Once again Paige felt the lure of the area. Tall mountains, so dramatically sculpted they were almost unbelievable, a town with the sense of history and hidden secrets, and now this awe-inspiring sunset over the lake. Paige knew she’d fallen into something unique and unusual. There were many shades to the magic of Jackson Hole. The rosy hues of the evening sunset were just parts of the total spell. When the dark had almost settled in completely and the chill became too much to bear, she returned to her car and headed back to the cabin.
Dan was working by kerosene lantern outside the barn when Paige pulled into the driveway, hammering a golden colored lodgepole branch into a flat sheet of burl to form one corner’s leg. Three more legs of similar shape, size and length rested against the side of the barn. He stopped hammering and called a greeting over to Paige, who responded with a wave as she continued walking to the cabin. The hammering started up again as she stepped inside and closed the door.
Again she sat before her laptop, recording the observations of the day. She looked over the history notes she had already made, trying again to get a sense of what the town had been like in its early years. She tried to imagine the early settlers, how hard it must have been for them to come into the valley and even survive, much less make a home for themselves. The winters were frightfully difficult. There was no electricity in the late 1800’s, when people first arrived. The wildlife, although beautiful, could also be dangerous. It was certain that some succumbed to attacks from wild animals who acted to protect their young or to guard sources of food. And then there was the lawlessness, the drinking and carousing that undoubtedly caused additional problems. Gunfights and territorial arguments must have taken many to their graves, as well.
Paige shut the laptop and built a fire, warmed a cup of soup and curled up on the braided rug, which she had placed a short distance from the fireplace. She let her thoughts run at random, thinking of the soothing sunset over the lake and continuing to contemplate the scenes that must have played out in the days of the old west. When she felt sleep descending, just as the dark had fallen over the lake, she pulled a pillow off the bed and fell asleep with the warmth of the fire on her face.
CHAPTER SIX
The sun was nowhere to be found when Jake sat up and stretched the following morning. Looking out his window he saw only heavy mist covering the mountains and a white layer resembling soft cotton stretching out below. Only the tip of the peak known as The Grand stuck out above the foggy scene, awe-inspiring in its stance 13,770 feet above sea level.
Jake pulled on jeans and a faded sweatshirt and headed to the kitchen to make a pot of fresh coffee. Over the first few sips of the rich brew, he watched a sliver of lightning streak down from the sky, followed by a sharp crackle of thunder above. He fixed a bowl of corn flakes, sprinkling far too much sugar on top, a habit he knew he needed to break. From the kitchen window he watched the rain begin to pour down, slamming against the ground with sudden fury. More thunder and lightning followed, to his dismay. He would need to wait the weather out before heading off. Another delay, he acknowledged reluctantly, just what he didn’t need.
He moved into the main room, setting the cereal and coffee on a rectangular pine table in front of the couch. Walking by habit to the bookcase, he pulled out the hidden map. He sat back in the comfortable, wing-backed chair and studied the map in a little more depth. Tracing his fingers along the tear in the left side, he looked at the zigzag line again, which followed the left margin of the page, small segments occasionally disappearing off the side, as if the line had originally extended beyond the tear. It must be the mountains, he thought. Nothing else would have that shape. The treasure must be on the other side, on the section of the map he was now convinced Frank would bring him that night. This fit with his theory about Cascade Canyon, which extended deep enough inside the mountains to be located on the portion of the map he considered missing. Perhaps the zigzag line indicated a direction, not the mountains themselves. Or it could be both, for that matter. There was no way to know without the missing piece.
Once again he held the smudged section up to the light, twisting the paper in different directions to see if anything showed through. There was nothing he could see, just as there hadn’t been when he looked before. It would be a long day, waiting for the meeting that night with Frank. Resigned to a rainy morning, he closed his eyes, map clutched in his hand. He tipped his head to rest against the back of the chair and waited.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The rain was slick on the pavement as Paige drove into town. It didn’t matter, she knew she had to fight through the storm and get to the library to email Susan. It had been several days since they had corresponded and it was time to give her an update. If only she knew exactly what to say.
A few locals were scattered around the library when she entered, either slouched in chairs reading, or working at small tables. One library worker pushed a metal cart stacked with books, scanning shelves as she moved down the aisles and stopping occasionally to insert a book here or there.
Paige was relieved once again to see the computer area wasn’t crowded. A teenage girl occupied one seat and an older woman with bifocals leaned in toward a monitor not far from where the teen sat. Paige took a place near the corner, glad to find a computer available that had some privacy. She logged on and opened her email to compose a letter.
To: Susan Shaw
From: Paige Mackenzie
Re: Jackson Hole Article
Susan,
It’s quite the rainy day here in Jackson Hole. We’ve had thunder and lightning since the early hours. I stayed inside for much of the morning, to avoid the slick roads, but then made my way into town to touch base with you.
I’ve done some research this week on the history of the area. It’s a fascinating place, settled by homesteaders in the late 1800’s with more arriving as the century turned. Life was extremely hard for the early residents of this community. From a historical aspect, it’s possible an article on this would be of interest to history buffs. I’m not sure how marketable that would be, but it’s one of the possibilities.
On the other hand, I think I may have stumbled onto something on the local level, though I’m still trying to figure out just what it is. There are a couple locals here who’ve been meeting in the town square, exchanging envelopes and that sort of thing. One has also been doing research on the area, which I know from bumping into him at the library. Literally, that is, but that’s another story altogether. It’s just a hunch, but I have a strong feeling there’s something behind all this.
I’m going back to the town square today, even if the rain continues. There’s something unusual going on and I think I should pursue it.
I’ll get in touch with you again in a couple days. Maybe I’ll have something concrete for you at that time. I’ll keep trying.
Paige
Before leaving the computer, Paige pulled up Google and ran a search on Jackson Hole. Getting too many hits, she narrowed the search by making her query more specific, first by running the words “Jackson Hole History” and then “Jackson Hole Early Settlers.” From there she followed links to several websites, jotting down notes as she found bits and pieces of information. She ran a check for bibliographies on the research results she found, printing out several lists of book titles. Logging off, she gathered the printed pages and headed for the aisle on local history.
Following the numbered signs on the ends of the aisles, she wasn’t surprised to find that the section she was looking for was right around the corner from where she had bumped into Jake. She moved down the middle of two tall rows of books, scanning the titles as she went along. Pulling a few volumes off the shelves, she found a comfortable chair where she could browse through various chapters.
The first two books were very general, recounting tales of grizzly bear encounters, difficulty getting supplies into the valley without direct train lines, and sawmill development to help with logging for early settlers. But it was the t
hird book that caught her attention, a slender bound text with a dark blue cover. The chapters were brief and were spread over a range of topics, from homesteading history to wildlife conservation to the gradual acquisition of land that would eventually become Grand Teton National Park. As she skimmed through a few chapters, one subject in particular caused her to pause.
Among the many people who had come to Jackson Hole around the turn of the century were prospectors. These men had come into the valley following rumors of gold. Many of the searches centered along the Snake River, which wound its way through the valley from north to south. Following a winding path, the river had provided many opportunities for panning gold. The mountains, on the other hand, had allowed many opportunities for hiding it. Though the accounts in the printed volumes stated that no substantial amount of gold had ever been found, Paige couldn’t help but wonder if this was true. The written records showed such small amounts of gold accumulated, it almost seemed impossible that there wasn’t more. After all, it didn’t say there wasn’t any gold in the valley, only that very little had been discovered. What if there had been more gold discovered than history books showed? Perhaps there were discoveries that had gone unreported. It wasn’t beyond reason that lucky prospectors might have kept the more lucrative finds a secret.
Paige approached the front counter of the library. A slender young woman with braided red hair and dangling silver and jade earrings walked over to the counter, asking if she could help.
“What does it take to obtain a library card?” Paige asked.
“Just some identification and an address,” the woman answered, reaching for an application form as she spoke. “A phone number is good, too.”
Paige paused and thought for a moment. She didn’t have a local address, but had her cell number. And she might have an address at the cabin, but hadn’t a clue what it might be. She did, of course, have a driver’s license, so there was some form of ID she could provide. Giving over this information seemed to be enough. Within a few minutes she had her driver’s license number, cell phone, and a general delivery address gathered together. She soon left the counter with a library card in hand.
She returned to the chair and the bookshelf, selected the slender, blue book, along with several others on general area history. Additionally, she picked out a few trail guides, hoping they might give her some possibilities of locations where gold might be hidden, providing her hunch was correct. It was a long shot, she figured, but it was worth following. Hidden gold would certainly make a story of interest to the paper’s readers back in New York.
Gathering the selections into her arms, she approached the library’s check-out desk, catching the attention of the library clerk and speaking up in a voice that would not disturb others in the room.
“Excuse me,” she whispered across the counter to the clerk. “Are there any more books about the history of gold prospecting in the area?” It couldn’t hurt to ask. There could be books that had been returned, but not yet placed on the shelves.
The clerk’s earrings swayed as she shook her head from side to side, jade and silver catching slivers of light from the bulbs hanging from the library ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” she replied apologetically. “We usually have more on that subject, but they were all checked out recently. Would you like me to notify you when they become available again?”
‘No, that’s ok,” Paige answered as casually as she could. “These will be fine for now.”
She checked out the books she’d already chosen, stashing them in an empty tote bag in the back of her car. It was still raining, though it had let up a little. A steaming latte sounded good. She headed over to the Blue Sky Café and found a parking place directly across the street.
Maddie was behind the counter, as always. Old Man Thompson was hunched over his coffee in his usual spot, a buttered bagel resting on a small plate next to the coffee cup, though it appeared to be sitting untouched.
There were a few customers, but not the usual line, most likely a result of the rain. Had she not needed to go into town to use the library computer, she probably would have stayed home herself.
Maddie greeted her with recognition this time and it occurred to Paige that she had already become a regular. At least she had certainly frequented the Blue Sky Café often enough to have it appear that way.
“How’s it going, local girl?” Maddie said teasingly. “Last I heard you were just visiting, doing an article on the area. No pressing deadline, I take it.” Maddie took Paige’s order and moved to the coffee machine, starting up a whirling of steamy noises.
“Oh, it’s just such an interesting area,” she told the café owner lightly, watching her pour frothy milk into a heavy paper cup. “I decided a little more historical background would make whatever I write more interesting. I found some good resources at the library. They have a great section on local history.” She demonstrated this by indicating the stack of books in her tote bag.
“You’re right about that,” Maddie said, taking Paige’s outstretched payment for her latte. “There’s certainly an interesting history here in this valley, no question about it.”
Paige thanked her and moved to a comfortable spot to read, the back corner where she’d seen Jake sit before. With the café as empty as it was this morning, she had her choice of places to sit. The one she chose was a small booth, as opposed to one of the wooden tables. For one person it was quite spacious. She placed her drink on the table and the tote bag on the bench beside her. Pulling out the blue book, she took a sip of her latte and thumbed through the pages, finding the section that had intrigued her at the library.
According to historical accounts, Walter W. Delacy set out with a group of prospectors, starting first in Montana and then working their way down through Jackson Hole. They followed the Snake River south, covering the valley and then passing through what was now known as Hoback Junction, searching along the portion of the river that ran through Snake River Canyon. Flanked by cottonwoods, they moved along the limestone terrain, eventually running into sandstone toward the end of the canyon. Doubling back, they searched the valley again, camping along the Gros Ventre River and then moving north to Cottonwood Creek and Pacific Creek. At Pilgrim Creek they set up a mine along the river, but gave up when their work went unrewarded.
Paige paused to look around the room while her mind circled this information. Were their efforts really unrewarded? History was not always accurate. Once again her instincts told her there was something beyond the basic account in this book.
She noticed Maddie had caught up with customers and was wiping down countertops. No one remained in the café except for Old Man Thompson, who, as always, remained hunched over his coffee. She watched him take a small sip before setting it down once again. Her gaze returned to Maddie and she decided to approach the counter. It couldn’t hurt to try to get a little more local information. That had been what Susan suggested and it was good advice. Not all answers could be found in printed material.
“Hey, Maddie,” Paige inquired. “You’ve lived here awhile, haven’t you?”
Maddie laughed and shook her head with amusement. “All my life, honey. And my mother before that. And her mother before that. Each statement was spoken with more emphasis than the one before.
“I had a feeling,” Paige replied. “So I’m wondering if you might know any local legends. You know, the kind that might not be in the history books, but have been passed down from generation to generation.” Paige waited while Maddie appeared to think this over.
“What kind of legends are you looking for?” Maddie questioned in return. “This is a small town. Small towns always have legends. Some are true and some are not, but they’re always floating around.”
“Well,” Paige began hopefully, “I’m particularly interested in the old stories of the prospectors who came through this area, what they might have found or not found during their explorations and mining attempts.” She waited for Maddie’s response, wat
ching her turn away to wipe down the back counter. When she turned back, she had an expression on her face that was a cross between blank and puzzled, as if she were thinking the question over carefully.
“I doubt I’m going to be able to help you on that one,” Maddie answered. “That’s one subject I don’t know too much about, other than what we learned in school. But I’m sure that matches whatever you’ve read. The way they came into the valley, searched around and didn’t find much of anything. I think the lucky ones were the ones who went on to California and other areas. The guys who stayed here kind of got short changed.”
Paige sighed and nodded her head. “That’s what I figured,” she said, thanking Maddie for the information. She noticed Maddie scrubbing the coffee machine vigorously, perhaps trying to remove splashes of espresso from the morning’s business, turning next to the task of stacking ceramic mugs on the back counter. Paige returned to her corner booth, gathered together her books, replaced them in the tote bag and, waving goodbye, stepped out of the café onto the sidewalk.
Pausing a few steps from the door to rummage through her purse for car keys, she heard the clanking sound of the cups stop and recognized Maddie's voice speak up. With no other customers in the café, her comments could only have been directed at Old Man Thompson.
“I don’t like this,” Maddie said quietly. “I’ve got a bad feeling about it.” Paige waited to hear a response from Old Man Thompson, but he remained silent. Finally she heard the thud of a fist hitting the counter.
“Don’t worry about it, Maddie,” a gruff voice responded. “She’s just passing through.” He spoke with an annoyed tone of confidence. “You worry just as much as your Aunt Ruby did and she drove everyone crazy. Besides, this girl's reading those history books and there’s nothing about this in there. She ain’t gonna find nothing here.”
Paige MacKenzie Mysteries Box Set Page 7