Читать книгу Public Trust - J. M. Mitchell - Страница 10

It would take a few days to shake the tired-to-the-bones feeling. This morning it hit with a vengeance.

A shower and coffee helped. A little.

The uniform felt good for a change. The gray shirt and loden green slacks fit better than nomex, and the shoes were comfortable compared to the heavy fire boots he had worn for endless hours of every day of the past two weeks. He put on his Stetson, dipped the brim forward on his brow, and cocked it slightly to the right. He inspected himself in the mirror—he looked like a ranger again. He left for his walk to the office.

The breeze carried the smells of sage and rabbit brush. Perhaps autumn was finally here on the high desert, on this edge of the Colorado Plateau.

The sun had not yet reached the canyon floor, but the dusky feeling of morning was past. Lighthouse Buttress beaconed in the mouth of the canyon. Below the rim of Cañon de Fuego, a veil of bright reddish-orange inched down the sandstone, hiding the soft red in flame, as it would for the duration of the morning.

“Canyon of Fire,” he whispered. Was the Spanish really a translation of an old Indian name, for a place where fire swept through the canyon? It stood to reason, lightning fires were so common on the plateau, and were known to occasionally drop burning timbers in from above. At this moment, however, he was more inclined to agree with those who thought it simply an appropriate name for a place with these flaming red rock walls.

A pickup, marked Park Ranger, drove slowly past, and turned into the campground up the road. Early rounds. The ranger stopped at one of the campsites.

Jack took the trail toward the river. All throughout the campground he noticed campers standing around their fires, seemingly captivated by the flames, their hands tucked away in pockets. Most had their backs to the down canyon breeze. It carried the aromas of coffee, bacon and pancakes. Breakfast, the kinds people associate with going camping.

September. These visitors were the lucky ones. The crowds were gone from Piedras Coloradas.

The river seemed low, almost languid as it moved about the cobbles. It was a wonder that la Fuente de los Fuegos—the Fountain of the Fires—had carved a canyon so grand, and yet could be a flash flooding torrent during the thunderstorms of midsummer.

As he approached headquarters, he saw a light on in Joe Morgan’s office. Always the early bird.

The superintendent’s secretary was expecting him. “Go on in,” Marge said.

Joe was on the phone. His solid frame was impeccably uniformed for whatever it was he had scheduled for this morning. He sat at his rustic timber desk, listening patiently, pulling his fingers through his graying hair. He noticed Jack at the door and waved him to a seat. “I understand,” he said, into the phone. A few moments later, he leaned back and said, “Yes, I hear you, but please tell the Congressman there are people on all sides of this issue. We intend to listen to all of them, not just the squeakiest wheels.” He fell back into a listening pattern.

When the call ended, Morgan rubbed his eyes. “Could you use some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Morgan stepped out of the office and returned with two cups of coffee. “Tell me about the fire.”

“It was a monster. We had some close calls, but we made it back in one piece.”

Morgan shook his head, and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s going to get harder to let you go out on those long fire assignments. While you were away, I needed you. Everyone needed you.”

Now wasn’t the time to get into it. “I understand,” Jack said.

“It’s good to have you back. Guess you got my note.”

“Yeah.”

“The deal is, I’ve set up a meeting in Las Piedras. This morning. Nothing formal. Just something to help set the record straight. Dispel some interesting rumors and open some lines of communication.”

Jack sat up. “Anything to do with that phone call, and what do you want from me?”

“They’re related. I need your help. Just in case I get questions I can’t answer.”

“Joe, you’re better off without me. I can’t help. Not on something like that.”

“Can’t or won’t.”

“You can order me to be there, but I won’t be any good to you. I’ll mess things up.”

Joe leaned over his desk. “That’s not your reputation. I know you’ve had some hard times, but you’ve got to get past all that.”

“You’d be better off alone.”

“I don’t believe that. I want you there.”

Jack felt the pounding of his heart. “But...” He would have to try a different approach. “You mentioned rumors.”

“Yes. Related to the new national monument.”

“I know very little about that,” Jack responded. “All I know about is the President signing the proclamation before he left office, and how most of the lands will be managed by the Bureau of Land Management, with us managing only the high mesas and surrounding areas near the park, but the two agencies will work together to produce a management plan. That’s all I know. That’s not much.”

Joe looked at him knowingly. “You know enough.”

“Joe, I’m not the right guy.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be the one at center-stage. You’ll be there to help, and only if I need it.”

“But…” He sighed. “What rumors?”

“Some real beauties. One is that the Park Service wants BLM to eliminate all grazing on the monument. Another has us opening everything up to grazing, including the park. Take your pick—chose the one you want to believe.” Joe shook his head in amazement. “Another rumor has the monument being pulled entirely into the national park.”

“People riled up?”

“Up in arms. There’s plenty of conspiracy talk, and something for everybody. ‘Paving over paradise’ rumors, too. Those are firing up the environmental community. There’s one about the Park Service and BLM being willing to put roads all over the monument. We’re doing this, supposedly, to pacify the other side, to give them something they want, and we’re also supposedly helping push forward the Canyon de Oro project.”

Canyon de Oro, the large development project proposed by a fellow named Wayne Enslow, who owns a parcel of private land in an extensive canyon completely surrounded by public lands—lands that were now part of the national monument. Enslow had been pushing the federal government for a road across public lands. It would have been better, faster access to his property, and it would have made the property valuable real estate. The environmental community feared major impacts to the desert and to Fuego Canyon tree frog habitat.

Whether or not the environmental community was responsible, it was taking credit for the past President’s proclamation, and Jack could imagine they would be up in arms over rumors of new roads on the monument. “Doesn’t sound good,” Jack said.

“That’s why we need to nip the rumors in the bud.”

“It won’t help. People want to believe those things.”

Joe chuckled patiently. “It’ll help.”

“Rumors have a life of their own, especially when someone out there wants people to believe them.”

Joe shook his head. “No. I’m guessing they’re just typical rumors. Someone said something in the bar, speculating or worrying about something. Someone else overheard it. Next thing you know its gospel truth. We just need to set the record straight.”

“They won’t believe us.” Jack picked up his hat and ran his fingers slowly along the rim. “Joe, you don’t want me there. I’ll be no help whatsoever.”

Joe settled back in his chair. “Jack, you’ve had one bad experience.”

“I don’t want another.”

“I’m told that people trust you.”

“That’s not what they do when they trust you.”

“I can’t explain it, Jack. I’m told that most people up there trusted you. And you trusted them. I’m counting on you becoming that guy again. I can’t make it happen if I let you sit in your office avoiding all contact with the public.”

“The politicos, they...I got caught in the middle. Both sides, when they took a swing at each other, they took one at me for good measure. I have reasons to avoid contact. I’d rather be alone.”

“I’m not going to let you. I want you in Las Piedras at eleven o’clock, in the plaza. I’ve asked Angie Manriguez, the District Manager for BLM to join us.”

“Why the plaza?”

“Common ground. I thought we could tap into the traditions of the community. Let’s nip these rumors in the bud.”