A Distance Too Grand

by Regina Scott

  “I thought we were going to follow the path, see where it led,” she said, breaking his hold to bend over the stream. The water was so clear, every pebble magnified—gold and gray and white. The last rays of the setting sun pierced the surface to set them gleaming.

  “Like with this canyon, I’m beginning to hope I see the end,” Ben said.

  She couldn’t offer him more, not yet. She dipped her fingers in the cool water, let the stream wash against her. “This water is lovely. I wonder if I could capture the beauty with the right light.”

  He sighed as if giving up on the deeper conversation for the moment. “Always thinking about the next shot, aren’t you? Even your camera would be hard-pressed to catch that sparkle.”

  Meg cocked her head. Something in the silt between the pebbles was winking at her, brightening and darkening with every movement of the water. “I don’t think it’s just the clarity of the water making it sparkle. Is that gold?”

  Ben started. He released her hand to crouch beside the stream and study the spot she’d indicated. He easily identified the pearly white of quartz, the golden brown of feldspar. Could she have spotted pyrite? She wouldn’t have been the first to mistake the shiny gold rock for the real thing.

  “Lots of minerals sparkle,” he told her, but he scooped up a handful of the rocks and silt and sifted it through his fingers.

  A tiny flake, gold and flashing, stuck to his forefinger. He pressed his thumb into the speck, watched it bend to the pressure. He drew in a breath.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Meg murmured as if awed. “There’s gold in this creek.”

  “There’s gold somewhere,” Ben corrected her, dipping his hand in the water to free the flake. “The vein could be miles upstream or embedded in a cliff the stream or one of its tributaries passed. A little color doesn’t mean a lot in this part of the world.”

  She shook her head, her look eager. “I know many people who’d disagree. A few flakes, a nugget or two, and you’ll have a gold rush on your hands.”

  Something tightened inside him. He’d been a boy of eleven when his father had been sent to serve at the Presidio in San Francisco shortly after gold had been found in the hills. At nine, Diana had considered the trek across country an adventure. Even his mother had begun to appreciate the beauty of the area, though she, like his father, had deplored the actions of those rushing into the hills beyond.

  “It’s as if they’ve turned their backs on all civility,” she’d said when their third cook had resigned in as many days.

  “Some men will do anything to answer the call of wealth,” his father had said. “You remember that, Ben. Duty may be a harsh lady, but serving her will give you a satisfaction you cannot gain with gold.”

  Thanks to the Colonel’s loyalty to duty, his family had never suffered privation. Indeed, his father’s influence had opened, and closed, doors for Ben. How could he stand in judgment over men with fewer privileges?

  Gold held a powerful pull. He’d seen it himself. The proud once-Spanish city had emptied. Civilians attached to the fort had quit, soldiers had disappeared in the night. More than a hundred ships had been abandoned in the harbor. Sailors had to be confined to their quarters to prevent them from jumping overboard. All had been lured away by the promise of riches. Even now, Meg crouched beside him, running her hands through the pebbles as if sure she’d find something.

  Was that why his father had left the fort with only a guide for company? Had he feared how his men would react if gold was found in the canyon? What did it mean that only a piece of his spur remained?

  He rose, pulling Meg up with him. “There’s not enough gold for a rush,” he told her. “There may be a few flakes, but nothing more.”

  “How can you be sure?” She glanced up and down the stream as if expecting to find a pile of golden nuggets waiting. “Oh, Ben, this could be our making.”

  He caught her hand, held it close. “I’ll take samples tomorrow to be certain. But a gold rush is no place for a lady.”

  “If the lady wants to get rich, it is,” she countered.

  “If the lady wants to stay safe,” he said, “she’ll have no part in it. It’s a fool’s quest, Meg. Your stereographs have far greater potential for giving you a solid future.”

  She stilled, took a deep breath, and met his gaze. “You’re right. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “What comes over most who stumble across gold in a creek,” Ben assured her. “It’s natural to dream, Meg, particularly when you’re facing a future you’re unsure of. But you don’t have to worry. You can count on me.”

  “Thank you.” She offered him a smile. “But I tend to count on myself.” She glanced around the draw again, then stiffened to clutch his arm.

  “When you prove there’s no gold, you better publish your findings widely. Because we might not have been the first to discover this spot.” She nodded toward the tree across the creek.

  A symbol had been carved into the bark.

  Ben released her hand to jump the creek for a closer look. A moment later, and she was beside him, skirts barely wet.

  “Do you recognize it?” she asked.

  Ben traced the shape with his finger. The bark had healed around the cut, so it hadn’t been carved in the last few weeks.

  “It’s not an Army code,” he mused. “And I haven’t seen any territorial marks like it.”

  She was studying it with eyes narrowed. “It looks like two mountains with a creek cutting in between. And that shape at the top could be a half moon.”

  “Reference to when the discovery was made, perhaps?” Ben mused.

  She glanced around. “My father set up shop at Boise City once. We didn’t stay long. The miners were more interested in panning than having their portraits taken, and they didn’t much like someone wandering their claims looking for pretty vistas to capture. Still, I seem to recall that there should be more than one of these, like your survey photographs, north, south, east, and west.”

  Ben dropped his hand. “This could be west, north, or south.”

  She pointed farther down the creek. “Is that another one?”

  Ben grinned at her. “Only one way to find out.”

  They scrambled through the brush on that side of the creek, over fallen trees, around boulders tumbled from the cliff. Sure enough, another of the strange symbols had been carved in the trunk of a spruce, at about eye level.

  “There should be two more on the other side of the creek,” Ben said. “I’ll draw that symbol for Hank. Maybe he’s seen something like it before. But you’re right. Someone started a claim.”

  “Maybe our night visitor,” Meg suggested. “It would explain why we were followed.”

  “And why he wanted to see that picture you’d taken,” Ben realized. “Maybe you caught something on your plate, Meg, besides his shadow.” He released the snap on his holster, so he could draw his pistol quickly if needed. “Come on. We’re heading back to camp. I want Pike and Hank’s thoughts on this.”

  Meg nodded and accepted his hand to start back up the draw. The sunset must have been spectacular, for the sky danced with red.

  Once more she clutched his arm, drawing him to a halt. “Something’s wrong.”

  As if to prove it, the trees at the top of the draw went up in flame.

  22

  Ugly, jagged orange rimmed the hilltop. Dusky smoke billowed up through it, reaching greedy fingers into the draw. Ben could hear the sizzle and pop of the resin reacting to the heat, the crackle of limb and brush.

  He whirled toward a white-faced Meg. Everything in him demanded that he protect her, but he had a duty to the rest of the team.

  “Follow the creek as far down the canyon as you can,” he told her. “Walk in the water if you have to.” He pressed a quick kiss to her mouth, then turned for the top.

  She seized him, fingers trembling against his arm. “Where are you going?”

  “To make sure the others are safe.” He squeezed her hand. �
�You can take care of yourself, Meg. You’ve more than proven that. I’ll come back for you. I promise.” He made himself break away and scrambled up the draw.

  The air grew hotter, the blaze greater, the higher he climbed. An invisible rope tugged at him, urging him back to Meg’s side. He couldn’t obey the pull.

  Please, Lord, keep her safe.

  The prayer fueled his legs, lent strength to his heart. He raced up the last slope and crested the edge to where the camp should be.

  He entered chaos.

  Flames danced across the ground, embraced the trees as if intent on waltzing. Already one of the tents was ablaze. Smoke billowed toward him, reaching into the sky. Flashes of red inside the gray told him the pines on the edge of camp were on fire.

  “Hank! Adams!” he yelled over the roar of the flames.

  No one answered.

  He started forward, arm up and bent to protect his nose and mouth. Now another tent was burning, the poles cracking in the heat. He couldn’t see farther through the smoke. Where were they? He darted past the closest tent, and the flames licked within inches of his arm.

  Ben jerked to a stop, then backed away as the blaze climbed higher on all sides. What had happened to his team? How could he help?

  The wind parted the smoke for only a moment, but it was enough for him to glimpse Hank and Larson mounted on mules and leading the others north, into the wind. Relief pushed him back more surely than the fire. They were doing all they could to stay safe. Now he needed to find Meg and do the same.

  As Ben disappeared up the creek, Meg drew in a breath and instantly regretted it. Though most of the smoke was rising into the darkening sky, the air around her had turned hot and acidic. She moved along the edge of the stream, through brush and trees, following the curves and pools deeper into the canyon.

  She wasn’t the only one. She heard the crash behind her a moment before a deer ran past, tawny rump flashing as it leaped away from the fire. A chittering in the trees told her squirrels and chipmunks were fleeing as well. Glancing up, she saw birds plunging through the smoke for safety near the river.

  Another thud warned her something bigger was coming. She turned to meet it head-on.

  A cougar raced toward her, bounding from rock to rock, muscles bunching.

  Please, Lord, protect me!

  The prayer hung in the air like the smoke and far less tangible. If there truly was a God who cared, she could only hope that now was the time he’d show it. She squared her shoulders, threw out her arms.

  “Here I am!” she shouted.

  The cougar passed without even glancing her way.

  Meg sagged into the mud beside the stream and trembled.

  Thank you.

  How long she sat there, she wasn’t sure. A thousand thoughts flitted through her mind, passing as quickly as the cougar. Her father’s last days, lying on the hospital bed, breath ragged. The first time she’d taken a picture, the anxious waiting to see whether something good would come from it, whether Papa would approve. The glorious moment when he produced the print and looked at her with a smile and a “Not bad.”

  “Not bad?” she’d said. “It’s good.”

  The moment she’d felt as if God was standing beside her, guarding her. That was better still.

  As the sun set, it was easy to see the spiral of the fire, running through the grass along the edge of the rim, gobbling up the wildflowers, edging ever closer. The pines stood silent in the glow, as if prepared to endure. The aspens roared with the heat, flaming up to leave a blackened shell behind. She made herself rise and follow the stream lower.

  Please, Lord, protect Ben.

  Fear for herself faded as fear for him rose. He was commanding and clever, but what could he do against such a conflagration?

  The draw closed in around the stream. She had clearly wandered away from Ben’s wagon road. Not even a horse could have passed easily this way. She stepped into the stream, felt her way along. A boulder seemed to offer safety, at least for the moment. She climbed up onto it and drew in a breath of the smoky air. The sky was a dusky pink above her.

  Something else was moving through the smoke. She could hear the plunk as feet broke the surface of the stream. She couldn’t seem to move to escape. All she could do was hunch against the rock and close her eyes against what was coming, as if by blocking the view she kept it at bay.

  “Meg!”

  “Ben!” She forced open her eyes, straightening away from the boulder. A darker shadow splashed through the creek to her side and reached up his arms.

  She slipped from the boulder, sobbing in fear, in thanksgiving. He gathered her close a moment, his presence the surest place in the twilight. Then he leaned back and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

  “Are you?” Meg asked, hiccoughing back a sob.

  In the last of the light, she could see him nod. “I’m fine. The others were already moving when I got there. Hank and Larson drove the mules north before they were cut off by the flames. As soon as this burns out, we’ll climb up and rejoin them.”

  As if to disagree with him, a wrenching creak came from above. Over tumbled one of the trees, still smoking. It plunged straight down to crash through the undergrowth.

  Ben pushed her against the boulder and sheltered her with his body.

  Light flared, then dimmed, and the tree lay, crackling, upper branches piercing the creek with a mortal wound. Flames began to lick up around it.

  Ben leaned back. “We have to get deeper, away from the blaze. Come on.”

  He took her hand. She swallowed, wanting only to stay on the safety of the rock, in the shelter of his arms. But he was right. They were still in danger here.

  They had to pick their way down in the gathering gloom. The light from the burning tree slowly faded. So did the light from high above as the fire retreated from the edge. Quiet fell, until the only sound was the bubbling of the stream.

  Ben inched along, placing each foot carefully before bringing her forward. Once he stumbled, and she cried out, reaching for him to find only air. A moment more, and he was back at her side.

  “Just a slight miscalculation,” he assured her. “No harm done.”

  Yet it could have been. He had to know that. He was being brave for her sake. She could do the same.

  “I believe your definition of a stroll differs from mine, sir,” she said as her feet splashed in the creek. Her toes were turning numb inside her boots. Her hem must be sodden; she could feel it dragging.

  “Ah, but I thought you preferred adventure,” Ben said, helping her over a fallen log. He held her in his arms a moment, and she wished she could see his face. Was he searching the dark with his gaze, trying to see her too? Was the look in his eyes as tender as when he’d kissed her?

  “Perhaps not this much adventure,” Meg said.

  He stopped suddenly. “Wait here.”

  “You’re leaving again?” Oh, but she’d never wanted to sound so desperate.

  “Only for a moment, I promise.” His shadow faded into the dark.

  Meg stood, stream tugging at her legs, chill climbing through her. Now that the sun had set, the temperature was dropping. It might be warm on the rim after the fire’s passing, but here in the depth of the canyon, the night came forward with icy hands.

  “See, only a moment,” Ben said, and she had to swallow her squeal of surprise. “There’s an overhang along the cliff here, not deep enough for a cave, but it should provide some protection. Shall we?”

  He was offering her his arm again. She felt it brush against her, and the courtly gesture nearly made the fears start falling.

  “Why, certainly sir,” she said, and he led her deeper into the dark.

  How game she was. His mother would have sat near the rim and refused to move, sure someone would be along to rescue the Colonel’s wife. She had relied on his father’s reputation and consequence for so long, she sometimes seemed to have none of her own. His sister Diana mig
ht have screamed and cried and clung to him. Meg willingly put her life in his hands. She trusted him and her own skills, and he would never let her down.

  He felt past the brambles that tumbled over the edge of the outcropping, pulling her into the recess until his other hand scraped against the rock of the wall. He bent, feeling the ground before sitting, then urged her down next to him as he put his back to the wall.

  “Not the most comfortable place to sleep,” he acknowledged. “Not the worst, either.”

  “Pretty close,” she disagreed, settling next to him. She shifted, shoulder bumping his, then he heard a rock skitter away. She must have thrown it.

  “Ah, but you’ve never slept on an Army-issued bed,” he said, trying to keep his tone light when weariness fell harder than the night. “Even worse than the cots we were issued for the survey. Stiff where it should give, giving where it should support. And with lots of tiny company eager to make your acquaintance.”

  “Can’t be any worse than the campsites my father chose,” she said. “He had a knack for selecting rocky ground. I’ll have to thank Mr. Pike for doing better.” She sucked in a breath. “That is, if we see Mr. Pike again.”

  “We’ll see Pike,” Ben promised, willing his body to relax. “It just might take a day or two.”

  She pulled away from him. “A day or two?”

  He urged her closer again. She needed the warmth, and so did he. As much as he’d maligned the Army’s accommodations, he would have willingly shared a bed with vermin right now. He’d never been so thankful for the Army’s wool uniform either.

  “You saw that tree come down,” he said. “There’ll be more before the night is over. We can’t climb back that way.”

  “Then do we head to the Colorado?”

  For the first time, he heard fear in her voice. He put his arm about her waist.

  “Only if we must. You should know what we’re up against, Meg. There is no way to float out without a large, well-built boat. Powell will be farther downstream by now. It could take months before anyone mounts another expedition to come after us.”