The House of Crow

Chapter 10

Crow spotted what looked like a good campsite and headed towards it. “Let"s rest it here,” said Crow. They dismounted and made camp.

Later, Crow and LeRue returned from selling their furs; most were considered prime and paid up to six dollars each. Between Crow and LeRue, they had nearly two-thousand dollars. Crow was just stepping down from his horse when one hell of a commotion broke loose. Indians and trappers, rifles in hand were riding as if the devil himself was after them. Buford rode into camp, hauling his mount up so fast it nearly sat on its haunches.

“Come on!” Buford exclaimed. “A bunch of Brown Skins killed some of the Snakes! There"s a hell of a fight!”

“Must be Bug"s Boys (Blackfoot Tribe),” said Crow, as he grabbed his rifle and his possibles bag. The Blackfoot, an enemy of the Mountain Men and the Crow, was out looking for trouble.

The air was already thick with burnt powder and war whoops when Crow and LeRue found Buford taking cover behind a deadfall reloading his rifle. The two men jumped from their mounts and joined him.

Excited, Buford said, “Got me one, they"re holed up yonder by them trees. Be a bunch of "em!”

LeRue peered around the end of the fallen tree. He saw movement but no clear shots. Crow"s rifle cracked, and an Indian stood up then fell forward. Buford handed Crow his loaded rifle and began reloading Crow"s rifle. Buford"s rifle fired, and there was a thrashing in the brush in front of their stand. "Headshot," thought LeRue, and handed Crow his loaded rifle, and began reloading the empty. "Sure can shoot!" he thought. LeRue pulled the wiping stick from the bore of the ten-pound Hawken rifle. He dusted the pan and made ready to hand it to Crow. They"d been at it for some time now, and LeRue was amazed at Crow"s endurance. Crow seldom missed, his shots making wolf meat of several Blackfoot.

Crow brought the rifle to his shoulder and fired. The bullet hit with a “thuck” followed by a moan.

“That one was close,” said Buford. Curious, he rose up to take a look. A shot was heard that resulted in a “thuck.”

Buford cried out, “Sirree!”

Dropping to one knee, Crow looked down at the still, bloody body of Buford. Before LeRue could think, Crow snatched the loaded rifle from his hand and drew his war-hawk from his belt. Leaping over the log, Crow let out a war whoop that set LeRue"s hair on end. LeRue rolled to the end of the deadfall and looked out in time to see Crow on the dead run. With his head thrown back and his long black hair flying in the wind, Crow again howled his war cry. Two Blackfoot stood to answer his challenge. LeRue grabbed the loaded rifle from the fallen Buford"s hands. He stood to shoot but was too late. Crow was gone, and the two Blackfoot lay dead.

LeRue nearly left his skin when he heard Buford"s voice. “What"s the sign like, where"s Crow?” Buford was up on one elbow, trying to look at his bloody chest. “I said, where"s Crow?”

LeRue dropped down next to Buford and said, “When you got hit, Crow figured you were meat. He took out of here after them Brown Skins. Kill"t two out yonder, and then he was gone.”

“You didn"t go with him?” Buford wasn"t looking friendly.

“Buford,” LeRue replied defensively, “the man moves like a ghost, He took one look at you then he was gone!”

“Buford, I thought sure you were meat!”

Buford and LeRue looked up into the bloodied face of Isaiah Crow.

“Take more than a musket ball to put this child down,” said Buford.

Crow came around the log grinning, a rifle in one hand, scalps in the other. “Counted coup on five, kill"t four,” and held up the bloody scalps. “I thought they"d killed you,” said Crow. LeRue was sure he saw tears in Buford"s eyes, turned away, and picked up his rifle.

“I think the ball passed through, but I won"t be worth a damn for a while, I"m thinking.”

The sound of horses caught their attention. Ten mountain men pulled up whooping and a hollering, “We made wolf meat today boys,” one yelled. “We"re heading back in for some skull varnish, figure the Snakes can finish off what"s left of the Blackfoot. Hey Buford, you been kill"t?”

“They ain"t got me yet, so you save me some of that whiskey!”

More horses came thundering in; this time rode by Snake Indians. “Where you boys headed?” asked a trapper.

“We drink too, take plenty scalps, count many coup, now thirsty.” said the leader of the Indians.

“Well, Crow,” said Buford, “help me up on my horse afore they eat and drink everything in camp!”

The Present

Uncle Bill slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. “Well, it was a celebration! It"s recorded that the Blackfoot lost 173 scalps and an unknown number of wounded. The Snakes lost eleven killed while the trappers counted seven or eight wounded. As the day progressed, and the whiskey flowed, stories of the day"s battle were the main topic of conversation. Many men had their reputations made that day for their daring during the Cache Valley Fight. Crow"s name began to make the rounds with the others. Men talked of his eye with a rifle and his one-man attack when he thought the Blackfoot killed his friend. During the day, men stopped by to pay their respects and hear the story. Now Buford, who was well into the whiskey, had been propped up against a tree so no one would step on him. The musket ball had passed through the skin of his chest just under the arm and cracked a rib, but he wasn"t showing any sign of a punctured lung. He was so full of skull varnish; he wasn"t feeling any pain either. Every time someone stopped by, he"d tell them about Crow and how he"d charged the Indians.”

Charles leaned forward and asked his Uncle, “Did Buford get better?”

“Oh, he recovered alright, but in Missouri. When his wound became infected, Crow and LeRue took him back to Missouri to heal. They never saw Buford again because they struck out for California where they met the Don of a large Rancho.

“The don had a daughter. She was a beautiful girl; and she and Great, Great, Grandpa Isaiah Crow fell in love. Later, with her father"s blessing, they got married. Now, California at that time still belonged to Mexico. If an outsider wanted to settle, and/or get married, he had to join the Catholic Church. That"s how you and I came to belong to the Church.

“They received a land grant from the Mexican government to some property where they built a house and started raising horses. LeRue stuck around and became quite a ladies" man, much to the dismay of the area gentlemen. Crow and his bride had a son, and they named him Jedadiah, after Jedadiah Smith, a Mountain Man your grandpa held in high regard. Jedadiah was a fine-looking lad with an Irish / Mexican mix. Life was good until the day the banditos came.”

Charles interrupted his Uncle, “It"s like a movie, Uncle Bill; banditos?”

“Old California was full of them. It was a dangerous time. Well, one day Crow was away from the ranch when a group of these bad guys showed up. They r***d and killed your great, great, grandmother, and burned the house. When Crow came home, he found his house burnt to the ground, his wife r***d and murdered, and he thought his son was dead in the fire. Unknown to Crow, LeRue had taken the boy hunting and was unhurt.

“However, Crow didn"t know this. So he removed his shirt and then painted his face with the ashes of his burned home. Taking the saddle from his horse, he mounted up Indian style and rode off to kill the men who had destroyed his family. Shortly after he"d left, LeRue arrived with Crow"s son Jedadiah…”