Horsehead Creek Knives | Custom Damascus Knives

by Loyd Thomsen

On a late afternoon in the late fall of 1886, "Bull" Shephard lay near death beside his horse that had already been gored to death by a raging bull bison. Little did he know that a true friend was about to save his carcass from the vultures.

When the plains Indians were pushed on to the reservations by the white man, there were a few young braves from the Blackfeet tribe that were determined to save their way of life, which meant following the buffalo herds wherever it may lead them. One young brave had become an excellent trapper and hunter with the great knowledge he had been taught by his father. Little Weasel was the last son born to Chief Spotted Elk and his wife Gray Dawn.

On a bright frosty morning in late November, Little Weasel had left his small village to check his snares for the furs that were becoming harder to find. Each day would lead him farther and farther from his village in search for a better trapping area. Little Weasel had left long before the sun had risen from its sleep. By late afternoon he had checked all of his snares and had stopped along a small stream to skin the few beaver he had caught in his snares.

He was packing the last hides on his pony when he thought he heard a mournful cry. He listened intently only to hear the sound of the rushing water in the nearby stream. He swung onto his pony and again he heard the mournful cry. This time he thought it was coming from the rolling prairie to the east. He turned his pony in the direction of the sound and cautiously weaved his way up the rocky trail away from the stream. When he reached the top of the ridge, again he heard a mournful sound riding on the wind. He urged his pony into a faster gait as the sound had become weaker to his keen ear. After riding a few hundred yards his eyes picked up an unfamiliar sight on a far hillside. Was it a dying buffalo he had heard left wounded by the "hide hunters" or was it a dying horse left by the white settlers? Silently he approached, as it became clearer that it was indeed a horse and a buffalo. He tried to sense what had happened when again he heard the pitiful moan of something in pain. With knife in hand, he slowly moved close enough to see that the horse and buffalo were both dead. Only than did he see the "hide hunter" lying pinned between the horse and buffalo. The buffalo hunter was delirious and near death due the great amount of blood lost when the buffalo had fallen to its final rest on top of the "hide hunter". Both of the legs of the "hide hunter" were pinned under the fallen buffalo as was one arm that lay in a grotesque position.

Little Weasel tied his pony to the rear legs of the buffalo and managed to pull the beast just far enough to be able to free the "hide hunter" from his prairie grave. Little Weasel took the beaver hides from his pony and rolled them into tight rolls and then tied them tight around the "hide hunter's" broken limbs. The "hide hunter" passed in and out of consciousness as the young brave moved him onto a hastily made travois that he had made from small aspen trees from the stream bank. The moon had already awoken from his sleep when the young brave started out for his village that was still one sun away.

When Little Weasel could smell the familiar smells of his village, the sun was just rising. He did not know whether the "hide hunter" was still alive or not. It had been many miles since he had heard any sound from his passenger. As he rode his pony in to camp, he stopped in front of his fathers lodge just as Gray Dawn was coming out of the teepee. Spotted Elk followed close behind Gray Dawn and looked in dismay at this sight in front of him. Why would his son drag in this "hide hunter" who was ruining their way of life?

The crumpled body of the "hide hunter" was placed by the fire and covered with a buffalo robe. Gray Dawn washed away the caked blood from the hunter's mouth. The "hide hunter" was alive but barely. Eight suns had come and gone before the "hide hunter" finally regained consciousness. Saplings were bound to both legs and one arm when the man awoke.

Spotted Elk had disowned his son for bringing the "hide hunter" to camp. Gray Dawn tried to ease the tension between father and son, but to no avail. Spotted Elk would not let his son or the "hide hunter" stay in his camp. Little Weasel was shunned totally by all of the other young braves in camp and the squaws cackled behind his back.

Little Weasel tied his meager belongings onto his pony. His mother, Gray Dawn had given her son her own pony as a farewell gift. She knew she would not see her son again. Riding his pony and leading his mother's pony with the travois trailing behind, Little Weasel and the "hide hunter" were banned from ever returning to Chief Spotted Elk's camp.

It was eight long weeks before "Bull" Shephard was able to walk again with the aid of a cottonwood crutch. His days were spent in total isolation, as Little Weasel was gone before the sun came up and did not return until after dark. Sigh language was not one of "Bull's" greatest assets, but it was the only way of communication between the two outcasts. Why had this young brave saved his life? Why was he willing to be banned from his own camp and why did he leave every day to hunt and trap to keep him alive? All of these questions ate on "Bull" Shephard. He had never been indebted to anyone as long as he could remember. That was all changing now. He was totally dependent on this young brave who kept him alive.

As the winter days wore on "Bull" Shephard was gaining back some of his health that was nearly taken away from him permanently. Soon the spring would emerge and he knew that Little Weasel would leave to follow the buffalo. "Bull" needed to leave as well. He knew the days were numbered for his way of life of supplying buffalo meat for the railroad and shipping hides back east. Little Weasel knew this fact as well, but he was bound to his way of life.

"Bull" had shipped a large amount of hides back east just before his untimely accident with the buffalo. He knew if he could make the five day ride to the outpost on Horsehead Creek that Sam Pelly would have the money for him even though everyone probably figured him for dead.

When the sun arose the next day, "Bull" was on his way to the outpost. He had tried to tell Little Weasel with the best sign language he could muster that he would be back in ten suns. He was unsure whether he made it clear or not. When he reached the outpost on Horsehead Creek, Sam Pelly could not believe his eyes as to the sight he was seeing when "Bull" stepped through the door. After much explaining and a couple of pulls on the crock jug, Sam retrieved "Bull's" money that had been waiting for him for almost six months. "Bull" bought some supplies and a new rifle to replace the one lost when the buffalo killed his horse. "Bull" also purchased a gift for the young brave who saved his life. He said his goodbye to Sam and headed back to the camp five days away.

"Bull" had plenty of time to think about what he was going to do after he recovered from his accident. The buffalo hunters were all gone now and his profession was over with. He had tried to tell Little Weasel that his way of life was over as well.

Little Weasel had watched from afar as the "hide hunter" had left five suns ago. He did not know whether he would ever see the "hide hunter" again. As Little Weasel was packing up his camp on the afternoon of the tenth sun, he watched closely as a rider approached. He noticed the stiff legs on the rider and knew that it was the "hide hunter" returning. For some unknown reason Little Weasel felt an overwhelming loyalty to this "hide hunter". Even though "Bull" felt indebted to this young brave, there was something more that he just couldn't put his finger on. What was it that was bonding these two so close?

In the spring of 1866 "Bull" Shephard had returned from the mountains to the yearly rendevous when the Indians and the fur traders met to swap goods for furs. "Bull" had had a very good trapping season and was hell bent for the yearly blowout. When he arrived the Indians and the mountain men were well into the second day of the party. Much whiskey was being watered down, but much whiskey was being drunk. The fur traders were bilking the Indians out of their furs for pennies on the dollar. Some of the mountain men would spend everything they worked all winter for in five days of partying. The Indians would leave with a few blankets and some sparkling trinkets for all their hard effort. Between the axe throwing contests and the shooting contest there was always something going on. All of the mountain men wanted a squaw as much as anything and would trade many furs for a trip to the woods. "Bull" was no different. He traded five good beaver pelts for a trip to the woods with a beautiful young Indian maiden. The rendevous broke up and the Indians left as did the white men only to look forward to another rendevous in a years time.

Twenty years have gone by since the last rendevous, the fur trade fell flat, the Indians are being pushed onto the reservation and the buffalo hunting is just about over.

When the "hide hunter" stepped down from his pony, Little Weasel helped him unload his pack. Little Weasel had some dried beaver meat that he hadn't packed up yet, so the two ate quietly each sensing that this would be their last meal together.

"Bull" reached into his pack and pulled out a brand new "trade axe" that he had bought for Little Weasel. Little Weasel had only seen one other such tomahawk, the one that Spotted Elk kept with him at all times, never to be used by anyone else ever. He was almost afraid to touch it when "Bull" handed the shiny axe to him; an axe with a strong hickory handle with a most unusual beautiful pattern in the steel. It had been hand forged by a blacksmith at the outpost on Horsehead Creek. The young brave was astounded by its smooth, keen cutting edge. The handle had a white weasel rawhide bound on the handle, a symbol of the bravest animal for its size; which was a very fitting tribute to Little Weasel.

Little did either of these outcasts know that a gift had just passed from father to son, but Spotted Elk knew.