Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  Yellowstone panorama by Heinrich C. Berann

  “If that don’t beat all!” Sibley exclaimed.

  “My thoughts exactly, Alec,” Peale agreed as he reached for a pair of field glasses from his pack.

  “Look! On the south side of the lake,” Graham exclaimed as he pointed in that direction. “Lightning must have started a fire.”

  A thick plume of smoke wafted skyward from The Promontory and was carried east by the prevailing winds, enveloping the Southeast Arm in a gray-white haze.

  Peale slowly panned his field glasses from left to right, scanning the lake and surrounding landscape. “It’s unfortunate Henry couldn’t see this. It surely would make a wonderful sketch.”

  He stopped scanning momentarily and said, “I’ve spotted where Doctor Hayden’s group is camped. There are several thin columns of smoke on the edge of the lake.”

  He handed the field glasses to Graham, who saw the same thing through the circular frames of the binocular lenses. Smoke from small campfires was coming from the Steamboat Springs area. Graham passed the field glasses to Alec so he could get a closer look at the wondrous landscape.

  “This mountain has all the ingredients for avalanches,” Peale remarked above the sound of the whistling wind, marveling at the geology of this alpine peak.

  “How can you tell?” Graham asked.

  Peale motioned for the three men to drop below the ridgeline so they would be more protected from the wind. They found a place to sit on the slope among the jagged rocks.

  “The most obvious indication is the volume of talus at the base of the bowl. But this mountain has other conditions that favor avalanches. Strong downslope winds like the ones we’re experiencing can trigger an avalanche. A large section of the slope faces northeast, which means it’s mostly shaded in winter. And I estimate the slopes to be between thirty and forty-five degrees, which are ideal for accumulating snow before it is suddenly released.”

  Peale’s assessment aligned with the information Graham had learned about the East Entrance area during his park orientation. They were a few miles west of Sylvan Pass, which routinely recorded snowfall exceeding three hundred fifty inches. The National Park Service had recently started using military-grade explosives to shell the snowfields of selected avalanche start zones with a goal of preventing winter visitors on snow machines from being swept away by an avalanche.

  “Has anyone given a name to this mountain?” Graham inquired, as he pushed his hat down on his head and raised the collar on his coat to protect against the wind.

  “No. I don’t believe so.”

  “Avalanche Peak might be appropriate based on what you just explained.”

  “Hmmm. I’ll talk to Doctor Hayden about a name when we get back. Let’s collect rock samples along both sides of the ridge. Then we’ll head back down.”

  The descent took only slightly less time than their climb to the summit, as they had to pick their way carefully among the scree. When they arrived at the base of the bowl, they found Henry Elliott leaning against the whitebark pine sketching a collection of nearby peaks. Private Byrch was patrolling the area with his carbine at the ready, remaining alert for a potential bear sighting.

  “Henry, you missed a spectacular view of the lake,” Peale commented.

  The artist didn’t look up from his pad when he replied, “There’s lots to look at right here. No need to go to a mountaintop.”

  “Alec, why don’t you help me sort out some of these rocks before we pack up?” Peale suggested, glancing at Graham. He was signaling to his friend this was an opportunity to talk privately with Elliott.

  Peale and Sibley trekked to another pine tree one hundred feet away. Each man carried a leather pouch filled with rock specimens.

  Graham sat under the tree beside Henry Elliott.

  “I saw you were scared when we were on the steepest part of the slope,” Graham began.

  Elliott closed his pad and looked at Graham.

  “Maybe. I’m not keen on high places.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  There was a moment of silence before Elliott spoke.

  “Thanks for not forcing me to go all the way up.”

  “Of course. But consider your situation today. Wasn’t it similar to what Alec Sibley experienced a few days ago when you shamed him into going out on the lake in the Annie? You knew he was afraid of deep water. But you humiliated him by calling him a Nancy-boy when he was reluctant to get into the boat. Remember how you felt clinging to the side of that slope? Now you know what Alec was feeling.”

  Elliott agreed. “It was terrible. I felt the same way when I looked down into the canyons a few weeks ago.”

  Graham was silent. He waited for Elliott to reach the right conclusion.

  “Guess I owe you an apology,” he finally conceded, looking directly at Graham.

  “You don’t owe me an apology. Apologize to Sibley.”

  Elliott swallowed hard. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Thanks, Henry.”

  * * *

  The Avalanche Peak Excursion group arrived at Steamboat Point late afternoon and briefly stopped to observe Steamboat Springs, a unique set of thermal features on the edge of the lake. A series of small caverns was billowing water vapor on the side of a grassy knoll. The collection of fumaroles had been aptly named, as intermittent whooshing noises imitated a huffing steam engine. The sounds emitted from these deep cavities were comparable to those at the Dragon’s Mouth Spring along the Yellowstone River.

  Camp was located a half mile from Steamboat Point at the base of a short hill overlooking an elliptical bay on the northeast corner of the lake. Cam Carrington and John Beaman were bringing the Annie ashore just as the group reached camp. Graham and Sibley quickly dismounted to assist with the small boat.

  The lake was unusually placid for late afternoon. Calm winds and a tranquil surface provided ideal conditions for taking soundings from the handcrafted boat. Graham pondered how different the outcome might have been if fair weather had prevailed the day he and Alec ventured onto the lake. Perhaps Sibley could have taken a significant step toward overcoming his aquaphobia with a safe expedition on the lake. Nevertheless, Graham had seen Henry Elliott speaking privately with Alec after the group had descended from Avalanche Peak. He presumed the artist kept his commitment and apologized to Sibley.

  Graham removed the saddle from Lindy and picketed her with the other horses and mules. He walked the perimeter of the camp but didn’t see a wickiup.

  “Where’s Makawee?” Graham asked Aurelio when he returned to the fly his friend had erected.

  “I’m not sure. I saw her riding over the hill toward Steamboat Springs. Maybe she and Rides Alone set up camp in that direction.”

  Graham decided to take a walk after dinner and see if the Crow siblings had constructed a temporary pole lodge on the other side of the hill.

  * * *

  Makawee had gutted and cleaned a cutthroat trout. She slid a sharpened stick through the mouth of the fish and poked it into the flesh at the rear of the rib cage. She suspended the stick over the fire and supported it with several smaller twigs stuck into the belly to stabilize the fish while it cooked.

  Lt. Gustavus Doane rode up to her small camp and dismounted. He removed his slouch hat as he approached the wickiup constructed near Sedge Creek.

  “Good evening. That fish smells mighty fine!” the lieutenant commented.

  Makawee stood but remained silent.

  “I thought you would enjoy some coffee,” he offered, holding out a small bag of the aromatic beans.

  “No thank you. I made biscuit-root tea.”

  “Sounds good! Do you have enough for more than one cup? I’ve never had that flavor of tea.”

  Makawee used a piece of elk hide to pick up a pot of boiling water. Doane held up his index finger and hurried to his horse, where he retrieved a tin cup. Makawee sprinkled bits of dried seeds into the mug. A pungent aroma was released when she p
oured hot water over the herbal buds.

  “Wait for the tea to brew,” she said succinctly.

  Doane sat by the fire next to Makawee, placing his hat and steaming tin cup on the ground beside him.

  “I appreciate your knowledge of the other Indian tribes. Your negotiation with the Mountain Shoshone was helpful.”

  Makawee looked at him skeptically.

  “And I hear you are a good guide. Not as good as I am, perhaps. But you have traveled in this area before. Is that right?”

  A silent nod.

  Doane cleared his throat before continuing. “The United States Army has a strong alliance with the Crow people. As commanding officer of this military support group, it’s important I establish a good relationship with you. After all, we share common interests and have the same enemies.”

  “I have fulfilled my duties.”

  “You have,” Doane agreed, as he shifted closer to Makawee. “And you will be paid for your services when we return to Fort Ellis. But you can earn extra pay. All I need is a reason to recommend you receive payment for . . . let’s call them additional services.”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  “Look, the better we know one another, the more likely you will be rewarded,” he suggested, stroking her braided hair with the back of his hand.

  Makawee flinched and leaned away from Doane when he touched her. His intentions were becoming clear.

  “I am only a guide,” she said firmly.

  Doane abruptly grabbed the back of her neck and attempted to kiss her. She forcefully pushed him away and quickly stood, backing away from the fire.

  “No!” she shouted.

  “C’mon, Makawee. Just show a little affection and you can earn a bigger payday when we get back.”

  “She said no!” a voice shouted from afar.

  Doane and Makawee turned to see Graham striding toward the fire.

  “Davidson! What are you doing here?” Doane demanded with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

  “I’m visiting Makawee. What are you doing here?” he asked, setting his backpack down.

  “We were just talking business. I proposed a way she could earn more money,” he said, composing himself.

  “She is clearly not interested in your proposal.”

  “Nonsense. Everything has a price. We were in the early stage of negotiations.”

  Graham turned to Makawee but glared at Doane as he spoke.

  “Do you need to know anything else to make a decision on the lieutenant’s proposal?”

  “No. I only want to be a guide.”

  “There you go, Lieutenant Doane. No need for any negotiations. Your offer has been refused.”

  Doane’s face reddened. He swiped his slouch hat and tin cup from the ground, tossed the tea from his cup into the fire, and brushed past Graham toward his horse.

  “You are a genuine pain in the ass,” he said, bristling through clenched teeth. After donning his hat, he mounted and urged his horse up the hill.

  “Thank you for standing up to him,” she said gratefully after the cavalry officer had disappeared over the crest of the hill.

  “He uses authority and intimidation to get his way. I’m glad I showed up before something happened.”

  “Did you have dinner?”

  “I ate earlier. Please enjoy your fish.”

  Makawee pulled the stick holding the trout from the ground and used a three-tined fork to separate flesh from bones. She blew on the light pink meat before putting it into her mouth. Graham removed his hat and sat down beside her, leaning against one of the poles at the opening to the wickiup.

  While she finished eating, he told her about the adventurous trip to Avalanche Peak.

  “I brought something for you,” he said suddenly, reaching into the backpack.

  “From the future?”

  “No. Something from my trip that reminded me of you.”

  He unwrapped a parfleche holding two small clusters of western meadow rue. One bundle contained dangling male flowers, and the other had upright female flowers. He handed the bouquets to Makawee.

  “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.”

  She blushed while accepting the gift.

  Graham leaned over and kissed Makawee. She returned the kiss. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, letting her head rest under his chin.

  They sat in silence as the fire slowly died and the sun slipped below the horizon. The mosquitoes were active at dusk, and Graham found himself swatting at the invisible pests every few minutes. The crepuscular insects were not bothering Makawee, even though she didn’t have sweetgrass braided in her hair tonight.

  “I’d better get back to the main camp. It’s getting dark,” he said, sighing. He longed to stay by the fire with the woman he loved, but he knew he must leave.

  “Do you have to go?” she asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

  “You know I can’t be here when Rides Alone returns.” Graham didn’t want to be confronted by the Crow warrior in the same way he had challenged Doane.

  “He is on a two-day hunting trip for buffalo and will not be back tonight,” she disclosed.

  “Oh!” Graham tried to conceal his excitement. This meant he could spend more time with her!

  “If you like, I can show you how to keep mosquitoes away without a sweetgrass necklace,” she offered.

  “Sure!”

  Makawee motioned for Graham to follow as she removed her moccasins and ducked into the wickiup. He quickly unlaced his boots, kicked them off, and stripped the socks from his feet. He grabbed his backpack and hat and placed them inside the opening to the shelter as he entered. A small stone fire pit prepped with tinder and kindling was in the center of the freestanding pole lodge. Several coffee-brown buffalo hides were spread over the ground. The thick fur from the winter hides felt exceptionally soft on the bottom of his feet.

  “Take off your shirt. I’ll be back.”

  She returned with a burning stick from the fire and a small bundle of herbs secured with twine. She used the flaming stick to light the tinder. As the kindling caught fire, smoke drifted to the apex of the wickiup and escaped through a small hole into the early-evening air.

  “You learned sweetgrass repels mosquitoes. This smudging stick contains sweetgrass and sage. I’m going to add the meadow rue.”

  Makawee untied the bundle and placed the delicate flowers among the dried sweetgrass and sage stems, then used the twine to tightly rewrap the plants.

  “What’s the purpose of the meadow rue?” he asked.

  “Smudging is part of a sacred cleansing process. We smudge to purify our thoughts, our feelings, and our living spaces. It also rids us of negative thoughts and replaces them with positive ones. Meadow rue promotes affection and love. Smudging with a combination of sweetgrass and meadow rue will repel mosquitoes while also bringing love into this dwelling. Isn’t this why you brought me the meadow-rue plants?”

  “Yes. As I told you, beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.”

  Graham had no idea meadow rue was an aphrodisiac! It was serendipitous to have selected meadow rue as a floral gift. He could have just as easily chosen to bring her one of the other plant specimens from Avalanche Peak: lupine, columbine, or silky phacelia.

  “The lieutenant brought a lot of negativity with his visit. We will replace it by smudging. You need to clear your mind of all bad things and have only positive thoughts while we do this.”

  Makawee lit the end of the smudging stick and waved it in the air as they stood by the small fire. She walked around the fire pit and used her hand to push the smoke toward the slanted walls to purify the entire temporary dwelling.

  “Hold up your shirt,” she directed. Graham complied. She used her hand to waft the smoke under his shirt so it would permeate the fabric.

  “Take off the rest of your clothes so we can smudge them,” she said, holding the smoldering bundle of herbs.

  Graham hesitated, then stri
pped naked. He held his jeans and underwear in front of him while she gave them a smudging treatment. When she was finished, he laid the garments on a buffalo hide.

  “Now your clothes will keep away mosquitoes. This dwelling has been infused with positivity . . . and love.”

  “I can return the favor and smudge your clothes,” he offered, noticing the look in her eyes as she briefly surveyed his naked body.

  Makawee handed him the smudging stick and slipped off her leggings. She crossed her arms, reaching down to grab the bottom of her elk-hide dress, and pulled it over her head. As she held the dress in front of her bare body, Graham was nearly overcome by his sexual desires. He was tempted to grab her wrists and pull her toward him. Instead, he took several deep breaths and imitated her movements with the smudging stick, wafting the smoke onto all sides of the dress. When she was satisfied the dress had been treated, she tossed it aside onto the buffalo hides.

  Graham set the smoldering smudging stick in the small fire pit and admired the lithe body of the seductive woman standing in the low light of the flickering fire. He stepped forward and placed his hands on her bare hips. As he bent to kiss her, she stood on her toes and met his mouth. When she put her hands around his neck, he felt a powerful stirring in his loins and immediately became aroused.

  He knelt on the buffalo hide and pulled her slowly down beside him. She lay on her back, and he caressed her smooth, round breasts while kissing her. His fingertips traced her stomach and traveled down to her pelvis. She bent her knees and parted her legs slightly, encouraging him while he caressed her muscular inner thighs. He gently massaged her with slow short strokes. A soft moan came from deep within her throat as she became wet with anticipation.

  He rose from his side to his knees and approached between her parted legs, kissing her stomach. With each successive kiss, he moved gradually to her breasts. As he kissed her throat, the dual pendants from his necklace dangled from his chest and clacked when they brushed against the turtle pendant lying between her breasts. Their pendants became entwined as he lightly lowered himself onto her.