Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  He entered the fly and sat, wiping water from his face. The trio agreed to start a fire and cook some venison before heading upstream to the Dragon’s Mouth.

  Rides Alone lowered the blacktail deer carcass and carved sections of loin from the backstrap while Makawee tended to Lindy. Graham gathered tinder by snapping off dead branches from pine-tree boles. He donned his poncho and squatted by the fire pit, protecting the thin, combustible twigs from the rain, which had slowed considerably.

  Graham looked around to be sure Rides Alone was not watching before flipping open the lid on the Zippo lighter. He rotated the flint wheel with his thumb and ignited the wick, then held the flame under the loosely stacked twigs until they caught fire. Soon the flames were strong enough to keep the fire burning despite the damp fuel.

  They worked in shifts. One person tended the fire while the others remained in the shelter. Thirty minutes later, the rain had tapered to a drizzle. They stood by the fire to eat, as everything around them had been soaked.

  Packing took longer than expected, mainly because Graham’s mule wasn’t cooperative. Lindy whimpered in protest when the heavy, wet canvas fly, the grizzly fur, and two buffalo hides were secured behind the saddle. By loading most of the supplies on Lindy, they freed up space on the horse so Makawee could ride with Rides Alone.

  They started upstream in early afternoon, following the centuries-old trail along the Yellowstone River, which had turned muddy and slick. Although the rain had stopped, the sky was gray and overcast. A northwesterly wind coupled with temperatures in the mid-forties made for an uncomfortable ride. Graham pushed his cowboy hat down on his ears. He flipped up the collar on his coat and clasped it tightly around his neck, hoping to retain his body heat while keeping the cold breeze out.

  As they plodded along the sloppy trail, Graham’s mind shifted to the evening’s pending ritual. His primary concern was the cloudy sky. A full moon was a requisite for connecting with the spirits. If it was obscured, he may not be seen and his appeal to return home would be denied.

  Is it possible he had come all this way only to be rebuffed because of the fickle Yellowstone weather? What if the skies did not clear? What would he do for twenty-nine more days while waiting for the next full moon? Winter was fast approaching the subalpine Hayden Valley. Snow would almost certainly blanket the region in September.

  Graham tried to avoid these negative thoughts. The weather was something he could not change. He was reminded of a version of the Serenity Prayer attributed to Reinhold Niebuhr printed on a linen towel displayed on the family’s kitchen wall:

  God, grant me the serenity to accept

  the things that cannot be changed,

  courage to change the things

  which should be changed,

  and the wisdom to distinguish

  the one from the other.

  Tonight he would petition the divine spirit of his faith—the Holy Spirit—to enable his safe return home. If the weather cooperated and the skies cleared, he would be grateful. If clouds concealed the full moon . . . well, he would think about that if it happened.

  Late in the afternoon, they stopped to water the equines. While standing on the riverbank, they heard a muffled boom several hundred yards to the south. Graham immediately recognized the peculiar sound from the Mud Volcano, the erratic thermal feature that shared the same hillside as the Dragon’s Mouth spring. He recalled fleeing the particles shot into the air by the erupting conical spring.

  “We stay here,” Rides Alone abruptly stated, leading his horse to a tree.

  No one objected. They could easily walk to the sacred spring. There was no need to camp close to the cacophonous fountain and place themselves within range of the blasted mud particles.

  After removing supplies and the saddle from Lindy, Rides Alone helped Graham pitch the wet, muddy fly while Makawee searched for dry branches among a thick stand of conifers.

  “You can stay here tonight,” Graham offered to the warrior as he pushed the support stakes into the ground. “There’s plenty of room.”

  Graham was expecting to exit through the time portal in a few hours. If he were successful, there would be only two people sleeping in the fly tonight.

  The temperature dropped, and the wind picked up an hour before dusk. As a cold front approached, it shoved the relatively warmer air upward. The air discharged its moisture as it cooled, generating intense but short-lived snow squalls in the Hayden Valley.

  The trio retreated under the fly. When the fast-moving front passed, they emerged to a clearing sky. The temperature had dropped ten degrees. The sun was positioned low on the western horizon between the mountain peaks and the sharp edge of trailing cumulus clouds. Its low-angle rays illuminated the transient storm clouds, creating a sunset painted in orange, yellow, and pink hues.

  Graham’s uneasiness about the full moon being obscured dissipated with the clouds as the swath of clearing sky broadened with each passing minute. He stood watching the multicolored western sky with his arm draped over Makawee’s shoulders and her arm around his waist. Surely this ethereal sunset was a divine creation. Could it be a harbinger of a spiritual encounter?

  Boom!

  The Mud Volcano interrupted his reverie by blasting a load of mud into the air in the distance. It was a distinct reminder they were in the Land of Burning Ground.

  “Rides Alone and I will go to Tó-sál-dàu to pay our respects before the sun sets,” Makawee stated as she pulled away from him. “We will return soon.”

  Graham leaned over and kissed her, then watched as the Crow siblings trekked down the trail toward the sacred hot spring.

  He ambled over to Lindy to say goodbye. He stroked her white muzzle and spoke to her softly. In the short time they were together, he had become fond of the docile molly mule with long, pointed ears.

  Graham sat by the fire and rehearsed the petition he would recite at the spring. Redfield had instructed him to specifically ask to be returned home, and he wanted to be clear when invoking the spirits. He had only one opportunity. If he failed, it would be another month before he could try again.

  * * *

  The time traveler tilted his left arm toward the fire to illuminate the face of his Timex Marlin wristwatch. It was just past seven o’clock, and the sun had slipped below the horizon. He rotated the crown to wind his watch, impressed the mechanical movement was still working despite his exploits during the past thirty-three days. The timepiece had indeed taken a licking and kept on ticking.

  Purple-gray shades of twilight enveloped the valley when Makawee and Rides Alone returned to camp. Rides Alone took a buffalo hide and walked to the trees where his horse and Lindy were picketed. It was obvious he was giving his stepsister and the baashchiile a final private moment.

  “We felt a spiritual presence at Tó-sál-dàu,” she sniffed, wiping tears from her cheeks. “The spirits will surely hear and see you tonight.”

  It was a bittersweet statement. This could be their last hour together.

  “I want to give you something to remember me by,” Graham said while reaching into his backpack. He pulled out the Zippo lighter and handed it to her. “I wish I had something more romantic,” he apologized.

  Makawee accepted the lighter and flipped open the lid. Graham mimicked the motion of using her thumb to spin the flint wheel. Makawee followed his instructions. Even though she knew what to expect, she was startled when a spark was instantly followed by a small, flickering flame.

  “When you use this lighter, think about the flame. It represents our love, which will burn across time.”

  She extinguished the flame by closing the spring-loaded lid with her thumb, feeling the smoothness of the brushed chrome case in her palm.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, tears welling in her eyes. “I do not have much. But I also want to give you something.”

  Makawee untied the elk-hide cord behind her neck and placed the obsidian turtle necklace on her lap. She carefully removed three of th
e thirteen black-and-yellow chevron beads from the cord, placed them in his palm, and closed his hand.

  “You already have Baaxpée from the bear spirit by wearing Redfield’s necklace. I believe the eagle spirit will bestow additional Baaxpée when you complete your vision quest. When you return home, add the bear claws from Rides Alone to your sacred necklace. I would be honored if you would place these beads on your necklace to remember me.”

  Graham admired the beads before placing them in his front jeans pocket with the bear claws from the slain grizzly. She retied the obsidian turtle necklace and placed it around her neck. They embraced, neither one wishing to let go.

  Boom!

  The couple separated when they heard the obstreperous Mud Volcano thundering in the distance. Graham glanced at his watch. He estimated the spring was currently erupting on fifty-minute intervals. The blast occurred when subterranean channels under the spring accumulated with mud and debris until the pressure built up and was suddenly released.

  “I’m curious. Why did you give me three beads?” he finally asked, trying to think of a way to gracefully say goodbye.

  “I wanted to keep a sacred number of beads on my necklace,” she explained. “Thirteen is a sacred number, because there are thirteen lunar months in a year. By giving you three beads, I still have ten remaining. Ten is also sacred.”

  “Why is ten a sacred number?”

  “The moon contains the power of conception. There are ten lunar months from conception to birth,” she disclosed. “By wearing a necklace with ten beads, a woman is signaling her desire to conceive.”

  Graham was dumbfounded, uncertain how to respond to this proclamation.

  “I told you I want a family of my own,” she continued. “I thought about this as I walked back from Tó-sál-dàu. Just as you are seeking direction with a vison quest, I must pursue my future. You will be leaving me tonight. If the spirits are willing, next summer I will marry. Long Horse will choose my husband from his tribe. I hope you understand.”

  She said these words in a confident but defiant tone—as if to prove to herself she could thrive without him. He had mixed emotions. He certainly wanted her to be happy. But she had already imagined a future without him. Perhaps she was saying these things to shield herself from the sorrow of his imminent departure.

  “Makawee, I am already in mourning from the thought of missing you. But it will ease my pain if I know you have a happy life when I am gone,” he affirmed, while clutching the brim of his hat.

  Graham sat by the fire and pulled her down beside him. He put his arm around her, and they stared into the flames in silence. There was not much else to talk about. He wanted to savor these last moments with Makawee.

  The moon had peeked above the Absaroka Mountains on the eastern horizon. They watched the fully illuminated celestial orb gradually lift into the clear night sky. Soon it was time to go.

  “I don’t know how to say goodbye,” he said, choking back tears as they stood. “If the spirits reject my petition, I will return within the next hour. If they hear me and accept . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Yes, I know,” she replied, looking into his eyes.

  He leaned down and kissed her one last time, pulling her nape and pressing hard on her quivering lips. Tears trickled down their cheeks, the salty taste of heartache wetting their lips.

  Graham reluctantly pulled away and donned his cowboy hat. He shouldered the L.L. Bean pack, took a final look at the dolorous young Crow woman, and abruptly turned toward the riverside trail.

  It was only a ten-minute walk from the camp to the eponymous Dragon’s Mouth spring. The hot spring was unchanged from the last time he visited thirty-three days ago. It was spewing steam and violently splashing water inside the underground cave, emulating noises associated with a mythical fire-breathing creature. The full moon created ghostly shadows from the steam clouds wafting into the clear night sky.

  Graham paused to gather his thoughts before reciting his petition. This was the time. This was the place. The unanswered question was whether he had conducted himself honorably. Redfield’s words echoed in his mind:

  “If your experience has set you on a path toward achieving an honorable vision, the spirits will bring you back to the present time. If not, you will stay in the spirit world until you are prepared to fulfill your vision.”

  He detected a faint moaning deep in the bowels of the darkened grotto and leaned forward as he tried to discern the words of someone in pain. The wailing became gradually louder until he recognized the quivering voice of Pvt. Foley crying out, “Help me! Help me!”

  Graham stumbled back from the turbulent spring and held his hands to his ears to block out the mournful pleas. He closed his eyes and shook his head until the moaning ceased. When he opened his eyes, he heard only boiling water sloshing against the rock walls of the grotto and a periodic low roar produced by the steam vents.

  His subconscious mind was playing tricks on him. Was this a supernatural message conveying his culpability for Foley’s accident? If the spirits perceived his conduct at Firehole Spring as ignoble, he would be denied admittance to the time portal.

  I can’t change the past, he murmured to himself, recalling a key adage from the Serenity Prayer.All I can do is recite the petition and hope to be seen, heard, and deemed worthy to fulfill my vision quest.

  Graham pulled the eagle–bear claw necklace from beneath his shirt and placed it on the front of his jacket. Turning to face the rising moon, he removed his hat and held both arms out to his sides with his palms up.

  Closing his eyes, he shouted earnestly over the intermittent roar of the Dragon’s Mouth, “Holy Spirit, hear my prayer. Thank you for the blessings of the earth. Open my eyes. Open my ears. Open my heart. Guide me home!”

  Boom!

  The neighboring Mud Volcano hurled another round of wet debris into the air. The ground shook from the force of the blast. Seconds later, tiny flecks of mud showered down. He hoped the serendipitous eruption was an omen his prayer had been sent and acknowledged. He slowly opened his eyes, lowered his arms, and stared at the moon.

  Initially, the movements of the heavenly bodies were imperceptible. But the full moon quickly accelerated, moving from left to right on an arc toward the western horizon. When it disappeared, it was replaced on the opposite horizon by the sun, which raced across the sky in a brief but brilliant flash of light. The moon quickly rose after the sun disappeared, creating a night sky that lasted only a few seconds before the sun rose again. This rapidly accelerating diurnal-nocturnal sequence repeated until the heavens were a blur of alternating lightness and darkness, creating a strobe-light effect.

  The visual gyrations induced the same vertigo Graham experienced when he had traveled back in time. But this time he was spiraling into the future at a dizzying pace. Feeling unsteady on his feet, he dropped his hat and lay down. He pulled the day pack onto his chest, gripped it tightly, and closed his eyes. It was a futile attempt to alleviate the debilitating visual effects permeating his brain. He soon lost consciousness.

  ***

  A mud-speckled cowboy hat lay on the barren soil near the Dragon’s Mouth. On a clear August evening in 1871, Graham Davidson had vanished.

  Chapter 30

  September 2, 1971

  The pika scampered over the boardwalk in search of food, its tiny feet pattering on the wooden planks. The tailless, rabbitlike mammal was busy gathering grasses and twigs to take back to its den on the rocky slope above the Dragon’s Mouth spring. It climbed on top of a boot to investigate the shoestrings, chewing on a plastic aglet before discovering it was inedible. Finding nothing useful on the shoe, the small, furry creature scurried up a leg covered in blue jeans to the sleeping human’s chest, where it spied an elk-hide cord that looked like a tasty, brown twig.

  Graham felt a tickling sensation at his neck and sleepily raised a hand to swat away the annoyance. When he touched the small, furry pika, it gave a high-pitched eek! before jumping f
rom its perch and racing toward the rocky slope.

  Startled by the squeaking animal, he instantly sat upright while clutching his pack. The sun was just beginning to peek above the eastern horizon, and he could see his breath in the cold morning air.

  He grabbed the railing and pulled himself up, remaining still for a moment to clear the cobwebs from his disoriented brain. Where was he? The distinctive low roar from the hot spring behind him provided a definitive answer. He turned to face the cave and recognized the intermittent sloshing of hot water and steam billowing from inside the grotto.

  Okay, he deduced. I know where I am. But more importantly, what year is it?

  One clue was beneath his feet. He looked down at the boardwalk in the early-morning light and traced its path to the east, where it ended at a parking area. Another section of boardwalk snaked its way to the south. Donning his pack, he followed the signs to the Mud Volcano and cautiously approached the thermal feature a few hundred feet away, anticipating a potential eruption. Although the pungent odor of sulfurous gases permeated the air, he was relieved to see the conical structure was gone. The violent spring that existed in 1871 had diminished into a bubbling, muddy crater. This was a clear indication he was in modern times, even if the exact year was uncertain.

  A light breeze swept down from the hillside. Graham instinctively closed the collar of his coat and reached for his hat. It was gone. He retraced his steps on the boardwalk to the Dragon’s Mouth spring and unsuccessfully searched the area. He had been transported through time to the future, but somehow his hat did not make the journey. The time traveler panicked and quickly unzipped his pack. His fears were allayed when a quick check revealed his possessions were still there.

  He slumped against a railing post and pondered his situation. Behind him, hot water violently splashed against the walls inside the small, dark cavern of the Dragon’s Mouth, and steam jets exploded from the opening. Somehow these rumbling and roaring noises were different from what he remembered from the previous evening. The sounds seemed more subdued.