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A Long Winter Ride
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Booshway
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I wonder how much weight Josiah lost after his bath and new clothes. I would imagine after 7 months wearing the same stuff, wiping everything on his sleeves and pants, they had a pretty thick 'patina' built up. He probably could have kept those old duds and used them to help start fires...pretty greasy.

Keep up the good work Xfox. I'm really enjoying this story. It's going to make a nice book in my library.

L8R...Ken
 
Posts: 403 | Location: In the Hardwoods of Eastern Iowa | Registered: 15 November 2005Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Hiya Ken!

Glad you are enjoying it. I'm having a fun time writing it for you fellas to read.

Regards, xfox


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Josiah brought Molly and the two mules to a halt on a rise some eight miles southwest of the confluence of the Laramie and North Platte Rivers. He could get a lay of what was ahead and to watch the sun break the eastern horizon from the rise above the Laramie River. It would be another 20 or so miles before he would camp for the night, placing him just outside of the Laramie Mountains, through which the Laramie River traversed.

It was now late May, the grasses and sedges had greened up; Indian paintbrush, daisies, sunflowers, lupine and balsamroot were blooming; willows, cottonwoods, dwarf birch and aspens had leafed out. Small birds of all sorts were active along the watercourses, feeding ravenously in order to feed their young hatchlings. The shrill call of the hunting red tail hawk was heard, along with the knocking of woodpeckers, the raucous calls of jays, and the staccato of the northern flicker.

Along the river, the plops and burbles of rising trout added pleasant sounds to the tinkling movement of the water. Occasionally, heavier splashes of deer and elk crossing the river were heard mixed into the spring concert. It swelled Josiah’s heart to the point of wanting to joyously join in with song. Howsomever, he knew he could not carry a tune in a hand bucket and refrained from embarrassing himself, even though he might be the only one to hear his tuneless yowling.

Movement along the upper ridge west of Josiah caught his attention. Watching intently, he could make out the forms of a sow grizzly and her two cubs traveling north along the slope, stopping occasionally as the sow pawed at a rock, flipping it and then catching the moths’ before they could escape. The cubs showed little interest in their mothers’ hunting efforts, instead bounding after one another, tumbling together and wrestling. Being well below the sow and cubs, Josiah urged Molly and mules along in an unhurried pace following the up stream river course.

Camp would be a pleasant chore this evening and he might even endeavor to lure a trout to join him for supper. Whiling away the evening hours the day before, he had tied up several fishing flies, using tufts of rabbit fur, deer hairs, and thread. No particular design had been followed as he had heard that men who seriously angled were want to do. His rough flies just seem to bring hungry fat trout to the fire and that suited him fine.

A few hours later, a bench land slightly above the river offered a good place to camp for the night. A copse of cottonwoods and mixed willow provided a windbreak, with plenty of grass for grazing and a good view up and down stream. After picketing out the mules and Molly, he went about setting up a lean-to to shelter him from the evening rainsqualls that passed through the mountains this time of year. Then, cutting a long slender willow pole, Josiah tied a length of fishing line and fly to it, and headed down to the river. In a short time he had caught three fat cutthroat trout, proceeded to gut them, and cut three willow switches to skewer them on for cooking over a fire.

Josiah’s evening meal consisted of the roasted trout sprinkled with crushed red pepper, wild onions, watercress, pieces of sun choke root browned in the skillet, and a hot cup of Mexican chocolate with a bit of fresh grated nutmeg. The meal pleased Josiah; it had been a welcomed change from the basically all red meat meals the mountain men usually ate. He finished off with a piece of lemon sour candy for dessert.

The temperature was dropping and clouds had moved in as Josiah checked on his stock, taking them each in turn down to the river to drink. By the time his chores were finished, a light drizzle of sleet was falling. Hoping that morning would bring an end to the sleet, Josiah settled into his blankets, searching for the warmth they provided as he fell asleep.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Crossfox,


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Over the next couple of days the weather would be warm with light breezes. Josiah passed uneventfully through the mountains and out onto the gently rolling valley separating the Laramie Mountains from the Medicine Bow Mountains. He was still following the Laramie River course as it turned gently to the south. The continuation of the Medicine Bow Mountains could be seen to the west and southwest extending into the New Mexico Territory of Mexico. Medicine Bow Peak stood out brightly with its’ thick mantle of snow, looking like a beacon in the azure sky.

A small herd of buffalo was grazing its’ way through the valley grass part way up a slope, along the western side of the Laramie River, about a half mile from where Josiah sat atop Molly. He is tempted to go in and shoot a cow. Howsomever, it would be a big pile of meat and with it just being himself to feed, he felt there would be a waste of good meat. A young fat deer would be hunted to fill the need for camp meat for the next few days instead.

The mountain country was rugged on either side of the upper Laramie River now. The North Platte was over on the west side of the mountains. And just south of him, the South Platte and Arkansas Rivers flowed. All four of the rivers’ headwaters were located just a few miles apart in these mountains. Here, he would drop down into the Arkansas Valley and then take the mountain passes trails to the west over into the upper Grande River. This would place him just north of the southern passes of the San Juan Mountains that lead to the San Luis Valley, which spreads all the way to Santa Fe.

Sometimes he traveled through high open meadows, other times the trail went through stands of pine or aspen groves; past old beaver dams along a stream forming a stair step of ponds, so clear the trout looked suspended in air above the smooth mud bottoms. Then into the thinning tree line near the scree slopes, with lakes so clear it seemed you could see fifty feet into the water. Along the breaks in the rock faces, quartz veins zigzagged, and from the snow packed slides rivulets flowed in their hurry to join up with the lower rivers.

On the boulder strewn slopes marmots lay stretched out in the warm sun, sometimes abruptly standing and giving a sharp alarm whistle; pika’s skittered about rock piles giving an excited “eeeek” alarm call. The diggings and burrows of badgers are seen on the open meadows. Grouse and ptarmigan would be flushed from cover. As Josiah passed through a stand of pine, he observed two male pine marten chasing each other. They ran up a tree, spitting and growling. One is forced out on the thin limbs and then falls as a limb breaks. As it is falling the other darts back down the tree quick as lightening and attacks just as the falling one hits the ground. It is a vicious fur ball and standoff ‘til one retreats, scurrying away in a fast crabbing motion in order to keep an eye on its antagonizer.

Josiah smiles at the antics of the pine marten.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Crossfox,


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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In a high narrow valley, along the breaks at tree line a large male painter watches as Josiah, Molly and the two mules pass below. It follows them, leaping from the broken blocks of rock to the next, evaluating its chance of a meal. Better judgment prevails as the painter looks on, and then gives it’s screaming growl just because it can. The mules had seemed jumpy and Molly had kept snuffling the air, looking about nervously for a time, and now Josiah knew for sure why. Hopefully the mountain cat would find a deer or rabbit to quell its hunger and let Josiah’s camp lay quietly this coming night.

A few hours before nightfall, Josiah found a good place to camp on the upper Grand River. An abundance of grass would appease the horse and mules; the plentiful downed wood made preparing a fire easy and with plenty of good water to be had for all. The air began to cool as it did nearly every evening in the deep shadowed valleys of the high mountains.

It was eerily quiet as Josiah awoke, finding that cold, wispy mist and fog had formed and drifted lazily along the river bottom. After checking his rifle, Molly and the mules, he held off starting a fire; something caused him to be a bit squamshus this morning. Even though his mounts weren’t showing any outright nervousness, there was something. Maybe the painter had followed them down from the high trail, or a grizzly. Josiah was eating a cold breakfast of jerked deer and some left over stick bread when Molly suddenly jerk her head up looking to the southwest, snuffled the air, and blew hard while tossing her mane. This was a sure sign that something had caught her attention and it wasn’t the local wildlife; this was her Indian alert and Josiah knew it well.

Quickly he had gathered up Fetchumunder, powder horn and bag, and then silently moved in the direction that Molly looked. He had gone about 200 yards from camp, stopping in the willows just above a shallow riffled section of the river. Here he had a good view of the crossing, although it was partially obscured by the drifting fog. He could just barely hear the sound of horse movement through the shrouded willow and cottonwoods. Josiah settled in, watching carefully. A blurry movement caught his eye as a horse and rider emerged from the breaks in the trees, then several more, none stopping as they headed across the narrow river. He had counted twenty when the next rider stopped his paint horse mid stream and turned his head looking upstream.

Josiah swore that the warrior’s dark eyes bored directly into his. This intent warrior wore a war shirt with a red wiggling line down the sleeves, yellow bands across the front. On his head he wore a full-length wolf skin with face and nose extending past his forehead. Black and white stripes ran vertically across his face from just below the line of his eyes down to his jaw line. The horse had red and black hand prints on the white areas of its shoulders, an eagle feather fluttered from the knot of the reins below the bars of its mouth.

Other warriors passed the one that had halted, one saying something that Josiah could not quite catch the meaning. The wolf skin covered warrior looked toward his companions that had crossed, looked back up stream and then kicked his horse forward. All this had happened in just seconds while the fogs swirled about the river bottom, giving the Indian horsemen an eerie, ghostly appearance as they crossed. Josiah finally blinked twice to clear his eyes; other than the sound that the horses made crossing the river, he could not be sure that he had seen them at all through the shifting fog.

The hairs on Josiah’s arms and neck prickled as he made his way back to camp. He was thankful that Molly and the mules had kept quiet during the spooky ordeal. These Indians had to be Ute’s and they were not dressed and painted for hunting or trade.

“Waugh! Thet war queersome fer shor.” Josiah quietly muttered, “Ma milked ist soured fer shor ‘n’ sartain.”


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Hiya fellas!

Been busy trying to get our belongings packed and dealing with real estate agents and folks looking at our place. Haven't had much time to myself, howsomever, Josiah's saga will continue soon.

Keep checking back!

Regards, xfox


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Are you moving to warmer 'clim's' (like the lower 48) or staying in the Great White North? Where ever, I hope it's a smooth move.

Looking forward to the next episode. You're doing a fine job.

L8R...Ken
 
Posts: 403 | Location: In the Hardwoods of Eastern Iowa | Registered: 15 November 2005Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Hiya Ken!

We will be moving down to either the Bitterroot Valley or to the area around Cody. Haven't decided for sure yet. But greenup has started in both places, whereas, I won't see the grass in my yard here in Ak for another month or more. Haven't been able to ride our horses much outdoors, just in an indoor arena, all winter.

Regards, xfox


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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As the day warmed and the fog lifted, Josiah as quietly as he could, moved farther down the south side of the river ten miles. The Ute had not recrossed the river from the lack of cutting sign, howsomever, he still had that squamshus feeling that something just wasn’t quite up to snuff.

For the next two days, Josiah continued moving quietly down river on the Grande. He had seen sign that was not Ute and surmised from it that he was nearing Fort Uncomphragre. Josiah figured that he would at least stop at the trading post for a day or two and warn them of the Ute war party that he had seen.

Early morning found Josiah, Molly and the mules, moving southwest into a wider section of the valley through which the Grande flowed. He could smell wood smoke in the air and occasionally hear sounds that were indicative of a small settlement nearby. He found a track that was well used and followed it. Rounding a turn to the left, Josiah spotted movement at the same time as Molly came to a halt and gave a long stare. He could now make out the bleating of a number of goats and saw the young boy that was herding them. The Mexican boy stood frozen in place with wide eyes taking in the unfamiliar image of the stranger on horseback. The boy finally became aware of his goats again and quickly herded them to the side of the track, all the while trying to determine just who this stranger might be.

As Josiah approached the Mexican boy, he struck a faint smile and called out, “Hola, amigo! Lo que está sucediendo? Sus cabras son muy ruidosas. Es el puesto de comercio ahora?”

"Hola, señor! Me has asustado! Sí, mis cabras son muy ruidosas, pero me cuidan mucho. El puesto de comercio está allí cerca del río.” The young boy replied.

“What is your name, goat herdsman?” Josiah asked, still smiling at the boy.

“Ernesto!” the boy smiled back, “Ernesto Sanchez is my name.”

Josiah nodded to the boy and urged Molly toward the distant sounds of the trading post. The mules brayed at the smell of the goats as they passed each other and reluctantly followed Molly.

The post buildings were coming into view now. He passed several small log cabins and nodded greetings to the women that peered from the open windows and doorways.

So this was Robidoux’s Fort Uncomphagre that he had heard about from other trappers that had ventured into this country. It was not really a fort, more like an outpost, with an 80 ft x 160 ft rectangular picket fence made from cottonwood poles. The trading post consisted of a single rough log building with trading room and trade goods storage room separated by a blacksmith shop on the south side of the picket fence. Goat and chicken pens are located on the west end. The Segundo’s log house is on the north fence line and a crew log bunkhouse is on the east end, with a fenced garden area just beyond. Several circular horse corrals are located about 300 feet to the northwest near the river, where the post maintains about forty head. Other livestock included pigs and cows. Robidoux has 18 Mexican men, several with families, working at Fort Uncomphagre. The families have individual huts or cabins located around the area surrounding the post.

“Hola! Donde es el director de post comercio?” Josiah calls to the nearest man laboring at hoeing the garden.

“Hola! Que se ha reducido en los corrales con los caballos, señor.” Comes the reply.

Giving a wave of his hand, Josiah turns Molly towards the corrals, and replies, “Gracias, amigo!”


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Hiya Fellas,

Well, the planned move from Alaska to the Bitterroot didn't happen as we didn't get our place sold this summer. So, we are here in the Great Northland for another winter.

The weather here was hot and dry in June & July with temps into the mid 90's; late August & September was wet with 18 straight days of rain. This morning it was 26F and a skim of ice was on the horses watering trough. Snow is half way down the mountains and we are expecting freezing rain and snow the first week of October.

Meanwhile, Josiah's adventures are continuing to be written and I will post new pages soon.

Keep an eye to the ridgeline......'n' yor topknot from gettin' frosty!

Regards, xfox


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Hivernant
Picture of Fincastle
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Man this is one whale of a good yarn fer certain, keep up the good work. Best mountainy man tale I've read since Josiah Paddock bumped into ol' Scratch back in the day. Thanks for the incredible work....


A nod's as good as a blink to a blind horse
 
Posts: 143 | Location: Indiana Territory | Registered: 22 September 2013Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Sorry to hear your move didn't work out. And it sounds like the cold and nasty weather up there in the Great White North is coming fast.

One thing though, it might give you more time to continue the story. I've been alooking for more.

Hope you get your move done next year as planned. Have a good winter, keep dry and warm around the stove.

L8R...Ken
 
Posts: 403 | Location: In the Hardwoods of Eastern Iowa | Registered: 15 November 2005Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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At the corrals, several men are looking over a grulla mustang that watches them warily, ready for instant flight. With a quick flip of his riata, the wrangler has lassoed the grulla around the neck. In the next instant the horse spins to the left, trying to pull away, bucking, kicking, and with bursts of speed the mustang drags the wrangler in staggering steps around the pen. After several minutes of this the horse stops, its sides heaving from the exertion as the wrangler eases the rope, all the while speaking to the horse in a rhythmic fashion.

Turning his attention from the activities of the pen, Josiah asks one of the other men where he could find the post manager.

“Si! Senor Baca is there with the other caballos. He is the one with the red vest.” the man replies.

Urging Molly forward, Josiah rides over to the other round pen. The man with the red vest is discussing the quality of some of the horses with a vaquero. Josiah waits quietly for a break in the discussion. He is about to say something when the man turns, looks up at Josiah and in a gracious manner, and in impeccable English speaks.

“Ahh! Senor, I do not mean to ignore your presence.” And with a sweep of a hand toward the horses he explained, “Business, ehh! I am Alonzo Baca the post manager. How may we be of service to you?”

“Buenos dios, Senor Baca, por nada! I am Josiah Buckner, late of the Madison River country. I would be staying a few days and wish to make my presence known.”

“Senor Buckner, you are most welcome to our humble outpost. There is a corral and grass between the post and the river. Many have spent good days camped there.” Alonzo replies and continues, “I have heard that the Madison is beautiful. Of course, having never been there myself, I can only rely on what others have said of it;” as he stretches out a hand to Josiah in a welcoming handshake.

“We must speak later, Senor Baca, of the war party of Utes that I saw cross up river several days ago.”

“Hmmm,yes! We have five Utes camped down river that have been doing some trading. They have not caused any trouble yet, however, one must be vigilant in ones’ dealings with them. We must talk of what you saw. Come by my quarters after you have settled your camp.”

Taking his leave, Josiah moves Molly and the mules to the camp area. The corral is rectangular, about fifty feet by sixty feet, with one end near the trees to give shade; between the corral and Grand River are several grassy areas for grazing. Josiah noted that the grass did not appear to have been fed upon as of yet. And that the stone fire pit at the camp site showed no recent use, both of which caused him to ponder why. It was as though no trappers had been here for quite a spell. He would query Senor Baca about this.

After hobbling and picketing out Molly and the mules to graze, Josiah went about setting up his lean-to tarp and storing his goods. Next was the selecting of firewood pieces from the large pile of dry rounds and limbs that had been stored at the campsite by the outpost crew for the use of visiting campers. By about mid afternoon, Josiah was settled into a comfortable camp, had washed up in the river and after changing into fresh shirt and pants, decided it was time to visit Baca. He could hear the methodical ringing of a hammer on anvil coming from the smithy shop, as well as, a conversation in the fast clip of the Spanish language. Seems someone was not very happy about a problem with a cart wheel.


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Hivernant
Picture of Fincastle
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Welcome back XFox, how's the weather up your way?


A nod's as good as a blink to a blind horse
 
Posts: 143 | Location: Indiana Territory | Registered: 22 September 2013Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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"Watch yer breathin', pilgrim, 'r' ya mighten frost yer nose hyars!" Kind of weather right now with nighttime temps into the -digits. It got to +1f today, T-shirt & cut-offs wx, fer shor!!

Keep an eye to the ridgeline......'n' yer woolies handy!

Regards, xfox


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Good reading has fallen across my computer screen once again. Thank you and welcome back Crossfox. I hope to keep reading on a regular basis, but I can wait for whatever you decide to put up.

Good to hear from you again and I hope all is well. So long as you have your 'woolies', I would imagine you are doing well.

Thanks again...Ken
 
Posts: 403 | Location: In the Hardwoods of Eastern Iowa | Registered: 15 November 2005Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Free Trapper
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Crossfox, so glad that the saga has continued, have missed the adventures. Your winter weather has just started to reach us here in the Green Mtns. BRRRRRR!.....Gary


" You do with your scalp as you wish and don't be telling us what to with ours."
 
Posts: 158 | Location: lake champlain, vt | Registered: 03 January 2013Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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Many miles away down the Grand River from Fort Uncomphagre, a fort trapper, Calario Cortez has been hunting and has several deer hung in the trees to cool. As he waits for the green meat to cool, he climbs up the mountain side to an outcropping that will afford a good look of the river valley. Settling on his haunches, he scans the view. He watches as a golden eagle and several hawks are soaring on the risers; they, too, are looking for movement; but, what they are looking for would mean a meal for the taking.

A slight discoloration and then movement down in the valley catches Calario’s eyes. Quickly he lowers himself flat on the rocks with just his upper face exposed as he tries to focus on the cause of the movement. A number of horses and men can be seen moving up river in the bottom willows. Calario counts twenty five men and determines that they are Utes, just like the five Utes camped up river near the fort. Those five Utes had been visiting the fort for several days, coming in a group of two or three at a time. It had been puzzling that they had seemed to be more interested in the layout of the post than trading. Now it was becoming clear to Cortez that these five Utes had been reconnoitering the post for its weaknesses for the larger force. Careful to remain motionless on the ledge until the Utes have traveled well past, Calario then moves quickly back down the mountain to his horses. He is grateful that his caballos had remained silent.

He quickly loaded two of the deer carcasses on the pack horse. Then staying close to the base of the mountains to keep away from the river, and an unwelcome encounter with the Utes, Calario heads back to Fort Uncomphagre. This news needs to be delivered to Senor Baca quickly.

Meanwhile, Josiah is sitting on the veranda with Senor Baca, sharing a small jug of arwerdenty. He has just finished telling Baca about the thirty Ute warriors he had seen and emphasized the squamshus feeling he had felt; that no good was to come of it.

“This is very disconcerting news, Senor Buckner. A large number of Ute warriors this close is to be taken very seriously,” Senor Baca replied, reflecting thoughtfully. “Perhaps I had best stand a sentinel on the mountain side to signal any unwanted intrusions.”

“It’s ah good idée ta do so,” Josiah muses, “I intend ta be here only a couple o’days. Don’t have ah need ta trade none, jest wanted ta see yor fort ‘n’ pass tha word on them Utes.”

“It is much appreciated that you have done so, Senor Buckner. Still, anything that you need we will do our best to supply, limited as it may be.”
“Ah do have ah concern as ta why the camp seems too little used, Senor Baca,” Josiah asks.

“Si, it could appear unusual, indeed. It seems that certain actions of the Utes in the lower San Louis Valley against Mexicanos has caused a number of trappers to by-pass Uncomphagre. They go instead to St. Vrains, Bent’s Fort, or Taos for trading. Most of our business here is with the Utes, Navajos, and Hopi,” Senor Baca explains, “Even then the trade is mostly for gun, powder, lead and traps, with a few cutting tools thrown into the mix.”

He did not add that the guns, powder, and knives had been of inferior quality for the price asked in trade. Robidoux had made it clear to his post managers that they were to extract a trade much in the company’s favor when dealing with the Indians for these and other items. From the ill-begotten profits, Robidoux paid his post managers well, especially Alonzo Baca. And this is to continue to stay in good standing with the Baca family. Alonzo, being the youngest son of the Baca family would probably never inherit much of the family fortune, howsomever, his employment at Fort Uncompahgre gave Robidoux trappers access to the 97,000 acre Baca Ranch, Valles Caldera, northwest of Santa Fe. This in turn put him in a position to received special treatment from the Medano and Zapata families, also large land owners of the central San Louis Valley.

The unscrupulous trading practices of Antoine Robidoux were about to bite him where it would hurt him most……his money pouch.


The forest is a wilderness only to those that fear it, silent only to those that hear nothing. The forest is a friend to those that dwell within its' nature and it is filled with the sounds of life to those that listen.
 
Posts: 532 | Location: Bitterroot Valley | Registered: 23 October 2004Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Booshway
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And the plot thickens like a good stew cooking all day. It is rich in flavor and a real treat to look forward to.

Keep 'em coming Crossfox and thanks.

L8R...Ken
 
Posts: 403 | Location: In the Hardwoods of Eastern Iowa | Registered: 15 November 2005Reply With QuoteReport This Post
Greenhorn
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Getting awful worried about what Josiah is up to. Hope them Ute's don't have his har!
 
Posts: 29 | Location: Derby Kansas | Registered: 30 March 2012Reply With QuoteReport This Post
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