Nature's Weapons
by Bill Van Horn

"How close you figure they are?"

Harrison turned, shielding his eyes from the sun glaring down from the middle of a robin's egg blue sky. "Not more 'n a mile. Most likely less."

"Shit. They must have picked up our trail."

Nodding, Harrison turned away from watching the thin dust cloud. "We can try the creek again. See if it at least slows 'em down."

"Goddamn red bastards. Bet we lose our cache, too."

"Better that than our hair, Drew."

Drew chuckled, wheeling his pony toward the rock-bottomed creek. "Now You ain't talkin' like a tenderfoot any more, Harry. Let's take to the water."

They splashed their ponies into the creek, Harrison reaching down and filling his cap with water. He splashed it back on his head, gasping as the cold water ran through his long brown hair and trickled down the back of his buckskin shirt. "Damn! Wish we could soak our feet for a spell."

"Yeah, but that ain't a good idea with a Blackfeet war party on our trail. Now get to ridin', boy."

Drew was only a handful of years older than Harrison, but this was his third season in the Beavertrap country. For Harrison there was much that was still new. "Six weeks we been working this line, and that's the first we see of them."

"Hope Gus and Tom kept clear of the red bastards."

"I'm sure they did. Gus said they were going to work further west. This bunch looks to have come up from the south."

"Back from raidin' Crow horses most likely. Now keep that pony of yours at a good pace, Harry."

Nodding, Harrison urged the lanky mustang to a fast walk. Water splashed high from its hooves, and he felt the cool droplets touch his face. He kept his long rifle balanced on the fork of his saddle, the lock covered and safe from water. His Crow moccasins soaked up the water, cooling his feet and allowing him to forget for a moment the fear that was balling in his stomach.

They'd been in the Beavertrap Mountain country for close to two months, working the streams flowing down to the Yellowstone. It was rich country, but not commonly worked. It had been Drew's idea for the small company to come this way, and they'd done well. Harrison smiled when he thought of the stacks of beaver pelts they'd cached along the way, to be picked up when they swung back out of the mountains. Now there was a chance that it would all be for nothing.

"Should've known," Drew muttered, his words almost lost in the splashing of the horses. "Every season the damned Blackfeet find me here. Every damned time."

"This their land?"

"No. Crow mostly, but no one tribe claims it. Trouble is the Blackfeet like passin' through here on their way to raid the Crow. Crow will hit you if you look weak, kiss your ass if you look strong. Blackfeet...they just love fightin'. My first year up here we lost three men to the red bastards."

Harrison turned back to look at the faint fan of dust floating into the clear sky. "Looks like they're slowing down."

"Good. See them mountains over yonder? We call them the Antlers 'cause most every deer an' elk in the country shed their antlers in the lower draws. We make it up there, we can lose 'em. Done it twice before. Trick is to get there."

"Looks to be almost a day's ride. And we can't move fast in the water."

They left the creek after an hour, urging their horses up the low bank and onto the dry grassland. "Ground's hard," Drew muttered. "We won't leave too much sign, but we'll kick up dust just like they do if we go over a walk."

Harrison looked over, seeing Drew's matted red hair blaze for a moment as the other trapper swept off his cap to wipe sweat from his forehead.

"Best keep that cap on, Drew. Those Blackfeet could see your topknot from two miles out I bet."

"Least mine ain't turned to straw under the sun. Ain't never seen a brunette go blonde out here before."

"True enough. My mother wouldn't know me now if she saw me." He looked back at the dust and felt that fear turn again. "Cloud looks wider now."

"Ridin' both sides of the creek I'd figure. Don't want to miss where we got out. They must figure we're runnin' for the Antlers."

"Can we outrun them?"

"Not likely. Those war parties always have extra ponies with 'em. They just switch out when one gets tired. Us? We just got these two."

Maybe I should have stayed to home, thought Harry. But I'd have gone mad if I'd had to stare at the ass-end of that mule for one more planting season. "Then we'd best do what we can."

They alternated between a walk and a trot, staying close to the creek.

"Leads right where we need t' go, it does," Drew explained with a chuckle. "That and we can keep the ponies watered."

Harrison wasn't at all sure about Drew's logic but he held his tongue. Man's been up here for three seasons now. He knows his stuff. Me? I'm so wet behind the ears I slosh when I shake my head.

The stream rolled and twisted its way through sprawling grasslands, always climbing higher toward the dark green mountains. As they rode, Harrison kept turning in the saddle, watching the progress of that thin dust cloud. Each time he looked it seemed to be drawing a bit closer, becoming better defined against the deep blue of the sky.

"Should be a park up here about half a mile ahead." Drew shaded his eyes with his hand, looking up the stream's course. "Flat and open as your ma's dinner table. We can make the run across it, but they'll get a hell of a lot closer, too. They still back there?"

"Yes. And getting closer."

"Damn! Must have found where we left the creek." Drew kicked at his pony's flanks. "Let's keep movin', Harry. All we can do now. Blackfeet hate anyone in what they consider their range. White, red, it don't make a damn bit of difference to them. Crow, we could buy our way out. Give up some pelts for our skins. But not with that bunch."

"Are...are you sure they're Blackfeet?"

"Crow would have given up by now. They like their plunder easy. Blackfeet, they take this as a challenge."

The ground fell away so suddenly in front of them that it took Harrison's breath away. He could see where the stream snaked a blue line through the swaying grass of the park, bigger than the biggest wheat field he'd seen back home, but that wasn't all of it. The park was dark brown instead of a deep green.

Drew sucked air through his teeth. "Buffalo! Now if that don't beat all. Late in the season for 'em to be up here."

"We going through them?"

"Got to. No time to skirt that herd. Just keep tight hold on your pony and don't spook 'em. They're dumb critters on the best days, and it's good odds they'll ignore us. Just don't get between a mama an' her calf. And be damned glad it ain't ruttin' season for the bastards."

Harrison's pony snorted, and he hauled the reins in close. "Easy there, boy," he muttered, patting its sweaty neck. The heavy musk of the herd stung his nose and eyes, and he did his best to stay close to Drew as they moved through the herd. He tried counting them, but gave up after the first hundred. They just seemed to go on and on, munching at the grass and snuffling at each other like the oxen his father kept to haul the hay wagons. But there was a glitter in their eyes that he'd never seen in the oxen, and their horns gleamed yellow and white in the afternoon sun.

As they moved through the herd, the big animals shifted grudgingly out of their way or stood immobile, forcing the men to go around, an idea starting spinning itself in the corner of Harrison's mind. His stomach churned with fear, both from the Blackfeet and the huge shaggy creatures that looked at him like he was an annoying horsefly needing to be swatted. But his mind kept working. They were almost through when he found his voice again. "Drew? How easy is it to spook these bastards?"

"Depends." Drew looked back, his gaze shifting past Harrison to the dust cloud. "Damn! They're movin' fast now. Too damned fast. No way we'll make the Antlers now. Goddamned buffalo anyhow. We'd best find some rocks, boy. Make our stand."

"Wait!" Harrison noticed some buffalo shift away at the sound of his voice. Good. Halfway there. "Drew, there's gotta be at least three hundred of these critters here. What happens if we spook 'em back toward the Blackfeet?"

The older trapper's eyes fixed on Harrison, and the scowl on his face changed to a smile. " I knew that head was there for somethin' other than keepin' your hat off your shoulders! That would scatter them red bastards proper. Might even have 'em thinking that chasing us is bad medicine, which I ain't opposed to in the least bit. Wait till we get through the herd and we'll get down to business."

Once they reached the edge of the herd, Harrison drew a deep breath of air. "Damn! Didn't realize buffalo smelled that bad."

"Almost as bad as we do." Drew chuckled. " Get your blanket out, boy. Stay on that pony and start wavin' the blanket like a damned madman. Might spook the pony, but that ain't a bad thing, either. Gets the buffalo more excited. You ever herded oxen?"

"More times than I care to count."

"This ain't much different. I'll take the right side, you go left. Get 'em movin' and then come back here by that red rock."

Harrison turned his pony and shook his red and blue blanket at a cow close by. "Hi! You big bastard! Move on there! Go on! Git!" The cow raised her head and looked at him, her dim eyes trying to comprehend this thing that had appeared out of nowhere. Snorting, she turned and lumbered back toward the main herd.

"That's a start," he muttered, kicking his pony in the flanks and waving his blanket. "Git on there! Move, you bastards!"

It started slow. One or two buffalo trotting back into the main herd, bunching the back ranks against the rest. Looking over, Harrison could see Drew making similar progress with his side of the herd. Compacting it and pressuring it down to the narrow end of the park. Soon the big animals started drifting at a walk, gathering speed as the far edge shifted to keep away from the buffalo fleeing the things waving blankets.

Harrison wasn't ready when it broke. The slow trot turned into a low thunder as the far edge of the herd took off at a run, trying to escape the buffalo pressing in on them from the higher end of the park. Glad for the room, the others went from a trot to a run as well, following the lead bulls as they fanned out over the rolling ground to the south.

The air filled with dust, and his ears rang from the thunder of hooves and the bellows of hundreds of buffalo calling for each other as they ran. The ground shook as he fought to keep his horse from running with the buffalo. Hauling at the reins, he managed to turn them in a tight circle, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut as the rumbling and snorting washed over him. Blocking the image in his mind of what would happen if his pony went down. Seeing himself torn to little bits of red flesh and splintered bone under those hundreds of sharp hooves. The hair on his arms stood on end as the air vibrated with the noise of the herd. Its stink gripped his nostrils, wrenching the air from them and making him gag. Got to get out. Got to...

Over the rumbling he heard Drew shouting. "That's got 'em, boy. Goddamn! Ain't never been on this end of a buffalo stampede before! Now let's get the hell out!"

It was hard to imagine that minutes before, the entire park had been covered with grazing buffalo. Harrison looked at the ground, churned and battered by hundreds of hooves. Dust hung in the air like the smoke from burning fields, and he could just make out the big red rock at the far end of the park. The ground still vibrated with the herd's passing, and his pony snorted and flinched, its eyes rolling with a fear he shared.

He hacked dust from his throat and found his voice again. "How long you think they'll run like that?"

"At least a couple of miles. We got 'em riled up good. Should blow through them Blackfeet like a dose of salts!" Drew laughed, his eyes shining. "Wish I could be there to see it, but we'd best get well clear of here. Take to the creek again. That herd'll also cover our tracks damned well in case they decide to follow us again."

Harrison nodded, feeling bitter bile in the back of his throat. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

"See!" Many Stars looked up from the stream bank, his eyes bright. "They leave the water here. And their horses are tired."

"These white eyes are stubborn." Two Bulls chuckled, looking at the rest of the war party. "It will be good to have their hair on my war club. We ride, my brothers!"

It had been a long chase, but now they were close. The horses of the two white men were fading fast, while the Blackfeet had changed ponies and rode on. Soon it would end.

Two Bulls smiled as he thought of the fear he knew those trappers would be feeling. But they will fight. They always do. And in the end we have new scalps and rifles. He reached down, touching the hide-wrapped stock of the long rifle he'd taken from the dying hands of a French trapper two seasons gone now.

"Two Bulls! Someone comes!"

The big warrior snorted, looking at the dust cloud. "Perhaps they have decided to die like men and come to do battle with us."

Many Stars shook his head. "There is too much dust for two white eyes. I..."

"Look!" The youngest warrior in the party, Counts Twice pointed at the rise just to their front. "Buffalo!"

Two Bulls could feel it now through the sides of his pony. The ground shook under the mighty hooves of buffalo. Many buffalo. For a moment he held his pony steady, staring with wide eyes at the herd as it crested the rise and gained speed. So many! But how... "They come! We must flee, my brothers!"

How can two breaths last so long? Two Bulls hauled at the rawhide reins, kicking at the flanks of his pony. A high scream reached his ears over the drumming hooves, and he saw Counts Twice's pony knocked from its feet by the lead bull. The dust turned red for one horrible moment and then he was gone, crushed into the hard earth by the herd.

He could see the others, higher than the herd and marked through the dust by red and white feathers or blotches of paint, fighting their ponies through the buffalo. His own pony, veteran of many hunts, worked its way through the herd, shifting and almost dancing to avoid those wicked horns and lowered heads. Two Bulls gave the mare her head, trusting her to get him through this in a way he'd never trust another man. The fear twisted cold in his belly, threatening to work its way to his bladder. Dying in battle is one thing, but this...

It was almost dark before the Blackfeet found each other again. Counts Twice and Deep Water were dead, and others bore the scrapes and cuts of falls or close encounters with the big buffalo. Many Stars was the first to raise his voice. "We must go after the white eyes and make them pay!"

"No." Two Bulls spoke quietly, his mind still seeing the herd as it came over the rise. His ears still hearing the death cry of Counts Twice.

"Can you track them through the buffalo, Many Stars? I know I cannot. And why did our friend buffalo attack us? This cannot be a good sign."

"Two Bulls is right." The oldest warrior in the party, the words of Four Fingers carried much weight. "This is a bad sign, my brothers. The Everywhere Spirits are warning us not to go into the mountains of the beaver. We have the furs they tried to hide from us. We should not ask for more so soon."

They kept talking, but Two Bulls no longer listened. He stood, stroking the sweaty neck of his pony and watching as stars blinked to life in the clear sky overhead. Praying to his spirit guide for the stink of the herd to leave his nostrils and the cries of Counts Twice to leave his ears.