Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  Graham gazed at his arm where the Crow woman had touched him a few moments ago. Her gentle hand and the look in her eyes had elicited a sensation he had never experienced. Deep in a heart scarred by a series of tragedies earlier in his life, a foreign emotion pushed its way to the surface. An overwhelming sense of bliss came slowly and then suddenly, bursting into his consciousness. The young man from Pennsylvania was falling in love.

  In the distance, Castle Geyser abruptly snorted and bellowed. The cone geyser that had been quiet all day suddenly erupted as a powerful column of hot water and steam thrust into the sky.

  Chapter 17

  August 6, 1871

  Waning gibbous moon: 24 nights until the next full moon

  Camp was buzzing with activity early the next morning as everyone packed and readied for the long ride to Yellowstone Lake. Gibson had risen before dawn to make biscuits and cook two rabbits a soldier had killed the previous day. After breakfast, Graham checked with Jackson. The photographer reported his assistant’s health was much improved, so Graham would not be needed today. Graham had mixed feelings about this news. He would be deprived of a second opportunity to work alongside the soon-to-be-famous photographer. Alternatively, this meant he would be traveling with the main group, which Makawee would be guiding to the lake.

  It was not going to be an easy day for the time traveler. Hayden knew they would be traversing difficult terrain. He instructed Graham to assist Goodfellow with the odometer wagon, as he had done on the leg from Yellowstone Lake to the geyser basins. Alec Sibley, one of the mule hands who worked for wagon master Steve Hovey, was also assigned this task.

  Joe Clark and Rides Alone had left camp earlier to hunt. They planned to meet the group at the next camp near the lake. Both hunters were optimistic about seeing big game, because they would be climbing to higher and cooler elevations.

  The sun had barely peeked over the Absaroka Range when the pack train was assembled. The group followed the Firehole River upstream until they reached Old Faithful. Jackson, Dixon, and a soldier escort separated from the main group at the geyser. They planned to spend the day photographing and would venture to the lake the following day.

  With Makawee in the lead and the odometer wagon near the end, the pack train turned east and gradually climbed out of the upper geyser basin. The forest became increasingly dense with each passing mile. Stately lodgepole pines with stubby limbs nudged their neighbors and competed for space, while their fallen predecessors lay randomly scattered on the forest floor two and three deep.

  The landscape was comparable to the tract northwest of Yellowstone Lake. Unlike the previous journey led by the fur trappers, there were no practical alternate routes to the lake. Makawee had chosen the best passage based on their destination and her familiarity with the region. After several miles, Graham and Alec dismounted and led their equines so they could lift the bulky odometer over deadfall and maneuver the wheeled cart around tightly bunched trees.

  As noon approached, the pack train climbed to an elevation at which the trees thinned. Sunlight reached the shallow soil and allowed bright-yellow rabbitbrush and purple, silky phacelia flowers to bloom in dispersed clusters among the rocks.

  The landscape changed dramatically above the tree line. Men, horses, and mules scrambled to keep their footing on rhyolite scree as they neared a summit on the Continental Divide. Goodfellow, Graham, and Alec continued to struggle with the odometer wagon. The smooth, spoked wheels constantly wedged between rocks and lost traction on the steep, unstable slope. Graham and Alec gave the reins of their equines to Lewis Byrch riding behind them so they could free the wagon from the rocks. Goodfellow dismounted and pulled the mule’s reins while the men in the rear pushed the two-wheeled cart.

  Graham’s foot slipped as a rock gave way under his boot. He lost his grip on the odometer wagon’s handles and fell forward on his arms. The sharp edge of a volcanic rock sliced through his shirt sleeve and gashed the bottom side of his right forearm.

  “Shit!” Graham exclaimed as he winced in pain.

  “Whoa!” Alec cried out to Goodfellow. “Hold up!”

  Graham rolled over and sat behind the odometer wagon on the gray igneous rocks. Holding up his arm, he pulled up his sleeve and watched blood trickle down to his elbow. He instinctively clamped the wound with his other hand and turned to Alec.

  “I’m gonna need a bandage. Can you get Albert Peale?”

  Alec scrambled up the slope past the wagon and explained what happened to Goodfellow. The mule hand hurried to the mountaintop several hundred feet ahead and yelled Peale’s name when he reached the summit.

  When Byrch saw what happened, he led his horse to the place where Graham was sitting behind the wagon and crouched, resting his arms on his thighs.

  “Looks kinda nasty,” he said, nodding at the blood oozing between the fingers of the injured man’s clamped hand.

  Yeah. Feels kinda nasty, too,” Graham admitted. “Do you have a clean cloth I could use?”

  “Clean? Well, sorta. Got a scarf in my saddlebag.”

  “Can you get it?”

  Byrch retrieved a dingy, white neck scarf from his saddlebag and handed it to Graham, who hesitated when he saw dark stains on the fabric. He looked at his bleeding arm, then back to the scarf. No time to think about a possible infection. He needed to stop the bleeding.

  Graham handed it back to the soldier. “Fold it into a wide bandage.”

  Private Byrch fashioned a bandage from the scarf and wrapped it around Graham’s arm. The bleeding abated as Graham applied additional pressure with his free hand.

  “Peale is coming!” Goodfellow shouted toward the back of the odometer five minutes later. Chunks of rhyolite tumbled past the wagon as Peale and Alec quickly made their way down the slope. The lanky odometer driver focused on keeping the mule steady so the wagon would not slide backward.

  “Let me see your injury,” the erstwhile medical student ordered as he knelt and placed a small medical kit beside him.

  Peale unwrapped the bloody scarf and inspected the laceration. Graham looked carefully at the wound as well, noting a two-inch gash halfway between his wrist and elbow.

  “It’s not too deep. And you didn’t sever any major veins. If we bind it properly to stop the bleeding, you should be fine.” Peale removed a thick dressing and a roll of linen from his kit. He wrapped the wound securely and knotted the ends of the bandage to hold it in place. Graham folded the ripped sleeve onto his upper arm.

  “Can you walk?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Private Byrch, give me the reins of the horses and help Alec get the odometer to the summit.”

  Alec, Byrch, and Goodfellow inched the odometer wagon up the rock-strewn incline while Peale and Graham followed with the equines. Twenty minutes later, the quintet reached the summit and spotted the pack train several hundred feet down the opposite side of the mountain. The footing was equally treacherous when descending. This time, Alec and Byrch held back the odometer wagon to prevent it from gaining too much speed and overtaking the hitched mule. To reduce the angle of descent, Goodfellow guided the wagon in a zigzag path toward the tree line.

  The pack-train members were resting under an array of mature whitebark pines. The smooth bark and irregularly shaped crowns of the gnarled trees were evidence this alpine species had evolved to thrive in poor soil and windy conditions.

  As Graham led Lindy carefully down the slope littered with loose volcanic rocks toward the whitebark pine groves, he recollected part of the park ranger’s lesson on bear habitat:

  “. . . they especially love huckleberries and seeds from whitebark pinecones. These plants provide high-energy food sources. If you are hiking in an area where either of these plants or trees is prevalent, be alert.”

  He surveyed the crowns of the stout trees and noticed clusters of dark-purple seed cones affixed to many of the limbs. A flock of black-and-white woodpecker crows was noisily harvesting seeds from the cones, flying to a
nd from the trees to bury their treasures in small ground caches. Although this was potential bear country based on the availability of a prime food source, a grizzly would not venture into an area with lots of humans.

  “That be jo-fired hard work!” Sibley hollered after Goodfellow pulled the odometer wagon next to a tree.

  “I be tuckered out,” Byrch agreed, as he removed his hat and wiped his brow, and nodded. He was too tired to speak. Peale and Graham tethered their mounts to the wagon and retrieved their canteens.

  “Much obliged, fellas,” Goodfellow said to his helpers after tying his mule. “This here wagon ’kin be a son of a bitch when goin’ up ’n’ down a rocky slope.”

  Ferdinand Hayden trudged over to the two-wheeled cart.

  “That was quite a climb,” he commented while reading the dial on a circular brass instrument. “According to my aneroid barometer, we are at eighty-four hundred feet. I’ll need to correct for temperature changes later to get a more precise measurement.”

  The expedition leader replaced the cover on the aneroid and questioned Peale: “What’s the story on Davidson?”

  “He fell while pushing the odometer wagon and suffered a nasty cut on his arm,” Peale responded as he pointed his chin in the wounded man’s direction.

  Graham lowered his canteen and held up his injured right forearm to show the bandage. Dark-red blood had soaked the dressing in a pattern consistent with a slashing type of wound.

  “I’ll be okay,” he said reassuringly, anticipating Hayden’s concern.

  “I agree. I’ll give it a few more wraps before we set out again. We will need to change the dressing at camp tonight, but the cut isn’t exceptionally deep,” Peale confirmed.

  Hayden nodded. “We’ll take our midday meal here. You can see part of the lakeshore below, but it will take most of the afternoon to reach it. The timber looks dense. Alec and Private Byrch will assist Goodfellow, since Davidson is injured. If they need relief, let me know. I will take the lead for the afternoon and try to find a path with less deadfall.”

  Graham regretted he couldn’t assist Goodfellow with the odometer wagon but realized lifting or pushing with a wounded arm was not a good idea. Hayden’s last statement was puzzling. He wondered why the survey director decided to lead the pack train to the lake when Makawee was the only experienced guide in the group.

  * * *

  Soon after the pack train descended through the band of whitebark pines near the summit, they encountered dense stands of lodgepole trees. Hayden had instructed Makawee to ride near the front of the line in case he needed her advice. For over an hour, he led the pack train in a weaving pattern, probing the dense timber for areas where the mules could pass more easily between trees with their bulky loads and the odometer wagon could avoid excessive deadfall.

  Graham became concerned they were drifting south of their destination. As Lindy plodded along near the rear of the group, he pulled his compass out of his backpack and verified Hayden’s tendency to travel more south than east. He debated whether to say anything to Hayden, hoping someone else would notice the same thing and speak up.

  When the group stopped at a rock outcropping for a break, Graham rode up to Makawee and shared his concerns in a low voice.

  “Do you see where we are heading?” he asked the Indian guide.

  “Yes. Away from the lake,” she confirmed.

  “You should tell Doctor Hayden,” Graham urged.

  “I will speak when he asks for my advice,” she stated flatly.

  Graham was frustrated. He could appreciate her dilemma. Hayden was the chief baashchiile. It was not appropriate for a Crow woman to question a white man’s decision. He would have to approach Hayden.

  He nudged Lindy and trotted over to the pack-train leader and dismounted.

  “Doctor Hayden, may I make a suggestion?”

  “What’s that?” the survey director asked as he looked up from the rudimentary pen-and-ink map of the region generated by the Washburn expedition.

  “I’ve taken a few compass readings along the way, and I believe we have moved too far south. I realize we have been trying to avoid areas where the trees are in dense stands, but I recommend we move in a northeast direction to reach the lake.”

  Graham searched Hayden’s face for a reaction, hoping he had not overstepped his bounds. The survey director had insisted he speak up, and he was taking the man at his word.

  “Is that so?” Hayden asked. He stroked his beard and looked down at the crude Washburn map.

  “Come with me,” he ordered.

  The two men strode over to Makawee, who was adjusting the bridle on her horse.

  “If you were to lead the group toward the lake from here, which direction would you go?” he asked the Crow guide.

  Without hesitation, Makawee raised her arm and pointed. Hayden pulled out a brass pocket compass and verified she was indicating a route northeast of their current position.

  Hayden snapped the cover over the compass and tucked it into his pocket. He looked at Makawee and said abruptly, “You will lead us to the lake from here.”

  As Hayden turned and walked away to retrieve his horse, Makawee looked at Graham. They shared a smile.

  * * *

  After an arduous trek through tightly packed lodgepole pines, the pack train made a steep descent to a creek late in the afternoon. A wide, marshy area hosted thick clumps of broadleaf cattails, their brown, cylindrical flowering spikes standing like sentries along the creek. Mountain alder bushes resplendent with small clusters of woody brown catkin flowers lined the banks. Countless green-headed dragonflies flitted in short bursts among the cattails, stalking and devouring gnats and mosquitoes that swarmed in amorphous clouds above the bog.

  Makawee led the pack train along the creek for a short distance, looking for a place to safely cross to the opposite bank. She tested a promising location by carefully edging her horse onto the spongy soil. When her horse sank a few inches into the mud, she backed out while the pack train queued up behind her.

  Hayden rode forward to see what was holding up the line.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “The ground is very wet and soft. We need to find a better place to cross the creek.”

  “Let me try,” Hayden replied, as he eased his horse onto the marshy ground. The mare’s hooves sank into the mud up to the coronet band on her legs. The survey leader carefully guided the horse across the marsh and crossed the creek. Once on the other side, he motioned for the others to follow. Makawee waited and watched while one by one the riders and pack animals trekked across the miry earth. The path through the bog was soon pocked with hoofprints filled with muddy water.

  Half the group crossed successfully before two pack mules became mired in the soft earth. After unloading the mules, it took three men nearly an hour of coaxing, pulling, and cussing to extricate the animals from the marsh. Meanwhile, Hayden advised the others, which included Goodfellow pulling the odometer wagon, to search for another crossing point farther downstream. The second half of the team led by Makawee crossed the creek without incident fifteen minutes later.

  After the group reunited on the other side of the creek, they rode a few hundred yards before arriving at a large lake Hayden declared was Heart Lake based on his copy of the Washburn sketch. Since there were only a few hours of daylight remaining, he ordered camp to be set up for the night along the lakeshore.

  Graham consulted his topographic map and determined they were most likely on the north shore of Shoshone Lake, the park’s second-largest lake. Their camp was five miles southwest of the West Thumb of Yellowstone Lake. He needed to corroborate this location with Makawee so she could accurately guide the group to Yellowstone Lake tomorrow morning.

  Aurelio and Graham set up a fly among short, dense clumps of needlegrass. After a dinner of slapjacks and tea, Graham asked Peale to examine his injured arm. The geologist-medical student unwrapped the bandage and removed the blood-soaked dressing. The
bleeding had stopped except where the dressing had stuck to the skin and reopened the wound when it was removed. He bathed the wound in fresh water, then reapplied a clean dressing and bandage. Peale assured the young man a scab would form over the gash and heal in three or four weeks.

  Graham walked along the lakeshore past numerous tents erected by the survey team and soldiers. He presumed Makawee would set up camp apart from the main group as she and Rides Alone had done previously. Two hundred feet beyond camp, Graham saw a small fire burning. Makawee’s horse was tethered to a tree, but she was not present. Graham sat by the fire and awaited her return.

  Five minutes later, she appeared along the lakeshore in the distance. When Graham stood, he noticed she was holding a bunch of wildflowers.

  “Hello,” he greeted Makawee, smiling as he removed his hat. “I want to see if you and I agree on our location,” he said as an introduction.

  He explained where he thought they were, and the Crow guide agreed. The group should reach Yellowstone Lake within a few hours tomorrow morning.

  “These are for you,” she indicated, offering the bouquet. Each plant had clusters of twenty pale-yellow disk flowers surrounded by six white petals. The flat-topped flower heads were attached to tall stems with fernlike leaflets.

  Graham was dumbstruck. Why was she giving him flowers? He chastised himself for neglecting to gather wildflowers and present them to her. There were plenty of opportunities. Just this morning, he had seen rabbitbrush and phacelia in bloom along their path. It would have been an easy way to signal his affection.

  “Thank you. It’s . . . it’s truly kind of you,” Graham stammered, blushing as he accepted the gift.

  “May I look at your arm?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Please sit,” she instructed.

  Graham sat down and placed the bouquet beside him. He turned his palm up and extended his wounded forearm. Makawee sat cross-legged in front of him and briefly studied the bandage.