And do you know who gathered the medical information?—?the photocopies in the manila envelope? Some of them have to do with field medicine, others with obstetrics.
The more important question I have to ask, though, is about the official reports. I was able to track them down through the consortium library in Anchorage. I’m reading them at the same time as I read the private journals, comparing them as I go, and it’s just as you said?—?the reports don’t reflect his journals. Why do you think he left out so much? In the report he sent back to Vancouver Barracks, the only mention of the man named Boyd is of his cabin, and the Colonel states that they slept there for several days. There’s nothing about the man’s wife or the fog or the caribou. Never once does he mention the "Old Man" in his reports. Since you are so familiar with these papers, I’m curious to know what you think.
Oh, and I’ve enclosed a picture for you. That’s the Wolverine River, looking down toward the canyon that the Colonel is traveling through. Is? I guess I should say “was.” You can see where my mind is?—?April 1885.
Best wishes,
Josh
Part Two
Victorian Silver Hair Comb.
Circa 1880.
Unmarked silver with decorative hand-chasing, fern fronds. Heavily tarnished, missing two teeth. Measures 4 inches long, 3 inches wide.
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
April 20, 1885
Once, as I traveled through desert country years ago, I spurred my horse up a scree slide. The rocks crumbled & fell away behind us as we climbed & I heard the clatter far below. I could not stop to rethink my approach. If I pulled back on the reins, the horse could lose its footing & tumble us backwards. It was a fall neither man nor beast would likely survive. I did not know what I would find at the top of that gorge, if it would be terrain that I could negotiate, but I was certain of this?—?there would be no going back the way I had come. I was fixed to my path, lock, stock, & barrel.
I don’t care to be in that position. Much less when I lead others. Yet it is where I find myself now.
We are passing through a most remarkable, treacherous landscape. It is only through luck & will that our losses are not greater so far. Yet whatever lies ahead of us, we are now wholly committed. Our only way home is north, farther into the mountains.
It was late morning when we left our cliffside camp two days ago & bade farewell to the one I called Skilly, with the knowledge that our reports & letters had been jeopardized. However, as we set out, the coastal sleet was gone for sun & bright sky. That change in weather alone would have lightened our spirits. Then, too, the Wolverine River at last gave us easy travel. The ice was smooth, snow no deeper than our boots, just enough to give us foothold but not to slow us. Our sleds for the first time worked as intended & glided as if weightless. Tillman dashed ahead, whooped at his own speed. Soon we were all sprinting up the river with the sun on our heads. Even Pruitt gave up his sulk. The dog took to running circles around us, barking sharply, as if to say, ‘Now you’ve finally got it!’
Then, without warning, Pruitt seemed to fall to his knees. As I neared, I saw that in fact he had broken through the ice & had come to a stop only a few feet down. By his expression, he was as stunned as the rest of us. His boots sloshed in in a few inches of water.
?—?But shouldn’t he be drowning? Tillman asked. —?Thought it was nigh on 20 feet deep.
Samuelson said he had not fallen clean through, but rather the real ice was still below him.
It was the overflow Samuelson had warned about, when water flows on top of existing ice, freezes, & forms a new, thinner layer of false ice. If the water level drops, a pocket of empty space is left. This overflow ice accounted for our easy travel, but also proved to be thin & unreliable.
?—?Heart in your throat, eh Pruitt?
Tillman laughed as he helped Pruitt climb from his hole.
From then on, we were wary. We found, however, that if we did not dawdle, the ice held us. It became a kind of race. We ran all the faster. The Indian woman held her own despite the substantial load on her back, & she even outraced Tillman for a short distance. For the first time since she joined us, I saw her smile.
Our exuberant travel came to a halt, though, when we entered the mouth of the canyon. A shadowy cold descended on us & our voices turned eerie against the slate walls.
Gone, too, with the sunshine & cheer was the effortless travel. The canyon binds the Wolverine so that when, over the course of the winter, the ice moves, it is crumpled violently. Great blocks three feet thick & as much as 20 feet high had been torn asunder & turned sideways. It seemed an impassable range of buckles & ridges & upended slabs of ice pressed up against the canyon walls, which are vertical rock the color of lead. They would not allow for any climbing or even a foothold perch if the river ice were to give way.