THE WIDOW-MAKERS

By

DON WEBB

CHAPTER ONE

THE MOUNTAIN PEOPLE

Wyoming February 1822

Howling Wolf was the acknowledged leader of some one hundred Indians of the Antelope band. His band was one segment of the Antelope band, which was scattered throughout the Rocky Mountains. Their tribe was the Northern Shoshone, sometimes known as the People. The Mountain Ute called them Koh-Maht, meaning Those Against Us.

As was the custom of the People, Howling Wolf was not elected or appointed to his position. He was leader of the band because of his wisdom and abilities, as was his father before him. A good hunter, fleet of foot, and a fierce fighter; he was accepted as the most worthy of the position by the rest of the band.

Theirs was one of many scattered bands living in the Eastern Rocky Mountains. The band was composed of some forty men and sixty women and children. They were descendants of wanderers, who had ranged from the headwaters of the Green and the Snake rivers eastward into Kansas through Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, and Colorado.

Howling Wolf and his band lived in Wyoming, near the Colorado border. Having no names for places such as Wyoming and Colorado, they simply called their area the mountains. Lacking a written language and having only the vaguest notion of their origin, they just assumed that they had always been there.

By the time howling Wolf’s son was born in 1807, the Antelope had evolved into a more disciplined and orderly society. They had learned many things over the years, or at least had learned to do things more efficiently, which enhanced their lifestyle considerably.

Runs Far awoke to the sounds of his parents, Howling Wolf and Red Flower, moving about and talking, as Howling Wolf stoked the fire.

“He who runs far sleeps long on this fine day. The first light will soon be here; what ails this son of yours, woman?”

“He dreams of your brother’s daughter, my husband,” replied Red Flower, as she placed some meat on the rocks encircling the fire to warm it. Living in the Rocky Mountains of Wyoming, their home was a cave, which was fairly snug. It kept the icy winds, rain, and snow out, but sleeping still required the use of buffalo robes and other animal skins.

Beds consisted of a buffalo robe mattress, one for cover, and at times, a number of smaller furs piled on and around them. During severely cold weather, they placed rocks heated by the fire under the cover with them. Remaining warm for several hours, the rocks would then be replaced with hot ones, which was the duty of Red Flower. Indian women still did most of the work as they had done for centuries. She also put more wood on the fire, hoping that it would last until they arose in the early morning.

Howling Wolf had found this cave quite by accident. He was very fortunate on this day, for the deer had entered the cave to escape the cold wind. As he followed the tracks through the snow, he saw that they went around a brushy area into a darkened recess in the rocks. Notching an arrow to his bow, he pulled it back several times to make sure the bowstring was all right.

Convinced that his weapon was in proper working order, he stealthily advanced to the place where the tracks disappeared, stopping to listen intently.

The wind was howling and blowing briskly in his face. Although it was difficult to keep from shaking, he realized that the deer would be unable to get his scent. Stalking and killing a deer was quite an accomplishment, and oftentimes, the deer escaped unharmed. Once the animal was spooked, it was capable of going very far, very fast.

Even when a hunter’s aim was true, the animal’s fear and survival instinct was so great that it sometimes could run for a long distance. When this occurred, all the hunter could do was follow the deer, hoping that it bled to death before going too far. The People’s lives depended on fresh meat, and they were relentless in their pursuit of game. There was seldom an abundance of meat; usually, they did well to keep from going hungry.

Howling Wolf hoped that his magic served him well on this day, for they were out of meat and had little else to eat. Each warrior had a pouch concealed underneath his clothing. It dangled between his legs, suspended on a rawhide thong and contained numerous items that he considered magic or good medicine.

Having reached the entrance to the cave, he took a deep, silent breath to calm him. As he carefully eased around the brush pile, he peered intently into the darkness of the cave. There was nothing there but a solid wall of rock. His magic had failed; the deer had disappeared. Well, the deer has better magic than mine. But there was only one set of tracks, those leading into the cave and none coming out. Perhaps if he waited for awhile, the deer would appear. He had been on the trail for several hours and a brief respite would serve him well.

Approaching the back wall of the cave, he intended to sit down and lean against it. It was dark in the back of the cave. On its left side he spied an even darker spot, about two feet wide, reaching all the way to the top of the cave. Staring at it, he strained his eyes trying to define what it was.

Ah, the deer has no magic today; he is in a cave within a cave. The darkness is the entrance to where he hides. Moving soundlessly across the smooth rock floor, with his bowstring half drawn, he entered the narrow passageway. He could barely see it, but there was deer hair on the sides of the passage where the deer had passed through.

Got to be a big deer, He moved forward, ever so slowly. The walls curved slightly, becoming wider apart after he had gone about twenty feet. He could see better now. There was a dim light coming in through an opening in the top of the cave.

Howling Wolf was unable to see the deer but sensed its presence. Oh, there he is. He is asleep! My magic is good after all! Gradually, he discerned the shape of the deer. It was lying down facing him, with its head slightly to one side, resting on its folded front legs. He quickly let the arrow go. It imbedded in the huge mule deer’s throat. It was a good shot. As the panicked mule deer jumped up, blood spurted from a severed artery.

As soon as he released the arrow, he drew his knife, bracing against the side of the passageway. Instinct and experience had told him that the deer would have no antlers; a large buck deer’s antlers would not have fit through the narrow opening.

Wild eyed, the huge deer headed straight toward him, head lowered, when Howling Wolf began to howl loudly--like a wolf. The deer panicked, turning away at the last instant. The crazed deer tried to run the other way and crashed into the wall. Shaking its head, the deer went to its knees, and then tried to regain its feet. Bow in hand, the hunter was drawing back the string when the almost bloodless creature sagged and prostrated itself on the floor.

Although the deer was thin from having too little food during the winter, this was still a huge pile of meat. Even in such poor condition, the deer must have weighed three hundred pounds. No need to cut your throat, my fine friend; you have no blood left. Thank you for giving your body to feed my people and me, my friend. I will always remember your generous offering.

We will feast tonight, thought Howling Wolf, as he retrieved his arrow. He was proud that he had made such a good shot, hitting the deer’s throat in exactly the right spot. The arrow had to pass between the animal’s left shoulder and beneath its jaw, which was a small target indeed.

No one would believe that such a shot was made, especially when the deer was running so fast. Howling Wolf was as truthful as any Indian, but all Indians were prone to exaggerate. They were great expounders when they accomplished something requiring skill, strength, or wisdom.

Uh-oh--they will have to help me retrieve the deer; but they don’t have to know that my friend the deer was asleep. Even though he would have to tell the truth, it was still a remarkable accomplishment to enter a dark cave after trailing such a beast all morning, and then kill it with only one arrow. One must surely have great magic and move silently like a spirit to do such a thing without awakening the magnificent beast. Yes, he would tell it exactly as it happened.

Cutting out the deer’s back straps, he put them in his leather hunting bag; this was all he would be able to carry, and he wanted to get home before nightfall. He would enlist the aid of some of the other men in the morning to butcher and transport the deer.

The People had long ago domesticated dogs and used them as beasts of burden, but it was difficult for the dogs to pull a travois in such deep snow. The Indians’ dogs were mongrels, lacking the ability of such dogs as the thick-coated arctic dogs, used especially to pull sleds.

It would require several men and boys to carry the meat through the deep snow to the camp. Included in the group would be his fourteen-year-old son, Runs Far, and his friend, Big Mouth, who was a little younger than Runs Far.

Yes, I will bring Big Mouth for sure; he needs to work more and talk less. They named him right, because he had a wide mouth when he was born and has seldom shut it since. His baby name became his adult name, because when he learned to talk he never stopped; he babbled continuously.

The family of three enjoyed a succulent meal of roast venison the following night. Runs Far had been sent to invite Howling Wolf’s brother Long Bow and his family, as well as several nearby families. It took Runs Far almost an hour to deliver all the dinner invitations personally. He ran and trotted all the way. He could run long distances before tiring and was given his adult name for that very reason at the age of eleven. Little Man was his baby name. Indian babies were usually named after an animal, an event, or something the parents had seen shortly before, during, or after the birth of the baby. If the parents had witnessed nothing of significance during this time, the child would often be given a name attributed to some physical characteristic, as was Big Mouth.

At other times, the name was simply a pet name, such as modern parents call babies and small children. Most of the boys were renamed later in childhood with more adult names, often after they did or said something man-like. Girls were named in the same manner, though their adult names were usually similar to their baby names.

Howling Wolf and his band lived in relative proximity, the blood kin closer to each other, as a rule. What nature provided governed the distance between the families. Some lived in brush arbors, which were not conducive to comfort, or warmth in winter.

When the band moved to a new location, usually because the game supply was depleted, finding a good shelter was comparable to a modern-day Easter egg hunt. Each family searched for a nice dry cave or cliff overhang surrounded by rocks or evergreen shrubbery, to diminish the misery of the icy winter winds. Although they traveled together on such moves, some of the people missed out on the best home sights; there were never enough of them.

Howling Wolf was always in the lead, along with his brother. Howling Wolf decided when they had reached a good place to live. He had an uncanny knack for finding prime locations, both for home sites and an abundance of game animals. Invariably, his sharp eye zeroed in on a choice place of domicile for his family and him.

Had some other member of the band found it first, it would have been theirs; Howling Wolf did not consider himself of any higher rank than the others. Though he was their leader, the choice to follow him was theirs, not his. If they chose not follow him, he had no objections.

At their present location, game was abundant, but few good shelters were found. Even the leader of the band had to live in a brush arbor until he fortuitously found the cave with a deer sleeping in it. The cave had provided the people with fresh meat, as well as lodging for Howling wolf and his family.

When the leader chose a place to live there were no discussions about his decision. He was a good leader and looked out for the welfare of his people. Most of the men in the band were incapable of being leaders and had no desire to be one. Therefore, they went along with his decisions with no qualms.

The people stayed as closely together as possible for the protection of all. If an intruder or some other danger were detected, they relayed the message to all the families. Normally, they posted no guards; no other bands lived near them, and they bothered no one. They had some communication with crude drums but relied on runners. Smoke signals were seldom used because the people were too few and close together to benefit from them.

Indians always had dogs and the Antelope were no exception. Most families had several, the bigger the better, for they used them to pull travois laden with their possessions on their journeys to new hunting grounds. Dogs were also good at sniffing out intruders, discouraging them with their loud barking. Some of the dogs would attack strangers, man or beast, fighting viciously.

Runs Far was the designated long distance runner. If the need arose, he would run to the more distant of the people with a message. He was the fastest runner and capable of running farther than any of the other boys or young men. Having held his position for a little over a year, he was called upon to sound the alarm only once. Fortunately, it was a false alarm but an alarm, nonetheless.

One of the Mountain Ute, trailing a deer until evening was trying to make it home, and he became disoriented in the darkness and stumbled into the domain of the Antelope band. He was near the shelter of Long Bow, Howling Wolf’s brother, trying to find his way out of a thicket. Long Bow owned six dogs; one of them was considered an oddity because he seldom barked. He attacked without warning.

This was an unusual trait and unfortunate for the Ute hunter. Exhausted from his long walk, stumbling along in a state of confusion, he did not see the silent dog until it was too late. He had time only to see a white blur spring at him from the darkness and hear a low, guttural growl as he was knocked to the ground. Sharp fangs penetrated his throat. More dogs arrived, pouncing on the hapless Ute, tearing at his flesh. The loud barking and snarling of the dogs and thrashing of underbrush alerted nearby residents.

Long Bow approached the scene of the attack walking as only an Indian can walk, silently. Remaining hidden, he watched the hungry dogs tear at the man’s flesh. The Ute made no sound; he was dead soon after he was knocked to the ground.

Suddenly, he heard the howl of a wolf directly behind him, and he was startled by the sound. The howl of the human Howling Wolf was indistinguishable from that of the wild wolf of the canine family to any but the Antelope band. In reply, Long Bow made the sound of the hoot owl. From the darkness, his brother came quickly and silently to his side.

“Brother, you should feed your dogs more often. They are eating someone,” Howling Wolf whispered.

“Yes, they are, but I don’t think it is human.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I think it is a Ute.”

“Why do you think it is a Ute? Whatever it is seems to be dead.”

“Because it is not a human and it is not an animal, it must be a Ute.”

With a sigh, Howling Wolf said, “Call your dogs off and we’ll look at it. If there were others with him, they would have been here by now.”

Long Bow walked into the midst of the snarling dogs, striking them with his bow. After a few good whacks, the dogs retreated. They sat with bloody mouths, looking at the corpse and at their master.

Observing the dogs Howling Wolf remarked, “Your dogs obey well, little brother.”

“If they don’t obey me I kill them; they know that.”

“Well, this is a bad thing to happen.” Howling Wolf sighed. “Only a Ute can be dumb enough to get killed by dogs in the dark of night.”

Nodding slowly in agreement, Long Bow asked, “Well, what should we do now?” Smiling, Howling Wolf replied, “What you mean we, little brother? It is your dogs that ate the Ute. They must have been very hungry to eat something as lowly as a Ute.”

“But what can we do with the rest of him?” Long Bow asked.

“We cannot let them eat any more of him. If they decide that a Ute tastes good, they just might start eating us next. ”

Reflecting for a moment, Long Bow said, “It would not help to bury him; the dogs would dig him up. If the Ute look for him, they will find his bones. Are the others being notified?”

“Yes, I sent Runs Far to the middle of the east line of people and told him to then cross to the west line. The middle ones on both sides will notify the rest of the band.”

“That is good. I think there is only one Ute but it’s good to alert the people.”

“Yes, they need to sharpen their skills in doing what we taught them. That way they won’t become lazy and provide easy targets for the enemy.”

“Which hiding place?”

“They go to the high one; it’s easier for them to reach and the climb will give them exercise.”

The hiding place that they discussed was centrally located, quickly accessible for all the people. Each family had their own route to the hideout. Each route offered optimum cover. There was only one entrance to the hideout--through double rows of rock about ten feet high with a fairly wide passageway between them. A primitive but cleverly designed brush pile hid the entry. It had interwoven branches holding it intact. The gate blended in so well with the other vegetation that it appeared to be a wall of thick brush. It would be virtually impregnable to those not familiar with it. Held in place with rawhide ligatures it could be opened and closed quickly.

In the event that an enemy discovered the entry, there were more safeguards. Having traversed the corridor between the rocks, the enemy would then have to cross fifty feet of flat ground, from which all vegetation had been cleared. Next, there was a climb of about fifty yards to gain access to the cliff top. The path to the top of the cliff was not steep, but it took considerable time to reach the summit.

A good supply of rocks of various sizes was kept on the flat surface of the stronghold. Some were stacked in piles so that if a certain rock or rocks were removed, the piles of rocks would go rolling and bouncing down upon the enemy. Others were small enough to be heaved by the women and some of the children. These stones were large enough to crush the skull or cause other bodily injury to an aggressor. They had also cut and dragged slender pine tree trunks to the stronghold. Their diameters were about six or eight inches. Some of the logs were twenty feet long or more.

Once the enemy started up the incline, one of these logs rolling and bouncing down the slope could do a lot of damage, for there was no place to hide. Howling Wolf had instructed his people to wait until the enemy warriors were halfway up the slope before they sent any arrows at them. In this way, any of the enemies surviving the first volley would not have time to reach safety before receiving an arrow in the back. Most of the Antelope women and older children could use the bow; thus, many arrows could be rained down upon an enemy.

If not ingenious, the plan was at least very clever. In other words, save the rocks and tree trunks if possible. Arrows could be easily retrieved, but the rocks and tree trunks could not.

All the warriors were trained to come to the site of trouble but ten; these ten were to assist and expedite the flight of the women and children to the stronghold. If they were outnumbered, the main force would join the others on the cliff top as soon as possible.

If snow were on the ground, they would be unable to obliterate their tracks, and their stronghold would be discovered. However, war was seldom waged in the cold winter months. Winters were severe in the mountains, and the Indians moved about only to hunt.

Their plan was not entirely foolproof, but once they attained the summit of the cliff, they could defend their position indefinitely, if their cache of food and water lasted. The water came from seepage in a higher cliff and trickled down its wall. Rationed properly, the cached food should last about two weeks.

Howling Wolf made some quick decisions and said to Long Bow, “Go back to your shelter and meet the others. They should be there soon. Tell them to stay there until they hear my wolf call. If they are needed here, the wolf will howl twice, short ones. One long howl means that only you are to come.”

“This I will do,” Long Bow replied, and in a flash, he was swallowed by the dark night.

Howling Wolf waited patiently for several minutes before easing over to inspect the dead Ute. He appeared to be fairly young, but it was difficult to tell much about him; the dogs had torn the flesh of his head and face to shreds. His thick buffalo robe had prevented total carnage.

Removing the Ute’s bow, quiver, and knife, he then looked for the man’s magic pouch. It was not found in the place where the Antelope kept theirs; in fact, he did not have one. Well, no wonder this dumb Ute is dead--he has no magic. Deciding that the Ute had been alone, he gave the signal for his brother to return. A familiar owl hoot was heard and in a few minutes Long Bow appeared at his side.

“This is what we must do. Go to your shelter and send the other men to join the women and children. You come back with two dogs and a travois. I will be near you at all times but you will not see or hear me. Take this dumb Ute to the stronghold. We will throw his worthless carcass off the cliff into the deep crevasse.” Having said all this, Howling Wolf melted into the dark of night.

The people were all safely atop the cliff, huddled together, trying to stay warm. After calling the role, they knew that no one was missing. Mercifully, the wind was not blowing. A higher cliff protected the rear of the flat surface, but the open end faced north, whence the cold winds came in the winter season. They could not build fires; they must endure the cold and remain silent. Sentries were posted in positions that could not be seen by anyone below. A night attack was unlikely, but Howling Wolf was cautious. All Indians believed in spirits. There were bad ones as well as good ones, so that one never knew what might occur. Therefore, the leader must use caution and good judgment.

Howling Wolf had slept little but was up before dawn conversing with the sentries, Black Bear and Farts Loud.

Smiling, Black Bear said, “Howling Wolf, Farts Loud has contained his wind for so long that if the Ute do come, he can blow them away with his fat backside. They will think he is the evil skunk spirit and never return to our land.” The three warriors had a good laugh as a result of this prophecy.

Controlling his mirth, Howling Wolf said, “I think there are no more Ute. The fool in the crevasse was alone and even the vultures will not discover him. I will send someone to relieve you now--try and get some sleep.” Walking away from them, he said over his shoulder, “Farts Loud, I think we are safe now, but please hold the skunk wind until I am safely away.” Another good laugh followed this remark.

The Antelope had no formal council or meetings as some of the other tribes did. They did not sit in a circle and pass the pipe as they discussed important matters. But when their leader spoke, they listened carefully. If anyone disagreed, he or she could voice an opinion, which would be listened to and evaluated. If they still disagreed, they could go their own way; Howling Wolf would not bend and change his mind. Each man was the leader of his family. The others would not try to sway them in one way or another. No one had ever left this band for as long as any of them could remember. Instinctively, they realized the advantages of safety in numbers.

Theirs was a hard life. Occasionally, babies died at birth, and at times, the mothers as well. Though the Antelope people had made some improvements in personal hygiene over the last several centuries, there was always infection to contend with. Their way of life and environment was just not conducive to good health. Having knowledge of herbal remedies helped, and they could set broken bones. But there were many maladies that they had no knowledge of or cure for. It had taken several generations for this band to attain a population of one hundred. Indian couples normally had only one child; usually the woman had miscarried or the other babies, if any, were stillborn. However, there were exceptions, and roughly fifteen per cent had two living children. To have three children was very rare and made the parents proud.

The people remained huddled silently until the scouts sent out by Howling Wolf returned with a good report. No tracks had been found of anyone other than the dead Ute. After following his back trail, they had decided that he was lost and alone. They also found deer sign made the previous day. Trying too hard and for too long, the unfortunate hunter had allowed nightfall to ensnare him. The rest was history. The proud scouts proclaimed that they had obliterated all signs of the previous night’s struggle. They said that both the earth and the entire area at the site of the Ute’s demise were as clean and pure as if there had never been man or beast upon it.

At last they could build their fires and prepare a hot meal. The sun was almost directly above them, and its position as well as their grumbling bellies, told them it was high noon and time to eat.

“I have something to say to all of you,” Howling Wolf said loudly. “It is time for us to move. We must find a new hunting ground. The few buffalo that were in these mountains have gone to the low ground. Other animals have sustained us for a long time, but now they are few and hard to find. If we stay here much longer, we will go hungry. Also, the Ute may begin searching for the one who did not return. I don’t think they will do this right away. They will wait a reasonable time for him to return, but they will come.”

“We fear no Ute. We fear no one, we are the True Human Beings,” said a young warrior.

“It is true that we fear no one,” Howling Wolf replied. “But I do not wish to fight for a land that has no game. We did not hide here because we were afraid. We hid to protect the women and the little ones and to gain an advantage over the enemy. From here we could kill many of them and lose few, if any, of us. You have great courage, young warrior, and I am proud of you for that, but you also have poor judgment and little experience. I will go and you may follow or you may go your own way. That is your decision; I have made mine.”

“I will follow, of course, Howling Wolf,” the young man replied, looking a bit chagrined. “I meant no offense and spoke out of turn.”

“No offense taken. Now I must speak with Long Bow and the scouts.” Beckoning to the aforementioned, he walked to the rear of the area and sat down, with his back against the cliff wall.

When the three scouts were seated alongside Howling Wolf, he conveyed his plan to them in detail. The scouts would leave at dawn the following morning and walk until dusk before they stopped for the night. They would walk away from the cold wind, south, and look for signs of game along the way. At dawn of the next day, one scout, Hawk, would continue due south. The second scout, Wrong Hand, would walk toward where the sun rises, east, for half of one day, and then change course to due south. The third scout, Buffalo Horn, would walk toward the place where the sun sets for half of one day and then also turn due south.

The rest of the people would not leave until dawn of the second day with numerous loaded travois, pulled by dogs. The slow-moving caravan would follow the trail made by Hawk. If one of the scouts found a good place to live and hunt, he would come straight to the centerline and wait for the caravan to arrive. The scouts nodded in approval of the plan as Howling Wolf outlined it.

Pausing for breath and to envisage the rest of the plan, Howling wolf said, “On the third day, all of us should reach the big river--the one the old Ute spoke of when we were still cousins with them.” Although he didn’t know the river’s name, he spoke of the Upper South Platte River, at the place where it flows east to west for about one hundred miles.

The Antelope and the Mountain Ute had called each other cousin and were on friendly terms until they had a bitter dispute over hunting ground borders. The old Ute whom Howling Wolf spoke of was the leader of a Ute band and had been friends with the Antelope for years.

“Hawk will get to the big river first and wait for the main party and the other two scouts. Wrong Hand and Buffalo Horn will arrive at the river half of one day later and the rest of us an entire day later.”

“My path will lead me close to the land of the Arapaho,” Wrong Hand said, looking at Howling Wolf intently. “If I see them, what should I do?”

“If they are painted for war, remain hidden and do not approach them--this I think you know. If they confront you, let them do most of the talking.”

The Antelope language was Shoshone, part of a great language group--the Uto-Aztecan that reached from Western Canada deep into Central Mexico. Next to Algonquian and Athapaskan, it was the most widespread of the Indian linguistic family. Most people living on the plains spoke this language; it gradually emerged as the trading language of the Great Plains. Sign language was also used to some extent, and the signs were similar among all the tribes.

“That you will encounter any Arapaho is unlikely; they live beyond the river,” said Howling Wolf. This he had learned from a member of a neighboring Antelope band. The neighbor had learned it from a member of yet another Antelope band. What he did not know was that since he was told this, the Arapaho had indeed crossed the river. Some of them lived between the South Platte River and the border of a land that is today called Nebraska. At this time, the Arapaho had not ranged easterly as far as the foothills of the Eastern Rockies.

The night before the scouts were to leave, Howling Wolf spoke to Runs Far. “My son, you have reached an age that requires you to assume more duties for the welfare of our people. Do you feel ready to do so?”

“Yes, Father.” Runs Far replied. “What am I to do?”

With a little smile Howling Wolf said, “When we leave on our journey, two mornings from now, you will become a short scout. Ha! You are short, right? But no, Runs Far, a short scout means that you will not range far from our true course.”

Drawing his knife, he knelt down and drew lines in the dirt, showing the southerly course of the main party and Hawk. Next he drew lines representing the courses of Buffalo Horn and Wrong Hand. He then drew an easterly arc beginning at the centerline and returning to it. Runs Far would be traveling between Wrong Hand and the centerline, where the caravan would be.

Since the American Indians had no maps, written language, or efficient means of communicating over long distances, the Antelope people relied mostly on instinct. They were blessed with an extremely acute sense of direction. Though they had drums and knowledge of smoke signals, these were seldom used. They opined that smoke signals could be seen and drums could be heard by others, as well as by those for whom they were intended.

Howling Wolf had taught his son well and had no fear of his becoming lost.

“Now, you cannot go alone; you must choose someone to accompany you. There are several boys who are near your age. Who will it be?” Howling Wolf was sure that he knew which boy his son would choose.

Reflecting briefly, Runs Far replied, “Well yes, there are several that are about my age. Leaks Water is only eleven; he is too young and still wets his pants. And there is Brush Hair, but he is too slow. And then, there is Big Mouth, but he talks too much. I believe I prefer to go alone, Father.”

“That is not wise. If one alone becomes injured or captured, he may perish. If there are two, and one is in trouble, the other can assist him or return to the band to get help,” said Howling Wolf.

“If I could tie a rock to the tongue of Big Mouth, so he couldn’t wag it, he would be my choice,” Runs Far said seriously.

“Who will it be?” Howling Wolf asked, still sure that it would be Big Mouth.

“It will be Big Mouth, Father,” Runs Far replied. He could hardly wait to tell his friend the exciting news. To be a scout is a great honor, even to be a short scout.

“Very well then. Go and tell your friend. Oh! And when the two of you reach the end of the arc, if our tracks are not there, what will you do?”

“We will wait until you and the others arrive, Father. And I hope it is not long; we will be hungry.”

“Go!” Howling Wolf said, pointing toward Big Mouth’s shelter.

As he approached the brush arbor of Big Mouth’s family, he saw Big Mouth’s father, Farts Loud, in front of the shelter sleeping. Stepping behind a tree, Runs Far was going to wait and see if Big Mouth would appear. He did not care for the other boy’s father and avoided him whenever possible. Farts Loud did not talk much and his skunk wind was terrible. Runs Far was uncomfortable when in his presence and was on edge waiting for the skunk wind, which was bound to blow sooner or later.

“Come on in, Runs Far,” said Farts Loud, without looking up or at the tree behind which Runs Far thought that he was hidden. He walked the short distance and stood before Farts Loud. About to ask if his friend were there, he saw Big Mouth loping down the trail toward him. He went to meet his friend with no words having passed between the man and him.

Well, he looked like he was sleeping. At least he did not blow the skunk wind at me.

The boys met on the trail at a place where there were no shelters and no one else was in sight.

“Come on, get off the trail!” Big Mouth said. “The women and girls are preparing food and packing things to get ready to go and they will try to make us help them--I don’t want to work--I’m a warrior--and warriors don’t work. They hunt and play games and make war and-”

“Stop!” Runs Far yelled.

“Stop? I am stopped. Do you not see me standing here before your eyes? Are your eyes too full of visions of your pretty cousin to see your friend when he is standing before you?”

As Big Mouth paused for breath, Runs Far took advantage of it and spoke quickly. “If you want to go with me, you must be silent and speak only when necessary, and not very loudly. If you are too dumb to manage that, you cannot go with me.”

Seldom at a loss for words, Big Mouth was silent and had a bewildered look on his face. He knew that Runs Far was not angry, but something was up. Sitting down on a small tree stump, he looked up at Runs far and asked, “Go where with you? We are all going together to find a new home. You are going, I am going, our families are going; even the dogs are going with you and with me and. . . .” Seeing the look on his friend’s face, Big Mouth finalized his monologue with a short question. “Where are you going?”

Feeling quite proud and a little arrogant, Runs Far announced, “I have been given the great honor of becoming a scout for our people by my father, our leader.”

Big Mouth was shocked and momentarily speechless. He was thinking about this strange turn of events. “Ha! That’s funny! That’s a good one, Runs Far. A scout, shit you can’t be a scout. Ha! Scout my ass!”

Holding up his hand to silence his friend, he said, “Then if it is so funny, you definitely cannot go! I will take Leaks Water or Brush Hair with me two mornings from now. My father told me to choose someone. Perhaps the others will want to be a scout!”

Walking away with his friend still sitting on the tree stump, he stopped when he heard, “Wait! Wait, I want to be a scout! I’m a good scout-- see good-- run fast. I am strong and shoot arrows as straight as anyone!”

“Then you must learn to shut up!” Runs Far said. “If your tongue is wagging all the time, the enemy will hear you and cut it off before it stops wagging and eat it! Then they will cut a little hole in your belly and stretch a gut out until you can see them tie it to a bush. You will be staked out on an anthill when this is done, and you can watch the coyotes as they eat your gut for supper. After they have eaten your gut all the way up to the hole in your belly…’’

Big Mouth’s big mouth was hanging open and he had a sickly expression on his face. He looked as if he were about to cry, but knew that he would lose too much face if he did; he would never hear the last of it.

“Well?” Runs Far asked.

Big Mouth grabbed his tongue with thumb and index finger of his left hand and pointed at it with his other hand, while shaking his head from side to side. At this point, both boys fell to the ground, convulsing with laughter.

The women had been working diligently preparing the food necessary for their journey. They had a fair supply of yap root, a type of tuber that had long been one of the staples of the Shoshone diet.

They also had a meager supply of nuts. In ancient times, the People had scorned fowl as the food of cowards. They also had an ancient taboo against water creatures such as frogs and fish. But by the 1820’s, they had overcome such beliefs. Therefore, those who had most or all their packing done were busily catching turtles, frogs, fish, and even snakes to add to their larder.

The men were scouring the woods and meadows for meat. They snared rabbits, raccoons, and even a few large rats. Meadowlarks were a delicacy, but it required multitudes of them to be worthwhile. The older children were assigned to the meadowlark detail. Even the little ones went along, mostly to keep them out of the women’s way while they worked. The older girls were put in charge of them.

The hunters would have to kill game along the way as well, for the food supply they had on the travois would not last long. If they saw any buffalo and were fortunate enough to kill even one, it would help tremendously.

CHAPTER TWO

LEAVING THE MOUNTAINS

February 1822

The Antelope people worked from dawn to dusk preparing for their departure and were ready to leave as scheduled the day after the three scouts left. Howling Wolf and his brother started walking south, bearing a little to the east, which would get them to more level ground and also assure them that they did not miss the South Platte River.

According to what they had been told, if they stayed too close to the Eastern Rockies, there was a good possibility that they would indeed not even see the river. It turned sharply due south a few miles from the mountains. The river then flowed to the south and a little to the west.

Howling Wolf calculated that by going slightly to the east, they would come to the westward flowing part, which was where Hawk would be. They had followed his trail for awhile but spent no time looking for it when it was not visible. Holding to their due south course, they saw sign of his passage at intervals.

It was late February and there was little snow, except on the high mountains beyond the foothills, where they had lived since the beginning of winter.

It was a clear day with a sky of blue, and the temperature had risen from near freezing to almost fifty degrees by ten o’clock that morning.

Big Mouth and Runs Far had slept very little the previous night. They were too keyed up over being scouts, but nonetheless, were full of energy and anticipation as they set out on their reconnaissance mission.

Big Mouth had been told by his father and by Howling Wolf of the necessity for stealth, the use of sign language, and whispers instead of his usual loud manner of speaking. He had done as he was told and had not spoken since their journey began.

There was general agreement among the band that it was unlikely that any of them would encounter other Indians, but they also agreed to proceed with caution. Behind the Antelope were bands of their own people--some no more than thirty miles from where they had just left. Some were as far north as the Yellowstone River in Northwest Wyoming and the Bitterroot Range of Idaho. These people were called Idahi, meaning Snake People, by some of the other tribes, because many of them had once dwelt in the bends of the Snake River in Idaho.

With their own kind at their backs, most of the Ute across the Rio Grande in extreme Southwest Colorado, and the Arapaho below the Arkansas River, they did not expect to see many, if any, of the other tribes.

However, two fourteen-year-old boys were apt to see them behind every bush and every rock. The Antelope were not as adept at sign language as were many of the Indian tribes, but they knew enough to converse with others when necessary.

Runs Far and big mouth had gotten a lot of sign language practice as they crept stealthily along, stopping frequently to sign to each other. To say that they were afraid would not be quite true, but to say that they were unafraid would not be quite true either. To say the least, they were very cautious.

The young scouts were well armed. Each of them had a bow, lance, and knife. Their bows and arrows were made of ash, as were the lance shafts. Their knives were iron as were the lance points, but the arrows had flint points, because the people had precious few iron arrow points. Enough iron arrow and lance points had been acquired over a period of years to supply most of the men, as well as iron knives, through trading with other Indians.

The Antelope were not even aware that the French and the Spanish race existed, but it was by these people that iron weaponry was introduced to the North American Continent. Iron was a much better material from which to make weapons, and the Antelope took care of the ones they had. However, the flint arrow and lance points had been in use for hundreds of years and were still quite functional.

Stopping at a small stream with clear, running water, the new scouts took turns drinking water and watching for the enemy. Actually, they did not really know what the enemy looked like, but if someone other than an Antelope showed up, there was a good possibility that arrows would be sent in their direction.

They had seen no tracks of any kind indicating the presence of other bands or tribes in the area, but one black tailed deer bounded away through the brush. At least they would have that news to report.

Runs Far had assumed the role of head scout from the outset and was walking in the lead when Big Mouth tapped him on the shoulder. Stopping, he turned to his friend, who was making signs that made no sense.

“I think we can safely speak very softly. Can you do that?”

Big Mouth nodded and said, “I got to make water.”

“Me too. I’ll watch while you make it first--and don’t do it loud!”

Big Mouth nodded, but when he was all ready he looked down, and saw that he was standing on a flat rock. Fearing that it would make too much noise if he watered on it, he walked about twenty feet through some small trees and bushes. There, he found a place that looked as if it would remain quiet while he peed on it. It did, and when he was done, he beckoned rather frantically for Runs Far to come there. Runs Far could wait no longer, and since his friend seemed to have seen something important, he made water while walking over there.

“Hurry up! Come on!” Big Mouth hissed loudly.

“What is wrong?”

“Tracks! Many tracks--look!” Big Mouth said, pointing down at the ground. Both scouts knelt to get a closer look at the tracks imprinted in the sandy ground.

“Not buffalo!” said Runs Far.

“No, not buffalo.”

“Not deer--too big! Look--the tracks are strange--almost round--shh! Quiet! Get ready!”

“Get ready for what? Oh--I hear voices--someone is coming!”

Suddenly they both noticed a little knoll covered with weeds, grass, and a few bushes and quickly went to it without speaking. They lay on their bellies in the grass and weeds, looking toward where the sound was coming from. The voices came closer, growing louder. In a moment they could see heads through the bushes; the heads appeared to be bobbing up and down. Both scouts had turned a little pale. They had never seen heads do that before! Because of the trees and bushes between the heads and them, they could see no lower than the necks supporting them.

“Look how tall they are!” Big Mouth hissed. “Should we run or kill them?”

“Can’t run--they’ll hear us! Can’t kill them--too many! They sure walk funny!”

“Maybe they’re ghosts!”

When the six Arapaho rode into a little clearing, they could see why they looked so tall.

They were sitting on some breed of big, snorting animals. What a sight to behold! They were big! As big as buffalo! Maybe they were some kind of strange buffalo that lived here. The creatures amazed both boys. Never before had they seen creatures such as these. The animals had long tails and switched them from side to side.

Laughing and talking, the Arapaho soon passed out of sight. They were in no hurry and the boys could hear them for several minutes until the voices grew weaker and then faded out completely. Staring wide-eyed at each other, the boys remained on their bellies, silent. They stayed put for a half hour, and then Runs Far put his index finger to his lips and hissed, “Shh,” barely audibly, while gesturing with the other hand that they should leave.

What a story they had to tell now! They wondered if the others would believe them. If not, they would probably laugh at them. There were no horses in the mountains where the band of Howling Wolf had lived for so long in seclusion. Sometimes years had passed without this band even seeing an Indian of a different band or tribe. It was a big country.

The Spanish, who in the sixteenth century conquered almost all of Mexico, and then pushed up into the present southwestern states, brought the horse, like iron weaponry, to the continent. No one knows exactly when the Indians first acquired horses, but when they did, their lives and cultures changed forever.

A lot of ground had been covered since the two young scouts saw the Arapaho and their strange, snorting big animals. No longer communicating, they merely continued on their gradual, sweeping arc that would soon put them where they needed to be. The scouts knew by the position of the sun that they were right on schedule to meet the caravan.

Finally giving up on signing and whispering, they spoke in muted voices now. Having reached the end of their arc, noting the sun at its high noon position, they knew their people’s caravan had not yet passed. There were no drag marks made by the canine powered travois. It was assumed that if they were at the right place, they would hear the dogs or some other sounds from the caravan.

The short scouts were still excited about what they had observed, but they were also tired and hungry. That, along with the little sleep they had gotten the night before, lessened their excitement enough to calm them. Lying down in an open spot, they didn’t talk for about fifteen minutes. “We have to stay awake, Big Mouth. If they find us sleeping, we won’t be scouts anymore; we’ll be disgraced, so do not go to sleep whatever you do.” Runs Far yawned.

“Also, if those warriors come here sitting on those big tall creatures, we will be dead and never even know it. Then, we’ll still be scouts, but we’ll be dead scouts. Big Mouth?”

A snore was big Mouth’s only response. Oh well, I’ll wake him when I hear the others coming. He has been a pretty good little scout today.

A drop of rain caused Runs Far to stir a little, and then after several more, he woke up and wiped his face but didn’t get up. Then he heard a loud snort and hot air blew in his face! He jumped straight up like he was shot out of a cannon and bumped his head on the soft nose of the creature standing right above him. “Ai--eeh!” he screamed, which brought Big Mouth up instantly! Big Mouth was in a state of shock and could only say, “Ooh--Ooh,” while pointing at the beast.

Big Mouth finally was able to speak. “Did it bite you?” He pointed at the blood on Runs Far’s face; it had smeared when he wiped it. Apparently, the horse had wandered around after the Arapaho was wounded, and it had just stopped when the dripping blood hit Runs Far’s face. The wounded Arapaho was leaning forward against the neck of the horse; when it lowered its head to sniff the sleeping boy, the pandemonium began. When the horse jumped, the man fell off, and the horse ran. Fortunately, the horse did not step on the scouts while they slept. Hearing a low moan from the inert Arapaho, the scouts whirled around to look at him. Their attention had been riveted on the horse as it ran away from them.

“I thought he was dead,” said Runs far.

“Maybe now he is. What kind of Indian is this anyway?”

“I think it is Arapaho. My father has told me how they look. Maybe now he is dead.”

“Unh--unh,” groaned the not-dead Arapaho.

“I’ll get his knife,” Runs Far said. “If he resists lance him.” He leaned over and quickly slid the knife free while Big Mouth stood poised with his lance, ready to plunge it into the unconscious Arapaho.

“Iron knife-good!” Runs Far said, passing it to his friend, who examined it closely. “Yes--good! Does he have a sheath for it?”

“Yes, but we can take it later, if he dies.”

Big Mouth thought about how it would feel to plunge his lance into the wounded Arapaho. Neither of them had ever killed a two-legged animal.

“Maybe we should kill him now,” Big Mouth said, tightening his grip on the lance shaft.

“Oh, no! My father and the others will want to question him if he lives. Do you think he is one of those with the bouncing heads that we saw back there?”

“Yes, he is one of them! I remember the strange cloak this one wears; I’ve never seen one like it before. Ha! His head is not bouncing now!”

“Then where are the other five?” Runs far asked. Both boys turned quickly, looking in the direction of the place where they seen the six Arapaho.

“Listen! I hear dogs! Our people are coming.”

“You better wipe that blood off your face and hands; it looks funny.”

“It does not! It looks like I have been in a great battle and I won!”

“No, it looks like you were asleep and blood dripped on your face. I’m glad I don’t have blood on my face.”

Realizing that his friend had a point, he wiped at the blood on his face. “Is it off?’ “No, put spit on it,” Big Mouth said, smiling at him.

Runs Far spit several times on the palms of his hands and rubbed his face briskly. “Now is it off?”

“No, it is smeared. Want me to make water on it? That will wash it off; much water comes from my big water maker. Ha-ha!”

Angrily, Runs Far stared his friend down. When Big Mouth looked away, Runs Far reached down, deftly putting his hand on the bloody Arapaho. As he turned, he said, “Let me see the knife.” When Big Mouth extended the knife, handle forward, Runs Far took it with one hand and wiped blood on his friend’s extended forearm with the other.

Instinctively, Big Mouth wiped it with his other hand, thereby ending up with blood on both arms and hands. For good measure, Runs Far wiped his bloody hand down Big Mouth’s face--forehead to chin, while he was staring at his bloody hands. They agreed to say that they became bloody when they dragged the wounded Arapaho to cover behind a cluster of yaupon bushes, which they now did.

Hearing occasional barks and yelps from the dogs, they realized that the sounds seemed farther away. At first the sounds had come from the north. Now, they were coming from the south.

“They have missed us! The fools stayed too far to the west!”

“Yes, but you know and I know, they will say we stopped too soon,” said Runs Far dejectedly. “I better run to them before they go too far; they can send a travois for that one.”

“I’ll go with you!”

“No Big Mouth, you must stay here and guard the Arapaho; he might wake up.”

“What do I do if he wakes up? He won’t know who I am!”

“Then tell him who you am--are. Make the peace sign, smile, scratch his back--I don’t care. Don’t be afraid. He has no weapon. If I stay and you go, it will take too long because you run like a turtle.”

“I’m not afraid! If he wakes up, I’ll kill him! He’s only an Arapaho, not a True Human Being.”

Runs Far was already running toward the caravan and yelled over his shoulder, “Do not kill him!” The caravan was about a mile away and Runs Far was almost flying in that direction. It was close to two o’clock now, and they should have already stopped to eat. Maybe they have already stopped and thought we were lost.

After Runs Far told his story, he saw skeptical looks, smiles, and heads shaking. Nonetheless, the caravan went to where Big Mouth waited anxiously. The man was a little more conscious now, even though he had lost a lot of blood. As soon as they got there, Howling Wolf examined the wound, which was in the man’s right chest, near the shoulder.

He summoned the band’s mid-wife, who was also the shaman, or medicine woman. She came with her official parfleche containing herb leaves, ground berries, and various other healing concoctions.

The old woman was called Healing Mother, the name given her when she was a young girl. She was able to find the often-scarce medicinal herbs and other plants, when others could not, and she knew which ailments they would cure. The younger men and boys called her Old Willow Bark--but not to her face, for they were a little afraid of her.

They malevolently bestowed this title upon her because she invariably prescribed this powerful laxative for stomach ailments, headaches, and a variety of other maladies.

She removed the Arapaho’s strange-looking cloak and examined his wound. It was oozing blood.

“Will he live?” Howling Wolf asked after they removed the cloak.

“With the power of my medicine and the help of the good medicine spirit, he will,” croaked the old woman. “If the fever comes, bad medicine spirit maybe kill him. Wound looks strange, not like wound of arrow or lance.”

“But what else could have made the hole?” Howling Wolf queried.

“Turn him over. Look at back,” she said.

Long Bow helped Howling Wolf roll the man onto his left side. Healing Mother felt the area in line with the wound in his chest.

“Here!“ she exclaimed, pointing at a lump under the skin. “Arrow point stop here. Get hot knife!” A knife was heated on the coals of a cooking fire and handed to the old woman. She forced the lump to protrude between thumb and forefinger and expertly sliced the skin; the bloody object plopped out and fell in the grass.

The old woman was quicker than she looked--several others grabbed for the expelled object, but she was the one that got it. Rolling it between her fingers, she held it up for the others to see. There was a mixture of “Oh, ah, and what is it?” It was not an arrow point; this much they knew. The object was passed around for all to view and comment about.

Howling Wolf and his people had no knowledge of firearms. Having been isolated by choice for years, they were among the last to learn of anything new or different. What they had was a musket ball, probably fired from a pistol or musket equipped with a snaphance firing mechanism, since these were t

DON WEBB

HOUSTON, TEXAS

DON WEBB

DON WEBB

PROLOGUE

THE WIDOW-MAKERS

By

CHAPTER ONE

THE MOUNTAIN PEOPLE

Wyoming February 1822

CHAPTER TWO