Perhaps, but had those discoveries been worth staying in the mountains so close to winter? He looked at the trail ahead, growing snowier by the second. A memory flashed into his mind of a different mountain pass on that long-ago expedition, of a foot slipping because they’d been traversing the pass too late in the year.
No one in his party had come close to dying yet, but he couldn’t stop the sense of foreboding filling his chest.
* * *
“I insist we stop. Now!”
Even though the driving snow and wind muffled some of the words, Bryony could still make out the sound of Richard’s demanding voice. It echoed from ahead on the trail, where he and Mikhail carried the trunk, and she rolled her eyes at the arrogant edge in it.
She’d lost track of how many times Richard had complained as the day wore on, just like she’d lost track of how many times he and Heath had switched carrying the trunk up the mountain. All she knew was that the entire time, Mikhail had silently carried the heavier end of the trunk up the west side of the mountain without a single break or word of complaint.
Richard’s complaints, however, had grown worse as the day wore on. He’d complained when they didn’t stop for lunch soon enough; then once they stopped, he’d complained that Mikhail refused to set up camp on the side of the mountain and wait out the snowstorm. He’d even insisted that Mikhail was unnecessarily risking their lives by forcing them to continue. After that, he’d spent the rest of the afternoon arguing with Mikhail any time he could, though most of his complaints had been aimed at convincing Mikhail the path was too treacherous, and they needed to turn back and find another way around the mountain.
Mikhail didn’t bother to answer most of the griping. He ignored Richard instead, which meant that Richard turned his complaints on the rest of them, grumbling that Heath didn’t carry the trunk long enough, and that Dr. Ottingford and her father should take a turn.
Once, he’d even come back to where she’d been walking beside her father and asked her to speak to Mikhail about halting their journey and building a fire before they all froze.
Where, exactly, Richard thought they’d find wood dry enough to start a fire, he hadn’t said, and she hadn’t bothered to ask. There was no reasoning with Richard when he got into one of his moods.
But no matter what Richard said or did, Mikhail was insistent they crest the mountain and get below the snow line before nightfall.
And she was glad. She might have met the man only three days ago, but it was easy to see why others revered him for his skills in the wilderness. He had a special sense for navigating the snow-covered trail.
And an endless amount of patience, because Richard was complaining yet again.
“I won’t stand for you ignoring me any longer, Amos. We need to set up camp. Now.”
Once again, Mikhail didn’t answer, and she couldn’t blame him. Even she could see the stupidity of Richard’s demand.
They were currently winding their way around the edge of the mountain. The trail wasn’t particularly narrow, but there was some kind of drop-off to their left. She didn’t know how steep it was, only that gray clouds and angry snowflakes swirled together into a blinding haze that obscured what was probably a beautiful view.
“You want us to stop and camp. Here.” Mikhail didn’t phrase it as a question, but the incredulity of his voice carried through the lashing wind. “And just where do you expect us to set up our tents?”
“We should have stopped a half mile back,” Richard shouted, his voice even louder than before. “I insist we turn around. You’re leading us straight into a death trap, and I won’t be party to it.”
Bryony found her jaw clenching. Mikhail might have an endless amount of patience, but she didn’t. She just wanted Richard to be quiet.
And she wanted to be somewhere safe and warm. Somewhere her toes wouldn’t be frozen. The boots she’d brought were meant for summer, not winter, and though they were sturdy, they did little to keep her toes warm in the snow they were walking through. They’d even come across a few places on the mountain where the snow had drifted over the tops of her boots, which meant both the bottom of her skirt and the trousers she wore beneath it were soaked from the knees down.
A fire sounded heavenly, but she could look around and understand they weren’t going to have one anytime?—
Her foot slid on a patch of uneven ground, and she squeaked, reaching out to grip her father’s arm before she tumbled into the snow.
“Are you okay, dear?” Her father helped her regain her balance, then patted her arm.
“Yes. But I think the rocks are loose beneath the snow, so we better be careful.”
She no sooner finished the statement than Mikhail’s voice rang out. “Watch your footing. Some of the rocks are loose.”
“That’s all the more reason to turn around and set up camp.” Anger tinged Richard’s voice.
Bryony let out a long sigh.
“I’m with you, dear.” Her father patted her arm again. “The trip would go much faster if he would just shut up.”
“He doesn’t know how to shut up,” Dr. Ottingford muttered from where he trudged in front of them. “He’s figured out that if he pitches a big enough fit, most people will give him his way. Not Amos, though.”
“Careful,” her father warned. “Richard Caldwell will be the next secretary of the interior. Don’t say or do anything that might jeopardize the funding for future studies.”
