That was enough to fill a sizeable portion of the hours he’d offered, and she hadn’t even completed her list. Best to prioritize. Who knew how long he would be here or when he would decide he’d had enough of the work? The Army’s control of the park was only temporary, until the Department of the Interior and Congress decided on the next superintendent. She should take advantage of Lieutenant Prescott’s goodwill while she had it.
“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” Kate said, “when you return for your map.”
A map, she said. Will shook his head as he descended the veranda steps. Could any map possibly do justice to this wild place? The ones in the guidebook he’d been given were woefully inadequate. He could only hope Mrs. Tremaine’s would be better.
Bess nickered a welcome as he slipped his hat onto his head and came to untie her. Some of the high-ranking officers had horses with commanding names like Admiral and Emperor. He wouldn’t have traded his Bess for them. She was too reliable, too patient. She waited now as he swung up into the saddle. Then he set her at a trot toward the circuit road beyond the hotel.
When his commanding officer, Captain Harris, had assigned him to this portion of the park, he’d suggested finding a campsite closer to the Fire Hole Hotel. Now that Will had seen the Geyser Gateway, he could understand why. Mrs. Tremaine’s establishment was compact and tidy, and it likely appealed to the more genteel travelers. He didn’t foresee much trouble there.
The two-story Fire Hole Hotel and its flanking cottages, on the other hand, were part of a sprawling complex with a blacksmith shop and multiple stables and corrals. Between the stagecoaches coming and going and the camping companies and their parties moving through, the place had plenty of people who might cause trouble.
He could only hope his men wouldn’t be part of the problem.
The five privates assigned to him had the four tents set up at the edge of a meadow just south of the complex and hidden from it by a stand of pine. Captain Harris had divided his fifty men into seven roughly even groups, keeping one for himself at Mammoth Hot Springs, where Troop M of the First Cavalry was headquartered in the park. He’d sent the others out with a noncommissioned officer to patrol the most popular areas.
Will was the only commissioned officer who had been given the rough duty. He was the most junior officer after all, not counting his previous rank and years of service. Still, being out in the field gave him more opportunities to advance after his previous lapse in judgment.
At least Captain Harris had allowed him his pick of the men. Cavalrymen were, by and large, a motley crew. Frontier work was difficult, deadly. Those who joined as privates generally had something to prove or something to hide.
His men scrambled to attention as he reined in, then Waxworth broke rank to come hold Bess. The oldest of his men, the sharp-nosed private with dirty blond hair seemed to think the more he toadied up to Will, the greater his chances of making corporal at last. He’d volunteered to serve as cook, though Will doubted he could do much with the supplies the Army had sent with them.
“Everything as you ordered, sir,” Waxworth said as Will swung down.
“Jah, ve have a camp,” Lercher added from his place at the end of the line. The big, square-jawed German still mixed his v’s and w’s on occasion. At Lercher’s heavy-browed scowl, Waxworth hurried to the picket line with Bess.
Will glanced around the camp. Sitting at the north end of a meadow, the A-framed white canvas tents stood straight and true around a firepit recently dug, edged with rocks, and already heating a massive iron pot. A pile of dirt to the south spoke of a privy in progress. So did the muddy spades lying not far from Franklin, his most engineering-minded private, and O’Reilly, his most vocal. The horses were lined up along the picket, heads already in feed sacks as if lulled by the splash of the Firehole River just beyond. The saturnine Smith, the last of his privates, was watching them as if wondering how far he could ride before Will assigned him another task.
“Very good, Privates,” Will said. “When is dinner?”
“Half past five, sir,” Waxworth supplied, dashing back to the fire.
O’Reilly narrowed his green eyes. “And it’s sure to be pork and beans.” The Irishman spit on the ground as if not looking forward to the meal.
After that huckleberry pie, Will wasn’t much looking forward to it either. “Detachment dismissed until then, but remain in camp.”
They relaxed and went about their business. Waxworth bent over the fire and stirred the pot while O’Reilly and Franklin stowed their shovels. Lercher roamed the edge of the camp, picking up downed limbs for firewood. And Smith . . .
Heavier-than-regulation dark brown beard and mustache bristling, the lean cavalryman was pacing along the pines, rifle at the ready. Will hadn’t ordered a guard, but he didn’t call the man in. Smith tended to keep to himself at the best of times, and there were those in the park who resented the Army’s presence. It didn’t hurt to be watchful.
He’d been given a folding campaign table and canvas-backed chair, which someone had erected in front of his tent. He ignored both to sit with his men on the ground around the fire. The Army considered distance between officers and enlisted men important, a way to keep order. He wasn’t about to abandon his men, even by a few feet, not for long.
Dinner was hot and salty, and the memory of that huckleberry pie intruded again. Maybe he’d have a chance to eat more of the cook’s excellent handiwork when he was helping the Widow Tremaine. Nothing better than
