by Regina Scott
Once more, he forced himself to eat. If they did have to mount a rescue tomorrow, who knew when he’d have time for food again?
As if she understood he needed a distraction, Meg called him over after dinner to look at the scene she’d captured. The firelight illuminated the shapes on the glass plate, making it appear the wind moved through the trees on her picture. As always, the work was impressive. Even reversed on the negative, the photograph captured the awe, the loneliness, the sweeping glory of the place.
“Worth going out on a ledge?” she teased him.
He looked up from the plate to nearly slip into the glory of those spring-green eyes instead.
“No,” he said. “No picture could ever compare to the loss of such beauty.”
Her cheeks were turning pink in the firelight. “Why, Captain Coleridge, how you do go on.”
He was leaning closer before he thought better of it.
“Captain!”
Hank’s call pulled Ben’s head up. What was he doing? Had he truly been about to kiss Meg within full sight of the entire expedition? Had he learned nothing in the last five years?
He rose to go to his cartographer’s side.
“What have you, Mr. Newcomb?” he asked.
Led by Meg, the other members of the team crowded around as well. Hank straightened, smile turning up as he found himself the center of attention for once.
“I took one last look before the light was gone,” he said. “I don’t think that flash Miss Pero spotted was caused by a member of Powell’s team.”
Relief that the other expedition was safe after all vied with disappointment to have found nothing more. “Then why call me over?”
“Because I found something else.” He nodded toward the theodolite. “It’s mighty faint in the dark. Look in there, and tell me my eyes aren’t playing tricks.”
Ben bent and put his eyes to the scope, careful not to move the angle or inclination. The canyon leaped closer, gray, silver, and bone white as night fell. Still, silent. Lifeless. At first, he couldn’t tell what had alerted the cartographer.
Then he spotted it, drifting on the breeze.
Ben raised his head. “Is that smoke?”
Hank grinned. “My thoughts exactly. It’s coming from under that overhang. Someone’s been down there, Captain. And recently.”
8
Ben and Mr. Newcomb were so busy talking neither commented when Meg slipped in behind them and peered through the theodolite. The thin telescope suspended among knobs and loops looked far less substantial and much more complicated than her camera, but the view was sharper. The canyon that had seemed so far away was suddenly much closer. In the fading light, it even appeared more like one of her photographs, all shades of gray. The only thing that was different was the thin smudge rising from under the outcropping just below them.
Meg raised her head. “Are we in danger?”
Ben and Dot’s husband stopped in mid-argument over what to do next.
“Danger?” Ben asked, eyes narrowing.
He was like a cat ready to pounce, but she couldn’t see the prospect of danger as quite so exciting. “Yes. Is the fire sufficiently doused to prevent it from spreading out of control?”
“No,” Ben said immediately, as if seizing on the idea. “I’ll go down and take a look.”
She almost reached out to hold him close. Why? Surely it wasn’t that dangerous. She’d seen no sign of flame, and the breeze had slowed.
“It’s too dark,” Mr. Pike pointed out. “You’ll have to climb down and back in uncertain light. Good way to break your neck.”
“He’s right,” Mr. Newcomb put in as Ben opened his mouth as if to protest. “No sense risking your life. That smoke doesn’t look all that dangerous. It’s drifting, not concentrated as it would be in a serious fire. And there are few shrubs close enough to burn. I doubt the blaze will spread.”
Still Ben hesitated. “What if someone needs help?”
Mr. Newcomb shook his head. “If anyone was down there, he’d have answered our call. But we can keep watch tonight to make sure we’re not needed.”
Ben shifted on his feet as if ready to jump over the edge and race down the slope. The gallant, mad fellow!
Meg dusted off her hands, drawing all gazes to her. “Well, that’s that, then. Dot, can I help you clean up?”
Dot glanced at Ben before looking back at Meg. “Sure. I never turn down help.”
Ben roused himself. “Gentlemen, meet me at my tent in a quarter hour to discuss the plan of the day. Mrs. Newcomb, Miss Pero, please join us.” He walked off before Meg could question him further.
Dot hustled back to the fire, and Meg joined her.
“Nice thing about the captain,” the older woman said as she wrapped cloth about the remains of the turkey. “Not every commander sees fit to consult the cook.”
“Or the photographer,” Meg agreed. Still, she couldn’t help wondering about his reaction to the smoke. If there was no danger, why the urgency to go down?
They all gathered a short while later in front of Ben’s tent. Like the others, it was A-shaped, a tall pole in front and behind, typical Army issue. Through the partially open canvas flap, she sighted a campaign cot with a bedroll spread upon it. A traveling desk sat on top of the bed, papers secured with leather straps. On the ground nearby lay leather saddlebags that must hold his personal belongings. His rifle, canteen, and ammunition pouch hung in easy reach from the front pole.
Dot stood next to her husband to one side of the opening, while the three cavalrymen bunched opposite. Closer to the fire, Rudy Pike stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest, as if prepared to argue with anything Ben had to say. Meg slid in next to Dot.
“I plan to camp here for at least three days,” Ben explained from where he stood directly in front of his tent, firelight playing over his muscular form. “We will conduct a preliminary survey, enough to give the Army a clear view as to whether we can drive a road through this area. Mr. Newcomb will handle the instrumentation for charting. Corporal Adams will assist.”
Dot’s husband nodded, and the corporal stood taller.
“Private Larson, Private Meadows, and I will collect mineral samples and note major flora and fauna,” Ben continued. “If we spot something known to be edible, we’ll bring it to you for confirmation, Mrs. Newcomb.”
“Glad to help,” Dot said. “Though after I identify it, I hope you’ll let us eat it.”
Private Larson chuckled, then quickly swallowed the sound when Corporal Adams glanced his way.
Ben turned to Meg, eyes bright. “Miss Pero, I want a clear shot in a circumference—north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, and northwest.”
Eight pictures? That would make a dent in her supplies. “I could cut that down to four if I widen the perspective,” she told him. “You might miss a few details at the edges, but you’d conserve the plates for later in the survey.”
He nodded. “Good suggestion. Do what you can.”
Why did she feel so warmed by his approval?
Mr. Pike spoke up. “What about me?”
“You’ll be on patrol,” Ben answered. “Ride in a semicircle around the camp at least twice a day, then determine our course west.”
“And hunt for dinner,” Dot reminded him.
“Exactly,” Ben agreed.
Mr. Pike nodded. “All right. I can do that. Just none of you wander far from camp without me. This land may look flat, but it’s full of draws and canyons. You climb into one, you might not climb out.”
The night air felt colder.
“Any other questions?” Ben asked.
They glanced at each other as if daring someone to speak first. No one did.
“All right, then,” he said. “Get a good night’s sleep. We start at dawn. Corporal, same watch schedule as last night.”
“Sir,” the three cavalrymen chorused.
As everyone moved to finish settling the camp for the night, Meg dre
w closer to Ben. “What are you hiding?”
He stiffened. “I don’t know what gave you the impression I was hiding something from you, Miss Pero. It would be foolish of me to keep the rest of the team ignorant of an important detail.”
Meg cocked her head, watching him. The firelight made it difficult to tell whether his color was heightening, and his stiff posture might only mean she had offended him.
“Yes,” she said. “That would be foolish. So why the mystery?”
“No mystery,” he insisted. “The Army sent this detail to conduct a preliminary survey to determine whether there’s a viable route to cross the canyon. That’s what we aim to do. May I see you to your tent?”
As it was less than twenty feet away, across the fire pit from his, she needed no escort. And his request wasn’t nearly as friendly as hers had been earlier. It was almost as if he was trying to get rid of her.
“You’ve changed,” she said. “The Ben Coleridge I knew was always frank about his intentions.”
“And far too confident in his abilities to achieve them,” he reminded her. “If you see a change in me, Meg, it’s because I’ve come to realize I’m fallible.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Never!”
His smile was gentle. “I’m afraid so. I do what I can under the circumstances, but I know my limits and I’m working to compensate for them.”
She couldn’t quite believe him. He’d been ready to dive off that cliff into the dark to learn about a simple plume of smoke. Besides, she’d long ago decided he’d inherited his confidence from his father. The Colonel had been a military legend. It was rumored he’d refused promotion to general because it could take him out of the field. With the commendations of his instructors behind him, Ben had seemed on a trajectory to eclipse him.
“Limitations, eh?” she said. “I’m certain your mother would argue that you had none. She thought you were perfect.”
He quirked a brow. “Mothers are required to think their children are perfect. It’s a regulation.”
She laughed. “Maybe. I don’t remember my mother, but from what Papa said about her, she was a practical sort. She’d never see him or me as perfect, nor make that a requirement for accepting us as family. I always thought your mother, on the other hand, had higher expectations. What limitations do you see in yourself, Ben, that she somehow missed?”
It was a bold question. She no longer had a right to ask, if she’d had that right back at West Point. But something inside her yearned for him to answer.
He sighed. “I used to be too idealistic, too optimistic about the outcomes of every venture. I’ve learned to temper those expectations.”
“How sad.” The words were out before she could soften them. One of the things that had drawn her to him had been his enthusiasm, his cocky confidence that he could overcome any obstacle. If she had had a hand in dimming that bright light, she had much to atone for.
“I prefer to think of it as realistic,” he said. “Now, you must excuse me. The first watch is mine.” With a nod, he reached around her for his rifle and turned for the fire.
Ben thought she might follow him. Meg Pero was determined, if nothing else. But she seemed to accept his excuse, for she went to her tent, and he didn’t see her again until morning.
It wasn’t difficult staying awake for his watch. Their conversation kept repeating in his mind. She’d claimed his family thought him perfect. As if he was even close. The Colonel had had high standards, and Ben had done his best to meet them. But even his father would have pointed out the flaw in him. Had pointed it out more than once.
“You’re overconfident, boy,” he’d say. “A certain amount of bravado can carry a man a long distance. But sooner or later, strategy wins out. Think things through.”
Perhaps if he’d taken that advice, he would have realized Meg wasn’t interested in hearing his proposal or becoming his bride. He’d done all he could to plan ahead since then, always considering every angle before moving forward.
Yet what had he done this evening when Hank had spotted that trail of smoke? Thrown caution behind to be carried on the breeze. All he’d been able to think about was looking for his father. And he had no idea if Meg’s flash or Hank’s smoke had anything to do with the Colonel.
As he moved around the camp, the only sound a rough snore from the tent Hank and Adams shared, he forced himself to think things through. Could someone be camping just below them in the canyon? Why not answer their calls? It was possible the sound hadn’t reached that far, but a casual glance up the cliff might have given a glimpse of Ben and his team or at least the smoke from their fire. Had Hank discovered a would-be miner who distrusted any newcomer? An outlaw passing through and intent on going unnoticed? A native away from his tribe?
Or an injured man trying to survive?
The last possibility haunted him through the night, long after he woke Adams to spell him. By dawn, he knew what he had to do.
“I’m going down,” he told Hank after they had eaten the corn mush and turkey Dot had prepared for breakfast and his men were seeing to the animals. “I want to know what we’re dealing with.”
Hank washed down his last mouthful with a slug of coffee. “All right. We can set up a harness from the van around you to anchor you, and you can play out the rope as you go down. Take your pistol and compass.”
Ben raised his brows. “I understand the need to defend myself. But a compass?”
“You’ll want to know which way to go if the rope breaks.”
Ben grinned. “That’s easy, Hank. I’ll want to go up.”
Dot glanced at them from where she’d set a kettle of water to heat by the fire. “Not so fast, you two. You’re forgetting something.”
Hank met Ben’s frown with one of his own. “What?” he asked his wife.
Dot leveled her spoon, yellow mush dripping to sizzle as it hit the flames. “Today’s Sunday. Someone should conduct a proper service.”
She was right, but the call of the unknown was stronger. “I believe the good Lord will forgive us if we do his will and help someone in need first,” Ben told her.
Dot eyed him a moment, then went back to stirring her mush, perhaps a bit more briskly than before.
The cartographer was securing the rope to the leather harness around Ben’s chest when Meg came out of her tent. The pale morning sunlight caught in her hair as she glanced around. But one look at Ben, and she was sweeping to his side.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Don’t tell me that’s what engineers wear to conduct surveys.”
“Only when they’re scaling cliffs,” Hank said, tightening the rope. Despite himself, Ben flinched.
“Scaling cliffs?” She glanced over the edge, then back at Ben, face whitening. “You’re not going down there.”
Hank met Ben’s gaze as if wondering why he would allow her to order him about. After all, Ben was supposed to be in command. When it came to Meg Pero, he never felt in command.
“Just an exploratory trip,” Ben assured her. “I’ll collect a few samples from the rocks, look for sources of water.”
“And see where that smoke came from,” she accused him. She turned to Hank. “Mr. Newcomb, can you rig another contraption like that one?”
Ben would not allow her over the edge, not until he knew what he was dealing with. He shook his head in warning, but the older man merely smiled at Meg. “Sure, but you’re not going down there.”
“Captain Coleridge should not go alone,” she protested.
“I won’t be alone,” Ben hurried to explain before Hank could volunteer himself or one of the cavalrymen. “Mr. Newcomb will be holding the rope. He’ll pull me back up at the first sign of trouble.”
“Or at least the second sign,” Hank agreed helpfully.
“Insufficient,” she argued. “You saw what happened with me and the camera yesterday.”
Hank regarded him with a frown, but Ben couldn’t give in this time. “You weren’t harmed,
” he pointed out.
“But—”
“No,” Ben said. “Stay here. That’s an order.”
“It’s time you learned I don’t take orders well,” she retorted. “Mr. Newcomb—”
“Nope,” Hank said. “I do take orders well.”
“Fine,” she fumed. “I’ll stay put.” Suddenly she brightened. “And I’ll take a picture, with you in the shot. It can be the northern exposure.” She bustled off toward the van, which was parked beyond the farthest tent.
“Now,” Ben said, “before she comes back with reinforcements.”
With a grin, Hank stepped back and played out the line.
Ben put both gauntleted hands on the rope and stepped back as well, until the heels of his boots were pressed in the crumbling edge of the canyon wall. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off backward and felt the sick drop into space. His body swung like a pendulum, and he hit the wall with both feet out, the thud echoing through him like a call along the canyon. Steadying himself, he started walking down.
About twenty feet below the top, the land sloped less steeply, and he was able to turn and walk almost normally toward the shadow of the outcropping. Rock fallen from above crunched under his boots. To the right he spotted a well-worn track coming down from the eastern flank—a game trail, perhaps?
The arch of rock had left a cave of sorts beneath it, perhaps five feet deep and a dozen high. As he stepped out of the sunlight, the layers in the high rock wall became more apparent. That red spoke of iron, the faint strip of green was surely copper. He ought to take samples, but his gaze was caught by the circle of blackened rock on the ground.
A fire pit.
The silvery ash still had a stump of a stick protruding. Ben bent and removed one gauntlet to hold his hand over the coals. No heat. Cautiously, he flicked at the ash. No animal bones evident, so the fire could have been kindled by a native. They tended to reuse every part of their kills.
He rose and studied the surrounding ground, but the rock gave him no sign of who had been here, perhaps as late as yesterday afternoon.