Sowing on the Mountain

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The road to Salt Lake was downhill all the way: Snake River Canyon, the long slope west, then south at Idaho Falls. She stopped for gas in Pocatello. When she'd waked up, with Slim, at the yurt, there was frost on the meadows, but the farm flats of Idaho sweltered under a dusty haze. Salt Lake would probably be blanketed with smog. Her throat was always sore, the first few days.

She hadn't seen much of Ginger over the summer and it would be good to hang out again. Krista and Louisa, her mom, had loaded up her electronica and hauled it down a few days ago. The basement in the neat brick house they'd bought near Westminster had been converted over the summer to a pocket studio, with new wiring and fireproof sound insulation on the walls (according to Louisa, egg cartons were a hazard). Mary couldn't wait to try it out.

Her bank account wasn't as flush as last year. The fire season had been pretty slack, and she'd been way back in the wilderness when they called up crews, so the only OT she'd gotten was for working holidays like July 4th. She had her tuition scholarship and enough to cover rent and groceries and stuff for a while, but the band had to make decent money to carry her through spring.

Her landlady was glad to see her. She'd fallen and cracked a vertebra over the summer, and offered to lower the rent if Mary would take on more yard work and run errands. Mary almost said she'd do it for nothing, but stopped herself, and accepted the offer, gratefully. That would help.

She unloaded the Saab and packed her stuff up the two flights of stairs, to a hot, stuffy attic. On her way down, the landlady asked if she could use a big window fan, which would save her some cash. On days that were hot last spring, she'd gone to the university library, which was pleasantly cool and dim.

She got the phone reconnected– necessary for booking gigs and keeping in touch with Slim. While she was slotting her books on shelves, it rang.

It was Jet, calling from Pinedale. He sounded upset. He asked her if she'd heard about what happened?

"No. What happened where?"

"Up here. Echeverry's dead. Hard to believe."

"Seriously?" She wondered if it had anything to do with Ray. She hadn't shown his confession to anyone.

"Pretty crazy," Jet said. "The Old Man must have been tipped off. After Ray disappeared, he decided to send Leandro back to Mexico early, in case the feds came after him to testify or something. Pablo drove him back to the ranch and Echeverry was waiting in the bunkhouse, with a bus ticket and a paycheck written out. Leandro looked at it and it was $600 short of the contract amount. He got pretty upset. The Old Man told him that he was going back early so he was getting docked a month and a half."

"That's. . .rotten," Mary said.

"Yeah. So Leandro pulled the .30-.30 off his saddle and aimed at the Old Man's head and cussed him, ¡Pendejo! ¡Cabron! ¡Hijo de tu puta madre! Then he said to write out the check for what you owe me or I'll send you to Hell! Pablo was afraid to do anything— if he made a move, Leandro would shoot."

Jet took a breath. "Anyhow, the Old Man wrote a new check and handed it to Leandro. Leandro told him to get in the house and shut the door, so he did. Then Leandro lugged his stuff out to the ranch pickup. Pablo was going to drive him to the bus station in Rock Springs. They got in and Pablo started the truck."

Jet stopped for breath.

"Jesus!" she said, "what happened?"

"The Old Man came out of the house and stood between the truck and bunkhouse, where the rifle was, and cussed Leandro, and said that he was friends with the bank president in Rock Springs and by the time they could get to town, he'd stop payment on the check. So Leandro jumped out of the truck and stuck a knife in his guts."

"Christ!"

"Mrs. Echeverry— Maria— came out with a pistol she kept, in case the sheepherders got drunk and tried to come in the house, and started shooting. The first shot took off Leandro's ear and hit the Old Man in the eye. He went down, and Leandro turned on her, and she put the rest of the magazine in his chest. Pablo told me the whole thing. He was crying. Couldn't stop."

"He seems like a good guy. The last time I saw him, he held up a finger to his lips— I guess the Old Man told him not to talk to the enemy."

"The whole thing's awful. Especially after all the other stuff this year."

"It's all connected. More to come, I think."

"You mean the investigation? Anything new on that?"

"Slim didn't say much. Wait and see, I guess."

"Oh— do you know where Ray is? A deputy from Rock Springs came up and questioned me and Harv. He said they can't find Ray anywhere."

"He left— couldn't take any more. I didn't tell you, but he came to the shack one night and told me about what happened: the poison, his father, a whole bunch of stuff. He said he was sorry and left a written confession."

"You still have it?"

"Of course. He also said he'd taken out a lot of money from the bank that was under his name, with his mother co-signing. He was going to get out of his dad's reach. Study art someplace."

"Bank account? That must be the upper limits thing. I wonder if his mother knows where he is?"

"If he told anyone, she'd be the one."

"She's in the hospital, doped up. They thought she had a heart attack, but now they think it's shock. Paul's flying back tomorrow. We came up with a plan."

"Who's we?"

"Me, Paul, Pablo, Harv, Gaston Carricaburra and his boys, Jimmy B. We're going to help bring the Echeverry sheep down and sort 'em and get the bands combined and the wagons out on the desert for winter. I'll work my days off. Pablo will be the boss– he knows the whole operation inside and out. It'd be good if Ray could come back, for his mother's sake. You sure you don't know where he is?"

"Positive. If I did, I'd get in touch with him. What should I do with the confession?"

"Hold onto it for now. Maybe Slim will know how to handle it."