by Julie Weston
“Get out tonight?” The sun had dropped out of sight and the evening dusk was dimming. “Can we see enough to find our way out?”
“Nope. It’s been too long since I been here. We’ll wait ’til mornin’. Maybe someone will figger out we’re in trouble and bring some help.” Rosy took the tripod leg. “I think this’ll work. Bring a second one. Then you go about buildin’ a fire while I fix Charlie up. He’s some scratched up, but otherwise, I think he’ll be all right. ’Cept the leg of course.”
Nellie found enough pieces of dead branches and pine needles to pile near a circle she built with lava bombs and chunks of rock. It did not look to be a comfortable night for any of them. She secured the horse after giving it and Moonie water. There was more forage, so she didn’t feel bad about the horse. She unloaded the packs and saddlebags and scrounged up what food she could—one sandwich, a slab of cheese, enough flour to make biscuits, no more beans, some bacon. She worried about their water supply.
“I need some help, Nell,” Rosy called.
Nell scrambled over the rocks to Charlie. He stood with Rosy’s help, but they appeared stuck right by the stone that split when the sheriff landed on it. She studied the men and then the rock. “You’ll have to sit on it. We can lift your legs and move them to the other side. It’ll hurt.”
Charlie nodded and hobbled forward to sit on the edge. Rosy and Nell picked up his two legs and swung them as carefully as they could up and around, facing him toward the camp site, with his back to the cave. Then Nell got under one arm while Rosy supported Charlie’s arm and back. Charlie grunted a couple times as he moved his splinted leg, but they managed to get him to the fire ring and to his bedroll that Nellie had spread out. So far, he hadn’t said a word that she heard.
“Rosy, any wine left? That might help Charlie’s pain, maybe put him to sleep.”
“Look . . . in my pack,” Charlie said, his voice stiff and unnatural. “A leather bag—it has wine. Take some yourself first.” He sat against the dead branch with his legs outstretched. “We could use more water, Rosy. Any ideas?” His Stetson had fallen off along the way, and his thick black hair, tinged with gray in a few spots, was long and lank.
Rosy shook his head. “Nell, get the fire goin’. Can you make biscuits?”
“Not really, but I’ll try.” She tried to remember how she and Pearl had made biscuits in the summer.
“Fry up the bacon. That’ll give you some grease. I’ll prowl around for more wood. Doubt if there’s any water.” He disappeared in the gloom.
“I can instruct you how to make biscuits, Nell.”
She heard a hint of a smile in his voice. “So I can act like a woman instead of a man?” Nell touched the sheriff’s shoulder and then clung to Charlie’s hand for a minute and squeezed. Unless she was mistaken, he squeezed back. “All right. Let me get the fire going first.”
Between the two of them, they managed a fry pan of biscuits and bacon. When Rosy returned with more wood, they ate, sparingly, so they would have something in the morning. Rosy took one blanket and found a place away from the firelight and wrapped himself up. Soon Nell heard his deep breathing and a light snore. She helped Charlie lie flat on the ground and tucked his bedroll and the rest of the blankets around him. She rolled out her own sleeping bag. Moonie lay down between them, keeping them both warm.
At first light, Nell woke and stirred the fire. Dead cold. She scraped together pieces of half-burnt wood and more pine needles. Just as a trickle of smoke rose from the round, she heard scrambling and a horse. She looked over to the sound and saw a man with a horse some distance away. Moonie didn’t growl but stood on guard.
“Hallooo?”
“Mayor Tom! Tom, we’re here,” Nellie called. “Charlie broke his leg!”
Boots stomped, and Mayor Tom’s welcome face appeared. “That boarding house lady telephoned me early—woke me up. Said you must be lost. So I thought I better come look. You’re a long ways from where you last were.”
By then, Rosy was up and heating the rest of the biscuits. “Got any water with you? Or food?”
“Couple canteens. Figgered you’d be thirsty. Some beans.” They all groaned. “Storm coming. We better eat some and head out. I see you still have the horse.” He knelt next to Charlie. “How ya doin’? Can you ride?”
Charlie’s face looked pinched. “I can do whatever I need to do, but you will have to help get me on the horse. Thanks for coming, Tom. I know Rosy and Nell will appreciate the help. I will, too.”
After gulping down food and water, Rosy and Tom helped Charlie onto the horse. Only one moan escaped his lips. They made their way in a cross-wise fashion across the lava, seeking out non-rocky ground or only small cinders where they could. Nell rode the second horse partway and walked partway. Moonie kept up, limping on one paw, and then raced ahead when they neared the automobile and a truck.
Tom helped Rosy and Nell place Charlie in the auto and across the back seat. His face was white with the effort. “I’ll get the horses back to Arco—one at a time, I guess,” Tom said, “but let me know how you do, Sheriff.”
“When you can, Tom, bring the bags those people left to my office in Hailey,” Charlie said. “I can at least investigate those.”
“We didn’t find any more traces of anyone except a cold camp, used maybe a week or so ago,” Nellie said.
“Guess any more searchin’ is goin’ to have to wait a bit,” Rosy said. He turned to Tom. “If you hear about anyone or anythin’ in these rocks, let us know.”
CHAPTER 15
Goldie took charge when Nellie arrived back at the boarding house with Rosy and the story of Charlie’s accident. Charlie had been left with a doctor in Hailey to place a cast on the broken leg. The doctor said he would keep Charlie there for another night. Both Nell and Rosy were so frazzled, they could hardly talk.
“What will we do, Mrs. Bock? Charlie can’t work. He can’t stay alone. I have all these photos . . .” She had trouble keeping herself from sinking with frustration.
“Now, Nellie. We’ll figger this out.” She pulled out bread and meat and slapped together some sandwiches. “Here. Eat.” She puttered around to make tea and coffee, then placed a tea cup in front of Nellie and coffee in front of Rosy.
“Here’s what we can do. Rosy, you take the boys and your sister and move into that little house of Charlie’s there in Hailey. The boys can start school there.” She wiped her hands on a towel and sat in a third chair.
Rosy opened his mouth. “I don’t . . .”
“Wait. There’s more. Charlie can move in here until he can get around good. Shouldn’t take more than a week or two. Gives you time to find a diff’rent place.”
Rosy took a bite of his sandwich.
“Nell, you head off to Twin Falls on the next train. Stay there a couple days and get your photos all done up. I can keep an eye on Charlie.”
Both Nell and Rosy sat like two lumps on a stone.
“When you get back, you can confab with Charlie about the two bodies. He may have some ideas about getting a deputy to do some investigatin’. Maybe that Tom fellow from Arco. Nothin’ much is goin’ on around Ketchum or Hailey—just a few moonshiners and a drunk or two—and an abandoned baby. I already took care of that.” Goldie stood up and put her hands on the back of Nellie’s chair. “Well, I gotta get dinner ready. Esther and the boys will be back from that play they went to in Hailey. I had Henry take them in when I got your telephone call from the doctor’s office.”
Nellie felt like Mrs. Bock had just slapped her back and told her to sit up straight or she would get rounded shoulders and they’d freeze that way. Her plan sounded so simple.
“What do you think?”
Nellie glanced at Rosy. “What do you think?” She definitely liked the idea of Charlie staying at the boarding house.
“I may take to drink again,” Rosy said. “I lived with Esther for nigh onto six months. Guess I could do it again, if’n I can find a job and be outta the house a
ll day.” He looked up at Goldie. “You know where Charlie’s house is? I hate to be beholden to him like that.”
“You want to move in with that ornery sheep rancher Gwynn Campbell in Twin?”
“Gawd no. Then I’d be sure to fall off the wagon.”
Goldie opened her ice box and took out a dozen chops to fry up. “Nellie, could you peel a mess of potatoes for me? Busy hands will let your mind think on this.” She turned to Rosy. “I could use some firewood if you ain’t too tired.”
By Tuesday evening, Goldie’s plans were all executed. Sheriff Azgo was installed temporarily in the parlor cum studio, because he couldn’t get up the stairs. Rosy’s family was all moved after the boys oohed and aahed about the plaster cast and asked a hundred questions each. Esther hummed while she packed up and moved out of the boarding house, although she had declared Charlie’s house a mess, but acceptable. For now.
Nell took the train on Wednesday and had made arrangements by telephone with Jacob Levine to use his darkroom most of the day on Thursday. Mayor Tom had been asked to bring the bags left by the Craters of the Moon visitors to Charlie in Ketchum. Rosy was knee-deep in plans to hunt for a job.
Reports came to Charlie by messenger about the two bodies. The man died from the blows to his head. The woman had borne a baby and bled out, whether from the birth or the stalactite, the doctor couldn’t be sure.
Nell rode the train to Twin Falls. A woman Nellie had never seen before entered the train with her but sat at the far end of the passenger car. She was taller than Nell and wore a cloche hat and well-made clothes, her skirt almost up to her knees in the newest, somewhat embarrassing, style.
Nell didn’t sit near her, as she wished to mull over what she and the sheriff had found in the desert. The two new facts they had learned from Goldie were strange and added to the mystery of the whole situation: a lost and found baby and a newly birthed baby in a cave. Were they one and the same? When the travelers arrived in Twin Falls, Nell noticed the stylish woman entered the station but left it soon afterward in a motor carrier. Maybe the woman lived in Twin.
After Nellie checked in with Mrs. Olsen at the Clarion Inn, she walked to Jacob Levine’s studio. It had become familiar to her over the months since she first developed film and printed photos in his darkroom.
Jacob met her at the door and escorted her to his wide oak desk. “Nell Burns! I am so pleased to see you!” Behind him were the portraits of his customers—a talented display of Idaho characters.
“I see you have more superb photographs on your wall. Even I recognize some of your rogues’ gallery.” She stood to look at several. “There’s Gwynn Campbell. You have certainly captured his split personality, ornery and kind at the same time.”
Jacob smiled, obviously pleased with her comment.
“Oh my. There is Cable O’Donnell from Stanley. I’m not sure his criminal disposition shows, but there is a certain evil slant to his eyebrows and smirk to his mouth. Those cold eyes look almost white.” She felt a shiver.
“You must have met him. I recall some set-to between you and the cowboys up in the Basin.” Jacob plucked O’Donnell’s framed photo off the wall and handed it to Nell.
“Set-to. Yes, that is a good description.” Just thinking of the summer in the mountains caused her arm to ache. “When and how did he come to you? I would have thought he wouldn’t leave the safety of Custer County.”
“He comes to town regularly,” Jacob said. “I believe he has a wife here. Do you know his son, Ben?”
“I thought he had a wife in Stanley,” Nell said. “I met Ben recently. I’ve been with Sheriff Azgo investigating a murder, we think maybe two, at Craters of the Moon. That’s why I’m here.” She stretched her hand with the frame to Jacob. She didn’t care to be associated with O’Donnell, even his photo. “Ben O’Donnell was herding cattle nearby. Apparently, the O’Donnell cattle empire extends far south of Stanley.”
As Jacob moved to take the frame, Nell kept hold of it and peered at it more closely. “What is that on O’Donnell’s lapel? It is a strange pin of some sort.” She looked at the photo more closely. “It almost looks like an ankh—an Egyptian symbol. Is he a traveler?”
Jacob, too, studied the photo more closely.
“Hmm. I saw it while I was photographing him. I didn’t want it to reflect light so I moved it slightly. I didn’t ask about it, though. I think it might symbolize one of those religious offshoots here in southern Idaho and in Utah. You may have heard of them.”
She thought of Mayor Tom’s comment about the people who wanted to go into the Craters, the people she and the sheriff had found.
“They left the Mormon religion because they disagreed with changes in policy—most of all the forbidding of polygamy.” Jacob shrugged. “They didn’t want to give up their extra wives, I gathered.” His mouth drooped slightly. Nell wondered why that would make him sad.
Jacob re-hung the photo. “So, your transition from artistic and commercial photography for the railroad to crime photography is complete.” He smiled, almost friendly in contrast to his formality when they first met. “Do you want to go to work now?”
“No, I’ll wait until tomorrow for my work. I thought I might help you if you have any orders waiting to be printed.” She continued standing and decided to venture a question. “And how is Emmaline?” Jacob’s fiancée had been quite frosty to Nell.
Jacob’s even deeper frown told Nell more than his words. “She decided to visit her parents in Boston. She wanted me to go, but I am too busy.”
“I didn’t remember she was from Boston.” That would explain her haughty attitude and her old-fashioned dress. Such a contrast to the woman on the train. “You must miss her.”
Jacob waved his hand but didn’t say what it implied: not so much. Nell felt her spirits lift. “Come with me to the darkroom,” he said. “I always have work. You can begin on a wedding project. Unfortunately, I can’t join you. I have already been around the chemicals too much today. I do have a client coming in as well and another one tomorrow. I need to prepare my portrait studio.”
After two hours in the darkroom, Nellie stopped work and stepped outside, closing the door behind her. Jacob sat at his desk, sorting through proof sheets. He looked up. “You must be tired.”
“I am, but I finished your project. Do you want to join me at the inn for supper? I’m sure Mrs. Olsen won’t care.”
“Yes, I would like that.”
The two talked about photography over their food. Jacob had seen Nell’s photos from the Stanley Basin and knew of her success with the San Francisco gallery. He had news to share as well. A photography magazine published in Washington, D.C., had accepted his portrait spread of Wild West characters, and it would be released in November. Their conversation veered to technical aspects of black and white photography and the differences they perceived between portrait and landscape photos, sometimes agreeing and sometimes disagreeing. When they continued on to questions such as What is art? and Where is the West?, Nellie stifled a yawn.
“Time for me to say goodnight, Jacob. It has been a treat to talk shop with you. No one else I know understands the joy and difficulties of photography.”
“I enjoyed it, too, for the same reasons, although Emmaline does try.” He stood and Nellie accompanied him to the door. “Or did.” Nell wasn’t sure she heard his coda and so said nothing. They shook hands, agreeing to meet at the studio in the morning.
Nellie arrived early the next day. She began to develop the film from the scenes of the bodies first and printed out proof sheets. Over a sandwich prepared by the inn cook, she tried to study the proofs to decide which to print for the sheriff. She could hardly stand to study the gruesome photos of the dead man but forced herself to view them as unrelated to a living person. The two photos in the cave with the woman looked like a posted tableau. Jacob’s reference to a rebel group raised the idea again of a religious cult.
Finally, she was able to turn to developing the film of her
efforts at landscape art. She would review them the next day. Nell wanted to see if Franklin, the inn’s proprietor, would take her to see Gwynn Campbell, the sheep rancher with whom she shared summer adventures and trials. She hadn’t seen him since July, and she didn’t think he knew that Lily’s children—his grandsons—had returned. In the flurry of everyone settling down in either Ketchum or Hailey, she had not thought to ask Rosy.
When Nell left the darkroom, she stepped into the studio. Jacob was posing a striking woman with a parasol on a bench with a lattice of flowers behind her. It struck such a false note on a gray, fall day, Nell didn’t look at the woman at first. When she did, she saw that it was the woman from the train.
“Nellie, this is Euphemia Thorpe. Miss Thorpe, this is Miss Burns, a photographer from Ketchum.” Jacob moved the parasol one way and then another. His frown expressed dissatisfaction, either with the woman or the parasol, or maybe the whole effect.
“Hello. Didn’t I see you ride the train from Ketchum yesterday?” Nell felt as if she had seen the woman before. “Do you live in Twin Falls?”
“Oh, no. I mean yes—sometimes I do.” She twitched the parasol, too.
Jacob moved back to the camera and instructed: “Hold still, Effie.”
That name caused Nell to pause a moment, but then she slipped out the front door. Soon, she and Franklin Olsen motored their way to the Campbell home on the edge of town. “Didn’t I hear Ross Kipling and his two boys were back in Ketchum?” No secrets in this town, or any other in Idaho, Nellie thought. If Franklin knew, Gwynn did.
“Let me see if Mr. Campbell can bring me back, Franklin. Then you could go.” Gwynn could, so Nellie waved good-bye.
As soon as Gwynn and Nell settled in the parlor with hot tea and biscuits and Gwynn with a small glass of sherry, he said: “Do you know that damned miner is back with my grandsons?”
Nellie laughed. “How are you, Gwynn? I’ve missed you. I am well, not that you asked.” She sipped her tea as he apologized. Gwynn’s face seemed to have aged more since summer.
