Nothing Short of Wondrous

by Regina Scott

  “Mount up, Soldier,” Will ordered, and his private collected himself and hurried to his horse.

  “Incline your head when I call your name,” he told his men. “Lercher.”

  The German bobbed his blond head, nearly knocking off his fatigue cap.

  “Waxworth.”

  The toady smiled fatuously at her, then apparently remembered Will’s command and bobbed like a bird on a wire.

  “O’Reilly.”

  The strawberry-blond-haired private bent over his horse’s mane in a bow. “At your service, milady.”

  “Franklin.”

  His private’s lean face turned red as he inclined his head. “Mrs. Tremaine. Thank you for your help.”

  “Private Smith is in camp,” Will finished. “I’ll explain the terrain to him when we return.”

  “Very good.” She directed her horse away from theirs and turned the mare to face them.

  “Gentlemen,” she said, voice as clear as a bugle call. “Welcome to the Lower Geyser Basin. This part of the park has more fountains and hot pools than any other. It has some of the prettiest waterfalls and sweeping vistas too. I understand you have the honor of protecting it all from despoiling.”

  Franklin and Lercher sat taller in their saddles. O’Reilly bunched up his cheeks, leaned over his horse, and caught Mrs. Tremaine’s eye. Swallowing the spit, he straightened.

  “Allow me the honor of protecting you,” she continued. “The water in many of these pools is hot enough to scald. So is that mud. It’s also thick with the minerals that give it those lovely colors. Don’t splash it on you or in you. If you see one of my guests or anyone else getting too close, I’d appreciate it if you’d warn them away.”

  His men glanced over at the colored mud pots as if reconsidering them.

  “Today,” she said, “I’ll take you on a tour of the area nearest the hotel so you can familiarize yourself with the beauties and the dangers of the areas you’re going to patrol.”

  Lercher was nodding, but Waxworth and Franklin were beginning to frown.

  “Didn’t realize she was such a schoolmarm,” his cook muttered to his engineer.

  He’d have to have words with them later. They were all in Yellowstone’s school now, and Mrs. Tremaine was their best hope for a teacher.

  “Column behind me and Mrs. Tremaine,” Will ordered when it became clear she had finished speaking for now. She turned her horse and waited as he drew Bess alongside. His men fell into place, two abreast, behind them.

  The same two older hotel guests who had watched him repair the stairs yesterday ventured out onto the porch. They must be the Cavell party Mrs. Tremaine had mentioned. As before, their clothing would have graced the finest parlors back in Boston.

  “Oh, are we having a parade?” the woman asked in a British accent.

  “Cheers to the men in uniform,” the gentleman, most likely her husband, called. “Subdue those red savages.”

  Will’s stomach clenched at the crude term. “Column, move out,” he ordered, and Mrs. Tremaine clucked to her horse. The lady guest waved her handkerchief as they rode past.

  “You probably won’t see an Indian in the park,” Mrs. Tremaine said, voice hinting of sadness. “They’ve all been sent to reservations.”

  He knew. The First Cavalry had had a hand in that, and he still wasn’t sure it had been the right thing to do. Warlike tribes no longer preyed on peaceful tribes or settlers, yet both warlike and peaceful groups had been misplaced from the lands on which they had been accustomed to hunt and raise their families for generations. And there had been so many casualties.

  “The Bannocks still come through sometimes,” she added, oblivious to the memories that stalked closer to him. “They hunt and fish and gather berries. I suppose Captain Harris won’t like that.”

  Will roused himself. “No hunting on park lands. No exceptions.”

  She nodded as they circled the paint pots. Even the well-trained cavalry horses drew back from the sulfurous smells, the belching plops.

  “That’s probably wise,” she said. “The bison herd, in particular, is having difficulties. They deserve our protection.”

  He had only heard of the great beasts. The herds had been gone from the plains when he’d ridden through as a young private, and there had been none in Oregon and Washington Territory, where he’d seen much of his service. Still, it was hard to imagine anything as strong and sturdy as a buffalo herd needing his protection.

  She nodded to an area where orange streaked across the chalky ground, steam rising. “That’s the Silex Spring. Trust me, you do not want to drink that water.”

  “No, ma’am,” Waxworth agreed with a shudder.

  “And keep your horses well away,” she advised, causing O’Reilly to swerve back into line. “What looks like solid ground may well be only a crust, with boiling water just below.”

  All his men were more careful after that.

  A little farther along, she reined in beside a pool as blue as the sky overhead. His men stopped around her, and O’Reilly craned his neck to peer over his horse’s head into the depths.

  “As you can see by the steam, every pool around here is hot. This one is Celestine Spring, but most of the others are geysers. Unlike Old Faithful, they’re not predictable. If you’re riding, listen for a hiss and watch for an increase in steam. If you’re on foot, you’ll feel the rumble in the ground before they start.”

  So, that was how she’d predicted the eruption yesterday. He caught her eye and nodded. Her smile brightened the day even further.

  She led them past a group of lodgepole pines struggling to stay alive in the minerals and heat and through an area where the ground looked as if it was covered with bubbles that had hardened into rock. She nodded toward a pool as blue as blueberry preserves.

  “That’s Jelly Geyser. It’s a frequent squirter, so watch for it. Farther out, that pale white hole with the crusty sides is Jet Geyser. It will shoot almost as high as my hotel. Over there is Spasm Geyser. It’s more of a bubbler. That one with the yellow center and the green front is Clepsydra. She should go off . . . now.”

  As if the geyser obeyed her least command, water shot up from multiple vents, sending steam into the air. Except for Bess and Mrs. Tremaine’s horse, the other horses shifted, balked, and it took a moment for his men to get them under control.

  “Every three minutes,” she explained. “You’ll get used to it. But the biggest show around here is Fountain Geyser.”

  She nodded to the large, still, blue pool they were approaching.

  “Doesn’t look so bad,” Waxworth said.

  “You wait,” Kate said. “It will shoot twice the height of my hotel and last for more than a quarter hour. The only one bigger in this area is Morning Geyser beyond it and closest to the hotel. But it’s rarer.”

  “Who named such things?”

  That bewildered tone was Lercher’s. Mrs. Tremaine must have realized it, for she turned her head to give him a look. “Some were named by explorers, but many were named by the US Geological Survey. This way, gentlemen, and try to keep up.”

  Will bit back a smile as they rode past the hotel again. His men were looking more concerned by the moment, picking their way along and giving every colored patch of earth wide berth. Danny waved from the porch. Franklin waved back.

  She pointed out Twig Geyser, a creamy pool that could shoot water up a few feet for as long as an hour; the Leather Pool, which was as brown and rough as its name; and a patch of gray ground that hissed like a pot on the boil. Suddenly, she reined in. His men followed suit, jerking on their reins and glancing around as if expecting a geyser to go off on either side.

  Instead, she pointed across the geyser field to the circuit road beyond.

  On the other side of the dusty road, a small clearing was nestled among the pines, sage dotting the pale soil, its gray-green leaves holding the golden yellow of the fall bloom. Among them, shoulders dark and humps tawny, a dozen elk browsed. Will caught
his breath.

  “Oh, for one shot,” Waxworth said with a groan.

  She swiveled in the sidesaddle to glare at him. “For shame, Private. Look at that power, that majesty, and your first thought is to kill it?”

  Waxworth flamed. “No, ma’am, my first thought is how many hungry cavalrymen one of those would feed.”

  “I’ll keep you fed, Private,” she promised. “You just make sure those beauties go on living to inspire others.”

  “Remember the rules, Private,” Will added. “No hunting on park lands.”

  Waxworth deflated with a sigh.

  But his other men were nodding. How extraordinary. They were surrounded by animals and geology meant to inspire, and the greatest source of inspiration, for him and his men, was Kate Tremaine.

  5

  Once again, the men seemed all too eager to rush toward danger. A bull elk could weigh as much as seven hundred pounds. Those horns could puncture a lung or spleen, and one kick could break bones. When a herd made an appearance near the hotel, she had to be constantly on guard with her guests to prevent close encounters.

  She glanced over at Lieutenant Prescott. His rugged face held a look of awe, the sort of respect these great creatures warranted. The only problem was that he wasn’t looking at the elk.

  He was looking at her.

  She hastily gathered her reins and turned her horse to face theirs again. She was here for a purpose, not to gaze at the scenery.

  “Lieutenant Prescott, how far south are you patrolling along the circuit road?” she asked.

  “We haven’t set a boundary,” he admitted, shifting on his saddle. “There’s another detachment at Old Faithful. They’ll patrol partway up the road to the north. I’ll have to check with them at some point to confirm we’re covering everything.”

  She nodded. “If you’re coming up the road from the south, it might look easy to cross straight through the geyser field for the inn. Resist that urge. The terrain is deceptive. We had a grown man and a young boy die by falling into the paint pots two years ago.”

  “It’s no wonder you’re being so cautious then, ma’am,” O’Reilly ventured.

  Kate glanced his way, and his round cheeks turned a shade darker than his strawberry-blond hair. “They were not guests at my hotel, Private O’Reilly. They came from Marshall’s, the hotel now called the Fire Hole, not far from your camp, I understand. Unfortunately, I cannot watch over every visitor who wanders by. But you can.”

  Lieutenant Prescott’s mouth quirked, but he said nothing. Could he hear the determination in her voice? She had always tried to protect her guests while showing them the wonders of Yellowstone. Toby’s death had only steeled her resolve.

  She led them back toward the hotel, pointing out other hazards along the way.

  “Don’t pick mushrooms,” she advised when she saw Waxworth eying a clump near the base of the pines. “Several species in the park are deadly. And watch out for water hemlock—it can look like wild parsnips or carrots, but you won’t survive until morning if you eat a sizeable amount.”

  “There goes Waxworth’s stew,” someone muttered.

  “If you find a warm pool, don’t go bathing,” Kate continued. “It might be warm now, but heated water can push up from the bottom and boil you alive. Don’t use the pools for laundry—you’ll clog the geyser and end up shooting your clothing all over creation, and I can promise you it will be in no shape to wear again. And, whatever you do, don’t feed the bears.”

  “Is there nothing in this park that von’t kill you?” Lercher asked, heavy voice incredulous.

  “Nothing, Private,” she called back. “Best you remember that.”

  As they reined in in front of the hotel, she turned to Lieutenant Prescott again. If anything, he looked slightly bemused, brows down and mouth in a firm line.

  “Have you planned what route you’ll take on your patrol yet?” she asked.

  He raised his head. “My hope was to cover all the locations of most interest to tourists as well as areas frequented by poachers in the past. At the moment, we’re following the circuit road from the forks of the Firehole River to the Geyser Gateway.”

  “A sensible route,” Kate allowed. “You’ll be able to keep the peace with the tourists. You may miss the poachers, though. They don’t generally stay at the hotels.” She gripped the smooth leather pommel with one hand and twisted as much as she could in the sidesaddle to point with her other hand toward the north.

  “Start at the forks as you intended. I’ll show you other areas to patrol near there another day. As you head south, you’ll pass through some meadows—detour through them and watch for recent kills. That will alert you to poachers. They tend to leave a mess.”

  “No hot pools or boiling geysers there?” Franklin asked.

  “Not in that area, but the closer you get to the Geyser Gateway, the more you’ll find,” Kate explained. She swiveled again so she could point west. “Beyond the geyser field, you’ll reach Tangled Creek. It takes the runoff from the geysers, so it can be warm. I wouldn’t drink from it. Follow it up and around that hill, and you’ll find a footbridge over the Firehole. You might want to check that area as well.”

  Now came the tricky part. She couldn’t trust any of them, not even Lieutenant Prescott, with the secret. Word might get out.

  “Don’t go more than a few yards beyond the river unless I am with you,” she said, making sure to meet each gaze in turn. “That area has a number of hidden dangers. I wouldn’t want you to lose your horse or your life.”

  They were all staring at her. Private Lercher’s blue eyes were wide, his big jaw hanging slack. Private O’Reilly leaned from the saddle and spit, but whether to emphasize her warning or disagree with it, she wasn’t sure. Well, her admonitions were for their own good. She hardly wanted another death on her hands.

  She turned to Lieutenant Prescott. “That ought to be sufficient guidance to know your way around the immediate area. Was there anything else you needed right now?”

  “No, ma’am, much obliged.” His voice held a note of relief. Had he thought her too authoritative? Well, how else was she to protect him and his men? Toby hadn’t listened to her, but the cavalry surely knew how to obey orders.

  He nodded to his men. “Lercher, O’Reilly, you’re on patrol. Escort the others back to camp, start at the Fire Hole Hotel, and work your way south as Mrs. Tremaine advised. Waxworth and Smith will spell you this afternoon. Franklin and I will make a final sweep this evening. Dismissed.”

  His men turned their mounts and headed out of the yard, studiously avoiding the geysers and mud pots.

  “At least they’re following the path I suggested,” Kate said, watching them.

  “For now,” he said. “Do you need help getting down?”

  She buttoned up her skirt, lifted her leg over the pommel, and slid from the sidesaddle to land on the chalky ground. “No, but thank you for offering.”

  He shook his head. “You’re an independent woman, Mrs. Tremaine.”

  “That’s the best kind,” Kate told him with a grin.

  “Can’t argue there.”

  Well, that was a first. She’d met quite a few gentlemen in the last year who thought a woman couldn’t manage a hotel in the wilderness. His response was warm enough that she thought he’d smile, but he looked toward the road, where his men were disappearing around the bend.

  “I hope they heed your warnings,” he said. “A few of them have been recruited in the last couple of years, but most are veterans of the Indian Wars. They don’t scare easily.”

  “That’s a shame,” Kate said, gathering the reins. “Tell me, Lieutenant, can you reason with a native?”

  He frowned, gaze coming back to her. “Depends on the native, but then I would say that about most people.”

  “You can’t reason with nature. Scalding water is scalding, whether you meant to touch it or not. And grizzlies don’t wait for an explanation before attacking.”

  Her h
ands were starting to shake. She gripped the reins tighter, and Aster, one of her riding horses, stamped her feet, head bobbing. She reached up to stroke the mare’s neck. At least she could calm her horse even if she couldn’t calm her thoughts.

  “I recognize the dangers,” he told her. “I just wonder how many of my men will take your lessons to heart.”

  “That’s their choice,” Kate acknowledged. “All I can do is warn them.”

  “You can lead a horse away from scalding water,” he said, one side of his mouth turning up, “but you can’t stop him from returning.”

  “You most certainly can,” Kate insisted. “You can lock him in the barn.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t lock a cavalry horse in the barn or confine my men to camp. They have work to do.”

  “Work I want them to do,” she assured him, just as Elijah drove the coach up in front of the hotel. “I just don’t want to see anyone hurt while doing it.”

  He nodded toward the paint pots. “Even him?”

  She followed his gaze and puffed out a sigh. Sir Winston had evidently decided to take one last look around before leaving, for he was bending entirely too close to the pot in easiest reach. She wrapped the reins about the hitching post. “Excuse me.”

  She navigated the safest path out onto the field. In places on either side, the fragile amber-colored crusts were dented by recent footsteps. The fool! He could have fallen in a dozen times. Then she spotted the penknife in his hand, and her blood boiled nearly as hot as the geysers.

  “Stop,” she said, and he jerked upright. “Back away from the formation.”

  He looked over at her, nose so high she wondered the sulfurous fumes didn’t flow up it into his brain, however small his brain might be.

  “I am not accustomed to taking orders from the female help,” he informed her.

  “Then it’s surprising you’ve survived this long,” Kate countered. “It’s not safe for you out here, and I fear the geologic features aren’t safe from you. Come back to the hotel.”