Sowing on the Mountain

≈ 45 ≈

Slim called to tell her that the Fish and Wildlife team had gotten a lot of blowback after the raids. There were congressmen howling for a shutdown of the whole agency and the repeal of the Endangered Species Act, while the state governments of Wyoming, Colorado, and Utah circled the wagons, refusing to cooperate. Even the Department of Agriculture issued statements calling the sting "ill-advised" and "an overreach of federal power."

Venice Harper, the agent Mary had seen with Slim, was reassigned to inspect shipping containers at the Port of Los Angeles. A decision had been made within the F&W to charge only those ranchers who had been documented as targeting eagles, with substantial evidence of kills. Those who'd killed hundreds, thousands, of other animals with illegal poisons would be let off the hook entirely. He sounded pretty discouraged.

"Will they come after you?" Mary asked.

"Don't think so. Except for figuring out how Trapper died, my work was pretty much off the record. Besides, Teton County is way different than most of the state. There are folks here who would stand up for me."

"Like Louisa Cogwill? And Ginger's mom?"

"Quite a few others."

"That's good. I didn't tell you, but Ray Echeverry came to the shack one night and told me about the whole setup. Left a written description."

'You should hang onto it—do you have a safe deposit box? I heard that he's back. Spent a couple days at the hospital with his mother. Now he's trying to put the ranching operation back together."

"Jet told me that he and Harv and Carricaburra were all going to pitch in. The Mexican guy I told you about—Pablo—will run things. I'd hate to set the dogs on Ray when his father was the bad actor. He told Ray that if he didn't carry the poison to the herders, he'd cut off his balls."

"No wonder he disappeared."

They talked a while longer. Slim said he might come down next week, but left it vague. She told him she was pretty tied up with school and band practice. They exchanged "love yous" and hung up.

On Friday she went to two classes, downed some pills they'd given her, and then took Gris for a walk up to where the Avenues merged with the oak brush of the mountain slope. She'd been warned about poison ivy, and tried to steer him away from any suspicious-looking plants. She asked her landlady to let him out in the backyard if she wasn't home by six. Then she grabbed her bag, with fresh underwear, sanitary napkins, and some handtowels, and a checkbook, and went out to the curb to wait for Ginger.

The gold BMW purred to a stop. "Wouldn't be surprised if my neighbors think I'm hanging out with a dope dealer," Mary said.

"Who cares?" Ginger said. "I'm thinking about branching out into the white slave traffic. So many fluffy little blondes."

Mary wrote a check at the front desk. They waited together for a half-hour until her name was called. She was shown to a room with a nurse and given a briefing: "The precise term for the procedure today is vacuum aspiration. A machine-operated suction device will empty your uterus. The procedure will take about twenty minutes. Then we'll clean you up and you'll go to the recovery room for an hour, to make sure you aren't hemorrhaging or reacting to medication."

"Got it."

They put her on a padded table with her feet in stirrups. There was a travel poster of a tropical island on the wall facing her, white sand, palms, a couple wading, hand-in-hand. The doctor was a geek. He was humming as he started the vacuum pump, a Frank Sinatra tune: That Old Black Magic.