Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  When Hayden raised the flap and ducked inside his tent to dress, Graham hustled to the cook fire.

  “Do you have an extra cup?” he asked Potato John, who was poking at bacon strips sizzling in a pan.

  “Why?” he scowled.

  “It’s not for me. It’s for the doctor. I want to take him a cup of coffee.”

  The cook rummaged through a burlap sack and pulled out a cup. He wiped it with a stained cloth draped over his shoulder, then filled it with the steaming dark liquid. Graham thanked the surly man and walked back to Hayden’s tent, being careful not to spill the coffee while walking on the uneven ground. This was a critical conversation. It wouldn’t hurt to pander to the survey leader to help his cause.

  The survey director came out of his tent holding a journal, which he tossed onto a folding camp chair.

  “Good morning, Doctor Hayden,” Graham said in greeting. “I thought you might like some coffee.”

  Hayden looked surprised but accepted the strong, hot beverage.

  “Thank you, Mr. Davidson. I was just headed to the cooking fire. What’s the reason for your early-morning visit?”

  “Well,” Graham started, “I’ve been thinking about what’s next. We will soon be returning to Bottler’s Ranch. So, I have two requests.”

  Hayden slurped the hot coffee before responding.

  “Go ahead.”

  Graham took a deep breath and proceeded to bend the truth and conceal his motives.

  “Well, sir. First let me say I greatly appreciate being allowed to join the survey team while we explored this area. I hope I pulled my weight.”

  “Indeed, you have, young man. Jim Stevenson and Albert Peale report you have been an exceptionally helpful assistant. Your knowledge of the area around the lake is impressive. And your guiding skills were comparable to those who supposedly have more experience.”

  Graham knew this was a thinly veiled reference to Lt. Doane but did not comment.

  “I would like to return to the place where you found me over a month ago.”

  “You can certainly go anywhere you like,” Hayden said with a shrug. “Although I can’t imagine why you would want to revisit that area.”

  “I want to search for the remains of my horse in the river, assuming it wasn’t pushed over the falls. My belongings were washed downstream with the horse. I lost valuable prospecting tools, a rifle, cooking wares, and other personal effects. I’m hoping the carcass hung up on some rocks or was snagged by an overhanging tree. If so, I could retrieve these items and continue my journey.”

  “As I said, you are free to go. Your obligation to the survey has been fulfilled. But you’re going to need a few basic supplies. Stay here. Let’s see if Mr. Stevenson can offer some help.”

  Hayden walked toward a tent pitched a hundred feet away. Graham could see him talking with James Stevenson for a few minutes before the two men ambled back to Hayden’s tent.

  “I explained your request to Mr. Stevenson,” Hayden said. “Jim, how can we help Mr. Davidson?”

  “You may keep the mule, and we will give you a fly for shelter,” Stevenson offered. “See Potato John for some grub to take along. Those things should be enough to get you started. Oh, the doctor and I think it is proper to compensate you for your assistance.”

  Stevenson reached into a small leather pouch and took out some paper money, which he handed to Graham.

  “We think one dollar a day plus the mule is fair. You will need greenbacks when you get to a trading post.”

  Graham stared at two United States Notes in his hand. Alexander Hamilton’s portrait was printed on a twenty-dollar bill, and Daniel Webster was featured on a ten-dollar bill. Yesterday, Stevenson told Jack Baronett the survey team did not carry money. Yet he just handed Graham cash.

  “Thank you very much. This is most generous,” he said, carefully folding the oversize bills and sticking them in the front pocket of his jeans.

  Graham cleared his throat before speaking again.

  “I have a second request. I’ve become acquainted with our Crow friends during these last weeks, and they inform me the hot spring near the Mud Volcano is a sacred place to their people. Makawee and Rides Alone had planned to visit the Mud Volcano area after the survey team disbanded. So . . . would you release them from their duties? The three of us could travel together to the thermal springs. With recent reports of hostile Indian activity, I’m a bit nervous about traveling alone.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Hayden considered the proposal while stroking his short, thick beard. “We no longer need a guide, and Joe Clark can hunt for us. I don’t see why they couldn’t be released. Jim?”

  Stevenson nodded in agreement. “Sure. But they would have to delay receiving payment. We had previously negotiated to pay them with a horse, rifles, ammunition, and blankets. I’ll let them know they can pick up these items at Fort Ellis. I’ll write a note addressed to the quartermaster and give it to Lieutenant Doane.”

  “Speaking of Lieutenant Doane, he should be consulted before we finalize this decision. Jim, would you fetch him and see if he has any concerns with this arrangement?”

  Graham’s neck muscles tightened. He imagined Doane might find an excuse to deny his request out of revenge for their argument in front of Makawee’s wickiup.

  Stevenson walked briskly to the military escort camp. Hayden sat on his folding camp stool and gulped the remaining coffee while paging through his journal. Graham awkwardly kicked the dirt and placed more sticks on the fire. A few minutes later, the cavalry officer appeared with the survey manager.

  “Lieutenant Doane has a question before we allow the Crows to depart early,” Stevenson said.

  Doane peered at Graham and asked, “What’s the real reason you want to travel with these Crow Indians?”

  “Security. I don’t feel safe traveling alone. We’ve been safe from attacks because of your military escort. I won’t have any protection after I leave.”

  Doane twisted the end of his handlebar mustache while he considered this explanation.

  “Well, I certainly don’t need any Indian guide. Never did. And we’ve got plenty of men who can shoot an antelope or an elk. No need for another hunter. I don’t have any objections.”

  “Then it’s settled. Mr. Davidson, you may keep the mule, and the three of you are released from the survey team once we arrive at the terraced hot springs,” Hayden granted as he swirled his cup and tossed the remaining coffee on the ground.

  “Whoa!” Doane objected. “He keeps a mule? Some of those mules came from the garrison at Fort Ellis. You can’t just give them away.”

  “The government paid for the use of those mules. And we brought some with us from Utah. It’s my decision to pay Mr. Davidson with a mule,” Hayden said impatiently.

  “Well, he does have one thing that is definitely the property of the US government. He needs to surrender the Spencer carbine,” Doane countered, glaring at Graham.

  Hayden sighed. “Fine. Fine. Mr. Davidson, kindly give your firearm to the lieutenant before you leave the pack train later today.”

  “Okay,” Graham nodded while clenching his teeth.

  Satisfied he had prevailed in disarming his young adversary, Lt. Doane touched the brim of his slouch hat and marched back to the military encampment.

  Now Graham really did need protection. Without a firearm, he was nearly defenseless against any attack—from an animal or an enemy.

  He rationalized the carbine had limited use. The weapon held seven bullets when Lt. Grugan gave it to him. He had used one bullet to shoot the dying horse at Firehole Spring, two bullets during the grizzly attack, and two bullets to kill her cubs. Even if he had been allowed to keep the carbine, Doane wouldn’t have given him more ammunition. What good was a rifle with only two bullets?

  Graham pushed away the thought of losing his firearm and focused on Hayden’s decision. Makawee and Rides Alone had officially been released from their duties. He hurried to their camp to share the good n
ews.

  * * *

  When the Hayden group arrived at present-day Mammoth Hot Springs, they were greeted by James McCartney. He and partner Harry Horr had filed a claim to one hundred sixty acres surrounding the thermal springs. The entrepreneurs had hastily constructed two plank bathhouses and conveniently placed them at the edge of the travertine terraces. Three men stripped to their drawers were sitting in one of the thermal pools.

  “Step right up and try these wonderful, curative waters!” McCartney boldly announced as members of the pack train dismounted at the base of the terraces. “Only fifty cents for a one-hour soak, or one dollar if you want a clean towel! Guaranteed to heal any skin disorders! Nature’s cure for skin lesions and rheumatism! Drink the water to relieve constipation and bladder problems!”

  Graham was amused at McCartney’s exhortations. He sounded like a carnival barker trying to attract patrons by exaggerating the benefits of the thermal springs. A few men in the Hayden party stepped forward. They were directed to the nearest bathhouse, yielding to the temptation to relax in warm, soothing waters after a month on the trail.

  Graham led Lindy over to Peale. He wanted the geologist-physician’s opinion on the medicinal value of the warm mineral water. “Albert, are those accurate claims?”

  “Can it cure cutaneous diseases? No, but the waters probably give temporary relief. Help bowel problems? Definitely not.”

  The Hayden Survey was completed just in time to prevent further exploitation of Mammoth Hot Springs and other thermal areas. Yellowstone was declared the nation’s first national park early in 1872, less than a year after Hayden presented the initial findings of his 1871 expedition to Congress. For nearly a decade, McCartney’s commercial bathhouses and subsequent hotel were favorite stopping places for early park visitors. He was evicted from the park in 1881 by the Department of the Interior, two years before the Northern Pacific Railroad was completed in Montana. Congress later compensated McCartney for the loss of his buildings.

  Graham and Peale found a suitable place to set up camp near an extinct conical travertine formation about forty feet high. After setting up a fly and a tent, the two men gathered wood and started a fire. As they sat admiring the steaming terraced springs, Peale remarked on the contour of the dormant structure standing near the base of the springs.

  “That shape reminds me of the hats worn by peasants during the French Revolution. I think they were called Liberty Caps.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Graham feigned, as if hearing about liberty caps for the first time. “Our nation will soon be celebrating the centennial of the declaration of independence. Why don’t you suggest that name to Doctor Hayden?”

  “Indeed, I will,” nodded Peale, as he threw a stick on the fire.

  Graham knew the moniker would stick. He wondered if he was influencing future events by interacting with those in the past. Most things seemed innocuous—such as naming mountain peaks or geological features. But was he unknowingly influencing other key decisions? He hoped to find out in the next few days when he returned to his own time.

  “Speaking of independence,” Graham continued, “this will be my last day with the survey team. I spoke with Doctor Hayden and Mr. Stevenson this morning. I plan to travel back to the place along the Yellowstone River where your group found me. They were kind enough to allow me to keep my mule. I’m going to search for my belongings that washed down the river.”

  Peale raised his eyebrows and looked at him. “Really? You’re going to strike out on your own?”

  “No. Makawee and Rides Alone will accompany me. They plan to visit the Mud Volcano area and the nearby hot spring because it is a sacred place.”

  “And where will you go afterward?”

  “I’m not really sure. I’m just exploring the world and trying to find my place in it.”

  This was true for Graham in 1871 and 1971.

  “Does Makawee have a place in your future?” he said with a wink.

  Peale knew Graham and Makawee were attracted to each other. But he didn’t realize the poignant nature of his innocent query. It caught Graham off guard, and his chest tightened as uncertainty gripped him again.

  “I . . . We . . . We’re going to talk and see what happens over the next few days.”

  “Well, then. I certainly enjoyed your company. You helped me greatly. Be sure to finish your studies in botany at . . . what was the name of the school?”

  “The Agricultural College of Pennsylvania.”

  “Please look me up if you come back east.”

  “I certainly will. And what about you?”

  “Doctor Hayden has already mentioned doing more work for the US Geological Survey in this area as well as Colorado. I have an informal invitation to join him. After that, who knows? Perhaps I could work in some capacity at the Smithsonian.”

  “You will be great at whatever you do,” Graham asserted. He shook hands with Peale and excused himself to say his farewells to other members of the survey team.

  Graham strolled through camp and periodically stopped to converse with others whom he had come to know over the past month.

  He said goodbye to Goodfellow, and they shared a few laughs over their struggles with the odometer wagon.

  He spoke with Alec Sibley, who said he would stick to handling horses. He swore he would never climb in any boat for any reason for the rest of his life. Then he bear-hugged Graham and wished him the best.

  Graham visited with Hayden and Stevenson, thanking them again for allowing him to join their team and for staking him with supplies.

  “If you are ever looking for work, you are welcome to join my group. There’s still a lot of country to be explored and mapped,” Hayden proposed while firmly shaking his hand.

  He found Henry Elliott sitting on a rock drawing the multicolored terraced springs in his sketch pad. This could be an uncomfortable conversation, Graham realized as he approached the landscape artist.

  “Henry, I’d like to say goodbye.”

  Elliott stopped sketching and looked up.

  “Where are you going?”

  Graham repeated his story about traveling to the Mud Volcano area and searching for his lost belongings in the river.

  “Before I leave, I wanted to make sure there are no hard feelings between us.”

  Elliott put down his pad and stood.

  “Did you know I apologized to Sibley for forcing him to go out on the rough lake with you?”

  “Yes. He told me. Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. I’ve had a chance to reflect on how I felt near the top of that steep mountain with my fear of heights. I learned a lesson.”

  “Henry, it was never my intent to . . .”

  “No, wait. Let me finish. I’ve decided to be the best at what I do. I’m a really good topographer.”

  “Yes. You certainly are.”

  “The point is—I don’t need to be like Thomas Moran or better than him. And I certainly don’t want to be someone who lashes out at others or places blame when things don’t go my way. My father wouldn’t approve of such behavior.”

  Graham shuffled his feet in the dirt, unsure of how to respond. He shifted the conversation to the future.

  “May I ask what you plan to do after the survey team disbands?”

  Elliott’s countenance brightened. “My father wrote and told me the government needs someone to represent our interests in the Pribilof Islands.”

  “Alaska?”

  “Yes. As you know, we purchased Alaska from Russia four years ago. It turns out the Pribilof Islands have a sizable population of seals. A large commercial operation was set up to harvest their furs. Someone needs to establish regulations and make sure we’re not overhunting. It would be tragic if seals suffered a similar fate as buffalo. Besides, I would love to sketch a wilderness area that is home to such exotic animals.”

  “That sounds like a wonderful opportunity, Henry. It would be great to have someone with your skills to sketch or watercolor the landscape w
hile protecting the seals!”

  The two men shook hands and wished each other luck.

  Graham circled by the cooking fire Dan Gibson had just lit. He explained James Stevenson’s order to provide food for his journey. Gibson packed two handfuls of cooked bacon and a half-dozen biscuits in a cloth sack.

  “I put somethin’ extra in the sack,” the cook whispered to Graham. “A small pot and a fryin’ pan. Lot harder to cook if you ain’t got the right tools.”

  Graham walked back to his camp and pulled the scabbard and carbine from his fly, then strode to the area where the military escort had set up camp.

  Doane was sitting on a folding camp chair writing a letter. He didn’t notice Graham as he walked softly behind the lieutenant’s tent and headed for a group of tents pitched twenty yards away.

  Graham recognized the familiar face of a ruddy-faced sergeant hanging a pair of socks on his tent pole to dry. He proceeded to the camp and announced his presence.

  “Sergeant Anderson, I am leaving the group tomorrow morning. Lieutenant Doane told me to relinquish this firearm.” Graham proffered the short-barreled rifle tucked inside a scabbard.

  Anderson took the firearm with a puzzled look. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have any personal protection?”

  “No. I am traveling with the Crows toward the lake.”

  “Be careful. There are hostiles in the area. Hostile to white men and Crow.”

  The two men exchanged nods. Graham pivoted and took a wide berth around Doane’s tent on his return walk. He hoped to never see or speak to the arrogant lieutenant again.

  Graham waited until after dinner to talk with his camp partner. He really liked the young Italian and was deeply appreciative of how quickly Aurelio had taken him under his wing. Thanks to the hostler, Graham had learned to saddle and handle a mule.

  “Aurelio,” he began while they were sitting by the fire after finishing a meal of antelope, biscuits, and potatoes. “I’m leaving with Makawee and Rides Alone in the morning. We’re riding south toward the lake.”