Sowing on the Mountain

≈ 40 ≈

The NOLZOIDS were smearing their shit on boulders. She caught a party loading their packs at a camp that was thoroughly smirched, and tried her best not to kick the leader in the nuts as he explained.

Their research, he said, had determined that human fecal matter decomposed more quickly when smeared on the rocks than when it was buried, owing to acidic soils and low temperatures, therefore. . .

"Did it occur to you guys to run this by the Forest Service before you. . . implemented your new pooping policy?" She was writing out the ticket as she spoke.

"Uhhh. I don't know."

"Tell the judge."

"This is National Outdoor Leadership School! You can't give me a ticket."

"Why not? You're the responsible party for a clear violation of CFR. . ." she reeled off the numbers. "This is public land and the public has been complaining about you guys. How would you like to spend another night in this stinking place?"

Sullen, he folded the ticket and put it in his pocket, while some among his group snickered and poked one another.

That felt good, she thought. I wish we could bust that SOB Echeverry. He's done a lot worse than smear shit on a rock.

After a couple days scouring the area for trash, she met up with Zack at Big Sandy Lake, to show him the garbage cache. They'd taken a fishing party to Black Joe Lake with a couple extra pack horses. He had to get the dudes back to the Lodge, but Per would go with her to the cache and then lead the horses down.

"Any word about the poison thing?" Zack asked.

"They're working on it. Not supposed to talk about it right now."

"I bet they let the bastard off. Those ranchers never get busted for anything up here. It's like they own the place."

"It seems that way," she said. "Hope we find out otherwise."

It was near the peak of the season, with over-equipped turistas thronging the wilderness and arguing over choice campsites. The herds of sheep were all on their allotments, moving up to the high basins above timberline, where they were both extremely visible and highly audible, the chorus of baaaas echoing off the polished walls. She recorded a great many complaints from campers about sheep on a tally sheet Princess Dee had given her. The column for positive comments on grazing was empty. She'd seen the Princess in the shotgun seat of Echeverry's stakebed on the road up the Opening, and wondered what that was about. Maybe she's trying to be objective, Mary thought. Wonder if she knows about the poison thing? Probably not.

Anyhow, she was beat. She straggled back to the shack, fed Gris, scratched a dinner together, and zonked out.

A noise woke her in the dark, the door of the shack opening slowly and closing. She was scared blind, ice up her spine, and swung her legs off the bunk, ready to defend herself. Gris snarled and lurched out from under the bed.

"Hey, Mary. It's Ray."

She grabbed her dog's collar and held him back.

"Scared me. You shouldn't do that."

"Sorry. We need to talk."

"Maybe when it's light? And I'm not asleep?"

"I don't want to be seen. The old man has eyes all over."

He pulled out a chair and sat. Mary reassured Gris and let him go. He dashed over and sniffed Ray, who petted him, then retreated to his blanket.