“I heard what happened on the lake. Ten days ago, you carelessly led one of my enlisted men into a dangerous area near a hot spring. Yesterday, you nearly caused a man to drown. Your recklessness and incompetence will eventually kill someone.”
These accusations flipped a switch in Graham’s brain. He leaped to his feet with clenched fists.
“Go ahead. Strike me,” Doane taunted. “As military commander of this expedition, I’m a representative of the US government. You’re a civilian, and I am the law in this territory. If you strike me, I will arrest you for assault and have you escorted back to Fort Ellis. Nothing would give me more pleasure.”
Graham couldn’t be sent to Fort Ellis. He had two weeks to make it to the Dragon’s Mouth before the next full moon. Although he doubted the veracity of Doane’s legal authority, he couldn’t risk challenging the man. Still glowering at the lieutenant, he slowly took a step backward.
“That’s what I thought,” Doane said with a thin smile. “Not only are you an incompetent guide, you’re a Lily Liver.”
The last comment was clearly intended to prompt an outburst from Graham, but he didn’t take the bait.
“We have an understanding. You do your job and I’ll do mine. Let’s not cross paths again,” the cavalry officer concluded as he spun on his heels and strode away.
* * *
Peale and Graham spent several hours preparing and documenting the rock and plant specimens they had collected in the morning. Graham enjoyed the work because he could quiz the geologist on the various types of rocks. He had no formal education or training in the field of geology. The plant specimens they gathered were also new to the forestry major, since he had learned about only Eastern species of trees and shrubs in his field dendrology course at Penn State.
Henry Elliott and Cam Carrington strutted over to Peale’s tent in midafternoon.
“Graham, what happened yesterday?” Elliott inquired. “I heard all kinds of rumors and wanted to hear directly from you.”
The erstwhile scenicruise operator recalled the fateful event, carefully explaining the circumstances that led to Sibley’s being tossed overboard. Albert Peale became interested in their conversation and stopped preparing his rock specimens to listen.
“Hmmm. Sounds like you couldn’t handle the Annie as well as Cam and me,” Elliott concluded.
“It would have been challenging for anyone to row a small boat in water that rough. In hindsight, we shouldn’t have taken it out.”
It was a not-so-subtle reminder Elliott had insisted the soundings be taken regardless of the poor weather conditions.
Elliott ignored Graham’s assertion. “When are you gonna clean up the boat? We can’t use it until that’s done.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s vomit on the bottom of the boat. Did one of you take sick while out there?”
“Sibley got seasick and surrendered his breakfast.”
“He needs to clean it up. I sure ain’t.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Clean it good. Don’t just give it a lick and a promise. Another thing—where’s the plummet?”
“Bottom of the lake. I told you the rope broke at the eyelet.”
“How are we supposed to lower the rope without a weight?”
“I’m sure we can improvise a new plummet from a large rock. I’d be glad to help.”
“Does she still float?”
“Yes, the Annie floats.”
Graham was annoyed by Elliott’s petty comments and complaints. He should be glad the two of them made it back to land safely. Peale glanced over at Graham and rolled his eyes. The geologist was clearly bewildered by the artist’s trivial grievances.
“I guess we’re lucky to even have a boat after the way you and Nancy-boy Sibley screwed up yesterday. Let me know when it’s cleaned up,” Elliott said, chiding Graham as he turned to walk away with Carrington.
“Hey, Cam, do you have a minute?” Graham asked.
“Sure,” the affable young man replied. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said to Elliott as the landscape artist nodded and continued walking.
“I understand you’ve known Henry for a while,” Graham began after Elliott was out of earshot.
“Yep. We’ve been friends for a couple of years. Why?”
“This is a strange and wonderful country we’re in, but there are some things that can frighten a man. I’m scared of grizzly bears, for example. Sibley is afraid of deep water.”
“And I’m afraid of snakes,” Peale chimed in. “There’s no way you could get me within twenty feet of a snake.” He flashed a look at Graham indicating he knew where this conversation was going.
“Anyway, I was wondering if you have any fears,” Graham said casually.
“Oh yeah,” Carrington replied immediately.
When Cam didn’t elaborate on his apprehensions, Graham prodded him.
“Would you like to share what it is?”
“I’m afraid of blood. Any time I see someone get injured, I have to turn away. My heart beats really fast, I start shaking, and I get light-headed. It’s embarrassing.”
“That’s more common than you may think,” Peale said assuredly. “It’s called hemophobia. As a physician, I’ve seen many people have the same reaction. You’re not alone, and there’s no need to be embarrassed.”
Carrington was visibly relieved to hear Peale’s assurance.
“And what about Henry? Does he have any fears?” Graham casually prompted.
“He is definitely afraid of heights.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, several weeks ago we were exploring the canyon area south of the terraced hot springs. Henry was planning to sketch the canyon, but he wouldn’t get anywhere near the edge to look down and see the river. He stayed back from the rim the entire time we were there. I could see he was scared.”
“That’s interesting. Thanks for sharing, Cam.”
“You won’t tell anyone about my fear of blood, will you?”
“Your secret is safe with us,” Graham reassured.
After Carrington left the campsite, Peale turned to Graham. “What are you scheming?”
“You heard how he mocks Alec’s fear of water. The man nearly drowned after Elliott insisted we take the Annie out on the lake yesterday. He can ridicule me, but I refuse to let him prey on Sibley’s fear of deep water. I plan to use Elliott’s phobia to teach him a lesson. But I need your help.”
Peale hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to get in the middle of this. It depends on what you have in mind.”
“There is a high, steep mountain on the east side of the lake not far from here. It has lots of different rock types and seems like a good place for a geologist to explore.”
“How do you know about this mountain?”
“I climbed it in June.”
This was partially true. Graham had climbed Avalanche Peak in June of 1971.
“And what does this mountain have to do with your plan for Elliott?”
“There is a wonderful panoramic vista of the lake from the summit. It’s an excellent setting for a landscape artist,” Graham opined.
Peale could see what Graham was thinking. They would entice Elliott to join them in an excursion to the mountain, where it would provide an opportunity to sketch the lake from an elevated view. When the artist was faced with summiting the mountain, he would be forced to confront his acrophobia.
“From your description, this mountain is an attractive venue for a geologist and an artist,” Peale said with a grin.
* * *
Graham lay by the fire and gazed at the heavens on a cloudless evening. The new moon was not visible because it was currently positioned directly between the sun and Earth. Just as the illuminated face of the moon was currently hidden from view, Graham’s true twentieth-century identity was hidden from Makawee. He was in love with her and knew she had strong feelings for him, but their relationship was hampered by
a secret.
How could he explain he was from the next century? Even if she believed him, how would she react to this knowledge? He hoped to go back to his own world in two weeks, but he hadn’t thought about the implications for their nascent relationship.
Graham sighed. New moon. New day. New opportunity to be honest with the woman he loved. He resolved to seek out Makawee tomorrow and find the courage to confide in her. It was the right thing to do.
Chapter 23
August 17, 1871
Waxing crescent moon: 13 nights until the next full moon
Breakfast was a special treat for the men. With the fresh supplies received yesterday, the menu included slapjacks, bacon, and coffee. Goodfellow came back to camp late the previous evening with a leather pouch full of reddish-purple gooseberries, which Gibson crushed and mixed with a little sugar to make a flavorful fruit topping for the slapjacks. The good meal and fair weather seemed to brighten everyone’s mood.
Steve Hovey sat down heavily beside Graham holding a plate with two slapjacks slathered with gooseberry jam. He rolled a slapjack into a crepe, the sticky fruit glaze oozing from the edges as he stuffed half of it into his mouth. The wagon master devoured each slapjack in three bites, barely chewing before swallowing. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he ambled to the cooking fire, returning with a tin cup of hot coffee and a strip of bacon.
“Talked with Sibley yesterday,” Hovey said, breaking the silence.
Graham tensed. Peale had told him Hovey was skeptical about what happened on the lake with the Annie. Graham wondered if the wagon master was going to blame him for nearly drowning his mule handler.
“He says you done saved his life,” Hovey stated before slurping his coffee.
Graham was relieved Alec had not faulted him for the near tragedy.
“We were unlucky and lucky that day. We were unlucky the sounding line broke, and the boat was pushed sideways into the waves. We were lucky Alec was able to stay afloat, and we were close to shore.”
“Well, anyways, I owe you an apology. Never shoulda sent you fellas out there. Thought mebbe you wasn’t careful wit’ one of my men. Sibley says it ain’t so. I believe him.”
“Thank you.”
The wagon master stuck out a calloused hand, which Graham accepted. Hovey stood abruptly and shuffled toward the area where the horses and mules were picketed. Graham was grateful this potential misunderstanding had been reconciled.
Rather than wait for Stevenson or Peale to provide instructions for the day, Graham decided to be proactive. After finishing breakfast and brushing his teeth, he strolled to Peale’s camp, where the geologist was using a knife to scrape the nasal cavity of one of the bighorn-sheep skulls obtained in their trade with the Mountain Shoshone.
“Hi, Albert. What are you doing?”
“Some of these animals were killed very recently, and I’m removing the largest pieces of remaining flesh. After I’m done scraping, the skulls need to be macerated to remove the smallest fragments. I’m going to borrow some of the cooking pots and place them in hot water.”
“Do you need my help, or should I talk with Mr. Stevenson?”
“Stevenson already left with Doctor Hayden on an excursion. I’m going to be working on these skulls all day but was hoping to collect some more plant specimens before we leave this area tomorrow. Perhaps you could use your botany skills to find some interesting species of plants. We have climbed some nearby mountains, but no one has explored the area upstream from Meadow Creek. I recommend starting there.”
“Sure.”
“You can put your specimens in this,” Peale said, handing him a soft leather pouch with a shoulder strap.
As Graham accepted the sack, he suddenly had an idea.
“Do you mind if I ask Makawee to come with me? Her knowledge of native plants could be especially useful.”
“Good suggestion. I’m certain she will also be pleasant company,” Peale replied teasingly with a smile.
Graham blushed. He wondered if Peale was the only one who had noticed their blossoming relationship.
The time traveler hurried back to the fly he shared with Aurelio. He opened his backpack and considered the inventory of items, many of which he planned to share with Makawee when disclosing his true identity. Grabbing his blanket, he left the fly and walked to the area where the hostlers were caring for the horses and mules.
Lindy greeted him with a soft snort as he approached. He saddled the molly mule and tied the rolled blanket behind the cantle. He slid the Spencer carbine into its scabbard and looped the leather pouch and pack around the saddle horn before untying her from the picket line. Graham led Lindy to a lone Engelmann spruce at the edge of the camp, where Makawee and Rides Alone had constructed a wickiup. He surveyed the camp from a distance and saw a horse tied nearby. The bay roan Appaloosa of Rides Alone was nowhere in sight, an indication the warrior was hunting with Joe Clark.
“Hello, Makawee!” Graham called as he drew close to their camp.
“Hi,” the young Crow woman answered with a smile as she emerged from the short opening of the shelter.
“Is Rides Alone hunting today?”
“Yes.”
“I was hoping you would ride with me.”
“Where are you going?”
“To gather more specimens for our plant collection. Perhaps you can advise me on where to look for some interesting herbs and flowers. I plan to follow the creek upstream.”
“I was going to roast a rabbit for our meal tonight. Will we be back by midafternoon?”
“Yes. I brought some biscuits and bacon from camp. We can have them for our noon meal.”
Makawee nodded. Graham watched admiringly as she quickly bridled and mounted Zonta.
The two riders proceeded single file past the large beaver dam up the shallow ravine carved by Meadow Creek. They soon came to a fork in the creek, and Graham decided to follow the larger stream. Their path was easy, as the conifers were spaced widely apart compared with the tracts of dense timber the pack train traveled through south of the lake. As they gained elevation, the forest thinned and became interspersed with tall shocks of grass.
Eventually they emerged from the ravine onto a high mountain meadow several thousand feet long and a few hundred feet wide. Sedges, willows, and cattails grew along the banks of a small stream trickling in the center of the wetland. Clusters of white cow parsnips peeked above clumps of the green water-loving grasses. A narrow band of light-purple penstemon on the adjacent hillside guarded the meadow. Yellowstone Lake sparkled in the morning sun several hundred feet below and a mile to the west.
“Any thoughts about where to go next?” asked Graham.
Makawee nodded toward the slope on the opposite side of the meadow. “The plants are different as you climb and the soil changes. You could explore the mountainside while I see what plants are growing in the meadow,” she suggested.
“Good idea. Let’s meet over there in a few hours.”
Graham pointed to a massive flat rock jutting from the slope ten feet above the meadow. The outcropping was bordered on two sides by towering lodgepole pines and perfectly placed for a vista of the lake. He guided Lindy along the edge of the meadow before urging the mule to climb the gentle slope near the outcropping while Makawee rode north following the contours of the hill.
Thirty minutes later, Graham reached a distinctive landscape on the mountain slope. Several years earlier, a fire had swept through the area, decimating the forest in a mosaic burn pattern. Inexplicably, the fire left large tracts of forest untouched while skeletons of charred lodgepole pines poked defiantly skyward in other sections. The open canopy of the burned acreage allowed extensive patches of magenta fireweed to grow prolifically on the forest floor.
Graham picketed Lindy to a tree, then removed the Kodak Instamatic from his backpack and snapped a picture of the mule standing amid the scorched trees and dense patches of tall perennial wildflowers. He unfolded his Barlow kni
fe and harvested several bunches of fireweed plants and collected a handful of scattered pinecones. The resin that sealed the serotinous cones had been melted by the intense heat of the fire, releasing their seeds into the soil.
After placing these samples in the leather pouch, he ascended to the top of a flat ridge and rode along its edge for a while but didn’t observe any plants he had not already seen on their journey around the lake. Glancing at his watch, he carefully guided Lindy back down the slope in a zigzag pattern, arriving at the outcropping before noon. Makawee was seated on the rock ledge with a small willow basket.
“Did you find anything?” he asked, as he dismounted and tied his mule to a tree.
“Yes.”
She unfolded an envelope-shaped, buffalo-hide parfleche and revealed four species of wildflowers. In addition to the purple penstemon and cow parsnip growing immediately below them in the meadow, she had collected two other flowers.
“This is a marsh marigold,” she said. The flower was mounted on a long stalk and had eight white oblong sepals surrounding a cluster of yellow stamens and light-green pistils. Graham had seen the yellow variant in Pennsylvania but determined this species was likely native to the Rocky Mountains.
“I see you found more yarrow,” he joked, pointing to the small white flowers growing in umbrella-shaped clusters. “Are you going to replenish your supply in case I suffer from another wound?”
“This is not yarrow, even though their flowers look similar. It is water hemlock. See the purple spots on the thick stem? Those indicate it’s a poisonous plant. If you get hemlock sap on your skin, it will cause a rash. It can kill you if you swallow even a small amount. I will keep this plant separate from the others.”
Graham cringed at his ignorance and leaned over to get a closer look at the plant. He made a mental note to properly identify any plants before assuming they were edible or had medicinal properties.
“Did you find anything?” she inquired.
Graham showed her the fireweed and pinecones in his leather pouch.
Burning Ground Page 35
