along.”
“
Al returned with three saddled horses.
“Ah, thank you, Al,” Cody said, giving him a generous tip. He turned to Falcon and Ingraham. “Gentlemen, all three are excellent riding horses, with strength and endurance. You may choose your mount.”
Half an hour later the three men were at the exact site where Cody planned to build his town.
“One problem in this area is the lack of potable water, which is why I am building on the river,” Cody said. “This is the Stinking Water River.” Dismounting, he walked down to the river. “But as you can see,” he said, as he dipped his canteen cup into it, then took a drink. “The water is as sweet as a good wine.”
He held the cup out toward Falcon and Falcon took a drink as well. “It is good water,” Falcon agreed.
“Why do they call it Stinking Water River?” Ingraham asked.
“It has nothing to do with the water at all. There are several fumaroles about,” Cody said, “and they give off an odor, rather like rotten eggs. Once we get my town established, I intend to get the name changed to the Shoshone River.”
“I must confess that the scenery here is beautiful,” Ingraham said. “But this a very remote and isolated location. It will be very hard for people to get here.”
“There is already a railroad to Cinnabar just on the other side of Yellowstone Park,” Cody said. “And the Burlington railroad is planning to build a railroad from Billings to Denver. I am trying to convince them to bring the track through Cody.”
“Knowing your power of persuasion, Cody, I would bet that you get the job done,” Falcon offered.
“And that will completely destroy the town of DeMaris Springs,” Ingraham said.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Cody said.
Ingraham laughed. “Unfortunately my foot. That is your intention.”
“I must confess that it is unlikely this area could support two towns in such close proximity,” Cody replied. “So if one town is to succeed, I would hope it would be my town.”
“Nobody can fault you on that,” Ingraham said.
“Cody, did you say we are going through Yellowstone before we get to Cinnabar?” Falcon asked.
“Yes.”
“But there is no east entrance to Yellowstone. The mountains are too high.”
“There is a pass,” Cody said. “It is called Sylvan Pass. I am proposing that they make an entrance using that pass. That would add to the attraction of my town when I get it built.”
“Sylvan Pass. I don’t think I have heard of it.”
“It’s very high,” Cody said. “But I am convinced that, with a series of switchbacks, a road could be constructed that would take visitors from my town into the park. And I intend to prove it.”
“By taking us through it,” Falcon said.
“Yes. Are you game?”
“I’m not the one you need to ask,” Falcon said. “The question is, are the horses up to it?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Cody replied.
From Cody’s town site, they had a day’s ride through Big Horn Basin to the Yellowstone Park. Their ride took them close to, but not through, the Crow Indian village.
“I have known High Hawk for a long time,” Cody said. “We are friends of long standing, and I cannot believe we are in any danger. Nevertheless, it would probably be wise to keep an eye open.”
The three men were alert for the entire ride, but they did not see one other person, Indian or white. They camped that night, just east of the park.
The next morning they entered Yellowstone by way of Sylvan Pass. Without a road, they had to follow the natural terrain of the mountain, finding enough ground for their horses to get footing as they made a series of switchbacks to enable them to gain altitude. The climb was long and arduous, and soon they were so high that they were actually looking down on the snow-capped peaks of adjacent mountains. In fact, though it was the middle of June, there were several areas where they actually passed through snow that came up to the horses’ knees.
Several times they had to dismount and lead the horses until, at last, they were at the top of the pass. There they stopped to give themselves and their horses a chance to catch their breath. That was made even harder due to the thinner air at this elevation.
“How high are we?” Ingraham asked, panting heavily as they stood at the top of the pass, as he looked around at the vista their position afforded.
“I’m not sure exactly how high we are,” Cody said. “But if this were nighttime and we were hungry, why we could just reach up and get a piece of cheese from the moon.”
Falcon and Ingraham laughed.
“Actually, the pass is somewhere between eight and nine thousand feet high,” Cody said.
Yellowstone had been established as a national park in 1872. Both Falcon and Cody had been to Yellowstone prior to its establishment as a park, and Cody had been many times since it became a national park. But Ingraham had never been, and he took in the park with the awe of someone who was transfixed by the wonders that he beheld.
Falcon and Cody pointed out Yellowstone Lake, which Cody declared was the most beautiful lake in the entire
