Montana Standoff. Nadia Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ road, not wanting to kick up dust and tell the whole world they were there. When he was almost to the very top, he cut the engine and they sat in silence while the ever-present wind rocked the heavy vehicle. They were hidden from the upper guard house and parked on the very edge of what to Molly appeared to be a huge, funnel-shaped crater with roads carved into the sides, spiraling around and down toward an unseen bottom far below. The magnitude of the drop-off gave her a frightening sense of vertigo, even while sitting within the safe confines of the Jeep.

      “Ugly, isn’t it,” Steven stated. “This is what’s left of a mountain, the highest point in fifty miles. Now it’s a big poisonous hole in the ground.” A dust devil swept across the bleak landscape in front of them and spiraled out over the pit, losing energy and vanishing in an amorphous puff of reddish soil. “This open pit mine is the same kind of operation your client plans for Madison Mountain.”

      Molly had never seen an open pit mine of this magnitude before. She gazed down into the crater. “Perhaps we just have to accept the fact that sometimes what’s necessary to advance civilization isn’t necessarily beautiful,” she said.

      “Perhaps,” he mildly agreed. “But the cancer rates on this reservation are thirty times the national average. The drinking water is so bad that mine officials won’t touch it. They buy their water. They have it hauled in by the truckload because they have the money to do that.”

      Steven was staring out the windshield with a calm expression on his face. Molly clasped her hands in her lap and struggled for a logical rebuttal, but she had no idea what to say. She felt the rift between their worlds widen until the wind that rocked the Jeep seemed to blow its lonesome chill through her soul. “This mine employs a lot of people from the reservation,” she pointed out. “They don’t have to work here, they choose to. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

      “Sure,” he nodded. “That tells me that they’re desperate enough to poison their grandchildren in order to feed their children.”

      “Maybe you’re wrong,” she said. “Maybe it’s not the mine that’s polluting the water….”

      He turned his head. His dark eyes were inscrutable. “I could take you to the reservation and introduce you to some families who live there, who drink from the river. We can take samples of the water back and have them analyzed. There are government maps that show the movement of ground and surface water from the mine into the river. I’ll show them to you and you can draw your own conclusions. You can even drink some of the water if you like. It’s free. The tribe doesn’t charge for it.”

      Molly felt an uncomfortable warmth rise in her face. She dropped her eyes. “That would be interesting, but we really don’t have the time to go there today.”

      “No, I didn’t think so,” Steven said.

      “We could plan another visit,” Molly said, her face burning. She sat through an awkward silence, struggling to find a way beyond it. “Look, Steven, I’m fully aware that there’s a lot I don’t know yet, but I’m willing to learn. That’s why I’m here with you today.”

      Steven started the Jeep and let the engine idle for a few moments before putting it into gear. “Let’s find a prettier place than this to eat our lunch,” he said.

      The place they found wasn’t all that pretty, but it was protected from the chill winds that swept out of the northwest, and the Milk River ran past it. The hollow he chose on the riverbank cupped the afternoon sunlight. She carried the basket of food to the place where he had spread his jacket for her to sit. “You’ll be cold,” she protested.

      “Not here. Sit.”

      She sat, opened the basket, and began taking out the lunch she had packed for them.

      “I hope you like deviled ham.” She held out the sandwich and their hands touched as he took it from her. His fingers were warm and hers tingled where her hand had met his. “I didn’t have much in the cupboard. Chips, pickles, two cans of cola.” She glanced up, unnerved by his closeness and by the steadiness of his gaze. She adjusted her sunglasses. “You’re staring.”

      “Sorry.” He sat cross-legged on the dry grass and looked out across the river while he unwrapped his sandwich. Unseen on the highway above them, vehicles hurtled past with high-pitched whines. “We’re sitting in the middle of the Lewis and Clark Trail,” he said.

      “Really? Wow.” She looked around, seeing nothing extraordinary. “So how did you happen to get involved in environmental litigation? Did you always want to be an attorney?”

      “The only burning ambition I had while growing up was to get off the reservation. As soon as I graduated high school, that’s what I did. I headed west, worked odd jobs when I ran out of money, and ended up pumping gas in a little town north of Seattle. Lots of logging trucks gassed up there. Big trucks carrying big trees, so big that sometimes only one log would fit on the truck. One day after work I caught a ride on a logging truck heading back into the woods. I wanted to see what those trees looked like before they were cut down.”

      Molly held her sandwich in her lap. “Were they redwoods?”

      Steven nodded. “I stood at the base of one and listened to the roar of the wind blowing through the crown some two hundred feet above me and all of a sudden I saw things differently. I saw the stumps, what was left of the old-growth forest. Trees, forests thousands of years old, wiped out just like that. A little later I ran into a bunch of tree huggers staging a demonstration and volunteered to handcuff myself in a human chain around one of those trees to keep it from being cut. Needless to say, we were all thrown in jail, and while there I decided maybe it was time for me to do something more meaningful with my life than pump gas into logging trucks. So I went back to school, majored in environmental science, went to law school, and here I am.”

      “Here you are,” Molly agreed. “Still fighting for the trees and the mountains.” She studied him for a moment. “Tell me about your family.”

      “I have three younger brothers who live with their families on the res. Until this past spring, Pony was teaching at a reservation school just outside Fort Smith. Then she took a summer job working for Caleb McCutcheon at his ranch outside of Katy Junction, managing his buffalo herd. It sounds storybook, but the long and short of it is, they fell in love. They’re getting married in another month and starting a special school right on the ranch for troubled kids.”

      “I think that’s wonderful. Your sister seems like a very special person. Those kids are lucky to have her. What about your parents?”

      “Both dead. My father was a steelworker. He fell off a scaffolding while on a job in New York City. We were still pretty young when it happened. My mother never recovered from his death. She died two years later and we kids were parceled out to relatives. My old aunt Nana took all us boys, and Pony was raised by our grandmother, who taught her the old ways.”

      “I’m sorry about your parents,” Molly said. “I can’t imagine not growing up with mine. In fact, I can’t imagine ever being without them, even when I’m in my nineties.” She paused in the act of peeling the plastic wrap from her sandwich. “Tell me about Ken Manning. Obviously the two of you are acquainted.”

      Steven took a bite of his sandwich and watched a flock of birds skim across the surface of the river. He popped the top of his soda can and chased the sandwich down with a big swallow. “I’ve known him for several years now. We’ve crossed swords on more than a few occasions. He’s wealthy and high powered, and has strong connections with the Mountain Militia.”

      Molly СКАЧАТЬ