“Two or three Indians and a dog, sir. One of the hostiles raised a bow, and I thought he was going to shoot an arrow. But I shot first.” The young soldier was nervous and spoke quickly.
“Did you see any horses?”
“No, sir. Only the dog. They were definitely on foot.”
“Did you hit any of them?”
“I don’t know. They ran up the mountain after I shot.”
“All civilians need to stay behind this perimeter. Sergeant let’s have a closer look. Cover us!” Doane commanded the soldiers positioned on either side.
Doane and Anderson pulled out their Colt pistols and slowly made their way to the base of the slope, holding their weapons in front of them as they advanced. They soon disappeared into the thick trees blanketing the hill.
When Hayden and several other survey-team members arrived, Graham explained what was happening. Ten minutes later, the lieutenant and sergeant emerged from the trees and trudged back to the group. Doane was holding a bow and two arrows.
“Private, you definitely spotted hostiles. One of them dropped his weapon in his haste to retreat. Good job.”
“May I see those?” Makawee asked, extending an outstretched arm.
Doane shrugged and handed the bow and arrows to the Crow guide.
“The warriors you saw are Mountain Shoshone—Sheep Eaters,” Makawee declared after examining the bow.
“How can you be sure?” Doane asked skeptically.
“This bow was made from the horns of mountain sheep. They flatten the horns, reverse the curl by heating them, and join the horns together using sinew and hide glue. They are the only people who make such weapons.”
“Isn’t it possible another tribe stole these bows or traded for them?” Doane suggested.
“Maybe. The soldier said he saw a dog, but no horses. The Mountain Shoshone don’t own horses. They use dogs as pack animals. These people are not hostile. I think they want to trade with us.”
Graham was impressed with Makawee’s knowledge of her tribal neighbors. But he could see Doane didn’t appreciate being challenged on the identity of these Indians.
“You can keep those archaic weapons,” he said flippantly. “It doesn’t matter what tribe they belong to. If they raised a bow and threatened to shoot, they are hostiles. And we will treat them accordingly.”
“I speak their language,” Makawee calmly replied. “If we see them again, I could ask what they want and . . .”
“I make the decisions on who is hostile and who is friendly. I am responsible for the security of this expedition. Any Indian who shows up unannounced to our camp will be met with force!” Doane bellowed as he took a step toward the Crow guide.
“Lieutenant Doane, may I have a word?” Hayden interrupted as he moved between the cavalry officer and Makawee.
Hayden and Doane walked together toward the river for a private conversation. Doane removed his hat and smoothed back his hair.
“Lieutenant, let me say I appreciate your zeal for keeping all of us safe. One of the reasons I asked you to join us is your reputation as a formidable Indian fighter. However, one of my obligations on this survey is to secure any information regarding Indian tribes living in the area that may prove useful to the Department of the Interior. We need to talk with these Sheep Eaters if the occasion arises again.”
Doane pursed his lips disapprovingly but said nothing.
“The Mountain Shoshone may help us with another assignment,” Hayden continued. “You may not be aware the Smithsonian is one of our sponsors. Spencer Baird, the museum’s director, requested we collect as many skulls and skeletons of wildlife as possible. He is especially keen on receiving mountain-sheep skulls. Who better to supply bighorn-sheep skulls than the people who regularly consume the elusive creatures as part of their diet?”
“What are you telling me?” Doane asked, even though it was clear what the expedition leader was suggesting.
“If we see these Sheep Eaters again, tell your men to hold their fire. Let’s talk to them first. After all, Makawee is our interpreter. She knows their language and customs, because her people have traded with them. Agreed?”
“It’s your expedition,” Doane muttered as he donned his slouch hat and strode back to the soldiers.
“Sergeant, tell your men they can stand down. But put extra men on guard duty in case those hostiles decide to pay us a visit tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Anderson said with a salute.
Graham and Makawee walked toward the willow shelter in the rain, which was coming down harder as the dark clouds thickened and lowered.
“I will give the bow and arrows to Rides Alone. He will appreciate them more than the lieutenant,” she remarked, admiring the craftsmanship required to construct a bow from an animal horn.
Graham nodded in agreement.
“Looks like we have a common enemy,” he observed. “Doane was angered by your comments.”
“I’m not worried. Rides Alone will protect me.”
“So will I,” Graham said with conviction as he gently put his hand on her shoulder. When she turned toward him, he admired her glistening face in the afternoon rain. He pushed up the brim of his hat, leaned over, and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“Thank you, Graham,” she said, flashing a bright smile before pivoting toward her shelter.
The time traveler’s heart was singing with joy as he ambled to the main camp. No amount of rain could dampen the flame flickering in his heart.
Chapter 21
August 14, 1871
Waning crescent moon: 16 nights until the next full moon
Camp Hovey was established on the east shore of Yellowstone Lake near Signal Point. Hayden named the campsite in honor of his irascible wagon master. It was an ideal location from which to explore this section of the wilderness.
The team pitched its tents on an elevated grassy knoll close to Meadow Creek, which had been dammed by a colony of beavers. The Promontory, a densely forested section of land that separated the Southeast Arm from the South Arm, jutted into the lake. A large, sloping hill on the northern edge of the peninsula created a silhouette resembling a partially submerged alligator poised to devour unsuspecting prey. Due west lay the largest island in the lake, its six hundred acres hosting scores of nesting ospreys and bald eagles.
Shortly after arriving yesterday, Hayden and Doane had repacked and departed with hostler Dick Richards and soldier Lewis Byrch on an excursion south of the lake. Over forty years earlier, frontiersman Jim Bridger claimed he discovered a place where the waters from a single stream split and flowed on both sides of the Continental Divide. Doane promised the expedition leader he could guide him to this fabled site known as Two Ocean Pass. The small exploring party planned to return to Camp Hovey in three or four days.
Ferdinand Hayden asked Steve Hovey to supervise the civilian survey team until James Stevenson returned from Bottler’s Ranch with supplies. Before leaving, the expedition leader instructed the wagon master to light a fire on the bank of the lake and keep it burning. He wanted to provide a signal for Henry Elliott and Cam Carrington, who had been exploring the lake in the Annie, so they would know where the survey team was camped.
Doane placed Sgt. Anderson in charge of the military escort in his absence. After the incident with Indians at Bridger Creek and his subsequent conversation with Hayden, the lieutenant reluctantly ordered Anderson to hold fire on any Indians who ventured near camp until their intentions were determined. He advised the sergeant to barter with the Sheep Eaters if they had any bighorn-sheep skulls. “But if they show any signs of aggression, fire on them at once,” Doane commanded.
* * *
Dan Gibson was the first person from camp to notice the boat. The assistant cook was gathering driftwood by the lakeshore when he saw a small craft in the distance. The Annie was bobbing in the water like a cork, plowing through the small waves and slowly making its way to shore where the signal fire was burning. He yelled toward the camp
to let others know the canvas-covered boat was approaching. Soon a small group assembled on the rocky shore, cheering the oarsman as he struggled against the wind and the waves.
Graham was among those who waded ankle-deep into the lake to pull the bow of the boat onto shore. Henry Elliott clambered out of the boat first. Cam Carrington stowed the oars and followed from his seat behind the aft thwart.
“Hello, fellas!” Elliott greeted as he stepped ashore. “It’s great to see y’all. Thanks for lighting the fire.”
The welcoming party shook the hands and slapped the backs of the lake explorers. Four men picked up the Annie by the gunwales and carried it up the rocky slope. They set the handcrafted boat among short clumps of needlegrass.
“Where’s da mast?” Alec Sibley asked.
“Oh, we lost it two days ago. A gust of wind came up, and it snapped off when we didn’t have time to drop the blanket sail. We were lucky. If the mast hadn’t broken, we might have tipped over,” Elliott explained.
“Yep. That was scary,” Carrington chimed in.
“Well, you fellas are just in time for a good meal. The stew is almost ready,” offered Gibson.
“That sounds great!” Carrington exclaimed. “I don’t think I could stomach another hard biscuit for dinner. That’s all we’ve had to eat the past three days. We forgot to bring a fishing line with us.”
“Good. ’Cause we just ran outta flour. No biscuits or slapjacks. Only meat and coffee or tea till Mr. Stevenson gets back with supplies, unless somebody catches some fish,” Gibson reported as the group trudged up the hill toward the cooking fire.
“Since Stevenson isn’t in camp, who’s in charge?” Elliott inquired.
“Mr. Hovey,” replied Gibson.
“I need to talk with him. Cam and I need a break from taking soundings. We’re exhausted. And I’ve sketched all the shoreline to this point. Someone else can take soundings on this section of the lake. Preferably someone who is familiar with the Annie,” he suggested, looking directly at Graham.
“Is the Annie still seaworthy even though she lost her mast?” The Pennsylvanian knew he would be assigned this task after Elliott cornered Hovey and spoke with him.
“Yep. No big leaks. It just takes longer to move across the lake without a sail. It can be tough rowing.”
“Yeah. That’s for sure,” Carrington agreed as he rubbed his shoulders and triceps.
Cam’s gestures indicated he had performed most of the physically challenging work of rowing long distances on open water while Elliott busied himself sketching. He wondered if Elliott saw the hypocrisy in belittling Thomas Moran as a lazy, pampered artist while insisting Carrington provide the muscle for the Annie.
Graham’s prediction on his next assignment was realized when Steve Hovey approached him early in the afternoon.
“You’re the perfect man to pick up the slack on takin’ lake soundings,” the wagon master proposed.
“Elliott spoke with you?”
“Yep. Says you sailed the Annie to the island on the north side of the lake with Mr. Stevenson a couple of weeks ago.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’m sure Mr. Stevenson would give you this assignment if’n he was here.”
“John Beaman also has experience with taking soundings,” Graham suggested.
“Yep, he does. But Beaman has weather readings to take. Besides, since we’ll be in camp a few days, you don’t have much else to do.”
“I can do the job,” Graham confidently affirmed.
How hard could it be—dropping a weighted line over the side of a boat, taking a few compass bearings, and writing down the measurements? It couldn’t be as difficult as lifting the back end of an odometer wagon over deadfall all day.
“You’ll need a second man,” Hovey continued. “You and Sibley bin workin’ together these past few days helpin’ with the odometer. I’m assignin’ him to help. Check out the boat, ask Elliott where to take soundings, and plan on bein’ on the lake tomorrow mornin’.”
Graham nodded and immediately trekked over to perform a closer inspection of the handcrafted boat. He walked around the hull, running his hand along the pine-tarred canvas. There were no visible holes or slits. He climbed into the boat and placed the oars in the oarlocks. The surfaces of the rough-hewn oar handles felt smoother than the first time he used them to row to Stevenson Island. He wondered if Carrington’s hands were as sore as his shoulders from the thousands of oar strokes he had to make over the past five days. A splintered vertical stub was all that remained of the mast, which had snapped just above the forward thwart, where it was anchored. The Annie was now simply a large rowboat.
A three-hundred-foot rope was coiled on the bottom of the boat. Strips of cloth fathom markers with smudged numbers dangled from the rope at regular intervals. One end of the rope had been threaded through an eyelet and secured with a bowline knot to the elongated plummet, which rested in the middle of the coiled hemp.
Satisfied the boat and sounding gear were in working order, Graham ambled back to camp. He wanted to explain the depth-measuring process to Alec Sibley before they launched the boat onto the lake the next morning.
As he walked along Meadow Creek, something caught his eye moving in the clusters of dark-green sedge lining the bank. The tops of the grasses shook as a hidden animal made its way up the bank toward camp. Graham stood perfectly still, expecting a weasel or beaver to emerge from the thick vegetation. Much to his surprise, a medium-sized dog with a black sable coat and large, pointed ears stepped from the grass and stared at him. The animal held its long bushy tail in a downward position, indicating curiosity more than dominance. The hair on the dog’s shoulders was shorter than the fur on the rest of her body. It was matted in a pattern that suggested this canine was routinely fitted with a harness to carry loads or pull a travois.
Instinctively, Graham squatted and held out his hand, inviting the dog to approach and smell him, but she didn’t move.
Twenty feet behind the dog, a slender man slowly stood from among the sedge, holding his arms out to the side, palms forward. He judged the Indian to be about five feet six inches tall and perhaps one hundred forty pounds. The warrior had straight, shoulder-length hair and wore a deerskin tunic and open sheepskin jacket. A bow and quiver with obsidian-tipped arrows were slung over one shoulder. He stepped closer while keeping his palms open and said something Graham didn’t understand.
Graham held up his index finger, hoping the visitor understood the meaning of this gesture—wait a minute for him to return. Then he pivoted and walked hastily toward the site where Makawee and Rides Alone had constructed a wickiup.
“Makawee!” Graham shouted as he approached her camp. The Crow woman exited the wickiup upon hearing her name.
“One of the Indian visitors revealed himself at the creek. I think he wants to talk. Can you interpret?”
“Yes,” she said, setting down a small basket she was holding.
“I’m going to notify Sergeant Anderson, so the soldiers don’t shoot. I’ll join you shortly. He’s over there.” Graham pointed to the area beside the creek where he had seen the dog and the lone warrior.
Makawee hurried to the creek bank while Graham ran to the soldiers’ camp.
“Sergeant!” he called, slightly out of breath as he neared Anderson’s tent. “An Indian came out of the bushes near the creek. He didn’t show any weapons, and he didn’t threaten me. I believe he wants to talk.”
Anderson leaped from his camp chair and shouted orders for three men to follow him. The soldiers quickly followed Graham back to the creek, where Makawee was engaged in conversation with the warrior and two companions in their native tongue. The trio took several steps backward when they spotted the group of soldiers approaching with carbines at the ready.
“Sergeant, these are Mountain Shoshone. They mean no harm. They want to trade with us,” Makawee explained quickly. “Please tell your men to put their rifles away.”
“Relax, me
n,” Anderson ordered as he held out his left arm and dropped it to his side, motioning for the soldiers to lower their weapons. “But be ready to defend yourself if one of them points somethin’ our way.”
“What do they want?” Graham inquired.
“Knives and axes,” Makawee said over her shoulder.
“No guns?”
“They hunt with a bow and arrows. Guns are not as useful to them.”
Anderson shook his head in disbelief. “And what are they offering in return?”
Makawee asked this question in Shoshoni.
“Sheepskin, deerskin, and ram horns,” the multilingual Crow guide replied after interpreting their response.
“Hayden said he wanted bighorn-sheep skulls. If they have fully intact sheep heads, we can give them some cutting tools in exchange,” Anderson countered.
After a brief conversation with Makawee, the three visitors abruptly departed into the tall grass and disappeared into the forest on the opposite side of the creek, their pointy-eared dog wagging her tail and following close behind.
“They will be back with skulls before the sun sets,” Makawee explained.
“I’ll have someone bring two hatchets and some Bowie knives. Negotiate with them. Get as many skulls as you can in exchange,” Anderson instructed Makawee. He ordered one of the soldiers to stand guard at the site until after the trades were completed, then turned and waved his remaining men back to camp.
Later that evening, Graham invited Henry Elliott and Alec Sibley to their campsite so they could discuss the next day’s excursion on the lake. Aurelio joined the trio around the fire on a chilly evening with a stiff westerly breeze. As the group sipped strong black coffee after a meal of roasted venison, Elliott offered advice to the mariners.
“The Annie is a capable boat even though she can’t be sailed anymore,” the landscape artist opined. “She’s stable when you’re seated. If you stand up, make sure you hold on to the sides. One time we nearly upset when Cam and I tried to change positions. I sure wouldn’t want to fall into the lake. I recorded the water temperature at a few places each day. Typically, it was around forty degrees. The deepest sounding was just under three hundred feet. Now that’s cold and deep!”
Burning Ground Page 32