A Distance Too Grand

by Regina Scott

  “Did you notice the notations around the circumference? Those measure portions of the circle. I’ll calculate certain points and triangulate to extrapolate.”

  He was quickly outdistancing her. “And how can I help?”

  “The hardest part for me isn’t the calculations,” Hank said, one boot scuffing at the ground. “It’s writing in the journal. I’m supposed to describe the near-ground, foreground, and background. Overall terrain, any outstanding features, color. Corporal Adams is forever complaining about my lack of detail. I thought with your eye, you might do better.”

  “I’ll try,” Meg promised.

  While Hank peered into the theodolite and noted various angles in the expedition journal, she took up the other leather-bound book. The cartographer had sketched the canyon at their previous stop—she recognized the formations, the perspective. She thumbed back a few pages to see how he had described the terrain before. A loose page fluttered free. She caught it before it could be lost to the canyon.

  Dot’s face smiled up at her. Hank had captured the wistful look she got when talking about her cinnamon sticks. A stray hair curled about one ear.

  “Why, Hank,” Meg said. “This is very good.”

  He glanced up, then turned red as he plucked the pencil drawing from her hand.

  “I’m no artist,” he said, tucking the picture into his shirt. “And I should have been focusing on my work instead of my sweetheart.”

  “I think it’s lovely that you still call her sweetheart,” Meg assured him with a smile.

  From the fire came a yelp. Dot leveled her wooden spoon at Meadows, who was cradling his fingers.

  “What did I tell you about sneaking sugar?” she demanded.

  “That’s my gal,” Hank said with pride in his voice.

  As if she thought otherwise, Dot sent him a look that would have roasted a bison whole. Meg bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “We best work,” Hank said, turning to the theodolite once more. “Before she finds another use for that spoon.”

  Meg paged to a blank spot in the journal and took up the pencil. “Perhaps I should say aloud what I’m planning to write so you can see whether it will meet Corporal Adams’s approval.”

  Hank nodded absently. “Sounds good.”

  Meg trained her gaze down the slope in front of them. “Directly ahead of the theodolite, sheer drop, perhaps twenty feet. Soil appears rocky, amber in color. Next forty feet or so, steep slope to another drop, redder soil, shrubs growing more thickly, looks like bricklebush. Can’t see much beyond, so it’s likely pretty sheer. Not even a glimmer of the river, but the opposite side is rugged all the way to the top with greater striation.”

  She glanced at Hank to find him staring at her. “Sorry. Too much detail?”

  Hank shook himself. “No. That was great. Have you done this before?”

  “No,” she said, turning her gaze back into the canyon. “But maybe I should have. This is fun.”

  And it was. She noted each transect of the canyon, going from east to west. She spotted bighorn sheep leaping from rock to rock, the rams with their milky-colored horns curling around their heads. A hawk soared past their spot with a cry of protest at finding them near its hunting ground. She counted at least six bushes of wild raspberries just out of reach down the steep slope. And she determined four views that would have made superlative stereographs.

  She was disappointed when Pike returned and Hank had to start packing the theodolite and his journal.

  “There’s a spring at the end of this plateau,” the guide reported when they all gathered around. “It’ll take you the rest of the day to reach it, and it’s rough going, all downhill. But if we leave the rim and strike due south, we should be able to make it before dark.”

  “That’s a lot of terrain with no survey,” Hank said with a look to Ben.

  “We can’t survey if we can’t keep watered,” Ben countered. “Mount up and ride in ten.”

  She would never get used to the commands. Meg moved, however, to comply.

  Pike was right about the terrain. She kept having to duck under tree branches, shift as her horse swayed over uneven ground. She was just thankful Stripe seemed as sure-footed as the mules. Still, even with four mules in harness in front of him, Adams eased the van along. Good thing her cameras were well secured and her plates better cushioned now. She wished she could say the same for her.

  They had a reprieve at one point when they came out onto a grassy plain with odd humps here and there, as if a giant child had scattered his blocks in a fit of pique.

  “Old Indian village,” Pike said as if he noted them glancing around curiously.

  “Then there has to be water,” Ben maintained.

  “If there was, I couldn’t find it when I came through earlier,” the guide said. He clucked to his horse and led them on.

  Meg cast a longing look at the peaceful site before following.

  The sun was low in the west, slicing through the trees, as they approached the canyon once more. A steep-walled scarp, golden red in the dying light of the sun, stuck out into the larger canyon to form a smaller side canyon directly below them. A stream cut through the valley beyond, on its way to join the Colorado, but Meg couldn’t spot any way down. Once again, Ben’s hopes for a wagon road were about to be dashed.

  “Spring’s over there, near the rim,” Pike said with a nod to the west. “Best we set up quick.”

  “Agreed.” Ben swung down from the saddle and began issuing orders. Hank, Adams, Larson, and Meadows obeyed. Meg helped Dot unpack the cooking gear and erect their tent.

  Every time she glanced up from her work, Ben was somewhere else—assisting Hank in setting up their tents, corralling the mules so Larson and Meadows could picket them, swinging a bucket into the stream to bring up water. When Adams called him over to look at one of the van wheels, he went readily and quickly identified the problem.

  “Nothing wrong with the wheels,” he told the clerk. “But the ground’s soft enough that the van is sinking. Grab Larson, and we’ll move the heavier items into the tents, so we have a chance of pulling the van out in the morning.”

  The heavier items? Those would be her cameras and plates. Meg finished tying off the tent lines and went to help.

  By the time Dot had a fire going with wood Larson and Meadows had gathered, Meg was sagging. Dinner was once more hardtack and salt pork, but at least Dot had water for coffee and tea to wash it all down.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Ben told his men. “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

  The three horse soldiers headed for their bedrolls, obviously trying not to look as tired as they felt.

  “I’ll take a shift,” Hank offered, but Ben waved him toward his tent.

  “Thank you,” Meg said, rising. Was that creak her dried-out boots or her weary bones?

  Ben glanced up at her, eyes smoky gray in the firelight. “For what?”

  “For taking care of us all. Everyone needs someone to count on.”

  He nodded. “Get some sleep, Meg.”

  She was glad to join Dot in their tent, though it was more crowded than usual. The boxes with her developed plates had been shoved down the center, pressing her and Dot’s cots to either side. Her cameras nestled up against the end of the tent. She could only hope it wouldn’t rain that night, for she had no room to move anything away from the walls. She had to crawl over the foot of the cot to get into bed as it was.

  “Will you be all right?” Meg asked Dot through the makeshift wall between them.

  “I can do anything for one night,” Dot replied. “See you in the morning, Meg.”

  “Sleep well,” Meg said. “Or at least as well as you can.”

  She must have been as tired as she felt because she fell asleep immediately. It was still dark when she woke to the sound of movement.

  “Morning already?” she asked, glancing up before she remembered she couldn’t see Dot.

  But she could see someo
ne. Outlined by faint moonlight, a darker shadow hunched near the open flap of the tent. She could just make out a head, broad shoulders. And two arms that appeared to be wrapped around one of her plate boxes. Cold doused her.

  “Dot?” she called.

  “What? Huh?” Dot’s voice on the other side of the boxes was thick with sleep.

  Meg screamed.

  Hand raised to rouse Adams for his shift, Ben jerked around at the piercing sound. Clouds crossed a crescent moon, giving little light to the area. He could barely see across the small clearing where they’d camped. He could still make out a shadow darting out of Meg’s tent.

  “Stop!” he ordered, running toward it, but the figure disappeared among the darker wall of the trees.

  Meg’s scream had woken the others. Hank called; Adams stumbled out of his tent, pulling a suspender up over his shoulder; and material rustled as Larson and Meadows scrambled to rise as well.

  “I’ll follow,” Pike shouted, dashing past from the direction of the picket line. “You see to the ladies.” He disappeared into the night after their phantom.

  Adams lit a lantern just as Meg ducked out of her tent, Dot right behind. Ben was at their sides in a heartbeat.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, and his heart sank. “That is, I’m fine, but someone was in the tent with us.”

  Anger licked up him, like fire to kindling. Who would be so brazen as to attempt to trouble the two women? Or had their surprise visitor known who was in the tent? Ben glanced to the cook, who was rubbing her eyes with her fists. “What did you see?”

  “Nothing,” Dot said, lowering her hands. She glanced at Meg. “Sorry.”

  “Probably a nightmare,” Hank said, joining them.

  Meg drew herself up, but Ben put a hand on her arm to stop what was likely a protest. “It wasn’t. I saw someone leaving the tent. Pike must have seen something as well because he’s in pursuit.”

  She relaxed beside him. “Thank you for believing me. He had his arms around one of the plate boxes, but he let it go when I called.”

  Dot rubbed an ear. “Loudest call I ever heard. Like to wake the dead.”

  “I’m not concerned about the dead,” Ben said. “Dead men don’t rob tents.” He turned to his men. “Privates, check the animals. Make sure none are missing. Corporal, inventory the supplies. Hank, make sure of the equipment. Dot, are you armed?”

  “Always.”

  He smiled at the quick answer. “Good. You and Meg get some coffee brewing. Dawn’s still a while away, but I doubt anyone will be sleeping any more tonight.”

  Meg shot him a look of gratitude bright even in the dim light, then wiggled back into her tent to reach for a coat. Ben pulled out his pistol and went to follow Pike.

  He found the guide returning from the trees to the east.

  “Report,” Ben demanded.

  “Lost him.” Pike’s voice was rougher than usual, frustration lacing the words. “He went over the rim like a sure-footed mule. No way to follow in the dark.”

  Much as he would have liked to do otherwise, Ben had to agree. “Did you catch a glimpse of him?”

  “Not enough,” Pike said, starting back for the camp. “You?”

  “Only a shadow,” Ben admitted, falling into step beside him.

  Pike kicked out his foot, and Ben heard a rock bounce over the rim.

  “Probably a native looking to steal something,” the guide grumbled. “Who else would be out this way?”

  Who indeed? Yet Ben couldn’t be so quick to assume the thief was a native. Though he’d only been in the area a short while, his other assignments had put him in contact with a tribe from time to time. Few members had been thieves. Most just wanted peace.

  “Miss Pero all right?” Pike asked as they neared the camp. “Must have given her quite a scare.”

  That scream would be with Ben a long time. “She wasn’t physically hurt. Neither was Dot. But I don’t like strangers wandering into our camp uninvited.”

  “Funny he got past you,” Pike said. “But then, natives can move like the wind.”

  He didn’t like the idea that anyone could get past him. He hadn’t fallen asleep. How had he missed their nocturnal visitor?

  “It seems we need to be able to chase the wind in the dark,” Ben said. “This doesn’t happen again.”

  Pike shifted. “You think it might?”

  “I’ll take no chances. Tomorrow night, we double the guard. Consider yourself conscripted, Mr. Pike.”

  14

  She couldn’t have gone back to sleep if she’d tried. Meg drank down the coffee, welcoming the dark, burnt taste that nearly scalded her mouth. The men moved about the camp, checking food, equipment. She’d already looked through the box the would-be thief had grabbed and the rest of her plates. None had been damaged. Everything seemed accounted for.

  But then, why would a thief have even known to try? Had he simply snatched up the first box he noticed in the tent closest to the rim, hoping it might contain something valuable? Why not choose the tent closest to the plateau instead? Wouldn’t that location have made it easier to escape?

  For that matter, why was a thief out here? It wasn’t as if he’d have many to rob or any to sell to.

  Dot had been pawing through the boxes and sacks that held her supplies. “Didn’t get the cinnamon,” she declared, holding up a tin can still half full of the bark-colored sticks. She sank back on her haunches. “And there’s the saleratus. Phew!”

  “Nothing missing,” Ben summarized a short time later as most of them gathered around the fire. “And nothing damaged. That’s good news.”

  “We were fortunate this time,” Adams agreed.

  “And there won’t be a next time,” Ben said grimly. “From now on, I want a two-man patrol from sunset to sunrise, opposite directions around the camp, meeting north and south. I’ll team with Private Larson, Private Meadows with Hank. Pike and Corporal Adams, take the last two hours before dawn.”

  Pike’s lip curled. “Is that really necessary? Our culprit’s gone and not likely to come back after hearing Miss Pero’s scream.”

  She would not apologize. “It woke everyone, didn’t it?”

  “It sure did.” Hank rubbed an ear as if the sound was still ringing.

  “The well-being of every member of this team is my responsibility, Mr. Pike,” Ben said. “I won’t have this survey disturbed again. You heard my orders. If anyone wants to sleep between now and dawn, you have my permission. I’ll be up. Dismissed.”

  Meg poured him a cup of Dot’s black brew and handed it to him. “Here. I have a feeling you’re going to need this.”

  He accepted the tin cup with a nod of thanks, and their fingers brushed. Warmth traveled up her arm. Meg pulled back.

  “If you want to return to the fort,” he said, gaze on the fire, “I’ll send Pike with you. We can survey here until he rejoins us.”

  He wanted her gone? Even if she hadn’t needed the commission from the work, the possibility of capturing a noteworthy stereograph, she would have been disappointed. But maybe he was trying to protect her again.

  Meg cocked her head. “Why should I leave? I still have forty photographs and more than a dozen stereographs to shoot.”

  Ben tossed back the coffee. “Good. Let’s get to it, then.”

  Meg leaned back as well as she could on her rock. “Sorry, Captain, but that’s one order I can’t obey.”

  He turned his gaze on her at last, firelight making his frown look particularly fierce. “Why?”

  “It’s still dark,” Meg said with a laugh.

  That won a chuckle from him. “So it is. Very well, Miss Pero. At ease until it’s light.”

  If only it was that simple.

  Between the coffee and the jolt to her nerves at discovering a stranger in the night, Meg could not be easy. She helped Dot with breakfast, starting the cornmeal mush, then mixing the saleratus into the flour and water so that the dough for
Dot’s famous cinnamon rolls would rise. She also gathered wood for the fire around the edge of the light.

  And she peered into the shadows beyond, wondering if anyone was peering back.

  What a horrid thought. She didn’t like the feeling of being watched, being studied. Surely Mr. Pike was right. The thief knew they’d be on alert now. He wouldn’t return.

  Would he?

  She felt as if the darkness were reaching for her, trying to draw her closer. She squared her shoulders, glared out into the night.

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  She was ashamed how glad she was that no one answered.

  Still, dawn was a long way off. She yawned more times than she could count. She tried to busy herself with her cameras, but even that could not keep her attention for long. Her bedroll was calling. But if Ben and the others were determined to stay awake, she’d stay awake too.

  Just when she thought she wouldn’t make it another moment, the sky began to brighten. Meg rose and went to the edge of the firelight, gazing out over the shadows of the canyon. Dawn peeled away the night, spreading rose and gold across the eastern horizon. Darkness fled back into the depths of the canyon. Even the air felt new. Meg drew a breath and went to join the others for breakfast.

  If she had thought the night had been long, the day seemed far longer. Even after Dot’s cinnamon rolls had been gobbled up, tempers remained near the surface. Larson shouted at Meadows for giving a mule too much water, and the quiet private came close to shoving him before carrying his bucket to another of the pack animals. Dot ordered them all to gather items they needed washed, then complained about the growing pile. Adams muttered over the survey report as he sat scribbling by the fire. Pike grumbled at everything and everyone.

  And Ben kept hovering.

  She didn’t notice at first. It was only natural that Ben should make his rounds and instruct his team, from Hank at one side of the camp to Larson on the other. The private was busy laying out the grid. Their campsite sat on a point spearing out into the canyon. Ben had instructed Larson to cover from side to side and back a good one hundred feet from the rim.