Jake thought about the markings on the map, about the smoother flow of the winding line to the right of the sharper, jagged zigzag. The placement of the line had to indicate something east of the mountain range, though how far east was difficult to tell. There was nothing on the map that indicated a roadway, though certainly there had already been one through the central valley at that time. Yellowstone had already become a popular destination in the 1800’s and trade to the north would have had to move in that direction, as well.
Pulling over at Snake River Overlook, he parked his truck and walked out to the observation area. The view was magnificent with the mountains towering directly before him. Pine trees lined the edge of the valley, which stretched flat until it reached the mountains. There was no gradual change here, no foothills separating the valley floor from the tall peaks. The shifting of the earth’s layers over the years had forced sharp, abrupt changes in the displaced sections of ground. Where the flat valley ended, the mountains soared instantly into the sky.
Looking out from the overlook, Jake saw what he had expected to find. The Snake River’s path took one of its many dramatic twists at this location, flowing in from the north and almost doubling back on itself before straightening out again. This ribbon shape resembled the winding line on the map. And, looking across the valley, the river seemed to point toward the general area of Jenny Lake before continuing south. Picture perfect, Jake mused. There was little wonder why Ansel Adams chose this particular spot for one of his photos for The Mural Project in 1941-42.
Mulling over the similarities between the winding line on the map and the curves of the Snake River, Jake returned to his truck and drove south, pausing just once to allow an elk to cross the highway. Upon reaching the ranch, he parked the truck and entered the ranch house, flinging his hat onto the hook inside the door. Without hesitation, he poured himself a glass of brandy and settled into the wing-backed chair. Watching the last rays of the sun stretch across the land, he ran his impressions from the day around in his head. As his eyelids grew heavy, he set the drink down on a side table. Giving in to the fatigue from the day’s explorations and the comfort of his favorite chair, he drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Paige waited until Maddie and Old Man Thompson were gone before leaving the bar herself. It wouldn’t help for them to realize she had been there, especially close enough to overhear. Luckily the liquor appeared to have prevented this. For that, Paige was thankful. Not only might she have been in danger if she had been recognized, but it would certainly make it harder to get her morning lattes. And those lattes had now positioned themselves as investigative opportunities.
In sorting through the bits and pieces of conversation she had overheard, she was starting to think Jake could be in serious trouble. Maddie and Old Man Thompson had mentioned prospectors. Was this about gold? Maybe they simply wanted him to lead them to something and would leave him alone once he found it, but that didn’t seem likely. For one thing, they hardly sounded trustworthy. In addition, they might think Jake could track them once he discovered they had tricked him. She doubted they were planning to leave loose ends. This made her nervous. On the other hand, a wave of excitement ran through her. If her hunches were correct, the pieces were starting to come together.
Exhausted from the events of the day, she returned to her car, parked across the street from the Blue Sky Café. Weary, she drove north to Gros Ventre Junction and then east to her cabin. Too tired to even turn on the light, she shed her clothes, leaving them heaped on the floor and fell into her bed. Within minutes she was sound asleep.
She slept deeply for half the night, but woke with a start at three o’clock in the morning, bolting upright and breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath. A panic attack, she thought, feeling her heart pounding. Just breath in and out, it will pass. She stood up and walked around the cabin in the dark, her mind racing as she tried to pull her thoughts together. Portions of dreams floated back to her, glimpses of the events of the previous day that blurred together in confused scenes. Present day people were walking down the street in the past. The dance hall existed in the present. Maddie and Old Man Thompson were dancing at Tuttle’s Saloon. Chester was playing pool at The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.
It was all so confusing, not at all what she had expected when she came to Jackson Hole to write a simple article. Maybe she was in danger, as well. Perhaps she would be better off leaving for home right away, before things became even more complicated. Instead of getting in any deeper, she could be sitting in her Manhattan apartment, finishing a basic draft on Jackson Hole’s history. But she already knew that wasn’t going to happen. She was too caught up already.
She sat in the dark for the rest of the night, until the glow of sunlight began to rise over the mountains to the east. She made a pot of coffee, quickly downed a cupful and returned to the back room, where she retrieved the clothes she had cast off the night before. Hanging her jacket on one of the wall hooks that served as closet space, she tossed the rest into a makeshift hamper on the floor. Picking up her boots next to move them out by the front door, she felt a shiver run through her as her hand touched a crisp edge of paper. Reaching inside, she slowly pulled out a copy of the Jackson’s Hole Courier dated Oct. 23, 1909. Stunned, she quickly tucked it away in a pocket inside her jacket, dressed as rapidly as possible and headed into town.
She hesitated before going to the Blue Sky Café for her usual morning latte, but it seemed silly to avoid the place. She was certain Maddie and Old Man Thompson had not seen her in the bar the night before. Besides, now that she knew they were involved, her visits to the café could provide opportunities for obtaining additional information.
Maddie was behind the counter, as usual, when Paige entered the café. She seemed exceptionally friendly as she handed over the vanilla latte, accompanied by a cinnamon scone that Paige had picked out from inside the glass display. But she also appeared tired, her face a little drawn, slight bags under her eyes. True to his daily routine, Old Man Thompson sat in his usual place, not looking up. Paige took her favorite seat near the front corner and browsed through the local paper. With the old copy of the 1909 paper safely tucked inside her jacket, the current morning paper took on a whole new perspective.
The café was quiet, only serving up beverages and assorted muffins or bagels to a handful of customers who stopped by. Between orders, Maddie worked intently on preparations for baking. Old Man Thompson, as always, stayed at the counter and stared into his coffee. There was no interaction between them, other than one occasion when Maddie reached over the counter and refilled his coffee cup.
Paige drank half of her latte while sitting in the café and then took the rest to go, sipping it while she drove to the library. There she took her turn at the computer, logged in and pulled up her email. She hesitated before sending an update off to Susan this time. It wouldn’t do any good to report events that would seem unbelievable. She needed the email to sound at least somewhat rational.
To: Susan Shaw
From: Paige Mackenzie
Re: Jackson Hole Article
Hi Susan,
I’ve had some excitement the last couple days. It may sound incredible, but I have reason to believe there is a stash of gold hidden in this valley. What’s more, I think a couple of the locals are very close to finding it. Obviously this would make an amazing story. I’d like to stay and see this through, if there aren’t any other assignments pending. Otherwise, I’ve obtained quite an insight into the history of the area. I could return and do a historical piece, if you prefer. But, if possible, I’d like to continue to follow my hunch about the gold.
Please advise!
Paige
Paige leaned against the back of the wooden chair and almost laughed out loud at her wording. “Quite an insight” was certainly an understatement. But what else could she say? Her recent method of historical information-gathering was a bit more intensive than the usual techniques she used
for research. It was far wiser to leave this out of her report. She had no intention of turning this trip into a visit to a mental health facility.
There was no one in line for the computer, so Paige lingered to run a few Google searches. She found a photo of the town taken in 1907 by William Trester, reportedly the first. It showed a town square virtually identical to the one she had seen after stepping through the antler arch. A few small buildings were missing, undoubtedly built over the next two years as the town grew. But otherwise it appeared the same.
She searched a few more areas on the Internet, reading up on the history of gold prospectors in the valley, including specific locations they had explored. All accounts said that little was ever discovered. Paige looked for anything that might confirm the things she had seen and heard the last couple days, but there was nothing.
She closed out the search windows on the computer and checked her email box again. As she suspected, knowing Susan was an early riser and already at her desk, there was an email response already waiting.
To: Paige Mackenzie
From: Susan Shaw
Re: Jackson Hole Article
Paige,
Wow, great news. This would make an amazing exclusive, if your hunch turns out to be right. With you right there in Jackson Hole, we could get the news before it hits the wires. Don’t even think about coming back before exhausting the search for more information. This is a story we need. It could be a big break for your career. Stay at it and keep me posted. Keep digging.
Susan
The response was exactly what Paige had expected. Even better, it gave her an excuse to stay longer in Jackson Hole. She logged off the computer and left the library. Half way to her car, she paused, returned to the library and asked the information desk if they had any topographical maps. She was directed to a file cabinet of sorts, but with long, narrow horizontal drawers. She opened the top one and rummaged through some flat, laminated maps, all about two feet by three. Finding one of the lower valley and surrounding mountains, she pulled it out and carried it to a nearby table, where she placed it under the light.
The open portion of the valley clearly appeared flat, a wide expanse with markings for rivers, lakes and national forest and park boundaries. As the flat land approached the mountains on either side, curved lines indicated ridges and altitude changes. Lakes and trails were specifically marked. Smaller landmarks were not. It was going to take information from several sources to pull everything together.
It was against library policy to check out certain reference materials, including the maps. Paige made a few notes and placed the map back in its drawer, looking around her as she pushed it shut. It was odd how ill at ease she seemed to feel all of the sudden, though she hadn’t done anything wrong.
She attempted to sort through her thoughts while driving away from the library. It was still possible that she was chasing nothing at all. Stopping at the town square, she walked through the area, but there was nothing to give her any extra clues. The antler arches stood solid and gray against a cloudy sky. There was no hint of a glow on the corner arch near the café. There was no skeleton key anywhere on the ground and no mysterious meetings taking place near any of the benches.
Seemingly normal activity continued in front of the surrounding shops, cafes and galleries. Shoppers emerged from stores carrying bags of purchases. Potential dinner customers browsed posted menus outside restaurants, surveying dining options. Gallery window displays caught the attention of art aficionados as they passed by. Nothing seemed off or out of place, other than the thoughts and experiences Paige held inside her. A dull headache began to form as she tried to process everything. No matter how she looked at all the pieces, they simply fell into a heap of confusion when she tried to make sense of them.
A feeling of uneasiness started building inide as she questioned how to start pulling the scattered bits of information together. It was not going to be easy. She tossed the jumbled thoughts around as she left the square and headed for the cabin, stopping only on the outskirts of town for some Advil to tackle the ache that continued to creep across her forehead. Impulsively, she added a package of hot cocoa to her purchase, hoping something warm and sweet would help ease the oncoming headache and sooth her nerves.
Back in the car, she continued north. Elk were just beginning to come down from higher altitudes to graze for the winter in the safety of the National Elk Refuge. Beyond the refuge, tall mountains stood against the eastern horizon, with snow capping the highest sections. Though they were less dramatic than the Grand Tetons to the west, they were still impressive.
As she turned right at Gros Ventre Junction and headed for the cabin, she began to feel increasingly uneasy. What if Jake really was in danger? What if she had the knowledge to warn him and she held back? What would happen to him? Would she be responsible? She argued with herself that this was really none of her business. She had come to Jackson Hole simply to do an article and she’d be better off not getting involved personally. Yet she knew it was too late for that. She was already involved.
She struggled back and forth with these thoughts as she continued east. Fields of bison surrounded the curved slopes of Blacktail Butte. Pine-flanked mountains rose up beyond the town of Kelly. She took these images in absent-mindedly, her energy drawn to the conflicting feelings running through her head. She aimed for the cabin, approaching the driveway and signaling to turn in. But at the last minute, just as she was starting the turn, she surprised herself by jerking the wheel back onto the road and driving toward Jake’s ranch.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jake moved from the chair to the bed sometime in the middle of the night and slept soundly until long after the sun had risen. Yet, in spite of sleeping well, he woke up with the blurry feeling of sleep deprivation, making him suspect that he hadn’t slept as soundly as he thought he had. Thinking a good breakfast would help do the trick, he got the coffee maker started and tossed two slices of honey wheat bread in the toaster. After a brief inspection of his refrigerator’s contents, he pulled out eggs, cheese and green onions, grated the cheese, sliced the onions and scrambled it all together in a large, iron pan. Retrieving his toast from the toaster, he slapped everything on a plate and sat in front of the kitchen’s westward facing window.
He spread some orange marmalade on his toast, looking beyond his property, across the valley and over to the Grand Tetons. This was the distance that separated him from the gold. He got up to pour a second cup of coffee and then sat down again, slowly stretching his legs and arms and then finishing his breakfast with a surprisingly avid hunger. He set the dishes in the sink and retreated to the living room, where, as seemed to always be the case now, he pulled the map out and sat down to analyze it again. There was always a chance he might find something he had missed before.
This time he inspected the smaller markings, those that were so minor that they hadn’t seemed to warrant much attention. He knew already from the zigzag of the line on the left that the map was set in a typical north to south, east to west format. This placed the town of Jackson at the lower edge of the map.
There were several additional marks along the bottom that appeared to indicate the town, scratchy marks that looked like scrub brush, a few squares that appeared to be buildings, and some short parallel lines that looked like either a ladder or maybe a path. Or some sort of crossing, perhaps a wooden sidewalk or even the slats of a wall. There were a number of possibilities. An oval shape seemed to indicate a body of water, though that didn’t make sense to Jake. There wasn’t a lake that close to the town area. He considered the possibility that there used to be one and that it had dried up over the years since the map was made. But he was more inclined to believe it represented something else, though he couldn’t venture a guess as to what it was.
He was sure the gold wasn’t buried near the town itself, which made the lower markings on the map unimportant. They simply set the location of the town and indicated the northward direction from
there. He was still on the right track. The curving line down the center of the page represented the Snake River, just as it had appeared from Snake River Overlook. It veered in the direction of Jenny Lake. Yes, he was certain he had it right. Now he just had to follow through until he found the exact location.
Jake was getting ready to put the map away when he was startled by a knock on the door. He’d never had visitors, not since he’d moved from Cody. He’d made it a point to keep his distance from the local people, appearing friendly while in town, but reclusive once outside. It was his protection, his way to avoid having anyone guess his motivation for coming to Jackson Hole. Other than Frank Thompson, no one knew why he was here. And Frank would never tell anyone. He had too much to lose.
Quickly Jake stashed the map back in the shelf, making sure it was completely hidden before crossing to the front door. He suspected a car had broken down or perhaps someone had become disoriented driving around the valley and needed directions. But he did not expect to open the door and find the girl from the library standing on the porch. With so much on his mind, he hadn’t had time to think of their brief, awkward encounter over flying books.
What he did remember, though, was her shiny, auburn hair, as well as her trim figure and rich-toned, hazel eyes. These same eyes now held a look that was a cross between embarrassment and anxiety, nervous and flustered at the same time. But they still held the depth that he recalled from their last meeting.
Paige attempted to speak, then closed her mouth and shook her head. She appeared to collect her thoughts again and ventured another effort.
“I’m Paige Mackenzie, I met you the library,” she attempted. “Well, it’s probably more accurate to say I bumped into you.” She shook her head sheepishly. To her relief, Jake laughed.
Above the Bridge Page 12
