by Jake Logan
“I didn’t mean the sulfur,” Slocum said, stepping down. He went to the edge of a bubbling pool, knelt, and pried loose a long purple crystal from the mud. He held it up for Leroq to see. “This.”
“Why, that is amethyst.”
“Hard enough?” Slocum tapped it with his gun barrel. “Looks to be. Got a distinctive color.”
“Purple. Why, royal purple is my favorite color.” Leroq tried to preen, to show off his fancy velvet jacket. It now hung in tatters and carried more grime than cloth. Wash it and the coat would vanish.
“If you use this, you can brag on how it comes from the very scenes you’re painting. Gives whoever looks at your paintings the feel of being here.” Slocum’s nose wrinkled at the sulfur stench. That would be a better reminder of the land than the amethyst.
“Why, yes, that is so. I am glad I have found this.” Leroq began gathering as much of the slender purple crystals as he could scoop up.
“And you won’t have to do any more stealing, of rubies or emeralds or anything else now?”
“Why, this will last me for months! For a hundred paintings!”
Slocum doubted that, but he had to be content that Leroq wasn’t inclined to go hunting for more jewels to steal.
That settled, Slocum was anxious to return to the expedition. And Marlene Wilkes.
16
“It will be good to return to the expedition,” Gustav Leroq said. “I am filthy, need new clothing, and my hands shake. They simply shake from lack of work! I must paint. Surrounded by such glory, I must capture it on canvas!”
Slocum ignored the popinjay. Leroq had alternated between sullen and so obnoxiously friendly that he found himself preferring the morose artist to the outgoing one. He had an added annoyance in misjudging where the expedition would be. He had returned to the spot where he thought he had left Marlene and the darkroom wagon and had found nothing. Tracks that should have given him a clue had been erased in one of the frequent, intense, but brief afternoon storms. Not finding the old camp or the tracks to a new one, he had wandered about for two whole days searching. Leroq had come to think of him as an expert in the wilderness, but Slocum wanted the trail to end.
He wanted the trail to end wherever Marlene camped.
“We will return soon. I had no idea I had journeyed so far away to that horrid town.”
“You had,” Slocum said, looking for a hill where he might get some added distance for his hunt.
“I intended only to drop by for a drink. I had such a thirst after traveling as I had. There wasn’t even a decent place for me to paint.” He patted the equipment slung on his horse. Leroq had an easel and a box of paints.
“What were you going to paint on? I don’t see any canvas or paper.”
“Carefully rolled and stored with the easel. I have become quite expert in such matters, having been on a prior expedition into the Dakota Badlands. A terrible place, the Badlands. Filled with Indians not unlike those who badgered me.”
“You dealt with the Sioux,” Slocum said. “These were Blackfoot.” It occurred to him that Leroq knew nothing about the encounter with the Crow. If Jackson or Marlene wanted to tell the story, they could. Slocum found himself too engrossed in finding Hayden and the others.
He almost let out a whoop of glee. Restraining himself made it appear he had led Leroq directly back to the expedition. They had camped beside a small river fed by spring runoff from the mountains to the west. From the look of it, they had been there only a day at the most.
Leroq blithered on; Slocum ignored him.
“Why look, there is my wagon. Someone drove it here for me. I trust they did not harm the paintings.”
Slocum looked at his thumb. The paint he had smeared there had long since wiped off. He wondered if Leroq would even notice. The artist galloped ahead. Slocum held back. His horse had put many miles under its hooves the past week, and giving it a bit of a rest would go a long way toward restoring its speed and stamina.
He looked around for Jackson’s wagon but didn’t see it. Frowning, he hunted for Hayden. He couldn’t find the expedition leader either. Rather than guess what had happened, he dismounted and went to Fenwicke. The man stood over a table with rocks holding down an elaborate map dotted with contour lines.
“Ah, Mr. Slocum, you have returned. Just in time, too.”
“Where’s Hayden?”
“He and Mr. Jackson set off to map early yesterday morning and have not returned.”
“When do you expect them back?” His heart sank. Marlene wouldn’t be in camp if Jackson had taken his wagon.
“That is something of a mystery. What I mean is, Dr. Hayden did not inform me of his plans. Rather, he left me to complete the detailed map surveyed over the past few miles and all the way to the mountains. We are getting deeper into the territory known as Yellowstone, and none of it has been properly surveyed.”
“Until now,” Slocum said, hoping to speed along the man’s recitation.
“Yes, quite. That’s true. I intend to move out in another day or two if the good doctor has not returned. We must keep to schedule, and I daresay we are falling behind because of all that unpleasantness with the Indians.”
“The Blackfoot and Crow? Or has there been something more?”
“What? Oh, no, nothing more. We have hurried along to leave that behind, but carelessness has crept in. That’s why I must tend to the details Dr. Hayden is glossing over.” Fenwicke muttered to himself as he inked in lines on the map.
In disgust, Slocum left and went to find anyone else who knew Hayden’s intentions. There were two other scouts, though he’d had no contact with them. If either was in camp, he could learn of the terrain to the north.
“John! John!”
He turned and found his arms filled with a delightfully warm, wiggling Marlene Wilkes. She clung to him with a ferocity that warned him something wasn’t right.
“They haven’t come back. William said they’d be gone only a few hours, that they’d be back before sundown. He left me while he took the wagon.”
“We’ve got a couple hours till then,” Slocum said. He didn’t mind the way she pressed against him. He wished she would release the death lock on his neck, though.
“No, it was yesterday before sundown—William said they’d be back by then. I’m so worried!”
“Fenwicke said nothing about them being overdue. If anything, he thought it was to be expected.”
“William never takes longer.”
Slocum pried her loose. There was always a first time for a photographer—for an artist—to become too engrossed in his work and lose track of time. Instead he said, “Hayden might have needed his help. Fenwicke said both scouts went with them.”
“They were back yesterday after dark. I saw them skulking about and tried to get them to tell me where William and Dr. Hayden were. They packed their gear and left.”
“There aren’t any scouts left?”
“Only you, John. You have to find William. And the doctor.”
He had fetched Leroq and brought him back. Why he had bothered after finding the ruby would never be recovered posed something of a problem for him. He ought to have left the man in Sulfur Springs to be hanged for robbery. It was about what he deserved. Only Slocum couldn’t do that since Leroq had been innocent of that crime.
That crime. He was guilty as sin of stealing Innick’s ruby.
“John, listen to me,” she said, gripping his arms. He winced when she squeezed down on his forearm. It was still healing slowly from the knife wound. Marlene was so distraught she never noticed him flinch.
“I’ll go after them. I need some clue where to begin hunting. The rains over the past few days have wiped out any tracks they might have left, even driving the darkroom wagon.”
“You’ll find them faster because William took it. It has to stan
d out more, be visible, easy to spot.”
“Is there any map of the region, no matter how crude, that Hayden might have used?”
“I don’t think so. If there is one, Fenwicke has it.” Her obvious disgust with the man made her spit out his name as if it burned her tongue.
“Let’s see what he can tell us.”
Slocum and Marlene garnered more than passing looks as they went to Fenwicke’s wagon because of the way they walked, pressed together like leaves between the pages of a Bible. It wouldn’t do the woman’s reputation any good, but she was oblivious to anything but finding her employer.
Fenwicke didn’t even glance up as they approached. He made dismissive motions with his hand, as if he were brushing dirt off his clothing.
“Do leave me alone. This is a more difficult geosyncline structure than I anticipated, though it is not along a coastal region, of course. Rather it is a buildup of volcanic products from the activity throughout the region, causing—”
“A map,” Slocum said, loudly enough to bring Fenwicke out of his reverie. “Where Hayden and Jackson were going. Is there any kind of a map?”
“Why, I don’t know. If there was, they would have taken it with them.”
“Dr. Fenwicke,” Marlene said. “This is the region we just passed through, isn’t it?”
“Why, of course it is, my dear. You see here—”
“Are the next dozen miles likely to be an extension of this? With the land sloping in this fashion?”
“That is an excellent assumption. You see—”
Marlene led Slocum away as the cartographer mumbled to himself.
“I can sketch a map for you, assuming the volcanic nature of the land to the north isn’t too different.”
“I’ll saddle up and get ready.”
“I want to go, too,” she said.
“If anything’s happened to them, you don’t want to get mixed up in it.”
“I survived Blackfoot captivity,” she said haughtily. “I can survive anything. This is for William. I owe him that much.”
“Stay here. I’ll find them both and be back safe and sound within a day or two, depending on how far they rode.”
The set of the woman’s chin told him argument would be futile.
“You won’t give me the map, will you? If I don’t have it, I can’t hunt for them.”
“I’ll go by myself. Or you can come with me,” she said. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. Slocum had seen determination before, but it paled in the face of Marlene’s resolve.
“I can come with you?” Slocum had to grin at that. “Saddle up. I don’t know how long we’re going to be gone.”
“Very well, sir,” she said. Marlene turned, then half turned and looked back. “What should I pack?”
Slocum laughed outright at that. The flash of aggravation disappeared and she laughed, too.
In a half hour they were riding side by side, going deeper into the volcanically active territory. Slocum proceeded slowly, trying to guess where Hayden would have gone. On horseback, the cartographer would choose a different track than William Jackson with his darkroom wagon. Would they have parted company and gone their separate ways?
“Higher elevations,” Slocum said. “Both of them would hunt for a place to look down over the countryside to get the best view.”
“A surveyor works in all kinds of terrain,” Marlene pointed out.
“But he didn’t bring a crew. Would Jackson go trooping off to hold a measuring stake?”
“Of course not. He would . . . oh, I see what you mean. William would want to take photographs. Dr. Hayden could take his ground measurements, but it would be more difficult by himself.”
“They could be working together, probably are,” Slocum said, thinking out loud. “Hayden would tell Jackson what to photograph, take measurements of some of the land, then would have actual pictures without having to measure it on foot.”
“You mean he would use William’s photos to actually make a map? I’ve never heard of such a thing. It could speed up the survey.”
“Hayden uses his traditional methods when he can, does the mapping off the photographs when he can’t.”
The smell of sulfur caused Slocum’s nose to wrinkle. Yellowstone was festooned with geysers and impassable terrain that Hayden undoubtedly wanted to survey. The combination of techniques could change the way the inhospitable land was mapped.
“What does that mean for finding them?” Marlene asked.
“The terrain not suitable for a wagon would be ignored,” Slocum said. “The lowlands would be passed through in favor of elevated overlooks.”
He surveyed the horizon. For a brief excursion intended to last only a half day, they had traveled a great distance. Slocum estimated several miles of riding to reach the next high point. What had lured the men on?
Only one reason came to mind.
“The combination of photographs and survey using a transit works,” Slocum declared. “They couldn’t stop, like a kid playing with a new toy.”
“That certainly describes William,” Marlene said. “But Dr. Hayden never struck me as the sort who allowed enthusiasm to carry him away from reality.”
Slocum didn’t know the expedition leader, but he thought Marlene was dead wrong. Hayden’s zest for his work knew no bounds. He might keep that light hidden under a bushel basket better than Jackson, but it was there. Slocum had heard it in the man’s voice when he spoke of merely traveling through Yellowstone. To be the man responsible for mapping the vast territory would ensure him a place in history.
“There aren’t many of the geysers here. Pits there and there,” he said, pointing them out. “The broad area between them is likely where a wagon could travel without difficulty.”
“It looks dangerous,” she said dubiously, but she followed Slocum along the route he had chosen.
Slocum hunted for any trace of the two men. A few ruts might have been left by the darkroom wagon, but he couldn’t tell. The constant activity of the mud pools and the recent rains had obliterated real evidence. Then he spotted it.
“They came this way,” he said with assurance. “Horse flop. It’s likely fresh if you dig down under the hard mud covering.” Even as he spoke, a nearby mud pool burbled and belched steaming mud a few feet in the air. “If that pool really spewed out mud, it would cover this track.”
“I’m not so sure,” Marlene said. “It could be an artifact of the constant eruptions and just looks like, uh, horse manure.” She dismounted.
Slocum watched as she took a rock and poked at the pile. She jumped back when the mud coating broke, revealing the soft interior. Marlene looked up in outrage when he laughed.
“Mr. Know-it-all.” She threw the rock into the bubbling mud pool and recoiled when it produced a loud, liquid burp as it sank out of sight.
“It won’t explode because you tossed a rock in,” Slocum assured her. “It’s not good to stay too long here, though. The sulfur is making the horses nervous.” For his part, he wanted to get out of the mud flats, too. The lowlands wouldn’t give them any more spoor. Only spotting Hayden and Jackson from a knoll would allow them to join up.
They struggled up the hill with its soft earth. Slocum saw where the wagon had worked its way up by following the contours, not daring to attack the hill going straight up the slope. When they crested the hillock, Marlene let out a cry of joy.
“There, John, even I can make out the tracks. They aren’t far ahead. But where are they?”
He looked over the increasingly volcanic area and had no idea. It was as if the men and their wagon had vanished from the face of the earth.
17
“Let’s head toward the mountains,” Slocum said. He chewed on his lower lip as he tried to reconcile this with going after the actual tracks left by the wagon.
“Why, that’s not where William and Dr. Hayden drove. Is this a shortcut?” She sounded doubtful, and he didn’t blame her.
“Feeling in my gut,” he said. “Something’s not right, and going the same way will get us into trouble.” Slocum looked at the high mountain peaks and the roiling black clouds building there.
The rainy season had been active, but nothing out of the ordinary. The thunderstorms had been mild, never dumping water on his head for more than a few hours. Nevertheless, something about the look of the new cloud buildup worried him.
“I’m going after them,” Marlene said. “They can’t be that far ahead. You said so yourself.”
The distant crack of thunder made him look at the mountains again. In only a few minutes, the lead-bottomed clouds had turned turbulent, building with great speed and rising fast to form the anvil-headed clouds that warned of a real downpour.
“We need to get to high ground and find shelter. That storm’s going to be a real frog strangler.”
“If we get to the darkroom wagon, we can shelter there,” Marlene said. She urged her horse along the ruts still faintly visible on the ground.
Slocum was not worried about failing to see the men or the wagon. That simply meant they were more distant than an easy ride. The storm would hit before they could find Hayden and Jackson anyway. A single heavy droplet spattering against his hat brim warned of that.
He could let Marlene go on her way. She might even be right about finding the men before the storm hit. Slocum weighed his experience against her stubbornness, then snapped the reins and trotted after her. He caught up less than a hundred yards away.
“I’m glad you saw it my way, John. You see, I have this feeling—”
That was as far as she got before Slocum leaned over and got his arm around her waist. With a mighty heave, he pulled her from the saddle and dropped her belly down in front of him.
“Sorry if the saddle horn’s uncomfortable,” he said. He grabbed her horse’s reins and fastened them to his saddle just in front of his knee. Tying them down proved more difficult because of the way she struggled, kicking and trying to slide away to the ground.