“You make a convincing argument,” Hayden conceded. He trusted the judgment of his survey manager.
“What’s his name?”
“Graham Davidson.”
“Okay, bring Mr. Davidson on board. You can decide where to assign him each day. But make it clear if he doesn’t pull his weight, we’ll send him to Fort Ellis at the first opportunity,” he cautioned.
* * *
Graham was famished. As he walked through the camp looking for Stevenson’s tent, the aroma of elk-meat stew stimulated the gastric juices in his stomach. He found the survey manager’s campsite on a small bluff overlooking the river.
“Hello, Mr. Stevenson,” Graham said cheerfully.
“Hello! Glad you found me. Let’s go straight to a kettle and get some stew. I’m hungry.”
Not nearly as hungry as I am, Graham thought. The men waited in a line before receiving a mess pan of meat, potatoes, and onions. They grabbed a chunk of bread and headed back to the survey manager’s tent. Stevenson sat on a folding camp chair while Graham leaned against a tree as they dug into the stew.
After finishing the meal, Stevenson put his empty mess pan on the ground, took a drink from his canteen, and addressed Graham.
“I have good news. Hayden has agreed to let you join the group.”
Graham was relieved and elated. “Thank you so much!”
“However, the doctor expects you to contribute substantially, and so do I. You will take direction from me. Each day I will assign you to assist a survey team member or give you a work assignment. You will find we all help each other. Oh, and one more thing. You will be expected to take your turn standing guard at night.”
“No problem. I’ll do whatever you ask,” Graham said gratefully.
“We share tents and flies, so you’ll have to talk to some of the others and see who is willing to have you sleep under their shelter. The first order of business is to get you something to ride. Let’s go see the wagon master.”
Stevenson stood and walked toward the trail with Graham on his heels. They could hear horses gently snorting in a grassy area above the trail. A cluster of horses and mules was foraging on various grasses and secured with ropes strung between trees.
“Steve!” the expedition manager shouted as he approached the livestock.
The wagon master poked his head from behind a horse, where he was inspecting its hoof. “Over here!”
“Mr. Hovey, this is Graham Davidson. He is joining our expedition, and he’s going to need a ride. Can you fix him up with one of our mules?”
Stephen Hovey was responsible for the expedition’s horses and mules. He was a tall, lanky man with deep-set eyes, a short mustache, and a shorter temper.
“Don’t have but a few extra. I was countin’ on saving ’em in case we lost a few along the way.” Hovey was perturbed.
“But you do have a couple of mules that aren’t being used as draft animals since we left the wagons back at Bottler’s Ranch, right?”
“Yes, sir. That’s right.”
“Well, see what you can do for Davidson. He needs to be ready to ride in the morning. I appreciate it.”
Stevenson turned and walked back to his campsite, leaving Graham with a disgruntled wagon master who wasn’t happy with this order from his boss.
“Okay. Follow me,” Hovey said unenthusiastically as he ambled toward a group of mules at the far end of the rope line. He walked up beside a large gray-black mule with a white muzzle and long, pointed ears and patted its hindquarters.
“This here’s a molly mule. Her name is Lindy. I used her as a draft mule to pull our wagons up from Utah. She ain’t too fast, but she’s strong. She’ll do fine as a mount. Lindy’s got a mind to go her own way sometimes, but she’s a good girl.”
“Thanks.” Graham nervously asked, “Can I get a few instructions on riding and handling a mule? I’ve ridden horses before, but never a mule.”
“I’ll git one of my hostlers to help ya’ with that. Aurelio!” Hovey called out.
A tall, dark-complexioned young man wearing a gray sack coat and a felt porkpie hat emerged from the shadows behind them. “Yes, Mr. Hovey.”
“I need you to fix up Lindy for Mr. Graham Davidson so’s he kin ride her in the mornin’. You’re gonna need to fetch a saddle and blankets. And give this young fella some pointers ’bout mules. I gotta go git some grub ’fore it’s all gone.”
The wagon master lifted the rope where the mules were tied and tramped toward the river and the smell of elk stew.
“I’ll be right back. You wait here, capisci?” the hostler said to the newest survey-team member.
Graham watched as Aurelio lifted the rope line and walked up the slope from the trail, disappearing over a small rise. He marveled at the collection of horses and mules, which Graham estimated to be at least three dozen.
His next challenge was to quickly learn how to handle a mule. Stevenson and Hovey believed he was an experienced horse rider, and all he needed was some advice on the differences between these equines. This was a bald-faced lie. Graham had been on a horse only two or three times. On each occasion, he was part of a small group led on an easy trail by a riding instructor. He was anything but an experienced horseman.
Aurelio returned to the livestock holding area gripping a saddle. He had three blankets slung over his shoulder. He tossed two blankets over the mule’s back and hoisted the saddle on top. “First time riding a mule, eh?” the hostler inquired as he adjusted the cinching straps.
“Uh, yeah.” Graham decided to be truthful with the young man. “Actually, I don’t have much experience with a horse, either.”
This comment didn’t bother Aurelio. “So, one difference is mules have straight backs and horses have curved backs. Because of their straight backs, there’s a special way to saddle a mule. Use two cinches when saddling any mule. Make the one in front loose and the one in back tighter. The cinch in the back keeps the saddle from moving forward. See how the breeching goes under her tail?”
Graham watched intently as Aurelio adjusted the breeching to fit the mule’s body shape.
“She’ll let you know if she’s uncomfortable. If she bucks or bites, she’s hurting.”
Aurelio finished mounting the saddle and put on the halter. “Let’s try it. Get on,” he said, coaxing Graham.
Graham put his left foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn, and started to mount the mule. Lindy stepped away, and Graham found himself hopping on his right foot while trying to swing his leg onto her back.
“Whoa!” Aurelio said loudly, grabbing the halter rope. “Wait. Lindy has been pulling a wagon. She hasn’t had a rider in a while. We need to teach her to stand still. Watch.”
The hostler grabbed the horn with his right hand and firmly shook the saddle across the mule’s shoulders several times. Lindy instinctively spread her front legs to keep her balance. “This is the cue for her to stand still ’cause you wanna mount. You try.”
Graham imitated Aurelio’s motion of shaking the saddle horn. Lindy remained stationary, and this time he easily mounted. Aurelio instructed his student to place the ball of his foot in the stirrups. He adjusted their length until Graham had a slight bend in his knees when seated in the saddle. After Graham dismounted, Aurelio removed the saddle, halter, and bridle. He directed Graham to secure the saddle on the mule with breeching while he observed and was gratified when the amateur rider did it correctly.
Aurelio patiently explained how to properly put a bridle and halter on a mule. He also provided a basic lesson on mule handling. The novice mule rider was especially attentive when the topic of kicking was raised, pricking up his ears like Lindy’s while the young hostler spoke.
“Mules don’t kick people because they are mean. They kick when they are surprised or feel threatened. Never walk up behind a sleeping horse or mule without making some noise or talking. Make sure the animal knows you are there.”
Graham immediately thought about one of the key bear-saf
ety rules: make noise while on the trail. Not surprising any animal seemed like sound advice.
“Another way to get kicked is putting yourself between two animals when you are dismounted and leading mules single file along a trail. If the mule in front thinks the one behind is too close, it will kick, and you could be in her line of fire. Mules are more fearful of unfamiliar situations than horses, which makes them more likely to kick.”
Graham was starting to wish he was given a horse. Just when these doubts were beginning to creep in, Aurelio assured him of the merits of mules.
“Still, I would rather ride a mule than a horse,” he said succinctly.
“Why’s that?” Graham asked.
“First, mules are surer footed than horses. After all, they are half asino—or donkey in English. This means they’re better than horses when riding in rough country. Second, they can travel farther than horses partly because they don’t need good forage. Compared with horses, mules will eat almost anything. And finally, did you notice mule ears are larger than the ears of a horse? Mules hear better than horses.”
“Those are useful things to know. Thanks for all your help,” Graham said appreciatively. It would be good to have an animal companion with excellent hearing. He already felt better about Lindy.
“Prego. Where are you sleeping tonight?” Aurelio asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, I’ve got a tent set up on the other side of the pen. You’re welcome to join me.”
“That would be great!”
“Seguimi. Follow me. Bring your saddle and the blankets. By the way, the third blanket is for you, not the mule.”
The two men walked a short distance along the hillside until they came to a small wedge tent set up between two trees. Daylight was quickly fading.
“Let’s get a fire started,” said the hostler.
Graham gathered tinder and dead tree branches, while Aurelio built a bird’s nest of dried grass. Graham briefly considered pulling the Zippo out of his pack but reminded himself the naphtha-filled lighters would not be invented for fifty years.
Aurelio crouched and placed a small square of cotton char cloth on the ground. He grasped a piece of flint in his hand and used a piece of steel to repeatedly strike the quartz rock. Small sparks were created with each blow. After four or five strikes, a spark landed on the char cloth generating a red glow. Aurelio folded the char cloth into a smaller square and placed it into the nest of tinder. He got down at ground level and puffed air into the smoking tinder, which burst into flame. Soon a fire was crackling as the men added larger sticks of wood to the flame.
“I’ve got strike matches, but they don’t always work. I can make a fire with flint and steel almost every time,” Aurelio commented as if he were reading his camp partner’s mind.
As the two young men sat by the fire, Graham retold the fabricated story of how he ended up in Yellowstone.
Did I hear you say some words in another language earlier?” Graham asked.
“Sí. Italiano. I came to America from Milano as a young boy. My father settled in Saint Louis and started a clothing shop. He died when I was seventeen. I decided to seek my fortune and moved to Cheyenne. Mr. Hovey hired me to watch after horses and mules he boarded at his ranch. He taught me everything I know about these animals. I’ve worked for him the last six years. He brought me along on this trip when Mr. Stevenson asked him to be wagon master for the expedition.”
Graham got up and walked away from the campsite, looking for a suitable place to relieve himself. As he glanced across the darkened horizon, he spotted the outline of a short, tilted, conical shelter with poles protruding from the top. He hurried back to their camp.
“Did you know there’s a tepee just over the hill?” he asked excitedly.
“Sí. Two Crow Indians are part of our group. A man and a woman,” Aurelio explained. “The man is one of our hunters. He speaks little English. The woman serves as our guide, and she speaks English quite well. Someone told me they may be brother and sister, but I’m not sure.”
Graham was more than a little intrigued. Crow Indians? He was eager to meet these ancestors of Redfield.
Aurelio laid his blanket on the ground and placed a saddle at one end, using it for a pillow. Graham imitated his new friend; except he used his poncho as a ground cover and covered himself with the blanket. Staring at the flickering fire a few feet away and listening to the distant sound of the Mud Volcano erupting, the time traveler again pondered if the day’s events were only part of a vivid dream. He drifted to sleep wondering if he would wake up in 1971 or 1871.
Chapter 11
July 28, 1871
The camp was bustling with activity early the next morning as the survey-team members started packing to make the trip to Yellowstone Lake. The satisfying aroma of bacon greeted Graham when he awoke from a deep sleep. As he rolled from his blanket and sat upright, his surroundings quickly confirmed he was in the nineteenth century. A faded white canvas was suspended above him, and the saddle he used for a pillow sat beside his blanket. A hundred feet away, Aurelio was tending to the pack of horses and mules tethered to a picket line. Graham rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms before donning his hat and walking over to the livestock area.
“Mornin’,” Graham said as he approached Aurelio.
“Hi. The cooks made some bacon for breakfast. Better get some before they run out,” he advised.
Graham nodded and walked over to the cooking fire, where he grabbed a handful of bacon, a large chunk of bread, and a cup of coffee. After devouring the meat and bread, he ambled down to the river and filled his canteen. He regretted not having a toothbrush and wet his forefinger with river water to rub his teeth and gums. Graham wondered how soldiers and frontiersmen cleaned their teeth in the 1870s. He made a mental note to find out as he headed back to his campsite to retrieve the saddle, bridle, blankets, and poncho.
Lindy was standing perfectly still, so Graham was careful to start talking softly to her as he approached from behind. Taking a wide arc around her hind legs, the amateur rider came up on her left side and set the mule tack on the ground. He carefully unfastened the halter, slid the nose band down over the mule’s nose, and slipped the crown back up over the mule’s ears. He stood beside Lindy with the bridle in his hand and slipped the reins up over the mule’s neck. Graham moved the bridle over Lindy’s nose and placed the bit in her mouth like Aurelio had shown him. He lifted the crown of the bridle over her large ears and adjusted the straps.
Graham put the blankets and saddle on his mule, then secured the breeching. He looked around, hoping Aurelio could check his work, but he was nowhere to be seen. Lindy was one of the last equines to be saddled or packed. Almost every other team member had already started down the trail. Graham put on his pack, secured his spare blanket behind the cantle, and untied the lead rope from the picket line.
He took a deep breath, shook the saddle horn to stabilize Lindy’s front legs, and swung into the saddle. He was relieved when Lindy stood still. So far, so good, he thought. He clucked and gently squeezed his legs. Lindy responded by walking onto the trail and joining the pack train heading south.
It was an impressive string of equines. Graham had no idea how many were in this group, but when the expedition and its military escort snaked single file across an expansive open area, Graham couldn’t see the front of the line when he stood in his stirrups. The group seemed to be evenly split between expedition members and soldiers from Capt. Tyler’s Second Cavalry.
Lindy didn’t need encouragement or prompting. She was a seasoned draft animal conditioned to follow other mules. Graham reflected two days earlier, Kevin had given him a ride in his Ford Fairlane on a paved road to the Dragon’s Mouth. Now he was following the same route in reverse—but this time he was on an ancient trail riding on the back of a mule.
Ninety minutes later, Yellowstone Lake came into view as the pack train passed the outlet of the lake into Yellowstone River. What a differen
t scene! There was no fishing bridge or campground. There were no buildings or roads. And most stunning by its absence, Graham noted the Lake Hotel did not grace the northern lakeshore. A light wind pushed small waves on the shore under a partly cloudy sky. The lake was exactly as he remembered it. Indeed, the absence of any signs of civilization made this alpine body of water even more alluring.
After picketing Lindy in a grassy area, Graham went down to the lakeshore, where a group of men was unloading wooden pieces of various shapes and lengths from mules. James Stevenson, who was supervising the operation, instructed Graham to assist with this work.
As they were untying the wooden sections from the sawbuck pack saddles, Graham introduced himself to the fellow he was helping.
“I’m Graham Davidson from Pennsylvania. I just joined the survey team yesterday.”
“Chester Dawes from Massachusetts” came the reply from the other side of the mule. He was in his early twenties, clean-shaven, and five feet six inches tall with short brown hair and hazel eyes.
Chester M. Dawes was the son of Representative Henry L. Dawes, influential chairman of the House Committee on Appropriations in 1871. Hayden had recognized the necessity to appease key political patrons in Washington. Dawes received an invitation to the survey through his political connections.
“What are these wood pieces for?” Graham inquired.
“We will put them together to make a boat,” Dawes explained. “We constructed the original frame back at Fort Ellis, then disassembled it and packed the pieces on the mules. Now we have to reassemble these.”
The precut wooden segments were stacked in an open area just above the lakeshore along with nails, hammers, poles, sections of duck canvas, and a horse blanket. The survey manager assigned two additional men who worked for Steven Hovey to assist with the boat-assembly task. He directed Dick Richards and Alec Sibley to cut two small trees and start making ten-foot oars, since both men had experience in shaping logs for cabin construction. Another team member gathered wood and started a fire.
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