UP IN SMOKE
a Western Timeslip Short Story by A.E. Jackson
A lone wolf howled at the approaching night when Andrew noticed a strange log covered with a clear glistening film. The three hikers searched for firewood in the high alpine desert grove by Hellroaring Creek. The backcountry campsite was reserved for one night, the only time they had available for each other.
"I'm so happy to be back on the trail with you two," Heather called across the dense grove of lodgepole pines. Doug never ceased to be amazed at how quickly she hiked despite her short stature. While Doug and Andrew kept a steady pace, matching stride for stride, Heather managed to march along with them. They had formed a tight bond on the trail, and the friendship seems to have lasted after all these years.
"Yeah! I'm glad you reached out to me," Doug stretched his tall frame from hunched to arched, a bundle of kindling nestled under his long arms. "Who knew getting into drone videography would help us reconnect?" Doug had been gobbling up awards at film festivals from Telluride to New York. He had a bright future in the industry. The shoot in Yellowstone was a good excuse to get back together.
"Twenty years. Seems likes yesterday." Andrew dropped a bundle of small logs a few feet away from the fire ring. "That was one of the best Summers of my life. You guys helped make it memorable." Buzzz. Buzzz. His phone vibrated and tore through the moment like a falling tree. "Hold that thought. I'm sorry, I really have to take this." Tapping the screen, Andrew held up one hand to silence his friend's conversation. "This is Andrew," he shot at the caller as he stepped away.
Heather's face went slack, her shoulders slumped. Her pile of wood was added to Andrew's and she moved toward her backpack. Doug knelt to build their fire. Unzipping the old Kelty, Heather removed a tattered notebook with 'Yellowstone 1999' on the cover. "Take a look at this, Doug." She held up the collection of memories from their summer together working and hiking through the National Park. "This has everything in it! My first day in the dorms. Shakedown at the cafeteria. Our hikes to Wolf Lake, Joseph Coat Hot Springs, and around the Canyon." She flipped between journal entries, without having to pause, knowing each intimate detail written on the yellowing pages. "Oh! Here it is! Hellroaring Creek! Remember how we always went for rootbeer floats at the Hamilton Stores after our hikes?"
"I'm glad you came on this trip, Heather." Doug glanced over his shoulder at Andrew, while his experienced hand grew the kindling teepee with another twig. "Andrew is too." He paused, and looked Heather in the eye. "He needs this trip more than either of us. But I doubt he knows it. Please, give him some slack, okay?"
"Yeah, sure. I get it. He's busy. We are all busy, Doug. If he is so important at work, and can't get away, then why agree to come? He knew this trip was special. He knew we were leaving cell phones in the rental." She pushed the notebook down into her backpack with all of her frustration. "I'm fine. Just a little tired from that hike. It has been twenty years after all."
Andrew pocketed his phone, and approached the campsite, "Sorry guys. That was the station. Something was wrong with the logs, and the new overnight host couldn't remember how to load a spot. I walked him through the steps one more time. We're all good now!" He knelt beside his friends and added a few larger sticks to the fire. "Won't happen again. I swear."
Heather rolled her eyes. Doug looked down into the dancing flames. This was the fifth call Andrew answered in the four hour hike to the site. Everyone agreed to leave their phones behind. Doug even dropped his Garmin eTrex in favor of a Tower-Roosevelt area topographic map bought at the ranger station. However, each time the phone rang, Andrew had an excuse for why he had to answer and apologized after the call was completed.
"I just don't want you to miss out on this experience, Andrew," Doug spoke toward the fire while adding a large chunk of wood. Sparks jumped into the air and a small cloud of smoke rose from the singed bark. "You were so excited to get out here. But now it seems you would rather be back home. Please, just turn off your phone for the rest of the trip. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for Heather and I. We've not seen each other for twenty years, man. What's one night away from your responsibilities at work?"
"You're right." Andrew looked down at his phone, and pocketed it without hesitation. Work would always be there. Time spent with these dear friends was fleeting. Andrew bent at the waist and swept a log from the stack. Dusk danced across the clear glistening film which coated the surface of the old growth detritus.
As flames licked the membrane which encased the fire's fuel, several thick jets of smoke poured out of the log. The billowing cloud climbed into the clearing around the fire ring and filled the campsite. Little time or alert were given to the stunned hikers who began to choke and cough on the thick smog. Doug and Andrew stood to turn away from the source, and bumped into Heather who was fleeing across the area for clearer air.
"This way, I think," Heather mumbled through the hankerchief held over her mouth and nose. "The trail should be on this side of camp."
Andrew grabbed Doug's arm and led him, gasping for air, to the thinning edge of the darkening mist. He'd never seen so much smoke pour out of a single fire in his life. As the two friends felt the well trod path through the soles of their hiking boots, they could make out Heather's shape on the far side of the trail.
The sound of thunder rolled toward them from the north. But did not cease. No lightning forshadowed the rumble which had started shaking the ground. Before Andrew could make sense of what he heard, a dark figure approached and knocked him off his feet. He glanced up to watch several horses and riders pass like a freight train along the narrow gauge hiking trail.
Through the thinning smoke, Andrew saw spurs on boots. He caught a glimpse of worn leather stirrups hung from thick leather saddles. The riders, he noticed, were leaned far forward on the horses as they bolted past. The lead horses were followed by several unbridled horses. They were being driven through the dense forest with shouts and whip cracks made by several more men on horseback.
The speed and force of their passing tore at the smoke cloud. As the vapors cleared, Andrew was helped to his feet by Doug. Heather looked at them both in confusion and shock. "Whoa! That was close," she half laughed with fright and adrenaline. "A moment earlier and we would have been trampled by that stampede."
"Did you notice how they were dressed? For Old West re-enactors, those outfits were close to perfect. Where do you suppose they were racing off to in such a hurry?" Dusting himself off, Andrew walked back to the campfire. The glow of dusk filled the space left by the fleeing smoke. Doug handed him a small pack filled with food. They would hang the bag out of any curious bear's reach after they ate dinner.
Andrew removed a summer sausage, a block of cheddar cheese, and some flatbread from the bag. No sooner had he started to slice the meat than a pair of riders hammered down the trail and stopped at their camp. They looked like men on a mission, and both sported small silver stars on their long dusters.
"Did a band of riders pass this way? They would be driving horses. All stolen," the man's bushy mustache danced like a black speckled grey caterpillar below his nose.
"Patience Clem," the other man was more refined, slow to speak, and deliberate in his tone. "If they seen somethin', they'll tell us I reckon." His horse took a tentative step back, the man tightened her reigns, and she stepped forward into position by the campsite.
"Yes, Sheriff," Clem yielded.
Doug stood up, placed his hands on the small of his back just above his waist. His bent arms stuck out like wings. The pose reminded Andrew of Forrest Gump, and he had to stifle a small laugh. "We were nearly stomped on by those riders. Why are you all re-enacting a horse chase way out here along Hellroaring Creek? This seems pretty far in the backcountry to play make believe."
The Sheriff squinted, furrowed his brow, and blinked both eyes to clear trail dust accumulated from hard riding. "Wren what, son?"
"Re-enacting. You are playing out a scene from history. I think that's all my friend Doug meant. Right, Doug?" Heather asked with hesitation.
"Ain't play actin' a'tall little lady," Clem chirped. "Them's that passed by you. That you says nearly drove you under. Them's there the Cooke City Crew. Been rounding up fine breeds, and nearly any what can run hard I 'spect, to be sold between Cooke and Bozeman. Not many men can set chase after 'em. But a good lot got up a mind to hire Sheriff and me to put a stop to it." Listening to the Deputy, Andrew slid his left hand into his hiking pants. His fingers wrapped around the phone resting there.
"Enough." The Sheriff straightened his back and looked down on the three hikers. He surveyed each one in turn, from head to toe. He glanced at Clem, then back toward Doug. "You aren't from these parts. At least, your clothing is none I've seen around here before."
Drawing his phone from his pocket, Andrew turned away from the conversation and hid what he held from view. The screen was black. He tapped the home button to wake the device. The glowing display flickered a bit, then stabilized. The numbers on the date and time however, kept dancing. Not one of the four digits on the clock could decide what time it was. The days flew by like an animation flip book made of discarded calendar pages.
"Do you mean Bart Daniel's Riot Riders? They used to work this section of Yellowstone, when it was still unclaimed territory. But that was probably more than a hundred and thirty years ago. I don't recall them ever making headlines in Bozeman, but certainly between Cooke City and Gardiner. They were," Doug lifted a hand and motioned toward the southwest, and was interrupted.
The hammer of the revolver hanging in the holster on the Sheriff's hip clicked. "And how is it that you know Bart Daniels?" The Sheriff's eyes narrowed into slits focused with intention.
Andrew spun around, held his phone in the air and shouted "My phone is dead! It has plenty of battery life. But, well, it is acting so strange I think that they broke it. When I fell by the trail as those horses passed us. I was going to call for some help but, I can't get a signal." When he finally focused on what was happening around him, Andrew was dumbfounded. The Sheriff held a six shooter at arms length pointed directly at the phone held high in the air. The Deputy, Clem he thought the man's name was, held his head at the familiar tilt of a wondering dog.
"I've had about enough of this nonsense," the Sheriff hollered. "Did Bart and his gang drop you off here to throw us off their tracks? Or are you just plain fools fixin' to git yourselves jailed?"
"Fools," all three friends answered in unison.
Doug spoke first, hands raised to show he was harmless. "We don't have any part in what those men are doing. In fact, we were stunned by their sudden arrival at our camp. But," he paused and reached for the topo map in his pocket. "I do think we can help."
Doug recalled what he read on the history of this area before Yellowstone National Park was formed. Reciting facts relevant to the time period, Doug drew the Sheriff off his horse. He flattened the large map on the ground between them, and pointed to several points of interest. Doug's finger moved from open plains, to narrow canyons, in rapid succession. Based on his memory, the Bart Daniel's Riot Riders had hidden in small caves sprinkled around this area before being captured and tried as horse thieves.
"I've heard enough. I don't know how you came across this knowledge, but it is more information than we've had to work with since setting out on this bandit's trail," the Sheriff jerked a thumb toward Clem. "Come with us. Your map would help, and you know how to read it well. Having each of you there would help even the odds a bit too. Even if no shots are fired."
Andrew, Heather, and Doug looked at each other, each in turn. In their silence, the old friends spoke with their eyes. Although they were nervous, their shared resolve to bring the thieves to justice was evident.
"It's settled then," stated the Sheriff, as he stepped into the stirrup and threw a leg over his saddle.
###
Several hours later, and with little idea how the undertaking was even accomplished, Andrew rode tall in the saddle of a stolen horse. Tied to the end of a long lead rope were a pair of horse thieves. Heather led her own pair of outlaws, while Doug assisted the Sheriff and Clem with driving the herd of horses.
Crossing a rutted stage coach path, the Sheriff cut away from the group. He came to a stop at the front of the pack. Holding a hand high in the air, he gained everyone's attention, waved and pointed to the south. Far off in the distance Andrew could see a rising thread of dark black smoke, and the squared line of a roof against the rugged terrain. As they approached, he saw Uncle John Yancey's Pleasant Valley Hotel standing, like new, against the sagebrush and blue sky.
On the porch sat a large man smoking a thick cigar. His clean black jacket and crisp white shirt looked out of place on this wild frontier. Several working hands came out from the hotel's barn and led the recovered horses to a fenced pasture. Clem jerked the rope connecting Bart to his band of misfits, and led them into the hotel. A single room would act as their holding cell until better arrangements could be rendered.
"I thank you each with my sincerest appreciation," the heavy man laughed. "Who would expect a few trappers could lead Livingston's best Sheriff to victory." His smile was broad and infectious.
"Alright Chester, I suppose I deserve that," the Sheriff scuffed at the dust by the stairs leading up to the broad porch. Thanks to these three, I can finally come off the trail after four long months riding after Bart and his gang."
"President Arthur. Don't forget yourself, Sheriff." The big man looked down at the road weary law man, but his eyes smiled. "Join me, my three new deputies. Pull up a rocker. Yancey loves when others enjoy his hospitality." President Chester Arthur motioned with a broad sweep of his arm, then replaced the smoldering cigar in his mouth.
Andrew sat closest to the man who assumed office following the assassination of his predecessor. Heather and Doug flanked the twenty first president's other side. Reaching below the small table which sat between he and Doug, President Arthur revealed a small box. He opened it and invited the hikers turned heros to enjoy a fine cigar themselves. Each of them took one in turn. Chester, as the Sheriff had called him, took a fresh stogey for himself.
"I find it important to the balance of life to make time for rest, relaxation, and refined forms of entertainment. Take for example the late President Garfield, God rest his soul. The man worked day and night to better the lives of his fellow citizens. Keeping pace with the man on the campaign trail was exhausting. Working beside him each day was near killed me." He exploded in laughter. Then sombre reflection washed over his face. "I miss my friend. He was ripped from this life far too soon. The worst part of the whole matter was that it was out of his control. Far beyond any influence, plan, or effort over which he could exert his powerful will. Such will power he had too. But taken far too soon. He never found time to pause, and be grateful for all the blessings surrounding him." President Arthur stopped speaking, and looked right into Andrew's eyes.
"Rest and relaxation are important too. Wouldn't you agree, Andrew?" As President Arthur lit the thick cigar, Andrew drew deeply and the tip flared with red embers. Smoke, at first just thin rivulets, began to pour from the end of the panatela. The smoke cloud continued to swell. It soon filled the porch, and spilled down the steps like a thick rolling fog. Doug, and Heather choked and coughed as they stood to flee the space. Andrew felt around for the President, but failed to put his hand on the man's massive figure. His breath grew thin, and he had to escape as well.
Stepping down to the landing and out of the dark haze, Andrew stumbled forward, eyes closed until he was caught by Doug. Rubbing the blinding smoke from his eyes, Andrew squinted against bright midday sunlight. When he focused on Heather and Doug's faces he could tell they were shocked by what they saw. Andrew turned around to see the Roosevelt Lodge before them. Several tourists pushed past the hikers and moved toward their bus like lemmings late for a pool party.
Andrew fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone. The black screen popped to life when he depressed the home button. The crisp digital display showed the date and time. Each number's bold declaration set the friends in a fixed moment without question.
"The phone isn't glitching and I've got a signal. We're back!" Andrew erupted with excitement, and looked at his friends. For a long moment he paused, and felt grateful for their friendship and the special trip together, in silence.
Andrew depressed a button until the phone powered down. He threw an arm over each of his friend's shoulders and said "Let's grab a rootbeer float. My treat!"
T H E E N D
© 2018, A.E. Jackson. All rights reserved
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