God's Country The Legend of the Mountain Men

Montana, 1845

Five miles west of the Tongue River Reservoir

––––––––

Jedediah Cooper was having a hard time of it. He was bent low to the ground, his  back muscles rippling beneath his linen shirt as he heaved against the wheel of the wagon, which was stuck fast between two rocks. He strained until the cords in his neck appeared ready to explode from the effort. The wagon moved imperceptibly forward then lurched backwards, dashing Jed’s  hopes and nearly breaking his wrist.

Judas Priest! he yelled, and kicked the offending wheel as hard as he could. He stood back and mopped the sweat from his face with a rag, then noticed a man sitting astride a black stallion a hundred feet away. The man was motionless; not even a strand of his shoulder length gray-black  hair moved in the warm late October sun. He was atop a low rise of rock,  dispassionately watching Jed struggle with the stuck wheel.

Damn busybody, Jed muttered to himself. Might at least get down off that horse and give me a hand. Thomas! Get me a pole to move this rock.

Ten year old Thomas Cooper jumped up from the shade of the wagon and ran off to look for a length of wood. Faith Cooper brought her husband a dipper of water to quench his thirst.

Is it moving, Jed? she asked timidly. The others are getting farther away.

Jed looked up and saw that the little caravan was now about two hundred yards away.

Inconsiderate lot, aren’t they? he spat. You’d think one of them would help me. Fine neighbors they’ll make.

Well, they did say that everyone was on his own when we left that trading post, Faith said quietly. Jed shoved the dipper back at her and glared at the departing wagons.

I know. But my God, what kind of people are they, to leave one of their own stuck in the middle of nowhere? How will we ever catch up to them now?

I don’t know, Faith said worriedly. She turned around and suddenly took notice of the man on the horse. Who’s that? And why is he  staring at us?

I don’t know, Jed said in exasperation. He looks like a white man, but he’s dressed like one of the Indians we’re supposed to watch out for. I wonder if he’s dangerous.

I don’t think so. If he was going to attack us, he would have done it by now.

Yes, I suppose so, Jed said. We’re certainly helpless enough.

Tommy Cooper appeared from behind  the wagon with a long stick in his hand.

Here, Pop, this is all I could find.

It looks stout enough, Jed said, taking the pole from his son.  He jammed the stick between the rocks, and  leaned into it. The stick bent somewhat, and just as Jed gave it one mighty pull, it broke in two and dumped him on his ass in the dirt.

Goddamn it! he bellowed. Now what?

Such language, Jedediah! Faith exclaimed. Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, especially in front of the boy.

I’m sure the boy knows how to curse already, Jed said in disgust. I did at his age.

I hope not, Faith said, and went back to her spot in the shade. Jed turned his attention to

the wheel, and Tommy wandered off in the direction of the stranger. By the time Jed noticed where he had gone, it was too late; he appeared to be talking to the man. What the hell, Jed thought; maybe the boy will get him to come over and help.

Help was the farthest thing from Tommy’s mind. He had heard all about  Indians at the trading post, and had even seen a few off in the distance. This man looked like he might be an Indian, and Tommy wanted to see if he could get him to talk. When his father wasn’t looking, he bolted for the rise of rock the man was perched upon.

The first thing Tommy noticed about the man was his physical size; he was a monster. He had to be  seven feet tall,  had arms that rivaled the diameter of most men’s legs, and a neck like a tree stump.  As Tommy drew closer, he could see that the man had deep blue eyes and a full  beard; so much for the Indian idea, he thought, for he knew that Indians always plucked their facial hair.

Tommy could see a muslin shirt underneath the man’s tunic, but everything else he wore was tanned smoky deerskin edged in fringe. His leggings came right to the soles of his moccasins, which were loose and soft looking. A wide leather belt held two  pistols and a brace of Jim Black’s finest Arkansas toothpick knives. The only other things he wore  were a powder horn and bag for his shot, and Tommy knew that he  would have a fine rifle, probably a  Hawken, the best there was. A wide brim beaver skin hat completed the outfit.

Tommy was now six feet away, and the stallion pricked its ears and flared its nostrils. It watched the youngster with a wary eye, wondering in its equine mind if such a small creature could pose a threat to the giant on its back. It decided that it could not, and went back to dozing in the warm fall air. Tommy walked up to the rise of rock and smiled.

Hi, Mister, are you an Injun? I know they don’t got beards, but you still look like one. Jake Stanton put his head back and roared with laughter.

Who, me? Hell no, boy, I ain’t no Injun. I be a white man like you and your pa. Jake smiled and sat up several inches taller on the stallion’s back. I are a mountain man, he said proudly.

What’s that? Tommy asked.

Free trader of Injun goods and killer of the mighty Blackfeet warrior, Jake said, pointing to a pair of feathers hanging from his horse’s bridle. When a Piegan war party sees me comin’, they move to the other side of the plain.

Why do you dress like an Injun?

Everybody what lives out here dresses like Injuns, Jake smiled.

Oh. Is that a Hawken rifle?

Jake slid the monstrous fifty caliber piece out of its  case and held it aloft.

That it be, he said. Ain’t nothin’ else shoots as straight or as far. I kin drop a elk at three hundred yards, or kill a Injun down by the Yellowstone country if I am of a mind to do so.

Tommy was astounded; here was a real live western man, talking about hunting, shooting, and Injun killing. No boy of Tommy’s age had ever talked to a man like this. When he got to California, he would have tales to tell that nobody could best.

How far is it to the Yellowstone? Tommy asked, eyeing the big rifle.

Oh, three, maybe four hundred miles, Jake said casually, a twinkle in his eye. I kin pull this here trigger on Monday, and long about Tuesday afternoon some poor Injun will keel over dead, sure as I’m  sittin’ here.

Wow! Tommy exclaimed. Wait til my Pop hears about this!

Jake looked over to where Jed was still wrestling with the stuck wheel, then looked over to the distant wagon train and nodded slightly, as if something  had happened exactly the way he had hoped it would.

Your pa be stuck pretty good, he smiled. Maybe I ought to  go give him a hand.

Yeah, he can’t get loose of them rocks, Tommy said. He’s afraid we won’t be able to catch up to the others.

Best thing that could happen, Jake said as he got down from the horse.  Let’s go dig him out.

Jed was still trying to figure out how to free the wheel, and Faith was standing in the shade watching, a worried look on her face. Jake smiled at her as she turned to look at him.

Ma’am, he said, tipping his hat. He walked over to Jed. Boy says you’re stuck. Seeing as how I ain’t real busy right now, I figure to help you out.

That’s right nice of you.  More than  I can say for that other bunch, Jed  said, nodding toward the departing wagons. They just left me here to fend for myself.

Yeah, Jake sighed. Well, let’s see what we got here. He bent down and made a measurement in his mind, then went to look for something. He came back with  a large wedge shaped rock. He shoved it between the two rocks that held the wagon prisoner,  and looked up at Jed. Got a sledge hammer?

Yes, Jed said, heading for the wagon’s rear. He produced the hammer and held it out to Jake, who just stared at it.

Don’t give it to me, he said. Ain’t my wagon. He pointed to the wedge. Hit ‘er a good whack.

Jed hit the wedge with all the strength he had, then stood back. Five inches of the wedge had disappeared. Jake nodded.

That’ll do, he said. Jed got behind the wagon and was about to get down into his push position when Jake held up a hand. Hold on there, friend. Ain’t no need to go killing yourself pushing this here contraption. Let an old hand show you how it be done. Jake walked over to the team of horses, took the bridle of the closest one in his hand, and pulled one of his pistols.

He isn’t going to shoot the horse, is he? Faith whispered.

Jake fired the pistol, and the two horses bolted. He went with them  until the wagon had been pulled free, then  hung his massive bulk from the bridle, stopping the team dead in its tracks. He holstered the pistol and walked casually back to Jed and his family.

There you  be, he said.

That was something! Jed said. I’ll have to remember that in case I get stuck again. We have a long way to go; any advice you can give us about this place?

Sure, Jake said. Go back home. You folks don’t belong here.

Why? We aren’t going to stay here, we’re going to California.

No you ain’t, Jake said. And neither are them damn fools up ahead.

I don’t understand, Jed said. Are we going the wrong way? There’s supposed to be a pass up ahead, through the Madison range, then the Pioneer.

Yeah, there be a pass, but no white man except us mountain men ever seen it, and none ever will, less they bring the  Army along for an escort. Them wagons is headed for Crow country, and that’s as far as they’ll get. Probably got Crow scouts watching ‘em right now.

You mean Indians, don’t you? Faith asked. We have a gun. Won’t we be safe?

Safe? Not with one rifle.  If you is smart, you’ll turn this wagon around and get back to whatever  post you  came from.

But why would the Indians  want to hurt us? Faith asked. We aren’t going to hurt them. We’re just passing through.

You is white, is why. Them savages hate anything white, except maybe for the snow. More and more settlers been showin’ up lately, and them Injuns  think all the white people in the world is comin’ to take their  land.

What would they do to us? Faith asked.

Jake looked at Tommy, and motioned to Jed.

Send the boy to fetch firewood, he said. Jed nodded.

Go ahead, Thomas. You heard Mr.......what is your name, anyway?

Jake Stanton. After Tommy had left, Jake  went on. Look here, friend.  First of all, Injuns or no Injuns, you  still wouldn’t make it through them mountains this  late in the year.  The  pass you  need to go through is already under  sixty feet of snow.  You got to get through them mountains before September.

But what about......the Indians? Faith asked.

Them savages love to kill white people, but they do it real slow. They’ll grab that wagon train, then they’ll pick over all the belongings and burn the rest. Them what resists might be killed right off;  them is the lucky ones. The rest get took to the Crow camp. After the braves get likkered up, they’ll commence to torturing everybody they got left alive. They take the women  that is with child and slits their bellies open right in front of their husbands, and if they got grown young ‘uns like yours, they cut  ‘em to pieces and make the parents watch. Sometimes they  has the dogs rip ‘em  apart. You want that to happen to your boy,  you  go  catch up to them wagons. But when them murdering bastards pull his liver out and show it to you, remember what old Jake said. 

Good God, faith whispered. How does anybody get to California  safely?

Northern Pass, Jake said. That be Flathead country, and they is more tolerant of white folk. You get back to wherever you come out of, and sit the winter there. Come March, you light out with somebody who knows the way.

We can’t do this, Jed. We have to do what Mr. Stanton says. We have to go back to the post. We can’t risk Tommy’s life.

What about the others? Jed asked. They don’t know any of this.

Hell with ‘em, Jake shrugged. Let ‘em go.  I reckon I’ll find the pieces of ‘em later on. It ain’t a pretty sight,  with arms and legs and innards all over the place, but there’s always one good thing about it when you come across a mess like that.

What could be good about it? Jed asked.

That it ain’t you, Jake said quietly.

How have you survived out here? Jed asked. You’re white. Don’t the Indians hate you as well?

That’s right, Mr. Stanton, Faith said. They must not like having you here. Why don’t they try to kill you?

They give it a try once in a while  when they get feelin’ sorry for themselves, but the mountain men don’t take kindly to some red savage tryin’ to lift their hair.  But once in a while they will  ransom one of us off.

Ransom? What do you mean? Faith asked.

Jake turned away with the look of a man who had seen all the horror and inhumanity anyone could imagine. You never mind that. I been took one time, but I got away. I be big medicine now, ‘specially with the Crow, so they leave me alone.

I think I’d leave you alone too, Faith smiled. For a man your age, you are a remarkable specimen. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?

Jake frowned and rubbed his beard for a minute.

Don’t rightly know. What year this be?

Eighteen and forty-five, Jed said.

Well I’ll be, Jake said. I were nineteen when I come here for good. It were eighteen twenty-eight, I believe.  I guess I am up there.

That makes you thirty-six, Faith said.

Where did you come from? Jed asked.

Massachusetts, then St. Louis later on.  I ain’t  goin’ back, either. The critters and the buzzards kin pick my sorry old bones when I die.  Then old Jake will always be a part of this here country, passed on from critter to critter. You see a litter of wolf pups some day what is seven feet tall, that’s me comin’ out in ‘em.

This place sounds crazy, Faith said. Why do you like it here?

This be true Paradise, Jake said reverently. You got everything here; game, plenty of fur to trap, and a million stars to sleep under at night. And the mountains, he said quietly. Always the mountains. They be the most beautiful thing I ever seen.

They are striking, Faith said. But it seems so dangerous.

Life be dangerous anywhere, Jake said. A  man my pa were doctoring in Boston fell off his horse when a saddle strap broke, and got kicked in the head. He were never the same after that. And that be civilized country, so they say.

Your father is a physician? Faith asked.

That he is. Again, Jake seemed hesitant. I learned it too; I saved a lot of trapper’s hides, and a few Injuns as well. And a cougar.

A cougar? You fixed up a cougar? Jed asked. Why?

That be a long story, Jake said sadly. Let ‘er go.

Tommy had returned with the wood, and  was anxious to know what was going to happen next.

We’re going back to the post, Thomas, Jed said.

We are? How come? The disappointment in his face was obvious.

Mr. Stanton said it’s too dangerous to go this way, Faith said. There’s too much snow. We’ll wait for  spring, then we’ll take a safer route to California.

Oh, he said. Is Mr. Stanton coming with us?

Jake shook his head.

Can’t do that, boy. Got to get back up to  my cabin before winter. Got to make meat.

Will it be safe for us? Faith asked. We’ll be alone.

Should be, Jake said. Mostly the Crow be west of here, two days or so. They’ll be keepin’ busy with your friends, anyway. They won’t know one got away.

Then we should be on our way, Jed said, sticking out his hand. Jake took it, and Jed could swear he felt bones crack.

Thank you, Mr. Stanton, Faith said. Will we ever see you again?

Maybe, Jake said. I get down to them posts once in a while. You come up my way next spring, you give a holler. Everybody knows old Jake.

So long, old Jake, Tommy said, sticking out his hand. Jake took it softly, then  reached into his tunic. He took out a beautiful piece of Indian jewelry and handed it to the boy.

"Here, boy. This be a Crow talisman. It’ll bring good luck. You keep that around your neck. I’ll call you tset a’ cu tsi’ cikyata. The wolf mask wearer. You is maxpe now. That means sacred in Crow."

The boy took the medallion and ran for the wagon to join his parents. As they pulled away, Jake walked back to his horse. He watched them until the wagon was a speck of dust on the horizon, and when he could see them no longer, he turned the stallion and rode away to the north.

St. Louis, Missouri

June, 1826

––––––––

Nathaniel Stanton stepped onto the dock and looked around in disbelief. There was mass confusion everywhere; men were yelling and running, screaming out instructions to the Osage and Shawnee Indians who worked the loading crews. Riverboats powered by pole drivers, usually Swedes or more Indians, sat tied up at their moorings, swallowing monstrous amounts of cargo destined for the posts along the Missouri River. Others were there to be unloaded of their treasure from the west; fur pelts of unimaginable beauty, and beaver skins by the ton.

It looks like a mad house, Nathaniel said to his  son Jacob.

It sure does, young Jake said. Is it what you expected?