Read Online Yellowstone Memories by Jennifer Rogers Spinola - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Rogers Spinola
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gifts and strengths,”
Jewel had said at his Uncle Hiram’s kitchen table
.
And something deep inside him wanted desperately to believe that, too.
The courthouse in Cody—that’s where he needed to go. He’d make up some excuse for Uncle Hiram and leave first thing in the morning. His motives were twofold: First, to request a map of the area from five years ago, when Crazy Pierre would have written the letter. And second, to ask a few questions about a certain Collette Moreau, otherwise known as Jewel.
“Mornin’, Clovis. Got any news for me today?” Wyatt tipped his dusty hat and leaned against the counter. A stripe of sunlight glanced off the polished wooden desk, making his sleepy eyes wince. His room at the boardinghouse in Cody had been cold and dirty, and metal bed slats poked him in the spine all night long.
“Well, well, well. Look what the wildcat drug in.” Clovis peered at Wyatt through tiny wire spectacles, which reflected the dirty window glass and city street lined with hitching posts, empty with late fall. He grinned and leaned over to shake hands. “Wyatt Kelly. Ain’t seen you in a while. How’s that ranch? And that uncle of yours?”
“Oh, fine. He’s thinking about investing in sheep these days.”
“Sheep, huh? They’re a lotta work, you know. Well, I don’t have any news for ya, unless you count the drunkard who got thrown in jail yesterday for walkin’ the railroad track.” He chuckled together with Wyatt. “What brings you to town?”
“Nothing much.” Wyatt rubbed his fingers together to warm them from the cold. “But listen, I need a favor.” He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice, leaning both elbows on the counter. “I need some maps of the land around, say, East Fork River or thereabouts—on the other side of the Shoshone reservation. Older maps.” He scratched his shoulder and stretched. “How far back do you go?”
“Old maps? Why, you ain’t prospectin’, are ya? Or fightin’ with somebody over boundary lines?”
“Don’t be silly.” Wyatt straightened his hat and tried to produce a posture of ease, slouching against the counter. “I’m just looking for a couple of places is all.”
“Well, now, let me take a look. I’ll be just a minute.” Clovis adjusted his glasses and disappeared into a storage room, rummaging and pulling out boxes, and finally returned with his arms full of stuff.
“Looky here.” He dropped some dusty papers on the counter. “See if this is what you want.” He smoothed a paper with wrinkled hands. “Here’s a copy of the map drawn by the Hayden Geological Survey came through the area back in 1871. All the rivers and geological features and such, and some sketches, too, if you’d like to see them.”
1871. Back when Crazy Pierre was still digging holes like a mole. Wyatt straightened his glasses to see better.
“And here’s a later map of the Yellowstone River area back in ‘81. East of here a bit. Why, close to your uncle’s ranch, probably.” Clovis carefully handed him a print. “Lotta details and such. The railroad lines and some businesses. Even some private property.”
“Let me take a look at that.” Wyatt pulled the paper closer.
He made space at the counter for an elderly man in a suit and studied the map, his eyes running over the lines and contours. Following the names with his finger. He read the tiny type from top to bottom and back up again—pausing only at a little place about ten miles from Pierre’s cabin, up in the mountains. About twenty miles from Yellowstone, up against a mountain ridge.
“Clovis,” Wyatt pointed to a square on the map as Clovis shuffled under the counter, “what’s this place here?”
“That?” He squinted then took his glasses off and stuck his face closer. “Why, that’s old Crescent Ranch.”
Wyatt sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his pulse pick up. “I remember that place. They had an inn, didn’t they? A boardinghouse or
Jewel had said at his Uncle Hiram’s kitchen table
.
And something deep inside him wanted desperately to believe that, too.
The courthouse in Cody—that’s where he needed to go. He’d make up some excuse for Uncle Hiram and leave first thing in the morning. His motives were twofold: First, to request a map of the area from five years ago, when Crazy Pierre would have written the letter. And second, to ask a few questions about a certain Collette Moreau, otherwise known as Jewel.
“Mornin’, Clovis. Got any news for me today?” Wyatt tipped his dusty hat and leaned against the counter. A stripe of sunlight glanced off the polished wooden desk, making his sleepy eyes wince. His room at the boardinghouse in Cody had been cold and dirty, and metal bed slats poked him in the spine all night long.
“Well, well, well. Look what the wildcat drug in.” Clovis peered at Wyatt through tiny wire spectacles, which reflected the dirty window glass and city street lined with hitching posts, empty with late fall. He grinned and leaned over to shake hands. “Wyatt Kelly. Ain’t seen you in a while. How’s that ranch? And that uncle of yours?”
“Oh, fine. He’s thinking about investing in sheep these days.”
“Sheep, huh? They’re a lotta work, you know. Well, I don’t have any news for ya, unless you count the drunkard who got thrown in jail yesterday for walkin’ the railroad track.” He chuckled together with Wyatt. “What brings you to town?”
“Nothing much.” Wyatt rubbed his fingers together to warm them from the cold. “But listen, I need a favor.” He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice, leaning both elbows on the counter. “I need some maps of the land around, say, East Fork River or thereabouts—on the other side of the Shoshone reservation. Older maps.” He scratched his shoulder and stretched. “How far back do you go?”
“Old maps? Why, you ain’t prospectin’, are ya? Or fightin’ with somebody over boundary lines?”
“Don’t be silly.” Wyatt straightened his hat and tried to produce a posture of ease, slouching against the counter. “I’m just looking for a couple of places is all.”
“Well, now, let me take a look. I’ll be just a minute.” Clovis adjusted his glasses and disappeared into a storage room, rummaging and pulling out boxes, and finally returned with his arms full of stuff.
“Looky here.” He dropped some dusty papers on the counter. “See if this is what you want.” He smoothed a paper with wrinkled hands. “Here’s a copy of the map drawn by the Hayden Geological Survey came through the area back in 1871. All the rivers and geological features and such, and some sketches, too, if you’d like to see them.”
1871. Back when Crazy Pierre was still digging holes like a mole. Wyatt straightened his glasses to see better.
“And here’s a later map of the Yellowstone River area back in ‘81. East of here a bit. Why, close to your uncle’s ranch, probably.” Clovis carefully handed him a print. “Lotta details and such. The railroad lines and some businesses. Even some private property.”
“Let me take a look at that.” Wyatt pulled the paper closer.
He made space at the counter for an elderly man in a suit and studied the map, his eyes running over the lines and contours. Following the names with his finger. He read the tiny type from top to bottom and back up again—pausing only at a little place about ten miles from Pierre’s cabin, up in the mountains. About twenty miles from Yellowstone, up against a mountain ridge.
“Clovis,” Wyatt pointed to a square on the map as Clovis shuffled under the counter, “what’s this place here?”
“That?” He squinted then took his glasses off and stuck his face closer. “Why, that’s old Crescent Ranch.”
Wyatt sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his pulse pick up. “I remember that place. They had an inn, didn’t they? A boardinghouse or
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