sam did not move.

“There’s something wrong,” he replied. “There are no prints from Charlie’s boots following the Indians. We should be able to see his prints atop theirs, but there’s nothing.”

“Where did he go?”

“Ah, the sly fox!” Sam pointed at a disturbance in the sand which Mrs. Howard could not discern as anything meaningful. “He changed shoes. He took his boots off and put on his own moccasins. Charlie was concerned the Indians would leave a brave to loop around and get behind him. This way, the Indian would see only Indian prints and think Charlie had gone a different direction. Here, these are Charlie’s footprints.” Sam pointed to a specific set of moccasin footprints.

“How can you tell?”

“They are larger and deeper. Charlie is a bigger man than the Indians. Let’s hope whatever Indian they left to cover their flank doesn’t notice this.”

The drag marks from the travois were more discernible than the footprints. Thus, Sam paid little attention to anything else as the pair walked as fast as they could. They were now two days behind. As Sam expected, the trail led straight to the Niobrara River. A couple of dozen yards before they reached the riverbank, Sam stopped.

“What is it?” Mrs. Howard asked.

“There’s something wrong.” Sam studied the ground. He looked up and studied the western horizon. There was a haze covering the sky. “Ya smell that?” Sam sniffed again and inhaled the smell of rain.

Mrs. Howard sniffed the air. There were a number of scents she didn’t recognize, but she said, “I don’t smell anything unusual.”

Sam, lost in thought, didn’t reply. He slowly walked around a set of footprints, studying them. And then, he shifted his gaze to the opposite bank of the river.

“We’ve got trouble. I need you to hide here.” He pushed Mrs. Howard under the brush along the bank. “We have to hurry; there isn’t much time. I’ve got to cross the river and look around. There could be trouble and I need to go alone. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, but you must stay exactly here. Don’t move.” He handed her one of his pistols. “Do you know how to shoot this?” She nodded, but he continued, “Pull the hammer back, aim, and pull the trigger. It’s not very accurate, so wait until they’re real close before you shoot. If I’m not back by dawn, follow the river downstream as fast as you can. It’ll take you straight back to the riverboat.”

Sam took off his buckskin shirt and wrapped his remaining pistol, gunpowder, and the firing mechanism of his rifle to make a watertight bundle.

Mrs. Howard pulled herself into a ball under the bush. “Mr. Potter, please be careful.”

Sam nodded and waded into the water. Holding the bundle over his head, he crossed the chest-deep water. For an hour he walked up and down the bank looking for footprints identifying where the Indians and Charlie had crossed. All the while, he was watching the sky. What had begun as a haze had coalesced into clouds. These thickened until they were black, heavy with rain. He then returned to Mrs. Howard.

As he was crossing the river, the thunderstorm began with lightning and buckets of rain. Mrs. Howard was not hard to find. She had removed her skirt and spread it over the bush to create a makeshift tent. For once, the voluminous skirts women wore made sense to Sam.

Sam poked his head under the skirt. Seeing her sitting with her underskirt wrapped around her legs, he backed away. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

“Oh, shut up, Mr. Potter. Come on inside. Get out of the rain.”

Feeling rather ridiculous, Sam crawled under the skirt. It was not a perfect tent, but it kept the worst of the wind and rain at bay. There wasn’t much room and they huddled together to stay warm.

“You are soaked to the skin, Mr. Potter.” Shirley pressed her warm body tightly against him. “You should get out of those wet things.”

Sam did not take her suggestion, but his thoughts did turn to the afternoon he had watched the women bathe. He struggled to conceal his body’s reflex action.

“Mr. Potter, in all the excitement, I forgot to thank you for saving me.” She paused to add weight to her next words. “Thank you.”

“Ah, ma’am, it weren’t noth’n. Those braves were not going to hurt you.” Sam didn’t explain how the men at the trading post would have killed the braves had they brought a white woman in after violating her. This, of course, would not have stopped the Indians from attacking her and then killing her instead of trying to trade her.

As the storm raged, Mrs. Howard shivered and tightened her hold on Sam. She rolled her body over his. The swelling in his trousers could no longer be concealed.

The rain continued until after sunset. The two remained entwined until dawn.

When Sam crawled out of the tent, he cleaned his rifle and pistols, and recharged them with fresh, dry powder. Mrs. Howard carefully retrieved her skirt. The wind had bound it tightly to the branches of the bush, and she had to slowly untangle it to prevent tears. All the while, Sam watched the portion of her legs revealed by the shifting underskirt.

“So, Sam,” she said, donning her skirt. “What is it about the footprints that troubled you so much? Did you find where they crossed the river?”

“You see, these Indians are Lakotas. They live to the west of here. Across the river are the Cheyenne Indians. While these two tribes are not mortal enemies, a Lakota hunting party would never cross into Cheyenne territory. The display of footprints on the riverbank was a ruse. They did not cross the river.” Sam sighed. “It’s hard to believe that Charlie did not reason this out himself. He must have been very tired, or perhaps the Indians used some other trick to convince him they had crossed.” Sam had seen hoof prints on the opposite bank and he envisioned the brave on horseback taking Juliette across the river and letting Charlie see her to bait him into the water.

“So, what did happen?”

Sam focused his gaze on the ripples of the current as the water flowed by.

“Of course, I don’t really know what happened. But, it was two days ago that Charlie caught up with the Indians on this riverbank. There are no dead Indians and no blood. There is no sign that Charlie is waiting for me to catch up and help him. I can only conclude he is dead.” He tossed a stone into the river. “I speculated the Indians somehow convinced him to cross the river. While wading across, just like I did, he would have wrapped up his guns to keep them dry. The Indians took this moment to attack him. They killed him, and his body was washed downstream. By now, it has probably passed by the riverboat. If Captain Hampton and the crew saw it, Lord Gifford knows the attempt to rescue little Juliette has failed.” After another moment, he added, “We need to hurry back to the riverboat. They might think we are dead as well, and return to Council Bluffs.”

“You are saying we should abandon Juliette? Why can’t we continue to track them? You are smarter than Charlie, and they won’t be expecting us.”

“In all the world, I would wish for nothing more than for that to be possible. But, the rain has washed away all traces of their tracks. It’s no longer possible to follow them.”

“But, you have an idea where they went.”

“They went west, but it’s a big country. By now, they will have joined their main group. There will be thirty or so braves. Finding Juliette in their camp and retrieving her would be impossible.” He sighed. “We have to go back.”

Mrs. Howard stood. She paced back and forth along the bank, and then said, “No, I can’t do that. I can’t return to Lady Gifford empty handed. It is far better they think I’m dead as well. If you please, take me to the trading post, uh, Fort Randall. Leave me there and you return. Tell them Charlie, Juliette, and I are all dead. I’ll make my own way. This is the New World, and I’ll start a new life here.”

“Mrs. Howard, that is ridiculous. What about your husband? You would abandon him to think you were dead?”

She stared at him with confusion flooding her face, and then she laughed. “Oh dear, I see. You think I’m married because they call me Mrs. Howard. I’m not married. It’s only a term of respect. Mrs. Brandley isn’t married either.”

Sam smiled with this revelation. While his soul might be damned to hell for any number of other reasons, what they had done in the makeshift tent had not been a sin after all.

He swallowed. “I see. So, you have never been married?”

“No, and, Sam, my name is Shirley.”

✽✽✽

The pair arrived at Fort Randall; a few days later they hitched a ride on a keelboat. As they passed the mouth of the Niobrara River, they observed that the riverboat was gone.

However, they found it docked in Council Bluffs.

Captain Hampton told them, “We seen Charlie’s body. His body was entangled with that of an Indian, so he gave as good as he got. We snagged it out of the river and buried it. Lord Gifford and Patrick made several trips into the wilderness looking for you two and Juliette, but they found no sign of the Indians. I doubt Lord Gifford knew what he was looking for.”

The Indian had captured his trophy, but it had cost him three braves.

Everyone was quiet for a long moment, and then Captain Hampton said, “Lord and Lady Gifford hastily returned to England. I suggested she had been killed, and it was probably best they were left with this notion.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, that would have been best.”

Shirley said, “Didn’t anyone call upon the Army to search for her?”

Sam said, “This is Indian Territory. There is no Army, or any law and order.”

“Do you think she survived?” she asked.

Sam answered, “I’m sure the Indians will raise her as one of their own. After a time, she will forget where she came from.”

Captain Hampton saved Sam’s kit. It still contained the money he had earned from selling the hides. Joe gave him Charlie’s kit too. So, Shirley and Sam had quite a bit of money. They married and settled in Council Bluffs.

THE END

Copyright ©2023 by S. M. Revolinski All Rights Reserved

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