Sowing on the Mountain

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Heading out a bit early for her days off, she decided to investigate the roads that branched off the main drag through the Opening, and have a look at Echeverry's base camp. The first left led up to a summer home area, the usual loggy cabins scattered in the pines. Not many people in residence. There were three or four pickups and jeeps, and she didn't see any people outdoors. Just above the summer homes, the road was blocked with steel cables and a gate with a Forest Service lock. It went up to the mining camp, but it looked in pretty rough shape, with fallen pines and muddy pits.

The next left led to the Echeverry base camp, a swing gate in a timber fence, and a couple big wall tents. A Mexican guy in a cowboy hat came to check her out. His face was beautiful, like the saints on altarpieces, and he had a kindly expression. She told him her name and that she was the ranger for the backcountry, as he responded: "Sí, sí, naturalidad."

He was Pablo Duran, the eldest of three brothers working for Echeverry. He invited her to have a copita de cafe, a wee cup of coffee, but she declined, saying she had to get to the office. He looked hurt.

Then a truck pulled up and Ray Echeverry got out. He noticed her uniform and gave her a hostile glance before focusing on her face.

Hey, Ray. It's Mary. From Rocket City Junior."

"Hi," he said, obviously uncomfortable. "So you're working for the Enemy?"

"Jeez, dude! Lighten up."

"Sorry. Been hanging out with the Old Man— that's what he calls you guys."

"I'm a wilderness ranger, Big Sandy mostly."

"I'm working for Dad. He wants me to learn the ranching biz."

"I thought you. . . weren't into that."

"I'm not. It stinks. But I don't have a say."

"Didn't see you at U. Dub. Where did you start college?"

"Didn't. Not really. I took accounting and ag science part-time at WWC."

"No art?"

"Are you kidding? Dad raided my room and took all my drawings out and burned them."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. So how's your mom?"

"No idea. She went to Texas. Haven't seen her for a couple years and she doesn't write."

"Lucky you. Look, I gotta get packed up and hit the trail."

"Okay. See you around."

He sure changed the subject fast, she thought. Wonder why his dad burnt his drawings— that's pretty severe. As they talked, she'd noticed the expression on Pablo's face: a deep sadness. He cares about Ray, she thought. The exchange left her feeling hollow. She started her car and drove back into the Opening.

The next road was the one to Driveway Creek and Trapper's cabin. Been there.

There was one after that, bumping through the straggly pines on the level, before the switchbacks. She saw movement ahead and stopped. A guy was loading a dead deer into a Suburban. He wore a dirty buckskin shirt with fringe, and a greasy leather hat. O Shit!

She backed into the trees to turn around, and the guy came charging over. He saw her FS uniform and stopped in his tracks. The window of the Saab was down, and he put his hand on the sill.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I'm Trapper. I've got the sled team." He looked fairly normal: sandy hair, blue eyes, but the way his lip curled at one side was creepy.

"Right. I'm Mary Browne, wilderness ranger. Headed back to the office." She had her radio in her hand, where he could see it.

Gris growled and he took his hand off the car door.

"Just loading up a roadkill. For my dogs."

"Right. Look, I have to go or I'll be late to the office."

"Okay. Just don't get the wrong idea."

She dropped the clutch and roared away, with the wrong idea firmly implanted. He's poaching deer to feed those dogs, the SOB.