Above the Bridge (9 page)

I’ll get in touch with you again in a couple days.  Maybe I’ll have something concrete for you at that time.  I’ll keep trying.

Paige

Before leaving the computer, Paige pulled up Google and ran a search on Jackson Hole.  Getting too many hits, she narrowed the search by making her query more specific, first by running the words “Jackson Hole History” and then “Jackson Hole Early Settlers.”  From there she followed links to several websites, jotting down notes as she found bits and pieces of information.  She ran a check for bibliographies on the research results she found, printing out several lists of book titles.  Logging off, she gathered the printed pages and headed for the aisle on local history.

Following the numbered signs on the ends of the aisles, she wasn’t surprised to find that the section she was looking for was right around the corner from where she had bumped into Jake.  She moved down the middle of two tall rows of books, scanning the titles as she went along.  Pulling a few volumes off the shelves, she found a comfortable chair where she could browse through various chapters.

The first two books were very general, recounting tales of grizzly bear encounters, difficulty getting supplies into the valley without direct train lines, and sawmill development to help with logging for early settlers.  But it was the third book that caught her attention, a slender bound text with a dark blue cover.  The chapters were brief and were spread over a range of topics, from homesteading history to wildlife conservation to the gradual acquisition of land that would eventually become Grand Teton National Park.  As she skimmed through a few chapters, one subject in particular caused her to pause.

Among the many people who had come to Jackson Hole around the turn of the century were prospectors.  These men had come into the valley following rumors of gold.  Many of the searches centered along the Snake River, which wound its way through the valley from north to south.  Following a winding path, the river had provided many opportunities for panning gold.  The mountains, on the other hand, had allowed many opportunities for hiding it.  Though the accounts in the printed volumes stated that no substantial amount of gold had ever been found, Paige couldn’t help but wonder if this was true.  The written records showed such small amounts of gold accumulated, it almost seemed impossible that there wasn’t more.  After all, it didn’t say there wasn’t any gold in the valley, only that very little had been discovered.  What if there had been more gold discovered than history books showed?  Perhaps there were discoveries that had gone unreported.  It wasn’t beyond reason that lucky prospectors might have kept the more lucrative finds a secret.

Paige approached the front counter of the library.  A slender young woman with braided red hair and dangling silver and jade earrings walked over to the counter, asking if she could help.

“What does it take to obtain a library card?”  Paige asked.

“Just some identification and an address,” the woman answered, reaching for an application form as she spoke.  “A phone number is good, too.”

Paige paused and thought for a moment.  She didn’t have a local address, but had her cell number.  And she might have an address at the cabin, but hadn’t a clue what it might be.  She did, of course, have a driver’s license, so there was some form of ID she could provide.  Giving over this information seemed to be enough.  Within a few minutes she had her driver’s license number, cell phone, and a general delivery address gathered together.  She soon left the counter with a library card in hand.

She returned to the chair and the bookshelf, selected the slender, blue book, along with several others on general area history.  Additionally, she picked out a few trail guides, hoping they might give her some possibilities of locations where gold might be hidden, providing her hunch was correct.  It was a long shot, she figured, but it was worth following.  Hidden gold would certainly make a story of interest to the paper’s readers back in New York.

Gathering the selections into her arms, she approached the library’s check-out desk, catching the attention of the library clerk and speaking up in a voice that would not disturb others in the room.

“Excuse me,” she whispered across the counter to the clerk.  “Are there any more books about the history of gold prospecting in the area?”  It couldn’t hurt to ask.  There could be books that had been returned, but not yet placed on the shelves.

The clerk’s earrings swayed as she shook her head from side to side, jade and silver catching slivers of light from the bulbs hanging from the library ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” she replied apologetically.  “We usually have more on that subject, but they were all checked out recently.  Would you like me to notify you when they become available again?”

‘No, that’s ok,” Paige answered as casually as she could.  “These will be fine for now.”

She checked out the books she’d already chosen, stashing them in an empty tote bag in the back of her car.  It was still raining, though it had let up a little.  A steaming latte sounded good.  She headed over to the Blue Sky Café and found a parking place directly across the street.

Maddie was behind the counter, as always.  Old Man Thompson was hunched over his coffee in his usual spot, a buttered bagel resting on a small plate next to the coffee cup, though it appeared to be sitting untouched.

There were a few customers, but not the usual line, most likely a result of the rain.  Had she not needed to go into town to use the library computer, she probably would have stayed home herself.

Maddie greeted her with recognition this time and it occurred to Paige that she had already become a regular.  At least she had certainly frequented the Blue Sky Café often enough to have it appear that way.

“How’s it going, local girl?”  Maddie said teasingly.  “Last I heard you were just visiting, doing an article on the area.  No pressing deadline, I take it.”  Maddie took Paige’s order and moved to the coffee machine, starting up a whirling of steamy noises.

“Oh, it’s just such an interesting area,” she told the café owner lightly, watching her pour frothy milk into a heavy paper cup.  “I decided a little more historical background would make whatever I write more interesting.  I found some good resources at the library.  They have a great section on local history.”  She demonstrated this by indicating the stack of books in her tote bag.

“You’re right about that,” Maddie said, taking Paige’s outstretched payment for her latte.  “There’s certainly an interesting history here in this valley, no question about it.”

Paige thanked her and moved to a comfortable spot to read, the back corner where she’d seen Jake sit before.   With the café as empty as it was this morning, she had her choice of places to sit.  The one she chose was a small booth, as opposed to one of the wooden tables.  For one person it was quite spacious.  She placed her drink on the table and the tote bag on the bench beside her.  Pulling out the blue book, she took a sip of her latte and thumbed through the pages, finding the section that had intrigued her at the library.

According to historical accounts, Walter W. Delacy set out with a group of prospectors, starting first in Montana and then working their way down through Jackson Hole.  They followed the Snake River south, covering the valley and then passing through what was now known as Hoback Junction, searching along the portion of the river that ran through Snake River Canyon.    Flanked by cottonwoods, they moved along the limestone terrain, eventually running into sandstone toward the end of the canyon.  Doubling back, they searched the valley again, camping along the Gros Ventre River and then moving north to Cottonwood Creek and Pacific Creek.  At Pilgrim Creek they set up a mine along the river, but gave up when their work went unrewarded.

Paige paused to look around the room while her mind circled this information.  Were their efforts really unrewarded?  History was not always accurate.  Once again her instincts told her there was something beyond the basic account in this book. 

She noticed Maddie had caught up with customers and was wiping down countertops.  No one remained in the café except for Old Man Thompson, who, as always, remained hunched over his coffee.  She watched him take a small sip before setting it down once again.  Her gaze returned to Maddie and she decided to approach the counter.  It couldn’t hurt to try to get a little more local information.  That had been what Susan suggested and it was good advice.  Not all answers could be found in printed material.

“Hey, Maddie,” Paige inquired.  “You’ve lived here awhile, haven’t you?”

Maddie laughed and shook her head with amusement.  “All my life, honey.  And my mother before that.  And her mother before that.  Each statement was spoken with more emphasis than the one before.

“I had a feeling,” Paige replied.  “So I’m wondering if you might know any local legends.  You know, the kind that might not be in the history books, but have been passed down from generation to generation.”  Paige waited while Maddie appeared to think this over.

“What kind of legends are you looking for?”  Maddie questioned in return.  “This is a small town.  Small towns always have legends.  Some are true and some are not, but they’re always floating around.”

“Well,” Paige began hopefully, “I’m particularly interested in the old stories of the prospectors who came through this area, what they might have found or not found during their explorations and mining attempts.”  She waited for Maddie’s response, watching her turn away to wipe down the back counter.  When she turned back, she had an expression on her face that was a cross between blank and puzzled, as if she were thinking the question over carefully.

“I doubt I’m going to be able to help you on that one,” Maddie answered.  “That’s one subject I don’t know too much about, other than what we learned in school.  But I’m sure that matches whatever you’ve read.  The way they came into the valley, searched around and didn’t find much of anything.  I think the lucky ones were the ones who went on to California and other areas.  The guys who stayed here kind of got short changed.”

Paige sighed and nodded her head.  “That’s what I figured,” she said, thanking Maddie for the information.  She noticed Maddie scrubbing the coffee machine vigorously, perhaps trying to remove splashes of espresso from the morning’s business, turning next to the task of stacking ceramic mugs on the back counter.  Paige returned to her corner booth, gathered together her books, replaced them in the tote bag and, waving goodbye, stepped out of the café onto the sidewalk.

Pausing a few steps from the door to rummage through her purse for car keys, she heard the clanking sound of the cups stop and recognized Maddie's voice speak up.  With no other customers in the café, her comments could only have been directed at Old Man Thompson.

“I don’t like this,” Maddie said quietly.  “I’ve got a bad feeling about it.” Paige waited to hear a response from Old Man Thompson, but he remained silent.  Finally she heard the thud of a fist hitting the counter.

“Don’t worry about it, Maddie,” a gruff voice responded.  “She’s just passing through.”  He spoke with an annoyed tone of confidence.  “You worry just as much as your Aunt Ruby did and she drove everyone crazy.  Besides, this girl's reading those history books and there’s nothing about this in there. She ain’t gonna find nothing here.”

“I hope you’re right,” Maddie’s voice replied.  As the conversation ended and the stacking of mugs resumed, Paige crossed the road, heading in the direction of her car.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jake spent the morning listening to the rain pounding down on his roof.  He spent most of the afternoon pouring over the maps he had accumulated over the years.  Worn and faded, yet not nearly in as bad a shape as the paper Frank had given him, these were the maps he had analyzed as a child, comparing the visual layout of the land with the stories his grandfather told him.  Now he pulled the reading light a little closer and looked carefully at the Jenny Lake area and the section of mountains directly behind it.

From the south, the area could be accessed by following the trail up through Lupine Meadows and then skirting around the south end of Jenny Lake.  From the north, a trail from the smaller String Lake wound its way around the north end of Jenny Lake, making this an alternate route.  In modern times, Jake knew, a boat was available to whisk visitors across the lake, thereby shortening the hike into Cascade Canyon.  At the time the nineteenth century turned to the twentieth, however, hikers would have had to take one of the other routes.

Once they arrived on the west side of the lake, they would need to start their ascent, arriving before long at Hidden Falls and, just beyond that, at Inspiration Point.  Ruling out the boat crossing, this was approximately a three mile trip.  Though not a difficult hike in current times, reaching Inspiration Point would have been more difficult in the early 1900’s, as the present, steep trail was not cut through the granite rock until the 1930’s, when the task was accomplished by the Civilian Conservation Corps.

Another three and a half miles would take hikers to the Forks of Cascade Canyon, where there was a choice to branch off in a northward direction toward Lake Solitude or to head south toward Hurricane Pass.  Jake was betting on Hurricane Pass as the most likely, just because of the remote location.  It wouldn’t have been an easy hike for the early settlers, but it was probably far enough from the more frequently traveled valley to let them feel safe about hiding their stash.

Jake continued inspecting the maps for a good part of the afternoon, then folded and set them aside.  He took a long, hot shower and prepared for his trip into town.  Reaching into his closet, he pulled out a white shirt and his best pair of denim blue jeans.  He followed this by selecting a tan, leather vest and a shiny belt buckle with the shape of a buffalo sculpted into the metal.  Checking his appearance in the mirror, he ran his fingers through his hair, still wet from the shower.  Tossing it around a bit, he decided it could dry on its own.