Aurelio didn’t seem surprised.
“Sí. I already heard. You’re gonna look for your lost things in the river and do some prospecting.”
News traveled fast through the camp’s rumor mill.
Aurelio removed his porkpie hat and gripped it with both hands. Graham could see from his face in the flickering firelight he was saddened by the news.
“That’s right. Thanks for being a friend and for helping me learn to handle and ride Lindy. By the way, I have permission to keep her.”
“Prego.”
“What are you going to do when the group arrives at Fort Ellis?”
“I’ll return to Cheyenne and help Mr. Hovey on his ranch. I really enjoy working with horses and mules. Please come see me when you head back east.”
“I certainly will,” Graham replied sincerely.
The young men sat silently watching the fire for a short while. Aurelio announced he was turning in early because he had to be up before dawn to tend to the horses.
Graham was left with his thoughts about what the next few days would bring. He wasn’t concerned about getting to the Dragon’s Mouth by the night of the next full moon. They could be there in two days. But there were plenty of unknowns.
What would it be like traveling with Makawee and Rides Alone? Would they encounter any hostiles? Would the skies be clear in four nights, making the full moon visible? Most importantly, could he say goodbye forever to the woman he loved when the time came to summon the spirits and return home?
He wouldn’t have long to wait for some answers. Tomorrow morning, the trio would ride south.
Chapter 28
August 27, 1871
Waxing gibbous moon: 3 nights until the next full moon
The Hayden Survey team broke camp early in the morning and headed north, retracing their route from five weeks ago. The area surrounding the travertine terraces was eerily quiet after the pack train and its military escort departed. The only sounds were the bubbling of the effervescent springs and the soft neighing of two horses and a mule.
Graham was loading the fly and other gear on Lindy when Makawee approached.
“On our way to the sacred spring, we will go to Shiiptacha Awaxaawe [Obsidian Cliff]to gather sharp rocks for arrowheads, scraping tools, and jewelry. It is a three-hour ride. We will camp there tonight.”
Graham remembered the dark-green turtle pendant for Makawee’s necklace had been carved from obsidian.
“Sure,” he said agreeably. They had plenty of time to reach the Dragon’s Mouth. This would be a good opportunity to see a geologically and culturally significant area of the park he had not visited.
Makawee took the lead when they left Mammoth Hot Springs. It was an easy ride as they followed the valley south. After crossing the Gardner River a few hours later, they followed a small creek until the land rose on both sides and formed a shallow canyon.
At midday, they arrived at the rhyolite ridge, which pushed several hundred feet above the creek. Two hundred feet from the base of the cliff an exposed seam of dark, lustrous volcanic glass reflected the sun’s rays like tiny mirrors. Pieces of obsidian of varying sizes lay at the base of the cliff, where they had fallen away from the exposed face.
Obsidian Cliff
“I’ve been here many times over the last five years with Long Horse,” Makawee commented. “He showed me how to find the best rocks. We will spend the afternoon gathering pieces, then camp here tonight.”
The trio secured their horses and mule to a small tree. They sat in the shade and ate lunch in silence. After the meal, Makawee and Rides Alone each removed an elk-hide parfleche from their horses. These would be used to store the sharp-edged rocks they collected. Graham slipped his pack over his shoulder and followed the Crow siblings through a grove of narrowleaf cottonwood trees growing on the creek bank. They scrambled up a rock-strewn slope until they reached the base of the cliff.
Makawee patiently showed Graham how to identify the best specimens among the thousands of loose obsidian pieces scattered beneath their feet. The pieces needed to be thick enough to shape into an arrowhead or spear tip but not too dense. While rock color was unimportant for tools, unique shades like dark-green obsidian could be valuable as a trading item for jewelry.
After checking with Makawee several times on the quality of fragments he selected, Graham gained confidence in discerning the quality and suitability of the volcanic glass.
The afternoon hours went by quickly. Graham was soon lost in his thoughts while searching among the myriad loose rocks. He hoped to discover rare mahogany or green pieces. The amateur rockhound gradually drifted farther from Makawee and Rides Alone, excitedly putting small pieces of obsidian in his L.L. Bean pack as he sifted and sorted through the debris from the massive cliff.
While holding an especially interesting rock up to the sun, he heard something that sounded like a snapping tree branch. He turned around, expecting to see an elk or deer walking through the cottonwood trees. What he saw caused him to instinctively drop the obsidian and raise his hands into the air.
An Indian warrior wearing a fringed buckskin tunic and leggings was standing six feet away pointing a gun at his chest. A dyed red owl feather adorned his hair. The warrior uttered a few unintelligible words and moved the gun barrel quickly to one side, indicating he wanted Graham to walk in that direction.
Graham shouldered his pack and obeyed the warrior’s command. He walked down the slope and through the cottonwood trees, looking behind him occasionally to make sure he was moving in the right direction. His mind raced. Was this Indian by himself? It didn’t seem likely. What about Makawee and Rides Alone?
His questions were soon answered. As they entered a grassy area near the creek, the warrior poked him in the ribs with the gun barrel, pushing him to his right. Graham could see a group of five warriors had encircled his Crow friends and were holding them at gunpoint.
As Graham and his captor approached, everyone looked their way.
“Bonjour!” Makawee greeted the approaching warrior.
The warrior wearing the red owl feather looked surprised at this greeting but didn’t respond.
“Oki! [Hello],” Makawee greeted a second time.
This time he warily replied, “Oki.”
“Tsa kitsinihká’siima?” [What’s your name?]
The warrior gave a brief reply.
Makawee spoke her captors’ language, explaining who they were and why they were there.
The man with the owl feather held up a hand, indicating he wanted Makawee to stop talking. He spoke using hand gestures, and his voice gradually became louder. Veins protruded from his neck as he angrily pointed at Graham.
Makawee tried to assuage his hostility with a calm response, but he clearly did not want to listen.
“Apíít!” he shouted forcefully.
“Sit,” Makawee translated for her companions.
The prisoners obeyed. One of their captors was posted as a guard while the others gathered in a circle and engaged in a lively discussion.
“Who are these men?” Graham asked anxiously in a low voice.
“They are Piegan Blackfeet. I know their language because I lived in a Piegan village when I was a child.”
“But you initially greeted him in French,” Graham said, looking confused.
“Yes. Some Blackfeet people learned basic French from fur traders and trappers.”
“Who is the man with the feather in his hair?”
“His name is Red Plume. All of them are originally from Heavy Runner’s band of Piegans. They joined Mountain Chief’s band after the Day of Sorrow on the Marias River last winter.”
Makawee quickly translated this information from English to Apsáalooke for Rides Alone, who indicated he understood most of what had been said.
“What is the Day of Sorrow?” Graham inquired.
Makawee briefly related the mass killing of one hundred seventy innocent people in Heavy Runner’s camp. She explained th
eir captors were among the few warriors who escaped the cavalry’s murderous attack. The only young men to survive were those who either ran away from the deadly scene or were on a hunting trip when the village was attacked. News of the massacre quickly reached every tribe in the area. Although Blackfeet and Crow are enemies, everyone in Long Horse’s camp mourned the loss of innocent lives.
“How awful!” Graham exclaimed with a frown. “Who ordered the attack?”
“A short man named Baker. Red Plume said a tall baashchiile with twisted hair on his lip ordered the soldiers to shoot everyone, including old men, women, and children.”
Graham put the pieces together. Cavalry. One winter ago. Tall officer with a handlebar mustache. The murderer was Lt. Doane! He felt sick to his stomach.
“Graham,” Makawee said urgently. “Red Plume is extremely angry because he thinks you are one of the soldiers who killed his family!”
“What?! Why would he think this?”
“Your blue trousers look like those worn by the cavalry.”
Graham was incredulous. He looked down at his Levis in disbelief.
“But . . . but, I’m not a soldier,” he objected.
Graham desperately tried to think of a way to prove his innocence. Suddenly an idea occurred to him.
“Soldiers have rifles. I’m not carrying a firearm. And I’m riding a mule, not a horse!”
He was glad he had surrendered his carbine to Sgt. Anderson last evening.
“I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“He thinks I’m one of the killers?!”
“Yes,” Makawee affirmed. “I don’t know what to say to convince him. They spied on Hayden’s group a few days ago. They saw us with soldiers and know we are helping the government.”
Red Plume walked back to the prisoners and spoke to Makawee. She tried to ask him a question, but he pointed to the horses.
“Ksiwóot!” [Walk!]
She nodded her head and translated.
“They are taking us south to their camp near the bide-mahpe. We will await their leader, who is on a hunting trip with other Piegans. We need to do as they say.”
The trio stood, and Graham donned his pack. The guard used his musket barrel to prod them to the horses. Another Piegan motioned for them to extend their arms in front of them and put their wrists together. Their hands were bound with rope.
Makawee and Rides Alone were instructed to mount their horses. A warrior tied a long rope to Graham’s bound wrists. His handler tugged on the rope, forcing Graham to follow. The warrior mounted his horse and nodded to Red Plume indicating he was ready.
Graham quickly grasped what was happening. Because they believed he was a soldier, he would walk while everyone else rode. As the Piegans and their prisoners moved forward, Graham looked nervously behind him. He was relieved to see Lindy being led by the last warrior in line.
The Pennsylvanian fought to calm his anxiety. First things first, he thought. What’s our destination? Makawee said they were traveling south to an area with bide-mahpe, or sacred waters. This was the name the Crow used for geysers. He visualized the map of the park in his head and determined they were likely headed to present-day Norris Geyser Basin. Based on how far they had already traveled from Mammoth Hot Springs, he estimated the thermal area was ten miles away. Their trip would take at least three hours.
Graham was sweating profusely. He forced himself to regulate his breathing. If he didn’t remain calm, he could hyperventilate and become light-headed. He concentrated on a pattern of deep breathing to help steady his nerves.
Fifteen minutes into the forced march, he stumbled on a rock and fell to his knees. He was briefly dragged before his captor stopped and yanked on the rope, violently pulling his prisoner back to his feet. The warrior glared at him, then urged his horse forward. Graham knew the warrior on horseback would quickly lose patience if he fell again. He shifted his focus from breathing to lifting his feet and watching where he walked.
The Piegan warriors and their prisoners arrived at camp late in the day after fording the Gibbon River and following it upstream for a half mile. Graham was fatigued and mentally exhausted from the effort of carefully placing his feet with every step.
The clear, late-afternoon azure sky foretold a frosty night. He was soaked from the knees down and hoped he would have a chance to dry out in front of a fire.
The three captives were ordered to sit evenly spaced with their backs against a large tree to which they were tied. The Piegans removed their prisoners’ shoes and bound their feet. One of the warriors took Graham’s hat and tossed it aside along with his L.L. Bean pack. Surprisingly, he did not open the pack. Graham reasoned it was because he had never seen a zipper and didn’t understand its simple operation.
While a guard was placed to watch the prisoners, others started a fire and cooked elk meat. Confident the guard did not understand English, Makawee took this opportunity to talk with her fellow captives.
“Graham, how are you doing?” she asked from the other side of the tree.
“Tired and hungry. My feet are cold and sore. Otherwise, I feel great,” he replied sarcastically. “How about you?”
“I’m okay. Listen, I need to let you know about something else Red Plume told me before we left Shiiptacha Awaxaawe [Obsidian Cliff]. Wolf Tail is the leader who is hunting with another group. He is son of Mountain Chief.”
“Didn’t you say these Piegans joined Mountain Chief’s band after their families were killed by the soldiers?”
“That’s right.”
“It will be good to meet the chief’s son, right?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why not?”
“The attack on Heavy Runner’s camp was a mistake. The soldiers were supposed to attack the camp of Mountain Chief because he was protecting a group of young Piegans who had killed some white settlers. The army had planned to send a message to all hostile Piegans. Wolf Tail and his father, Mountain Chief, were among those whom Baker wanted to kill. If the army had not invaded Heavy Runner’s camp, they would have murdered everyone in Mountain Chief’s band.
Graham felt his stomach churn. He wondered how Wolf Tail would treat someone accused of being part of an army charged with annihilating his people. His fate seemed sealed.
A warrior took a chunk of meat to Makawee and Rides Alone. They ate the meat with bound hands and drank cups of water. In another sign Graham was despised by his captors, he was not offered food. Instead, a warrior retrieved the canteen draped over Lindy’s saddle horn and tossed it at Graham, who opened the cap and thirstily drank the warm water. He saved a small amount for later, not knowing if he would be offered more.
An hour later, the guard dropped a buffalo hide on the laps of Makawee and Rides Alone. He tossed a blanket at Graham. After the warrior left, Rides Alone reached around the tree and handed his buffalo hide to Graham.
“Eagle Bear needs to stay warm. You are wet from river.”
Graham was touched by this act of kindness. He hesitated before responding, then gratefully exchanged his thin wool blanket for the Crow warrior’s buffalo hide.
The temperature had dropped precipitously after sunset, and he was starting to shiver. His toes were numb under the soggy socks, and he couldn’t reach his feet to rub them.
He had a sudden urge to relieve himself and debated whether to signal the guard but concluded the Piegan was unlikely to respond. He decided to wait for Rides Alone to ask for permission to urinate before making the same request.
“Makawee?” he asked.
“Yes?” a voice said from the other side of the tree.
“I’m sorry for putting you and Rides Alone in this situation. If you had not been with me, these Piegans would have treated you better.”
“Maybe. Crow and Blackfeet are enemies, but it is true we respect one another.”
Makawee paused as she thought of the right thing to say.
“Wolf Tail may see things differently from Red Plum
e,” she offered hopefully.
Graham was not as sanguine. He appreciated her attempt to assuage his concerns even though she was tied to the same tree.
“I love you, Makawee,” he whispered.
“I love you, Eagle Bear,” came the answer in the darkness from the other side of the tree.
He laid his head back and rested it against the tree, trying to fathom how he found himself in such a precarious situation. He had been falsely accused of being a cavalry soldier. But simply being identified as a soldier wasn’t why he had been force-marched and tied to a tree. It was the atrocities committed by soldiers on these warriors’ families that stoked their anger and thirst for revenge. He had also learned Lt. Gustavus Doane was one of the main perpetrators of the heinous crimes committed on the Marias River.
Doane. He had crossed swords with the egotistical man several times. If Graham had known about the officer’s role in the horrible Marias incident, he would have done more than verbally confront the arrogant lieutenant. There was little doubt Doane and the other officers under Baker’s command were responsible for his wretched treatment by this band of Piegans.
Graham closed his eyes and tried to dispel these thoughts. Past events were like the swift water of the Yellowstone River flowing under Baronett’s Bridge. There was nothing he could do to change them. Or could he? What if he knew about tragedies like the one on the Marias River in advance and arrived through the time portal before the event? Could he alter the future? Should he?
These were thoughts to contemplate another day. He was mentally and physically drained. Graham pulled the buffalo hide under his chin and drew his cramped legs toward his chest. No one tied to this tree was going to get much sleep tonight.
* * *
The young warrior assigned to watch the prisoners after midnight appeared to be no older than fifteen. Makawee spoke softly to the young man and pleaded for permission to relieve herself. He was clearly conflicted about granting her request while fulfilling his obligation as a sentry. When she promised not to betray him, he relented and nervously untied Makawee. He told her to be quick and stay where he could see her.
Burning Ground Page 43