Sowing on the Mountain

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She found a little pocket glen where her tent would be out of sight, but she could survey the whole basin, the lake, and the various trails and junctions. The top was a jumble of huge boulders stacked and propped. There was a talus cave where she could get out of the weather and maybe tether Gris while she patrolled. He wouldn't like it, but she had to keep him under the radar. She'd picked up some discarded slings, too worn and faded for climbing, dumped next to the trail. She jammed a rock in a slot and threaded a sling behind it, and got Gris settled. He watched her leave with anguished eyes.

Her patrol was uneventful: she left notes on tents that were too near the trail or the lake. She answered questions about bears (no grizzlies this far south, but black bears were known to raid camps, so hang up your food) and the weather forecast (fair and warming). She saw an animal, by a narrow arm of the lake, that she'd never seen before, just a glimpse: like a giant mink, but with a rusty hue.

She cut it short when an unearthly howl echoed across the basin. The woman she she was talking to said: "Good God! What is that? Are there wolves?"

"No wolves here. I'll trot up and see. Bye."

Damn and double damn! It turned out that the talus cave was a superb natural echo-chamber, amplifying each of her poor dog's howls to horrific effect. He let go about twice a minute— she imagined ears quivering for miles. When she untied him he scuttled at her feet and then rolled on his back, offering his spotted belly.

"I'm sorry, poocheroo," she said, giving him a scratch. "Didn't know you'd get so lonesome." She pondered: if your dog only howls when you leave him tied up, how do you teach him not to howl?

When the sun rose next day, she was halfway down the trail. She checked the register, making a rough count of the traffic. The herd of sheep was gone. There was poop on the bridge and a couple stripes of mashed vegetation by the creek, where others had been pushed into the water to swim. They'd gone up the moraine west of the trail: good. She had to chat with the grazing folks and copy their maps. Having herds of sheep in the same area as hikers and campers with dogs seemed like a ready-made conflict.

When we got to the wire gate, there was a Forest Service truck and two guys working on the fence. They laid down their tools and walked over. One was nice-looking in a dark, gypsy way and the other was even froggier looking than Slim, with a lopsided grin.

"You must be the wilderness ranger," said the dark one.

"Right— Mary Browne, from Rock Springs by way of Jackson."

"I'm Jet. This is Harv— we're the range riders up here."

"That must be nice, riding all over."

"Mostly. Looks like you cleaned up the line shack."

"I did. Didn't feel welcome at Dutch Joe."

The froggy one, Harv, chimed in: "Did the Wicked Witch put a spell on you?"

"Harv calls her the Wicked Witch of the East. Or the Bad Fairy. Or whatever pops into his head. Anyhow, we'll be keeping a few horses in the pasture here. Saves hauling 'em back and forth to Dutch Joe. Harv stays at Dutch Joe and rides the country around the Opening, Big Sandy Creek, and down south. I pack in to the Cross Lake cabin and stay up there, mostly."

"He's got the cush broom job, up on top," Harv said, walking back to the fence. "Pickin' it up here, Boss!"

Jet smirked. "He's hard to figure out at first. About half of what he says are lines from Cool Hand Luke and the rest just bubbles up from the primeval swamp. He's a good guy. Knows horses and livestock, which helps up here."

"Could I ask a question? Are there supposed to be sheep all over the meadows here?"

"Were there any herders?"

"Didn't see any. Just sheep crowded by the bridge."

"Damn that ol' smuggler. Echeverry. I told him he could trail through the Opening, not feed it. Lamreaux Meadows are still flooded and they bogged some down over there. I bet he left the herd and took the herders down the hill to start another band up."

She must have looked puzzled. He laughed in a friendly way. "We can sit down with some maps and I'll show you how it all works."

"That'd be good. Can I get copies of the allotment maps and stuff?"

"No sweat. I'll run 'em off at the oficina."

"I'd better head for Pinedale. Training session tomorrow."

"Yeah, we have to go, too. See you there."