But every now and then, I come out a fool, and I know it. Of course you’re right. Friends talk about their loved ones. I wouldn’t have it any other way either. I hope that’s enough said on the matter.
I’ve thought a lot about those diaries. As I told you, I liked to read them when I was a boy for the sheer excitement of it. Years later, after the wife and I went our separate ways and I found myself fumbling around in life, I took them up again. I don’t know exactly what I was looking for, except maybe I liked the idea that we don’t have it all figured out and buttoned up just yet, that maybe there’s something out there that can still rattle us. I always wished I’d been around when there was still new country to be seen, or that I’d had the gumption to seek out an adventure of one kind or another when I was young enough to do it.
Your last letter got me to thinking, though, about what these documents mean to you?—?they must be bittersweet. You’re living the long repercussions of the Colonel and his men. I suppose you’ve got to feel some loss and mourning over that.
Nothing is as simple as we’d like to make it out.
I do like the idea of that dryas flower, though, blooming along the river.
Your friend,
Walt
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
June 22, 1885
An unexpected respite: the dog found a narrow break in the mountainside today, with tall rock faces on either side. In this shaded ravine were hard drifts of snow & ice. Boyo took to rolling in it to cool himself. The rest of us broke off chunks to put to our sunburned foreheads & cracked lips. Tillman tied a piece of it to the top of his head with his neckerchief to keep himself cool, though I cannot think it will last long in this heat.
Pruitt has made an interesting discovery.
As we near the pass through the Wolverine Mountains, a distant saddle between two slopes, we travel in high country along alpine heather with tiny blooms, lichen-covered rocks. No trees or bushes impede us, so the walking is easy.
This afternoon we came to a group of huge boulders. It appears the rocks, some larger than a horse carriage, had many years ago toppled from the nearby cliffs.
Upon reaching them, Tillman & Nat’aaggi climbed atop one with some difficulty for a better view. Pruitt walked between the boulders, inspecting their surface. It was then that he noticed the Indian petroglyphs.
The images are crudely etched into the stone & weathered, but as we identified more of them along the rocks, I had a growing sense of familiarity. Many are simple, geometrical designs. Spirals, patterns of dots. But then, an indication of a mountain. A tebay. A star. A bird.
It occurred to me?—?these are the same pictures the Midnoosky children made with their strings on the Trail River. To see them again here, miles into the mountains, I cannot explain it, but it strikes me as an uncanny echo.
If these people consider the mountains ahead of us a place where the dead roam, then what do these symbols mean? Are they a caution of some sort, or simply a signpost?
June 23
Whatever the source, human or beast, it seems we have suffered at their tricks.
They made their presence known while we dozed in the shade of the boulders. We had removed our packs, used them as rests. I was soundly asleep when Tillman woke me.
?—?You hear that, Colonel? Some kind of whistle pig or something, he said.
Though my ears are not as keen, I caught the sounds then. From above us on the rocky mountainside?—?chirps, whistles, then came low chuffs & growls.
Tillman suggested we could eat the animals, though we did not even know its type yet.
At the urging of our empty bellies, we grabbed rifles, Nat’aaggi her bow & arrows. None gave thought to the packs we left behind. We scattered across the hillside in pursuit of the sounds. Boyo leapt from rock to rock, barking excitedly.
The chase went on for too long, our judgment impaired by the promise of fresh meat.
Pruitt at last called out, asking if there were any sign.
?—?Not hide nor tail, Tillman answered.
I did not trust my ears at first. The chirps & huffs along the mountainside had taken on the cadence of human speech. There were words then, unintelligible but words all the same, & more unnerving, laughter & shouts.
Nat’aaggi began to run back towards the boulders. We followed.
Pruitt noticed my pack was gone. Because of his weakness & Tillman’s injuries, I had carried the most provisions, including a good supply of dried fish & tallow from the Kulgadzi Lake Indians.
With Pruitt & Nat’aaggi at guard with the remaining supplies, Tillman & I followed what appeared to be drag marks across moss & heather. After a half mile or so, we came to my pack.
Its contents were strewn about on the tundra. All the food was gone, as was my tin cup. The loss of provisions is a serious concern, but I feel the loss of the cup, too. It has been with me through many battles, countless marches.