country. Coming down from the pass, they saw travertine terraces, geysers, mud volcanoes, giant hot springs, and the Upper and Lower Falls in what Cody called the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone Park.
At midday Falcon shot a goose. Ingraham started gathering wood and Cody called out to him.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m gathering wood for a fire so we can cook the goose,” Ingraham replied.
“No need for that.”
“What are you planning for us to do? Eat the goose raw?”
“No need for that either,” Cody said. “Let me show you.”
After cleaning the goose, Cody tied a long piece of rawhide around the goose’s feet, then lowered it into one of the boiling cauldrons of the natural hot springs.
“Because of the pressure, the water is much hotter than normal boiling temperature,” Cody said. “So the goose will cook much faster.”
In less than ten minutes, Cody pulled the goose from the hot water, then lay it on a fallen tree trunk. Cutting it open showed that the goose was thoroughly cooked, through and through.
“I wonder if the Indians used to cook their food this way?” Ingraham said and he pulled some meat away from the breast and ate it.
“No,” Falcon said. “Because of all the hot springs, geysers, mud pots, and sink holes, the Indians considered this area to be filled with bad medicine.”
“You have to be careful where you walk here,” Cody added. “There are places where the ground looks quite secure, but if you step on it you will find that it is only a very thin crust, and you can fall through to a boiling cauldron like this one.”
“Thanks a lot,” Ingraham said. “Now you’ll have me scared to death to take a step.”
“Do like me,” Falcon said. “Walk behind Cody. If he falls in, we’ll know not to step there.”
Ingraham laughed. “Good plan,” he said.
“I’ll say this,” Ingraham said. “The wonders of this park will never cease to amaze me.”
“Here is another amazing wonder,” Cody said. “Once, many years ago, before this became a park, I came here to hunt bighorn sheep. I saw one, took a perfect aim at him and fired, but missed. Not only did I miss, the bighorn sheep paid no attention to me.
“I moved closer and fired again, missed again, though I don’t know how that could possibly have been so. And what was even more amazing is the fact that the bighorn paid no attention whatever, not even reacting to the sound of the gunshot. I rushed toward the sheep to see what was wrong and I ran smack dab into a solid glass wall.”
“A glass wall?” Ingraham said.
“Yes, sir, well, it wasn’t exactly a glass wall. It was more like a glass mountain. Because, believe it or not, that glass mountain was acting just like a telescope. As it turns out, even though that bighorn sheep looked like he was no more than a hundred yards away, he was actually ten miles off.”
Falcon and Ingraham laughed out loud.
“Of course, that mountain isn’t here anymore. No sir, the government found out about it and they sent folks in here to chop it down and make it into field glasses and telescopes for the army and navy,” Cody added.
“Cody, you have missed your calling,” Ingraham said. “With a tall tale like that, you are the one who should be writing.”
After dinner they continued their sojourn through the park, riding by sheer-sided cliffs that rose a thousand or more feet straight up and enjoying the colors, from canary, to orange, to bronze. During their ride through the park they saw buffalo, elk, deer, and grizzly. One grizzly bear made a few feints toward them and all three men drew their rifles, but the bear, with a few grunts and a toss of his head, turned and ambled away from them.
Within the boundaries of the Yellowstone Park rise the headwaters of the greatest river system in the United States. The Gallatin, Madison, Gardiner, Jefferson and Yellowstone join the Missouri River, which joins the Mississippi to empty into the Gulf of Mexico. The Snake has its head here as well, and it flows to the Pacific, while the headwaters of the Colorado lead to the Gulf of California.
It took them all day to see the sights, and they camped outside one more night, reaching the Mammoth Spring Hotel mid-morning of the next day. This was a large building, over 300 feet long, with a broad porch that ran the entire length of the hotel. There were a number of people lounging on the porch, including several tourists from Europe, a couple of army officers in uniform, and a very pretty black-haired, dark-eyed girl who was selling photographs of the park. From the porch there was a particularly fine view of mountains covered with pines, with their tips above the tree line, covered year-round with snow.
The most noticeable feature was a mountain, no more than one hundred yards away from the hotel. At first glance it looked like ice, but was actually a sedimentary formation from the hot springs which formed a succession of steps, terraces and plateaus of irregular height and width. From various terraces emerged trickles of hot water which then passed down over the plateaus in thin, pulsing waves.
When the three men went into the hotel they were greeted by Rufus Hatch, the owner of the hotel.
“Buffalo Bill Cody,” he said. “What a pleasure to see you. How goes your town? Have you built it yet?”
“I am still working on it,” Cody replied. He turned to Falcon. “You know that the only reason he is interested in my town is because he thinks it will mean more business for his hotel.”
“But of course it will,” Hatch said. “Did you come down from Cinnabar?”
“No, we came from DeMaris Springs.”
“DeMaris Springs? Are you trying to tell me you came from the east?” Hatch asked.
