“Your shoes?”
He removed the boots and set them near the fire. His jeans and underwear were also wet, but he hoped she wouldn’t suggest taking those off to dry.
Makawee glanced briefly at the shirtless young man sitting by the fire, then dropped her eyes.
“Did you hear the details of what happened when the soldier fell into the hot water?” Graham asked.
“No.”
Graham recounted the story, being careful to explain how he had instructed Foley where to walk. He shared the findings from the lieutenant’s investigation that confirmed Graham and Foley followed the same path. Yet the lighter man fell through the thin crust.
Makawee listened intently, her dark-brown eyes focused on the young white man’s face as he spoke.
“Land of Burning Ground,” the Crow woman pronounced when Graham had finished.
“What did you say?”
“Land of Burning Ground is the name the Crow have given this place. The spirits sent a warning yesterday. Those who do not respect this sacred land may be burned.”
Redfield had informed Graham about this Crow name for Yellowstone. It was appropriate. They were surrounded by all sorts of unpredictable thermal features that often made the landscape appear to be on fire from a distance.
But he didn’t believe Makawee’s explanation for the soldier’s mishap. The young man was not punished by the spirits for being disrespectful. Foley was simply an unlucky man from Kansas, and Graham was a lucky deaf man from Pennsylvania. Or at least he was deaf until he was transported to 1871 in a land where the ground burned.
“Maybe you’re right,” Graham diplomatically conceded.
“What are you wearing?” Makawee inquired as she fixed her gaze on the time traveler’s necklace.
The time traveler had forgotten about the necklace. He looked down at the eagle and bear claw separated by two glass beads. How could he possibly tell her the truth? She would know about vision quests. But he was baashchiile—a white man. What was a white man doing with the Baaxpée earned by a Crow warrior? There was so much he would like to share with Makawee, but this was not the time. His response was vague.
“Oh, this? Remember I told you about my Crow friend in Pennsylvania? His name is Redfield, and he gave this to me. He said it would keep me safe while I traveled.”
Graham had mixed feelings about his explanation. While everything he said was true, it was also incomplete. At least he had not lied—so far.
“I see your necklace has a grizzly-bear claw. What is the silver stone?”
“It’s an eagle.”
Makawee stood and walked over to Graham. She reached out and pulled the dual pendants away from his chest. The obsidian turtle pendant on her own necklace dangled from her slender neck as she leaned over to inspect the eagle and the bear claw.
Graham’s pulse quickened. He was concerned she might ask him to explain the letters BSA imprinted on the eagle. His heart rate also increased because the face of the beautiful young woman was only inches away as she studied the sacred necklace in her hand. She was so close he could feel her breath. As she examined the eagle, he admired the distinctive shape of her cheekbones and the softness of her lips.
Makawee suddenly realized she was uncomfortably close to the shirtless young man. She quickly dropped the pendant back on Graham’s chest and retreated to her seat by the fire.
“Your friend Redfield is very thoughtful. Bears represent protectors and possess healing power. Eagles are leaders of all birds. They have great vision and courage. These are two enormously powerful symbols in our culture. How did you earn these?”
“Uh . . . well,” Graham mumbled as he searched for the right words. “As I said, this necklace belongs to Redfield. He earned the bear claw and lent it to me. He suggested the eagle be added. I plan to return it to him when I get back to Pennsylvania.”
It was another half-truth, and he hoped she would not pursue this line of questioning further.
To his relief, the woman also known as Earth Maiden offered a comment rather than another question.
“Your necklace could explain why you did not fall into the hot spring.”
“How so?”
“Those who have the gift of the bear spirit are protected. And they are quickly healed if injured. The spiritual power from Redfield’s sacred necklace saved you.”
Graham remembered Redfield’s words when he was presented with his friend’s Baaxpée from the bear spirit:
“The spirits will recognize the power bestowed on the person wearing this necklace. It will protect you during your vision quest. Once your journey begins, you need to wear it at all times.”
Could Makawee be right? She was corroborating Redfield’s assertion the bear spirit necklace provided protection. What if Graham had not worn the necklace when walking next to Firehole Spring? Would he be the one with white lead paint on his burned legs and strapped on a travois instead of Private Foley?
The time traveler clutched the bear-claw pendant lying against his chest. This was the second time he had averted potential disaster. The first instance was the aborted grizzly-bear attack when he was hiking alone along the lake. One thing was clear. He was never going to remove this necklace until he returned to the relative safety of his Pennsylvania home.
“Yes. The necklace could explain what happened,” Graham said slowly as he shook himself out of his musings.
Makawee stood and turned the rabbit on the spit so the meat would cook evenly. This prompted Graham to do the same thing with his shirt. He removed it from the Y-shaped stick and reversed the side facing the fire. They sat in silence for a few moments before Graham spoke.
“I know you learned to speak English while living with Meldrum at the fort. Did you ever learn to read?”
“A little bit when I was a young girl. But Round Iron did not have many books, and his wife, Medicine Tree, could not read. When I was sold by the Blackfeet to Isaac Baker, he had books in his store. There was also a weekly newspaper. He helped me learn more words, and I read as much as I could.”
“Do you have a favorite book?”
Makawee’s almond eyes brightened. “The Scarlet Letter,” she asserted without hesitation.
“And why that book?” Graham was intrigued. The novel by Nathaniel Hawthorne set in seventeenth-century Boston about a young woman accused of adultery seemed an odd choice for a Crow woman from Montana.
“I liked the way the woman chose her own path. The people in her tribe gave her a label, but she was strong. She didn’t let other people tell her who she was or what she could do.”
Graham was impressed with her thoughtful answer. It was obvious she empathized with the protagonist, Hester Prynne. This Crow woman may have been named Makawee or Earth Maiden by others at her birth, but she was independent. She would decide what to do with her life. The time traveler was entranced by her intellectual strength as well as her exceptional beauty.
Makawee surprised him with a reciprocal question. “What is your favorite book?”
“The Adventures of . . .” Graham stopped midsentence. He wasn’t sure when Mark Twain’s novel about Huckleberry Finn was published. What if she asked about getting a copy when they returned to Fort Ellis and discovered no one had heard of it?
“Adventures of who?” Makawee questioned.
Graham quickly covered up his mistake by saying, “The name of my favorite book is Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”
“What’s it about?”
“Well, it’s actually a children’s book that tells the story of a young girl who falls asleep and has dreams about all kinds of things that don’t make any sense.”
Makawee tilted her head and frowned. “It doesn’t sound like a good story.”
“I’m not describing the book very well. If you get a copy, I think you’ll enjoy reading it,” Graham concluded.
Makawee offered to share some of the rabbit, and Graham gladly accepted. While they ate, the conversation turned to t
he unpredictable weather and the paucity of big game in the geyser basin. They were enjoying each other’s company when Rides Alone galloped into the campsite and slid off his mount.
The Crow warrior strode quickly to the fire and said something angrily to his stepsister in their native language. She matched his emotion with her reply. Although Graham couldn’t understand what was being said, there was no mistaking the tone. As Graham pulled on his boots, Rides Alone yanked the shirt from the drying stick and threw it at him.
“Go. No baashchiile here!”
Graham said nothing. He donned his shirt and fastened the buttons while hastening to untie his mule from the pine tree. As he passed by Makawee, he touched the brim of his hat and nodded slightly in a silent gesture of thanks.
When he mounted Lindy and turned toward the main camp, he saw Rides Alone staring at him. The warrior struck a defiant pose with his legs shoulder-width apart, his chin held high, and his arms crossed on his chest. Graham didn’t need to understand the Crow language to get the message.
* * *
When Graham arrived at camp, he discovered the hunters again had no luck finding big game. One of the soldiers had shot two squirrels with a pistol, and Aurelio had killed a grouse. Gibson mixed the meat with the few potatoes that were left and heated the concoction over a steaming fumarole. The men jokingly referred to it as “Hellfire stew” because of how it was cooked, but everyone agreed it tasted great. The flavorful soup was a welcome change from the customary menu choice of biscuits or slapjacks.
As the sun set over the geyser basin, Graham sat by a fire outside the fly Aurelio had erected and contemplated the day’s events. He was grateful to have met and spoken with Thomas Moran, but he disliked the artist’s pompous attitude. Nevertheless, Graham made a mental note to ask the artist about his draft watercolor sketch of the Grand Prismatic Spring tomorrow.
His conversation with Makawee about the soldier’s tragic accident was thought provoking. Her proposed reason for Graham’s escaping Foley’s fate was not logical. It was spiritual. Makawee confirmed Redfield’s claim the bear-claw necklace had protective powers. Graham had nearly become convinced the bear spirit was more than a myth.
The second part of his dialogue with Makawee was exhilarating. His admiration for this captivating Crow woman grew even more when she revealed her intention to determine her own destiny. She wanted to be independent and had the skills to succeed. Makawee was ahead of her time in her beliefs about a woman’s rights. A hundred years ahead? Possibly, Graham thought.
The time traveler closed his eyes and recalled the moment when Makawee was leaning toward him while inspecting the eagle–bear claw necklace. He envisioned her braided black hair lying softly against her slender brown shoulders. He imagined her warm breath on his face as she studied the eagle pendant. His pulse rate increased simply thinking about how close he had been to the graceful young Crow woman—close enough to have stolen a quick kiss.
Graham’s reverie was interrupted when he felt a sharp stinging sensation on his neck. Instinctively he swatted a mosquito that had punctured his skin. The Firehole River was swarming with mosquitoes at sunset seeking creatures to prey upon. Dense clouds of the insects hovered over the camp, dining on the blood of the men who were dining on Hellfire stew.
His thoughts turned from the bothersome insects to a human annoyance. Rides Alone was dogged in his efforts to keep Graham from getting too close to Makawee. He did not trust white men. The Crow warrior had vowed to be her guardian and was protective of his adopted sister.
Graham didn’t fault Rides Alone for making sure Makawee was safe. On the contrary, he respected the Crow warrior for doing so. Graham had assumed a similar responsibility for protecting Susan after Billy had drowned. The Crow and the Pennsylvanian shared a common mission—except Graham had failed to keep his sister from harm.
But Graham had no intentions of giving up pursuing Makawee. The more time he spent with the enchanting Earth Maiden, the more he wanted her. The more he desired her. Did she feel the same way about him? He didn’t have much time to find out—only until he reached the Dragon’s Mouth during the next full moon, when he hoped to travel back to 1971.
The time traveler realized he needed to avoid the strong-willed Crow warrior. Or perhaps he should confront him. Either way, he resolved to see Makawee again.
Chapter 16
August 5, 1871
Waning gibbous moon: 25 nights until the next full moon
Only the most sound sleepers had a good night’s rest. Every hour or two a nearby geyser erupted, causing the earth to rumble and spew hot water into the night sky. Graham was assigned guard duty from two o’clock to four thirty. Grand Geyser exploded during his watch, pushing a hot water stream nearly two hundred feet into the air. A waning moon in the clear night sky cast a muted light on the eerie landscape of the geyser basin, creating a spectacular backdrop for the powerful eruption. The event reminded the time traveler of a similar experience when he visited the Norris Geyser Basin in 1971 and witnessed Echinus Geyser erupting in the moonlight.
After preparing the meat-based Hellfire stew for dinner the previous evening, Gibson could only offer the men biscuits and coffee for breakfast. Hayden announced this would be their last day in the geyser basin. The group needed to rejoin the rest of the survey team at the lake, where fresh supplies from Bottler’s Ranch would soon arrive.
Peale approached Graham after breakfast. “George Dixon has a case of the quick step. Last night’s Hellfire stew didn’t agree with him. I need you to assist Jackson with the photography gear.”
Graham was eager for the opportunity to see William Henry Jackson work on his craft. He grabbed his backpack and fetched Lindy, then assisted Jackson in loading his mule. The photographer decided not to pack the second mule with supplies, because they would be working close to camp and could easily retrieve any additional materials later.
Thomas Moran rode up to the group as they finished packing the mule. He was sitting on his cushioned saddle and cradling the sketchbook under his arm.
“Did you locate anything worth a picture or a painting when you scouted the area yesterday, William?” asked the landscape artist.
“Yes, indeed,” Jackson replied. “On the opposite side of the river just a short ride away is Castle Geyser. You’ll understand why it has that name when you see it. It’s where I plan to set up.”
The three survey-team members and two soldiers forded the Firehole River and headed south. They passed numerous small springs and dormant geyser craters. Some of the springs were bordered by clusters of small yellow monkey flowers, their bright-yellow petals with orange spots providing a distinct color contrast to the gray-white sinter.
Castle Geyser was located one hundred feet from the river on a gently sloping hill. The sides of the conical geyser were formed from the geyserite sinter deposits of thousands of eruptions. Apropos of the thermal feature’s name, portions of the cone’s edge were shaped like turrets on a medieval castle.
“I would say this is definitely worthy of capturing on paper—and glass,” proclaimed Moran as he leaned forward in his saddle and adjusted his pillow. “Let’s ride around the perimeter to determine the best angle to capture its grandeur.”
“Wait here,” Jackson said to Graham. “We’ll let you know if we want to set up on another side of the geyser.”
The Castle steamed vigorously. Low whistling sounds emanated from the cone as vapors billowed from the ancient geological structure. Graham looked behind him and saw the soldiers sitting on their horses a comfortable distance from the menacing sound of the crater. They were diligently following Capt. Tyler’s orders: do not approach within fifty feet of any thermal feature that boils, steams, or erupts.
Fifteen minutes later, Jackson and Moran returned to the side of the geyser nearest the Firehole River.
“This is the best view. We’ve decided to place the small blue spring in the foreground of my photograph and Thomas’s sketch,” announced
Jackson.
Moran dismounted and retrieved his chair. Graham slipped off his backpack and looped it on the saddle horn. He assisted Jackson with unpacking his equipment from Hypo. The soldiers took the reins of the two mules and Jackson’s horse. They led the equines over to a group of pines and tethered them.
“Let me set up the camera. Check to see if Mr. Moran needs anything. Then come back to help me,” Jackson directed.
Graham walked over to the skinny, bearded man in the folding chair. Moran had opened his sketchbook to a fresh page and was pondering the scene in front of him.
“Excuse me,” Graham said. “Before you get started, may I see the finished watercolor sketch of the giant spring we saw yesterday?”
Moran nodded and flipped a few pages of his sketchbook. Graham gazed at the artist’s chromatic rendition of the Grand Prismatic Spring. It was fabulous. True to his words, Moran had not portrayed the landscape exactly as it appeared. He produced an image that pulled you in as if you were there. The colors were vivid. Steam hovered over the spring like ghostly apparitions. Purple-hued hills in the distance added to the artist’s interpretation of a landscape created by God.
“What do you think?” Moran asked.
“Magnificent” was the only word Graham could summon.
“Well, it’s really just a sketch. As I explained yesterday, I will use this primitive watercolor to create a much better painting in my studio when I return. I’ve captured other scenes of this wonderland in my book using the same basic technique.”
Moran flipped back a few more pages and revealed the unmistakable classic view of The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone as a sketch. He turned a page again. A sublime interpretation of Tower Falls was captured in his sketchbook.
“They are wonderful! Thank you for sharing!” the substitute photographer’s assistant exclaimed. This man may be pompous, but there was no denying his talent, Graham thought.
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