“How is your wound?”
“Mr. Peale was pleased with how it was healing. Now if you only had a magic herb in your bag that keeps mosquitoes away!” he said with a chuckle.
As if on cue, Makawee reached into her pouch and extracted two lengths of a braided plant. She handed them to Graham and smiled.
“This is sweetgrass. We use it for some of our sacred ceremonies. It also keeps biting insects away.”
“How do I use it?”
“Make a loop from the braid and hang it around your neck at night. Or hang it in your shelter. My clothing has dried sweetgrass blades woven into the fringes and around the neck. Sweetgrass gives off a nice scent and keeps mosquitoes away. When I am sleeping in an area with mosquitoes, I put sweetgrass blades in the braids of my hair.”
So that’s the pleasing vanilla fragrance I detected last night while holding her, he thought. She had sweetgrass in her hair!
“Let me guess. You didn’t get bitten by those nasty insects last night.”
“I was bitten once or twice.”
Once or twice? Graham had suffered from dozens of mosquito bites!
“I am so thankful, Makawee. We’re going to be traveling along the lake for many days. I’m sure mosquitoes will pester us the entire time. This will make sleeping much more comfortable.”
“The sweetgrass will help. But it works best when you are cleansed from sweat.”
Oh my. Graham had not bathed in more than ten days! He had washed off a few times but had not stripped and bathed. And he had worn the same clothes all this time. He flushed with embarrassment. Last evening while he hugged sweet-smelling Makawee, the man she held reeked of dried sweat.
“Uh, yes. Of course,” Graham agreed awkwardly.
“There is a good place to bathe close by,” Makawee added. “It’s a spring that warms the lake water. Would you like to see it?”
They walked a half mile north of the inlet and stopped by a shallow cove, where an oval spring was discharging warm water into the lake. Makawee slipped off her moccasins and took a few steps into the water until it reached the bottom of her leggings. She turned and motioned for Graham to join her.
Graham removed his boots and socks. He started to follow her into the warm water, then balked. The park ranger’s presentation on safety policies regarding thermal features flashed in his mind. He recalled a specific rule: swimming or soaking in hot springs is prohibited.
Private Foley’s unfortunate accident by the Firehole Spring also loomed in his thoughts. What if the water temperatures in the deeper part of the spring were not tepid, but scalding? The soldier’s cries of anguish from the pain of second- and third-degree burns were seared in his memory.
“Are you sure it’s not too hot?” Graham asked apprehensively.
“I have bathed here many times. It is very relaxing—and it cleanses your skin. You can also soak your clothes in the warm water to clean them.”
Graham cautiously stuck his toes into the water. Indeed, the water was warm and soothing.
“Okay. I believe you.” He sat down and pulled on his sweaty socks before slipping on his boots and tying the laces. Now that he was aware of his own stench, he was anxious to rid himself of this disgusting odor.
Makawee stepped back onto shore and put on her moccasins.
As they walked back toward the wickiup, Graham devised a plan to visit the underwater hot spring. He had been assigned guard duty tonight from eight o’clock until eleven thirty. He could walk to the spring afterward and bathe in the dark at midnight when no one would see him. Graham shared his plan with Makawee, and she nodded approvingly.
“Wait!” Makawee cautioned abruptly, extending her arm in front of Graham to stop him.
The Pennsylvanian peered ahead and saw the reason for her command. Rides Alone had returned to their camp. He was leaning over the fire with his back facing them. Graham nodded and motioned with his arm his intention of going inland through the forest to avoid her stepbrother. He mouthed a silent “Thank you” to Makawee and disappeared into the thick stands of Engelmann spruce and lodgepole pines.
* * *
Small waves lapping the shoreline created the only sounds outside the main camp at midnight. The moon was mostly obscured this evening and didn’t provide much natural light. Graham threw a blanket over his shoulder and used his Eveready flashlight to illuminate the path to the hot spring. He told himself so long as no one saw the twentieth-century, battery-powered invention, there would be no harm in using it.
As Graham approached the wickiup erected near the lakeshore, he stealthily entered the forest to circumvent the conical shelter of Rides Alone and Makawee. It would have been impossible to safely walk in the dense, dark woods without the flashlight. He cursed softly when he fell on his bandaged arm after tripping on a log and hoped the wound had not reopened.
Emerging from the forest onto the shoreline a few hundred feet from the underwater spring, he turned off his flashlight and walked briskly to the cove. A minute later, he had stripped naked and piled his clothes, blanket, and flashlight near the water’s edge. He eased into the warm water, tentatively placing one foot ahead of the other on the gentle slope toward the center of the spring. Soon he was chest deep in warm water luxuriating in the finest bath he had ever taken. Even his wound was salved from the mineral content of the lukewarm spring.
Graham took a deep breath and submerged completely, relishing the cleansing sensation from the clear, tepid mineral water. When he surfaced, he was alarmed to see someone was standing by his filthy clothes on the shore. After his eyes came into focus, he realized it was Makawee.
To his amazement, Graham watched as the young Crow woman slipped off her moccasins, removed her leggings, and turned her back as she loosened the laces of the elk-hide dress. She pulled the dress down over her shoulders and hips, letting it fall to her ankles. All he could see in the dim light was a shapely silhouette. She promptly stepped into the cove and was submerged up to her shoulders within seconds. Graham stared at the graceful woman standing ten feet from him. Even with the diminished light from an overcast night sky, he could see the outline of her diamond shaped face. Water dripped from her aquiline nose and the ends of her thick hair braids.
“You should soak your clothes,” she said placidly, gazing back at him.
Graham forced himself to stop gawking and considered her suggestion. He would have to walk out of the cove wearing nothing but his eagle–bear claw necklace to retrieve his clothes and bring them back into the warm spring. Makawee was clearly not self-conscious about her body or being naked in front of a man. Maybe this was something unique to Crow culture.
The Pennsylvanian took a deep breath and walked up the slope to the shore. He crouched and gathered his shirt, socks, underwear, and T-shirt, but decided to leave his jeans on shore. Holding the smelly, sweat-stained clothes in front of his genitals, he stood and carefully walked back into the cove until he was waist deep in the tepid mineral waters of the spring. Graham swirled his clothes through the water and rubbed them against one another. He used a sock as a loofah and scoured his neck, chest, and arms, being careful to avoid his wound under the waterlogged bandage.
“Are you going to wash your dress and leggings?” Graham asked casually.
“I washed them in the smaller lake last night.”
Makawee was not talkative. She seemed content to soak in the warm spring and watch him do his laundry. When he was finished, the naked young man again walked up the slope to shore. He pulled on his jeans with his back to her, then wrung out his heavy, wet clothes. He placed the underwear, socks, and T-shirt inside his shirt and rolled it into a bundle. After he pulled on and laced his boots, the time traveler discreetly placed the flashlight in a pocket of his jeans and draped the blanket over his shoulders.
Turning around, he saw Makawee standing in the clear water up to her navel staring at him. The obsidian turtle pendant on her glass bead necklace hung between her delicate round breasts. She stood m
otionless for a moment before retreating into deeper water.
“I . . . I want to thank you again for showing me this spring. The water felt . . . wonderful,” Graham said haltingly.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I did,” the silhouette replied.
Graham felt a stirring in his loins. Surging impulses coursed through his body and his pulse quickened. He had experienced these same rapturous sensations last night when he held her close. In this moment, he was tempted to strip off his jeans, wade recklessly into the water, take the young woman into his arms, and press their wet, naked bodies together.
Did she feel the same about him? The only way to know was to share a kiss. His heart told him to follow his passion. His brain told him otherwise. This was not the right time or the right way to express his love for Makawee. He took a deep breath and regained his composure.
“I hope to see you tomorrow,” he managed to say as he turned to retrace his steps back to camp.
“Graham!” Makawee called out from the spring. “Rub the sweetgrass braids over your wet clothes. It will give them a nice smell.”
“Thanks!” he yelled over his shoulder.
Twenty minutes later Graham was back at the fly he shared with Aurelio. On the way back to camp, he had gathered a handful of sturdy sticks. He stuck these into the soft soil close to the fire. After retrieving the sweetgrass from the fly, he rubbed the braided plants over the wet fabrics before draping his clothes on the sticks. Then he tore an outer wrap from his bandage and used it to tie the ends of the sweetgrass braids together into a loop, which he placed over his head and wore like a necklace.
The fire crackled and popped when he added more fuel to make it hotter. He decided to sleep outside tonight and keep the fire going to stay warm while also hoping for his clothes to be dried by morning.
Graham sat on his plastic poncho by the fire, clutching the blanket to keep it on his shoulders while poking at the red embers of the fire with a stick. The temperature had dropped into the upper forties, and it promised to be even chillier by dawn. As he leaned back against his saddle, the clouds parted over the lake, revealing a half-illuminated waning moon. It was a reminder to speak with meteorologist John Beaman about the date of the next full moon.
The time traveler drifted to sleep and had a sensual dream about the lovely young Crow woman. The opening scene in his fantasy bubbled up like a warm water spring, and his final dream sequence reached a crescendo with blazing flames. He woke in the middle of the night and realized he was sweating, though the fire had dwindled to hot white coals. Graham placed more wood on the fire to stoke it, pulled his blanket close around his neck, and went back to sleep, wishing to pick up his dream where he had left it moments ago.
* * *
Some of Graham’s clothes were still damp in the morning, most notably his thick socks. But he didn’t mind. As he pulled on his shirt and T-shirt, he detected a pleasing vanilla scent from the oils of the sweetgrass. It was indeed refreshing to have bathed. And it was nice to wear clothes that didn’t smell like a mule. The absence of mosquito bites was equally gratifying. Although he had worn the sweetgrass necklace only one night, Graham was encouraged by its potency as an insect repellent.
Graham plucked a half-dozen leaves from the yarrow stems and placed them in his tin coffee cup, then added a little water from his canteen. He used a fork to grind the leaves against the side of the cup into smaller pieces.
Albert Peale visited his patient after breakfast, bringing a folding camp stool with him. He motioned Graham to sit down while he attended to the wound.
“Why is your bandage wet?” he inquired.
“Oh, I soaked in a warm spring last night.”
“Actually, warm mineral water is good for the skin. But I should apply a dry bandage.”
Peale provided commentary on the survey team’s activities while he unwrapped the wet bandage and inspected the gash.
“I checked with Mr. Stevenson, and there isn’t much work scheduled today. We will be leaving early tomorrow morning, and you will be assisting with the odometer wagon—if your arm is up to it.”
Peale paused while he pulled the injured arm toward him for a closer look. “Still looks okay,” he observed.
Graham held out the cup of wet, pulverized yarrow leaves. The medical student dumped the moist contents onto the center of the clean dressing, then secured the absorbent cloth with several layers of linen wrap.
“A group is leaving for Fort Ellis tomorrow morning. The stagecoach picks up and delivers mail from the fort two days each week. If you want to send a letter home, this is a good opportunity. Just make sure Lieutenant Grugan gets your letter by noon.”
“Lieutenant Grugan is leaving?”
“Yes. Captain Tyler, too. Doctor Hayden says they will be going back to the fort along with half our escort to fight the Indians. It seems we will have a new leader of our military escort. I believe his name is Lieutenant Doane.”
Gustavus Cheyney Doane was born in Galesburg, Illinois, in 1840. He spent his boyhood in California and graduated from California Wesleyan in 1861. After serving in the Civil War, he experienced several failures in business and politics. Doane reenlisted in the army. He earned a commission as a second lieutenant in 1868 and was initially assigned to a fort in Nebraska. A year later he took his wife with him to Fort Ellis, Montana, where he was given command of Company F, Second Cavalry. Doane was selected to lead a military escort to accompany the Washburn expedition of the Yellowstone region in 1870. His record of this journey contributed to Ferdinand Hayden’s desire for a comprehensive scientific survey of the region the following year. Later in his career, Doane became resentful of the accolades bestowed on Hayden. He believed his achievements as an early explorer of the region were never recognized.
Hostile Indian activity in Montana forced the army to redeploy part of the survey’s military escort. Capt. Tyler approached his second-in-command late in the morning and indicated he wanted to speak privately. Lt. Frank Grugan followed the captain to a small grove of pines, where they sat down on a fallen tree and looked out over the lake.
“Lieutenant Grugan, you and I have been given another assignment,” Tyler began as he removed his slouch hat and gazed at the lake. “The Northern Pacific Railroad has a group of engineers doing survey work near Bozeman. As you know, there are hostile Sioux in that area, and we are assigned to protect the railroad team.”
“How many of our escort will return to Fort Ellis?”
“Half. I need you to decide which men will be assigned to each group.”
“Yes, sir. And who will lead the Hayden escort?”
Tyler turned to face Grugan. “Doane.”
Frank Grugan clenched his teeth and paused before responding. “Of course. He’s the obvious choice.”
There was a moment of silence before Grugan spoke. “Permission to speak candidly off the record?”
“Granted.”
“You and I both know why Doane is taking over this escort. Remember what happened last year on the Marias River? His callous actions and misleading report saved Major Baker’s ass. The major rewarded his loyalty by sending him on the Washburn expedition last year. And now Baker is repaying him again by assigning him to the Hayden Expedition. Doane always thinks he deserves special treatment, and this assignment just reinforces his belief. There isn’t a single officer at Fort Ellis who respects that man. Everything he does is calculated to advance his career—even if others pay the price!”
Frank Grugan took a deep breath. When he spoke again, it was in a calmer voice. “That’s all I have to say.”
“I totally agree with your assessment. But unlike your fellow lieutenant, we follow orders and execute them to the best of our abilities. We need to brief Lieutenant Doane and transfer command of this escort. I gave him a copy of my report to read this morning, so he is informed on the escort’s activities. He will be at my tent when we go back to camp,” Tyler concluded.
“Yes, sir,” Grugan affirme
d as they stood. “Captain Tyler, I will be a professional officer during this meeting.”
“I know you will,” Tyler said, donning his hat and briefly placing a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder.
The officers walked back to Tyler’s camp and discovered Lt. Doane waiting there. The thirty-one-year-old Doane was six feet two inches tall with a broad chest. He had gray eyes, black hair, and a sweeping handlebar mustache. His impressive physical appearance accentuated his confidence and sense of self-importance.
After the formal salutations were exchanged among the officers, Tyler invited the lieutenants to sit.
“Lieutenant Doane, I assume you’ve had a chance to read the description of our journey. Do you have any questions?”
“Thank you, Captain. As a matter of fact, I do. I see Hayden has engaged the services of two Crow Indians as guides. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Rides Alone is one of our hunters. His sister, Makawee, is our principal guide.”
“We can always use a good hunter. However, as you know, I have experience exploring this area with the Washburn group last year. No one is better suited to lead a scientific expedition through this wilderness than I. A guide is not necessary now that I’m in command.”
Doane’s conceit was on full display. Tyler caught Grugan’s eye and subtly nodded his head as a reminder of his commitment to remain professional.
“You will need to speak with Hayden. He arranged for the Crow guide, and she has proven to be quite competent.” Tyler had adroitly avoided further discussion of the topic.
“Indeed, I will. I also read about the soldier who was severely burned when he fell into a hot spring—a Private Foley.”
“Yes. Have you heard how he’s doing?”
“He’s in poor shape, but he will live. I understand they put him on a steamboat to Saint Louis to receive further treatment.”
“Thanks for the update. Lieutenant Grugan investigated the Foley incident if you have any questions.”
Burning Ground Page 28