Sowing on the Mountain

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The hiss of the Coleman lamp filled the room, as she read, propped in an old chair on its hind legs. The knock at the door came as a surprise. Gris jumped up and barked, but until that moment he'd been asleep. She looked around the room for potential weapons of defense: frypan, hiking staff, hatchet. Then she took a deep breath and went to the door. It was Miwha, the cabin girl from the Lodge.

"I am so sorry to come, but I think there is bad accident of car."

"Come in. So there's a wreck? Anyone hurt?"

"I not know. I stop car, look down, very dark. I call. There is no speak. Talk. No have torch, nothing. Dark. Smell gasoline. Very bad, I think."

"Okay. Where?"

"At hill where road is . . ." she traced a swerve with her hand: the switchbacks. "I go to Lodge for men. Come to you first. Ranger. You must go, I think."

She flew down to her car, which was parked outside the locked wire gate. Mary grabbed the FS first aid kit and her radio, and a gallon jug, and the wool army blanket. Put on a wool jacket and a hat. Headlamp. There. Packlight— there was a six-volt searchlamp. She keyed the radio. What was the goddam ten code for a wreck? Fuck it.

"Sublette County Dispatch, this is Browne. Emergency." She repeated it twice before they answered.

"Browne, Sheriff's Dispatch."

"I got a report of a serious vehicle accident on the dirt road south of Big Sandy Opening, on the switchbacks. Probable injuries, not sure how many involved."

"Roger, Browne. Are you at the scene?"

"Negative. An employee of the Lodge reported it. She had no flashlight or first aid supplies, so she came to me. She will summon aid from Big Sandy Lodge."

"Roger that. We'll send a couple deputies and the paramedics. It'll be forty minutes at least. Please put some sort of marker on the road or have someone to flag them."

"10-4. Browne clear."

"Dispatch."
She doused the Coleman lamp.

"Gris. Good boy. You have to stay." She grabbed a handful of dog biscuits and scattered them around the room, so he'd have to search. "Stay. I'll be back."

When she shut the door, he reared up with his paws on it and an anguished look in his eyes. She ran to the Saab and spun down the hill, nearly running into the wire gate. Deep breaths, girl, she thought. No mistakes.

She unlocked the gate and left it propped, then roared to the junction and down the main road south. She wished she'd asked Miwha what to look for. If the car was far off the road, she might not see it in her headlights. The Saab hit a dip and almost went airborne— Jesus! Slow down. Concentrate.

When she reached the top of the switchbacks, she slowed down and saw two ruts gapping the banked gravel. She stopped and put on her flashers, and grabbed the pack light. Taillight reflectors showed up bright, about fifty yards down. She called. Nothing. Catching up the first aid kit and the blanket, she started down. Then she dropped them and restarted the Saab and moved it to the edge of the road. They'd see the flashers a long way off.

Below the bank of the road was a jumble of boulders, then a steep slope under pines. As she got closer she could see it was an old Suburban, Trapper's rig. Shit! She could hear the tick of cooling steel and a faint hiss. Why didn't I bring the goddam radio? she thought. Idiot!

She could smell raw gas. The tank must have ruptured.

She worked her way down the rocky slope until she was level with the Suburban, which had hit a big doug fir. He was kneeling at the front of the hood, almost as if he was praying, but he wasn't. The hood was caved in and filled with blood. He'd gone through the windshield and hit the tree, head on. She shone the light on him. It looked like his head was sticking in a hole in the tree, his ears bent down against the bark. But she realized the top of his head was gone. Her gut did a flip.

I will not barf, she thought. Shall not. Must not.

She looked away. Better get the radio. Wait. She should search for any passengers who might have been thrown out. She circled down the hill, then climbed, flashing the pack light to each side. Both doors shut. No one with him. He must have been going pretty fast to fly off the curve like that. The Suburban had been airborne for about thirty feet. She could see the deep scuff where it hit.

"Sublette County Dispatch, Browne."

"Copy Browne."

"I'm at the wreck. There's one fatality, the driver. No passengers."

"Are you sure he's dead."

"No doubt about that, Dispatch." Her belly lurched and she stopped to cough. "The vehicle's about fifty yards below the road on the top bend of the switchbacks south of Big Sandy Opening. My car is parked with flashers going."

"Copy that, Browne. Stand by. Break with Browne. Braden, County Dispatch."

"Braden."

"You guys can slow down. The driver's a fatality, no riders."

"Copy that. Did you get that, Wally?"

"Walberg, I copy that. We'll back off and drive safe."

"Break with Walberg. Browne, Dispatch."

"This is Browne."

"Do you have an ID for the fatality?"

"They call him Trapper, but his name is. . . wait."

"Standing by."

"Alvin? No, Arvin. Arvin. . . Talbott. He used to work at Big Sandy Lodge. They have his employment stuff. Oh, the gas tank ruptured and there's gas all over the place."

"Copy that, Browne. Please leave the immediate area and keep anyone who stops away from the vehicle. The deputy will recover his registration and property."

"I copy. Browne clear."

A pickup stopped behind her car. Sam and Zack got out.

"Miwha sent us. What's the deal?"

"It's Trapper. He went off the road and hit a tree. He's dead."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. His rig hit a tree and he went through the windshield and hit the same tree with his head."

"Pretty bad?"

"Super bad. Nothing we can do except direct traffic, if there's any. The deputy should be along in a bit."

Zack went back to their truck. "Brought a thermos of coffee."

Mary heaved a sigh. "I could use some, thanks."