The War-Trail Fort: Further Adventures of Thomas Fox and Pitamakan

by James Willard Schultz

Heavy Runner laughed. "All they had to do was to tell the Parted Hairs that you had your Is-spai-u horse here, and they came running."

"And their shadows, ha! How many of them are now on the dreary trail to shadow land!" some one exclaimed.

"There must be a hundred, perhaps two hundred, dead in the river; and of us but two are dead and three wounded!" said Pitamakan.

Pitamakan's estimate of the loss of the enemy proved to be not far from correct. The following spring we learned in a roundabout way from the Hudson's Bay Company post on the Assiniboin River that the total loss of the enemy was one hundred and eighty-two out of the four hundred and more men who had so confidently started south to wipe us out and take our black racer. Of that number one hundred and forty-one had been shot or drowned in the river, and not one of the survivors had reached the shore with his weapons.

Pitamakan and I were so utterly worn-out that we could not take part in the talk and the rejoicings over the defeat of the enemy. As soon as we had finished eating, we took some bedding and went some distance west of the barricade, where we lay down and fell asleep listening to the thunderous triumphant singing of the warriors round their camp-fires down in the grove. We had not recovered our saddle-horses, but well knew that some of our friends were caring for them.

On the following morning every member of our little party of fort-builders awoke with the feeling that our troubles were ended. In honor of the occasion my uncle gave the engagés a holiday and turned the horses out to graze wherever they would. The chiefs remained with us; some of the warriors went back to meet the oncoming caravan of the Pikuni; others scattered to hunt, and still others remained in the grove, resting, singing, talking over with one another every detail of the battle.

In the afternoon Pitamakan and I saddled the three engagés' horses and rode with Tsistsaki to meet the Pikuni, which we did about three miles out on the plain. Long before we met the long caravan we could hear the people singing, laughing, rejoicing over the great news that had been brought to them. They greeted us with smiles and jests as they passed along. Tsistsaki fell into line with White Wolf's family. Then Pitamakan and I sheered off to the heads of the Missouri breaks, killed a couple of mule buck deer, and took home all the meat that our horses could carry with us on top of the loads. That evening, as we looked up the valley from the barricade, how pleasant it was to see the lodges of the Pikuni strung for a mile or more along the course of the river! "Thomas," said my uncle as he stood with me looking at them and listening to the cheerful hum of the great camp, "Thomas, I was rash; I took too great chances in this enterprise. But all is well with us now. We cannot fail to make a big trade here. I can hardly wait for the morrow to resume work upon the fort. You must bear a hand at it when you and Pitamakan are not getting meat for camp."

I did "bear a hand." The engagés, relieved of all fear of the enemy and anxious to move into snug, log-walled quarters, worked as I had never seen them work before. When in due time the Yellowstone II arrived with our large shipment of goods, we had a long stock-room and a trade-room ready to receive it; and in the early part of October the fort was completed, bastions and all, and the engagés were told to get in the winter firewood. At about that time the other tribes of the Blackfeet and our allies, the Gros Ventres, arrived and went into camp at various points along the Musselshell and the Missouri. Crow Foot, chief of the Blackfoot tribe, brought us a letter from Carroll and Steell. I remember word for word a sentence or two in it: "Well, Wesley, by this time you have completed your War-Trail Fort, and you have done it by the merest scratch. Had the Pikuni been a day or two longer in arriving at the mouth of the Musselshell, your scalp would now be hanging in a Yanktonnais lodge. Aren't you the lucky man!"

"I certainly am! And thankful, too, to the good God for all his mercies!" exclaimed my uncle when he had read it. From that remark you will see that he had not altogether forgotten his early religious training.

Perhaps you can imagine how Pitamakan and I kicked up our heels when, one fine October morning, my uncle announced that we were free to roam wherever we pleased. The Pikuni were going to hunt and trap along the foot of the Snowy Mountains and the upper reaches of the Musselshell and its tributaries, and we went with them and had great adventures. At Christmas-time we returned to the fort with more than our full share of beaver pelts.