Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  The Pennsylvanian pulled on the oars as if he were on a rowing crew. Indeed, he was in a race against time. His uncontrollable shivering produced uneven, choppy oar strokes, but now he was rowing with the wind and the waves. When he was within fifty yards of shore, he turned at the end of every third stroke and yelled, hoping to get someone’s attention.

  “Help!” Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

  “Help!” Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

  “Hel . . .!” Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

  “I’m here!”

  Graham thought he recognized Aurelio’s voice.

  “Fell in lake!” Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

  “Get help!” Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

  Graham didn’t remember much after he sensed the bow of the Annie being raised onto shore. He faintly recalled seeing men lifting Sibley’s limp body and hustling up the bank. Aurelio and Cam peeled Graham’s frozen, clenched hands from the oars and dragged him over the edge of the boat. He tried to walk, but the large muscles in his legs twitched, and he shivered uncontrollably.

  “Tanks fer comin’. I’m c-c-c-cold,” Graham stuttered to his rescuers as they carried him to camp.

  * * *

  It took thirty minutes for Graham to stop shivering and an hour before he fully regained his senses. When his thoughts became coherent, he realized someone had stripped off his soaking-wet clothes and draped a buffalo hide over his naked body. He was lying on a blanket beside a roaring fire looking up at gray clouds scudding across the midday sky. When he partially rose and propped himself on his elbows, he discovered Albert Peale sitting at his feet.

  “Hot drink?” Peale asked, offering a tin coffee cup of steaming liquid.

  Graham sat up and accepted the cup, cradling it in both hands to feel its warmth. He took a sip and smacked his lips together, trying to identify the strong-flavored broth.

  “Duck soup,” Peale commented, noting the puzzled look on Graham’s face. “Gibson made it from the bones left over at breakfast.”

  “Where’s Sibley? Is he okay?”

  Peale tilted his head back over his right shoulder. “Over there on the other side of the fire. He was in the water longer than you, and his body doesn’t have much insulation. He’s unconscious, but I’m hopeful he’ll recover. We need to get his core body temperature up.”

  Graham peered through the flames to see a supine figure covered with blankets. He gulped the duck soup, and the fatty concoction warmed his throat.

  “That’s so good to hear!” Graham exclaimed with relief in a hoarse voice. Even his vocal cords had been affected by the ordeal.

  “Nobody in camp knows what occurred on the lake this morning. I’m guessing Sibley fell in and you jumped in to save him, is that correct?”

  Graham nodded.

  “That’s what I thought. Almost everyone thinks you’re a hero. But one person is openly skeptical. I just wanted to warn you.”

  “Somebody thinks I wanted this to happen? Who?”

  Peale lowered his voice and leaned closer to Graham. “Mr. Hovey.”

  Graham felt anger welling inside him. How could anyone accuse him of such a treacherous deed? Did Hovey believe he would deliberately put Sibley’s life in danger simply because Graham advised against taking the Annie out on a lake with whitecaps?

  “Ask Alec what happened when he wakes,” Graham said with clenched teeth.

  “You don’t have to convince me. I’m just warning you about Hovey’s doubts. Get some rest. I’ll check in later to see how you’re feeling.”

  As Graham sat by the fire slurping the warm soup, his mind drifted to one of his family’s tragedies. Billy had drowned in their pond when he fell through the ice almost ten years ago. Alec had nearly drowned when he fell into a frigid lake today. What was common to both calamities? It was Graham’s responsibility to keep both Billy and Alec safe.

  Graham stood stiffly, wrapped the buffalo hide around his shoulders, and shuffled to the other side of the fire, where Alec lay sleeping. He sat down and gazed at the mule handler, relieved to see his chest slowly rising and falling.

  Renewed pangs of guilt crept into his gut as he recalled how he had failed Billy. The time traveler bowed his head and fervently prayed Alec would have a vastly different fate from that of his brother.

  Chapter 22

  August 16, 1871

  New moon: 14 nights until the next full moon

  Yellowstone Lake looked dramatically different when Graham walked down to the shore near the mouth of Meadow Creek in the morning to brush his teeth with the willow chewing stick. The winds had completely subsided, allowing patches of opaque fog to hug the water and obscure The Promontory and Frank Island. In place of yesterday’s whitecaps, petite ripples advanced in widely spaced intervals on a placid surface and gently lapped the shore. A black-billed trumpeter swan swooped along the lakeshore and glided up the creek, honking in a loud staccato to announce its arrival. It settled on top of a beaver dam and folded its giant wings in a large grass nest with its mate and two gray-feathered juvenile cygnets.

  Graham sat among tufts of mountain sedge and pulled up the collar of his jacket, gazing at the tranquil scene in the chilly morning air. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, he was rowing the Annie on a churning lake. It was a foolhardy mission that could have been deadly. Sibley had succumbed to Elliott’s peer pressure, and Graham’s pride had clouded his judgment. Both men had climbed into the canvas boat, but Graham was the one who made the ultimate decision to take the boat out on the turbulent lake. He chastised himself for being reckless with another man’s life.

  The Pennsylvanian stood and sauntered back to his campsite.

  “Here you go,” Aurelio said, handing Graham his cowboy hat. “You asked me to keep this for you.”

  “Thanks. Besides my jacket and boots, it was my only dry piece of clothing yesterday.”

  “Prego.”

  “I appreciate you hanging my clothes by the fire to dry. I’m going to get some breakfast and visit Sibley.”

  After grabbing a chunk of elk meat, he trudged over to Sibley’s fly, where he was relieved to see the mule handler sitting by a large fire sipping coffee.

  “Hi, Alec,” Graham said as he sat down to chew the flavorful meat, placing his hat beside him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Perty good. Nice ´ta be warm.”

  “Yeah. I agree.”

  Graham struggled with how to say what needed to be said, so he just spoke his mind.

  “I owe you an apology, Alec. I’ve given a lot of thought to what happened yesterday, and I never should have let us go out on waves that high. I’m sorry.”

  Sibley stared into his coffee cup for a moment, then replied, “Didn’t nobody hold a gun ´ta my head. I’m da one who got into da boat first.”

  “Yep. You sure did. But there’s one difference. You decided to go because you were brave. I decided to let us go because I was stupid.”

  “Takes a brave man ta jump in cold water ´ta save a simple ol’ mule han’ler. I’m here drinkin’ coffee, thank ya’.”

  Graham nodded. “Then we’re okay?”

  “Sure. We be fine.” Sibley extended his right hand. Graham took it firmly and pulled the mule handler toward him. When their shoulders met, Graham patted Alec on the back and whispered “thanks” into his ear.

  As Graham stood and turned to walk away, Sibley stopped him by calling out, “Hey, Gra’am!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s not go on da lake agin fer awhiles, okay?”

  “You got it,” Graham winked with a grin as he donned the cowboy hat and strode to his campsite.

  * * *

  The time traveler didn’t see Makawee when she walked up to his campsite. He was engrossed in studying the modern map of the lake, orienting himself on their location. It was here at Signal Point in 1971 as a solo hiker he had seen the steaming scat after his grizzly-bear encounter. Now he was part of a large group of well-armed men. Even if grizzlies were nearby, they would ste
er away from this area.

  “Hello.”

  The soft, melodic voice of the Crow woman startled him. He hastily folded the colored map before she could see the various symbols for roads, lodges, campgrounds, and visitor centers.

  “Hi there!”

  “I heard what happened yesterday and wanted to see if you’re okay.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I just decided to bathe. The lake is a lot colder in places without a hot spring bubbling up from below,” he joked.

  “Did the buffalo hide help warm you?”

  “Yes, it did! I wondered if it was one of yours.”

  “And the mule man who was with you. Is he okay?”

  “Yep. He’s a bit shaken, but we’re both fine.”

  “I was frightened when I heard about it,” she confessed, looking down at her moccasins. “I was worried we would not see each other again.”

  It was difficult to suppress the joy he felt when hearing her words. She was worried about him . . . a baashchiile!

  “Well, I’m an excellent swimmer. I never had any doubt we would get back to land,” he lied.

  “The bear spirit gave you strength, and the eagle spirit gave you courage,” she reminded him as she stepped closer. She gently pressed the dual pendants of the sacred necklace under his jacket against his chest.

  “If those spirits had not been with you . . .” her voice trailed off as her hand slowly retreated from his chest.

  “Yes. You’re right,” he quickly agreed.

  Graham had not considered the potential role Redfield’s necklace might have had in his fate. He had avoided an inquisitive grizzly when he first arrived in the park. Unlike Foley, he had not fallen into the hot waters of Firehole Spring. Yesterday, he had survived the brutally cold waters of the lake. Three personal disasters had been averted. Makawee was certain the outcomes of the two current events were attributable to more than luck or skill. Perhaps the spirits had intervened.

  He was about to ask Makawee if she would walk with him when Albert Peale called out.

  “Good morning!” the geologist greeted as he approached the campsite. “Makawee, I’m glad you’re here. I was headed to your campsite. Thank you for the bighorn-sheep skulls. They are in excellent condition, and they will be great additions to the museum.”

  The young Crow woman nodded in response.

  Peale turned to Graham. “I wanted to check on my patient and ask a favor. How are you feeling?”

  “Honestly, a bit tired and sore. But I slept most of yesterday afternoon and all night. I’m good.”

  “Ah, yes. The wonders of youth. Too bad everyone can’t recover from trauma as rapidly as a young person. Are you feeling up to helping collect rock and plant samples today?”

  “I’d be glad to assist,” Graham replied earnestly.

  “Great! We’ll be gone a few hours. Meet me at my tent in ten minutes with your mule.”

  * * *

  The resupply pack train led by James Stevenson arrived midmorning and was warmly greeted by the survey-team members at Camp Hovey. The men were eager to receive letters from home and equally excited when several large bags of flour, a sack of potatoes, and a side of bacon were unloaded from the pack mules. Potato John and Dan Gibson set to work immediately making biscuits to serve with the noon meal.

  A short time later, Hayden’s small party rode into camp. Lt. Doane didn’t stop to greet anyone. He proceeded directly to the army encampment, ordered a private to take care of his horse, and told Sgt. Anderson to confer with him.

  “Thanks to the impetuous bureaucrat leading this expedition, that was a wasted effort,” Doane complained to his second-in-command as soon as they entered the officer’s tent.

  “How so?” Anderson inquired.

  “We rode for twelve hours, much of the time through dense timber, and reached what I believed was the Two Ocean Plateau. It was a flat area on the Continental Divide, just as Jim Bridger claimed when he explored this area decades ago. We weren’t able to immediately find the site where a single stream branches over both sides with some water flowing to the Atlantic and some draining to the Pacific. We spent the next day and part of the following day searching, but never found the stream. I insisted we keep looking, but Hayden balked and demanded we return to base camp.”

  Anderson could see the anger and disappointment in his commanding officer’s face and hear it in his voice. He simply nodded his head and allowed the lieutenant to vent his frustrations.

  “We were so close. I could feel it! A bona fide explorer doesn’t give up easily when faced with a challenge. Did Lewis and Clark turn around when they reached the mountains, realizing there was no northwest passage up the Missouri River? Did John Fremont quit when his team was faced with hardship in the Sierra Nevada? No! Those men were committed to fulfilling the promise of this nation’s Manifest Destiny. That’s also my destiny—discovering and exploring unseen lands for this country!”

  Doane paused and swigged warm water from his canteen.

  “Instead of discovering Two Ocean Pass, Hayden resigned from the pursuit. All because he was impatient and fatigued. He doesn’t have the heart of an explorer. He’s just a pencil-pushing scientist with deep political connections in Washington.

  “To make matters worse, Hayden told me if Davidson had traveled with our group, perhaps we would have found Two Ocean Pass. He insulted me by implying my skills as a guide didn’t measure up to those of an amateur botanist!”

  Sgt. Anderson was astute enough to allow Doane to finish his diatribe. He waited for the lieutenant to ask for a brief.

  “Anything happen of consequence while I was away?” Doane asked after he took another gulp of water and composed himself.

  “Yes, sir. Three of the Indians who had attempted to invade our camp south of the lake came back.”

  “Really? Did you engage them in a skirmish?”

  “No, sir. Per your orders, we determined their intentions with the help of the Crow woman.”

  “It’s nice to have an interpreter who is also quite pleasing to look at,” Doane commented with a twinkle in his eye. “I find her attractive—despite questioning my guiding skills earlier.”

  Anderson wasn’t sure how to react to Doane’s suggestive comments about Makawee. The lieutenant was a married man, but he rarely spent time with his wife even though she lived with him at the fort in the officers’ quarters. All the officers knew it was not a happy marriage.

  “Makawee identified the visitors as Mountain Shoshone,” the sergeant continued. “They wanted to trade. We were able to secure six nice bighorn-sheep skulls in exchange for a few knives and hatchets. I’m sure Hayden will be pleased with the specimens.”

  Anderson immediately regretted the last comment, given the animus that had recently developed between Doane and the expedition leader after their failed excursion. Luckily Doane ignored his sergeant’s opinion on the quality of the sheep skulls.

  “Most Indians aren’t good for much. The Crow can be decent scouts if you bribe them. And they like to trade. They’ve done that for thousands of years among neighboring tribes. Anything else?”

  “There was an accident on the lake.”

  “Oh? Did it involve any of our men?” Doane asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No, sir. Davidson and one of the mule handlers by the name of Sibley took the boat out yesterday. It was very windy, and the waves were big. Somehow Sibley got tossed overboard. Davidson dived in and pulled him out of the water. They made it back to shore, but both men were freezing. We got ’em warmed up. Both men have recovered.”

  “That’s interesting. Wasn’t Davidson with Foley when the private fell into the hot spring before I got here?”

  “Yes, sir. Same man.”

  Doane twisted one end of his mustache while thinking. “I’m going to have a word with Mr. Davidson. This news could be extremely helpful.”

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “No, Sergeant. You’re dismissed.”

  * * *
>
  Graham was enjoying a second biscuit by the fire. He had returned with Peale at noon, just in time to grab one of the warm pan-baked buns. They tasted so good he had circled back to retrieve a second one. As he licked his fingers from the greasy flour cake, he spotted Lt. Doane approaching his fly.

  “Davidson, I’d like to have a word with you.”

  Graham braced for a lecture from the lieutenant, although he couldn’t imagine how he had antagonized the military commander. They hadn’t seen each other in four days.

  “Have a seat,” Graham offered, extending his arm palm up in front of him. He thought he could soften some of the man’s petulance by having him sit down.

  “This will be brief. There are two things I need to discuss with you. I just returned with Hayden on an excursion south of the lake. We were unsuccessful in locating Two Ocean Pass. The expedition leader is under the false impression if you had been with the group, we would have reached our destination. I want to remind you of our earlier conversation where you questioned my guiding skills and embarrassed me. Apparently, Hayden has more faith in your abilities to guide this survey team than he has in mine. And I will not tolerate it!”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “It’s what you will not do!” Doane snarled through clenched teeth. “Under no circumstances will you offer or provide any further guidance to Hayden for the remainder of this expedition. I am the professional guide. You are just a . . . just a . . . I don’t know what you are. But you’re not qualified to be a guide. Is this clear?”

  Graham was rankled by Doane’s threats. He was being bullied. He was unsure how to respond, but he couldn’t resist tweaking the arrogant military man with his reply.

  “Yes, Mr. Doane.”

  “It’s Lieutenant Doane!”

  “What’s the second thing you wanted to discuss?”