Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  “It seems if we had stayed closer to the lake, the terrain would have been more hospitable.”

  “My dear Doctor Hayden. Unlike everyone on this expedition, I have previously explored this territory. I will get us to the Bridger Creek, but at this pace, we won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

  “Could you check your compass and get a bearing to make sure we are still on course?”

  “I rarely carry a compass. I prefer to travel as the Indians do using my instincts. Any guide worth his salt doesn’t need to rely on an instrument to know where he is.”

  The scientist bit his lip and paused before responding. “Okay. You’re the guide. But keep in mind all the gear we packed on the mules. We simply cannot make good time while riding through dense forest with several layers of deadfall. We rode through tightly packed trees on the way from the geyser basins to the lake a few days ago and had similar difficulties.”

  “If I had been your guide when you left the geyser basins, I would have taken a better route.”

  Hayden nodded as he turned his horse to ride back to the waiting pack train. “I’m sure you would have,” he mumbled under his breath.

  The group struggled to navigate through the dense timber the remainder of the day. Pack mules were not the only animals to encounter obstacles. Late in the afternoon, George Dixon’s horse got its hind leg stuck between two fallen trees. When Dixon dismounted and tried to free the distressed horse, he was struck on the forehead by the animal’s front foot. Albert Peale and Dr. Hayden used their surgical skills to close the profusely bleeding head wound with a flat suture needle and silk thread.

  Doane was exasperated with this latest delay. He approached Hayden as the former surgeon was wiping blood from his hands.

  “It’s getting late. I advise we set up camp soon and push for Bridger Creek tomorrow,” the guide proposed.

  “Agreed,” Hayden replied. “We’ll camp at the next water source.”

  After a steep descent, the pack train arrived at a small stream and established a camp along its marshy banks. As he set up the fly for Aurelio and himself, Graham winced at the thought of another night with hordes of hungry mosquitoes. Then he remembered the sweetgrass braids Makawee had given him, and his concern was abated. This site would provide a good test of the herb’s efficacy as an insect repellent.

  “Graham!” Jackson called as he approached his onetime apprentice. “I’d like to climb the mountain behind us before dark and see if I can take a photograph of the lake. Dixon’s got a major headache from that horse kick and needs to rest. Would you help me with the equipment?”

  “Sure!” Graham responded immediately. “Let me water my mule, and I’ll be right there.”

  Even though he was bone-tired from the day’s journey because of the constant assistance needed with the odometer wagon, Graham was delighted to have an opportunity to work with the photographer again. He was thrilled Jackson had requested his help, although he wasn’t sure Lindy would be pleased about carrying Graham up another mountain at the end of a hard day. The molly mule had done everything she had been asked without complaint, and Graham was becoming attached to her.

  Jackson led the way up the mountain leading Hypo, his faithful pack mule. Graham followed on Lindy. Thankfully, there wasn’t much deadfall after they climbed out of the steep ravine. It took nearly an hour to summit the mountain and twenty more minutes to unpack and set up the camera on the tripod. They had a spectacular view. Looking to the northeast, Graham could see the Southeast Arm of the lake and The Promontory.

  While Jackson made final adjustments for his landscape portrait, Graham covertly pulled out his map and located their approximate position after studying the topographical features in the immediate area. He determined the pack train was camped on Outlet Creek, and they were standing on Overlook Mountain. Earlier in the day, Hayden and Lt. Doane had referred to Bridger Creek as their next destination, which Graham realized was another name for the Upper Yellowstone River. Although Doane was the professional guide, Graham wanted to be prepared to advise Hayden on a travel direction the next day.

  Graham used his compass to take a bearing from Overlook Mountain toward the tip of the Southeast Arm, being careful to account for the fourteen degrees of magnetic declination printed on the map. Without making this adjustment, the target destination would be inaccurate by one-quarter mile for every mile traveled. The former Boy Scout knew magnetic declination gradually changed over time. He was looking at a map printed in 1970 while taking a compass reading in 1871, so the declination would vary by a few degrees. But his bearing should be close enough to get the survey team to the inlet of Yellowstone Lake.

  After Jackson took two exposures of the distant lake, they packed the equipment on Hypo and carefully made their way down the mountain into camp, where the light was quickly fading in the deep ravine. Potato John had prepared a hearty stew made from an elk Joe Clark shot earlier in the day, and both men had generous helpings for dinner.

  Graham longed to see Makawee but realized Rides Alone had probably returned from hunting, so he didn’t attempt to locate her campsite. He picketed Lindy, turned in early, and propped the braided sweetgrass on both sides of the saddle he used as a pillow. The mosquitoes were humming and swarming at dusk, but Graham was oblivious to the irritating, high-pitched noises and pending bites from the pesky insects. He pulled the blanket over himself, placed his cowboy hat over his eyes, and quickly faded into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Graham woke the next morning because his toes were numb with cold. The sun had risen, but its warming rays had not reached into the deep recesses of Outlet Creek. He glanced over and noticed Aurelio had already left to care for the mules and horses. Graham shivered when he removed the blanket and stepped out of the fly, stretching his arms above his head and rubbing his neck to work out the kinks from sleeping on a saddle. He ambled over to the nearest fire to warm himself where Albert Peale was labeling rock samples.

  “Morning, Graham.”

  “Good morning. It seems especially cold. Did you happen to take a temperature?”

  “I certainly did,” Peale affirmed. “Twenty-two degrees.”

  Wow, Graham thought. Freezing temperatures on August 11. Of course, this wasn’t unexpected, since they were camped at least eight thousand feet above sea level. He wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed before the end of the month.

  “Better get something to eat,” Peale suggested. “I think Lieutenant Doane wants to get an early start today.”

  Graham helped himself to some bacon and a large biscuit from the cooking fire before heading back to apply fresh yarrow leaves to his wound and start packing.

  “Merda!” Aurelio muttered in Italian as Graham approached their campsite. The hostler was scratching his neck, which was pocked with numerous red welts.

  “Did the mosquitoes feast on you last night?” Graham asked.

  “Sure did. I’m itchy as inferno this morning. How about you?”

  Graham paused and briefly inspected his body. He was pleased to find only a few bites. The sweetgrass had worked!

  “Actually, those bloodsuckers left me alone last night.”

  He felt guilty for not sharing one of the sweetgrass braids with his camping partner and vowed to offer one to Aurelio the next evening. If they were lucky, the hard frost overnight had killed the pesky insects or at least caused them to enter diapause until the weather warmed.

  “I hope we have easier traveling today,” Aurelio said, changing the subject. “The mules did okay yesterday, but most of the horses aren’t used to walking through so much deadfall. We need to give them a few days’ rest soon.”

  The pack train was assembled by eight thirty, with everyone in the same alignment as the previous day. Hayden was immediately behind Doane, and Makawee was in the middle of the group.

  Graham rotated the azimuth ring of his Silva orienteering compass until the previous bearing he took on the mountaintop lined up with the direction-of-travel ar
row. He made a slight adjustment based on their current location at the foot of the mountain. Then he turned the compass until the orienting arrow lined up with the north end of the magnetic needle and noted the direction of travel. Graham kept his compass in his front shirt pocket so he could take frequent readings on their direction. He was curious to see the direction Lt. Doane chose to lead the group.

  Within thirty minutes, Graham could see Doane was traveling too far south. At first the direction was only slightly off the bearing. But the variance became more pronounced as they slowly progressed. When the group took their first break on the Continental Divide, it was clear they were significantly off course. Graham took another bearing from the ridgetop and verified their wayward location. He faced a dilemma. Should he stay silent and wait for Hayden to ask for advice when it was clear they were taking a circuitous route to their destination? Or should he share his concern with Dr. Hayden and risk raising the ire of Lt. Doane? Graham wanted to seek Makawee’s opinion before deciding.

  He rode Lindy over to Makawee, who greeted him with a smile. She looked lovelier than ever sitting on Zonta, the midmorning sun accentuating her delicate features.

  “Rides Alone is hunting again?” Graham asked.

  “Yes. He and Joe Clark will join us at camp on Bridger Creek tonight.”

  “I slept quite well last night,” Graham reported. “The sweetgrass braids you gave me kept the mosquitoes away. Thank you!”

  The sweetgrass braids were not the only reason he had experienced such a restful sleep. The fragrance of Makawee’s sweet-smelling braided hair had also permeated his dreams.

  “I’m happy to help.”

  “Have you noticed our direction of travel?”

  “Yes. We’re not taking the best route. Perhaps the officer is taking a longer route for some reason?”

  “No. That’s not it. He believes this is the right way. I wanted to check with you before I say something to Doctor Hayden. Lieutenant Doane will not be pleased when I question his guiding skills. Don’t be surprised if he becomes angry.”

  “Please be careful. He is a soldier trained to fight.”

  Graham touched the brim of his hat and nodded as he turned Lindy and rode toward Ferdinand Hayden.

  “Doctor Hayden. May I have a word with you?” Graham asked as he dismounted.

  “Sure,” the expedition leader said, lowering a canteen from his lips.

  Graham surveyed the group and spotted Lt. Doane leaning against the trunk of a whitebark pine about fifty yards away.

  “Sir. I believe we are somewhat off track.”

  “I was wondering about that myself. How did you reach this conclusion?”

  “I took a bearing from the top of the mountain where Jackson and I took photographs of the lake last night. I took another reading just now. We are headed too far south. If we continue in this direction, we will intersect Bridger Creek many miles away from the lake.”

  Hayden scratched his beard, then nodded. “Wait here.”

  Graham watched as Hayden walked over to Doane. He could faintly hear the two men talking but couldn’t discern what they were saying. A few minutes later, both men walked briskly over to Graham, who could see by Doane’s flushed face the lieutenant was upset.

  “Hayden says you think I’m headed in the wrong direction.” Doane’s steely gaze was fixed on the young time traveler.

  “Not the wrong direction,” Graham responded hesitantly. “Just off course toward our destination. I estimate about twenty degrees south of the correct bearing.”

  “You are a botanist and help with the odometer wagon, is that right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Doane.”

  “You will address me as Lieutenant Doane,” the officer corrected him. “What makes you a credible guide?”

  “I lived and traveled around the lake for several months. And I know how to use a compass.” Graham immediately regretted his last statement.

  “You don’t think an officer of the US Cavalry knows how to read a compass?” Doane’s voice rose as he asked the question.

  “I didn’t say that. I just thought we could save time and not have to travel as far if we followed a bearing more to the northeast.”

  The army officer stepped within two feet of Graham, adroitly placing one hand on the holster of his Colt pistol while using his free hand to twist the end of his handlebar mustache. He stared directly into the younger man’s eyes as he spoke.

  “Listen carefully. I’m the professional guide. And I’m in charge of this military escort. I don’t need advice from an amateur prospector about . . .”

  “Lieutenant!” Hayden barked. The expedition leader had heard enough. “Please stand back!”

  The officer paused, then retreated several steps while keeping his eyes fixed on Graham.

  Graham was shaking inwardly and could feel his stomach muscles clench, but he was determined not to let Doane detect his fear.

  “I asked Graham Davidson about our current route,” Hayden explained. “He offered his opinion. Now I’d like you to take your own compass reading while I consult with our Crow Indian guide. Then we will be able to make an informed decision as to the best direction to Bridger Creek. Agreed?”

  Doane bit his lower lip, nodded, and turned away to retrieve a compass from his saddlebag. Hayden walked in the opposite direction in search of Makawee.

  Graham was left alone awaiting their return. He regretted telling Hayden about the erroneous direction of travel. Lt. Grugan’s description of Doane was proving to be accurate. Graham was on the wrong side of the quick-tempered, egotistical officer. Now he had to avoid two men: Rides Alone and Lt. Doane.

  * * *

  The pack train reached Bridger Creek by midafternoon. Doane had reluctantly made a course correction after Makawee recommended a northeasterly direction that confirmed Graham’s bearing. The time traveler took consolation in being right about taking a divergent path but wondered what future price he would pay for questioning Doane and bruising his ego.

  Camp was established at the base of a steep slope guarding the west bank of the Upper Yellowstone River a half mile south of where it empties into the lake. Dark clouds were forming over the lake. A light rain began falling, adding a sense of urgency for the survey team to erect the tents and flies. After setting up a fly for Aurelio and himself, Graham walked over to Albert Peale’s camp.

  “Albert, would you mind changing my bandage?”

  The medically trained geologist motioned for his patient to sit. He unwrapped the linen and turned Graham’s palm up to inspect the wound. Peale emitted a short whistle when he removed a clump of yarrow leaves.

  “That’s amazing!” He palpated the area around the wound and marveled at the healthy, pink appearance of the skin. “I’ve never seen a gash heal so quickly.”

  “It must be your professional treatment.”

  “And the yarrow leaves,” Peale said without hesitation. “I’m going to tell Doctor Hayden. I plan to add yarrow to my medical kit when I return to Philadelphia. You should thank Makawee for providing those healing herbs.”

  “Yes, I certainly will.”

  Peale wrapped the wound and told Graham a bandage would no longer be necessary after today.

  Graham strolled to the outer perimeter of the camp where Makawee was building a shelter from willow branches she had gathered by the river. She had used a hatchet to cut willow saplings into ten-foot lengths, buried their large ends into the ground, and arched them into a half dome. They were secured with thin willow branches. Graham came near as she was dragging clumps of pine branches to the temporary shelter. He helped her add the green branches to the willow shell. They worked together to collect another cluster of evergreen branches. After dragging these to the campsite, Graham gathered wood and started a fire while Makawee placed the additional branches on the dome and laid several buffalo hides inside the shelter. When the work was completed, she motioned Graham to join her in the shelter.

  “When do you expect Ride
s Alone to return?” Graham asked. He didn’t want an altercation with Makawee’s stepbrother, especially after yesterday’s dispute with Doane.

  “Sometime before nightfall. Perhaps sooner, since it has started to rain.”

  Graham hesitated, but quickly succumbed to the lure of sitting beside Makawee, even if it were only for a moment. He ducked into the shelter and sat cross-legged beside her, their hips touching in the compact quarters.

  “How is your arm?”

  “It looks great! I had Peale look at it right before coming over here. He was amazed how quickly it healed. Thank you again for the yarrow leaves.”

  “Yarrow is good medicine. But you have even stronger medicine,” she replied, pointing to the eagle–bear claw necklace hanging from his chest.

  Graham looked down and pulled the pendants from beneath his shirt, rubbing the smooth grizzly-bear claw between his thumb and forefinger. He recalled Redfield’s words when he presented Graham with the bear-claw necklace.

  “After I received Baaxpée from the bear spirit, I made this sacred bear-claw necklace. I wear this necklace to remind myself of the healing power.”

  Why had his wound healed so rapidly? Was it the yarrow? The healing power of the bear? Both?

  His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a loud shout. A few seconds later, gunfire erupted. Graham and Makawee jumped from the shelter and ran toward the main camp.

  “Indians!” a soldier shouted as he pointed toward a dense cluster of juvenile Engelmann spruce fifty feet above the river. He had raised his Spencer carbine to a firing position while looking for intruders.

  Lt. Doane and Sgt. Anderson converged on the scene at the same time as Graham and Makawee along with four additional soldiers.

  “Spread out and form a firing line right here!” Doane barked as he extended his arms to the side. “Wait for my orders.”

  “What did you see?” Doane calmly asked the soldier who sounded the alarm while scanning the slope for any movement.