Читать книгу Montana Standoff - Nadia Nichols - Страница 7

MOLLY FERGUSON’S AFTERNOON at the law firm of Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein had been relatively uneventful until Tom Miller tapped on the door to her office, leaned his upper body against the frame and gave her a long and meaningful stare. The absence of his usual arrogant smirk put her immediately on guard.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Tom was an egotistical jerk, and Molly’s refusal to date him had made things awkward around the office. She’d been relieved to hear that Tom had just accepted a position in a California law firm and would be gone by the end of the month. Molly laid aside the brief she’d secretly been studying in the off chance she might one day be called upon to do something remotely important. “Certainly. What’s up?”

He approached her desk with a mysterious expression and a thick file folder in one hand. “We were hoping Brad would be in today, but he just phoned again to tell us he’s sicker than ever, and he only just remembered that there’s a public meeting he was supposed to attend tonight on behalf of one of the mining companies we represent. Brad said it was no big deal, just a courtesy to inform the local citizens about the proposed mine and all the benefits it will bring to their community.” Tom paused for effect and smiled. “Skelton was wondering if you could cover for him.”

Molly’s heart skipped a beat. Was she hearing him right? Was she actually being asked to do something other than file briefs? After eleven tedious months of being nothing more than Brad’s glorified secretary, was she finally going to do some real work? “Of course I’ll go,” she said, hoping she didn’t appear too eager. “What time, and where?”

“Seven in a place called Moose Horn, which, according to the latest census, has a year-round population of twenty-seven adults of voting age.” Tom held up the thick file. “You probably won’t have to say a word, but better study up, just in case. The meeting’s being held at the town office, which is about a two-hour drive south of here. You could hop a commuter flight, but that means you’d probably be stuck in Bozeman for the night.”

“I don’t mind driving, but that won’t give me much time to look over the file,” Molly said with a twinge of anxiety, her eyes measuring the thickness of the folder.

“You’ll do just fine.” Tom smiled his most charming smile. “Brad says you’re up to speed on all the legal issues that might be raised at a gathering like this. You shouldn’t have any problems. Moose Horn’s town office is also the fire and police station, and the town library is housed upstairs. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding it. It’s probably the only building for miles around. Look for a man named Ken Manning. He’s the company geologist and mine rep, and he’ll be giving the presentation and fielding most of the questions. We weren’t able to get hold of him to tell him you were replacing Brad, but like I said, it shouldn’t be any big deal.”

“Fine.” Molly reached for the file. “I’d better get started, then.”

Tom held it beyond her hand. “Sorry about ruining your Friday night. I’m sure you had some plans?”

“John was taking me to hear the Mountain Symphony Quartet at the Pavilion, but I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“You’re still seeing that guy? Is it true that he’s been married three times already?”

Molly felt the heat rise into her face. “John’s a very nice man. The file, please?”

“Of course he is,” Tom said. “He’s a very nice man with three divorces under his belt. If you want my opinion, you should be thanking Brad for coming down with the flu and getting you out of that date. And there’s still time for you to discover how good a real man can be. I’ll be around for another week.”

“The file,” Molly repeated, and Tom tossed it on her desk with a smirk.

“You lose,” he said.

Molly frowned at Tom’s departing back. “I don’t think so,” she muttered under her breath, and then began scanning the first page. John wouldn’t be happy. He’d been looking forward to hearing the quartet play. It was almost four o’clock, and he’d no doubt be teaching a music class. She glanced at the phone. No point in putting it off. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate until she made the call. She picked up the receiver and dialed. His secretary answered on the first ring.

“John’s in the middle of a private lesson with a rather important client,” the snooty woman informed her. “Are you quite certain that you wish for me to disturb him?”

“Yes, please,” Molly said with as much haughty loftiness as she could inspire. “It’s actually really important.” She drummed her fingers on her desktop as she waited. And waited…

“Hello?” John’s voice was brusque.

“John, it’s Molly. Listen, something’s come up and I have to attend a town meeting in Moose Horn at seven tonight. I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our dinner, and as for the recital—”

“Moose Horn?”

“Yes. It’s a small town about a hundred miles south of here.”

There was a brief, chilly silence. “You know I’ve been planning this evening for quite some time. The violinist was a student of mine.”

“Yes, I do know, and I’m so sorry, but Brad’s sick and I’ve been asked to cover for him.”

“Tell them you can’t.”

Molly hesitated. “It’s my job, and besides, this is the first real assignment I’ve had. I need to—”

“I see,” he interrupted. “Well, my student is waiting for me.”

She flinched at the sound of the phone slamming down and gingerly replaced her own receiver. This wasn’t her first glimpse of John’s temper, but she decided then and there that it would be her last. She sighed, focused on the first page again and began to read. At five p.m. she replaced the papers neatly into the file folder and tucked it into her briefcase. Time to go. But the brief study she’d given the file hadn’t scratched the surface of the vast scope of this mining project. She only hoped the townsfolk wouldn’t notice her ignorance. The project ought to be a fairly easy sell. After all, how could anyone protest the creation of hundreds of good-paying jobs and a greatly increased tax base?

She took the elevator down to the lobby and exited the building. Her vehicle was parked in a reserved space, one of the few benefits that came with being the newest member of the firm. As always, she admired her sleek red sports car as she walked briskly toward it, leather briefcase in one hand, keys in the other. She deactivated the alarm and the door locks, and moments later was leaving Helena and heading to Moose Horn.

Molly had moved to Montana after she’d graduated Yale law school and passed the bar exams. Her family was from Boston, a mix of Scottish/Irish immigrants that included a few cops, a few priests and an assortment of outlandish and sometimes feuding clan members who kept life interesting even from so far away. She loved them dearly and missed them all very much, but enjoyed living in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains. She felt like a pioneer of sorts, being both the first bona fide lawyer as well as the first Ferguson to head West. It gave her a legendary status within her family, one that she tried only halfheartedly to dispel on her trips home at Christmas and in June, for her mother’s birthday.

Helena was an okay town to live in. Tiny, compared to Boston, but it had all the necessary cultural endowments to keep from being considered…well, to keep from being a town like Moose Horn. Where on earth had they ever come up with that name? She sighed and slipped a CD into the player, cranked the volume and let the little red sports car hit cruising speed on Interstate 15.

STEVEN YOUNG BEAR SLIPPED away from the wedding reception at the Bozeman Grand Hotel with a feeling of relief. The party was still cranking along in high gear and no one noticed his early departure, certainly not the bride and groom, who were swaying in each other’s arms on the dance floor. He didn’t like weddings. He didn’t particularly enjoy dressing up, but his sister Pony had asked him to attend. “It would mean a lot to Ernie and Nana if you came.”

And so, he’d attended the wedding of Nana’s sister’s granddaughter Leona to that fancy-talking owner of Jolly John’s car dealership in Livingston. Jolly John Johnson was the grandson of Lane Johnson, the senator who had been instrumental in destroying half of the Crow tribe’s buffalo herd under the pretense of protecting the white man’s cattle from brucellosis. Unlike cattle, the buffalo had never been proven to carry brucellosis, but Johnson had ordered the slaughter just to hurt the tribe, and hurt them he had. Of course, that had been twenty years ago and Jolly John had had nothing to do with it. He’d been seven years old. But Steven remembered it vividly. Remembered the sounds of the rifles, the stink of the carcasses, the dark vultures clouding the skies.

And now Jolly John, grandson of Indian-hater Lane Johnson, had married a full-blooded Crow. Life was full of such ironies.

Steven exited the building, surprised and gratified to see that the sun hadn’t yet set, and slung his tuxedo jacket over his shoulder as he walked to the parking lot and his dark green Wagoneer.

Moments later he was heading for home. His mood was melancholy. He was tired of weddings. There had been too many of late. An old friend earlier that spring. And the fall before that, Jessie and Guthrie’s. He doubted he would ever find the kind of happiness they had found, and the older he got, the less likely it seemed.

Fortunately, Pony had. Strange, how things had worked out for her. Steven would never have imagined his traditionalist sister marrying a white man, yet seeing her with Caleb McCutcheon for the past few months had made him realize how right they were for each other, and in less than a month, they, too, would be married. He was glad for Pony, even if it did mean he’d have to get dressed up in a tuxedo again. She deserved to have the kind of life that Caleb could offer her—the love and the happiness and the freedom from want.

All was truly as it should be. He repeated this mantra silently as he drove, but by the time he reached Gallatin Gateway and turned down the long drive that ended at the little cedar post-and-beam house, he was ready for some time alone to nurse his lonely heart. The last thing he wanted was company, but the first thing he saw as he approached the house was a strange vehicle parked in his drive, and two people, a man and a woman, sitting on his step.

They stood and watched quietly as he got out and shut the Wagoneer’s door. The woman was a girl, really, dressed in blue jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, her boyishly short dark hair framing a thin face. The man was older, in his late forties, a lean back-woods type with thick glasses and serviceable work clothes.

“Wow,” the girl said as he approached. “I guess you were at a fancy party.”

“A wedding.” Steven stopped in front of them. “I assume there’s a reason you were sitting on my step. I’m StevenYoung Bear.” He reached out to shake their hands.

“Rob Brown,” the man said. “This is Amy Littlefield. We’re both from Moose Horn. I’m the first selectman there. We’ve been waiting here for three hours, hoping you’d get back in time.”

“In time for what?”

Brown glanced at his watch. “There’s a town meeting being held at seven tonight to discuss the proposed New Millennium mine on Madison Mountain. Are you familiar with that project?”

“Somewhat,” he hedged, guessing what was to come.

“We…that is, the citizens of Moose Horn…had hired Sam Blackmore to represent us at this meeting.”

“He’s a good attorney,” Steven nodded, thinking that they’d come to get his opinion on their choice of representation. “Experienced. He’ll steer you in the right direction.”

“Then, you haven’t heard?”

Steven recognized the undertones of darkness in those four words and felt the weariness within him deepen. The day had been long, and it wasn’t over yet. “I’ve been gone all afternoon.”

Brown shifted uneasily. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Sam was killed this morning in a single-car crash. He was coming down the access road on Madison Mountain when he lost control of his vehicle.”

“Sam’s dead?”

Brown nodded. “Was he a good friend of yours?”

“I knew him.” Steven rubbed the back of his neck, stunned. He pictured Sam the way he’d last seen him, not three weeks ago, on the courthouse steps in Bozeman. Balding, overweight, kind brown eyes and a slow-spoken honesty that made people rethink their negative attitudes toward lawyers. They’d shaken hands and spoken briefly, then gone their separate ways. Sam had a wife and three grown children. “What caused the crash? Do the police know?”

“I don’t know. They were still investigating the scene when Amy and I went up on the mountain. We couldn’t get anywhere near the site.”

Steven dropped his hand, stared out across the valley. Wondered if Sam had felt any different when he got out of bed on the morning of his death. “Hard to believe.”

“He was so nice,” the girl said. “He really cared about what was happening. And now…”

“Condor International, the mining company that owns the New Millennium project, is sending their geologist to talk to us about the proposed mine,” Rob Brown explained. “It isn’t really an official meeting. It’s more of a courtesy on the part of the mining company, but we wanted to show them we meant business when we came out opposed to this mine. We thought the best way to do that was to hire a good lawyer. So we collected money, held bake sales and bottle drives, sold raffle tickets for a donated Hereford calf. We raised five hundred dollars and then we contacted Sam, who agreed to represent us.

“We gave him all our information. He went up on the mountain several times himself in the past four weeks to see what was happening. I paid him the retainer just this morning and I also gave him all the water samples we’d taken from the area streams. I believe all of it was with him when he crashed his car.”

“I see.” The great weariness mired Steven’s thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to go inside his peaceful little house and close the door. He wanted to tell these earnest people to go away and leave him alone. He wanted to hide away from the mean, ugly world. Sam Blackmore was dead. He’d died this morning, while Steven was readying himself for Leona’s wedding to a slick car salesman who had those hokey radio commercials….

“So you need someone to speak for you at this meeting that’s being held in…” he glanced at his watch “…a little less than an hour, but you have no money. I suppose you asked around and somehow found out that I was the lowest-paid attorney in the state of Montana, so you staked out my house.”

Brown fidgeted, his face flushing. “No. We called the Beartooth Alliance, the Greater Yellowstone Coalition and the Rocky Mountain Conservancy. They all recommended you highly. They said you were good, that you were a fighter.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I no longer handle active environmental litigation. My fighting days ended two years ago. And besides the fact that I’ve given up litigating, I have little knowledge of this particular proposal. I’m familiar with the mining company you spoke of, but—”

“Isn’t that enough for a start?” Amy asked. “Please, Mr. Young Bear. We’re desperate. I know the town of Moose Horn doesn’t matter to most of the people on this planet, but to us it’s a beautiful place. We live there and we love it, and we don’t want to see it destroyed by some greedy mining conglomerate.”

Steven shook his head. “I’m sorry you wasted your time.”

“But…”

“You’ll be late for your meeting if you don’t leave right away.”

Brown reached for Amy’s arm but she shrugged away from him, thin face determined, eyes fierce. “My mother left me her diamond engagement ring,” she said. “It’s two carats, pear cut. Blue. A beautiful stone. I’ve had it appraised and—”

“No,” Steven said.

“It’s worth a lot of money. I’ll sell it and you’ll have the fee you need. Name your price. Just please come to the meeting tonight. Please, Mr. Young Bear. This means so much to all of us. If you could only walk on that mountain, you’d understand the awful thing that’s about to happen to the entire area, and what it means—”

“Does it mean more than your mother’s engagement ring?”

“This fight is so much bigger than me,” she said without hesitation. “So much bigger than all of us.”

Steven felt his resolve beginning to crumble. Ever since Mary Pretty Shield’s death, he had deliberately avoided the fights, avoided the risks, avoided the pain of failure. He’d rolled down his shirt sleeves, buttoned his cuffs and toed all the proper political lines. But he would never forget her, or what she stood for. When Amy Littlefield spoke almost the exact same words that Mary had spoken nearly two and a half years ago, it was as if Mary were reaching out from the grave, trying to remind him of what was really important in life.

And there was this truth, too. It was his fate to back the underdogs. All of his life he would walk that path. He’d never be a rich attorney. It simply wasn’t meant to be.

“I’ll go to the meeting, but on one condition,” he relented. “You keep your mother’s engagement ring.”

Steven declined the offer of a lift to and from the meeting with Amy and Rob, preferring the privacy of his own vehicle, but he had rapidly fallen behind their Dodge sedan and given up trying to keep apace. He felt as though the entire world were rushing by him at breakneck speed, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere, everyone late for something…but what? What drove people to live their lives at such a frenzied pace? Where was the enjoyment in that?

He admired the alpenglow that backlit the mountain range to the west, highlighting those last clear streaks of gold and vermilion before dusk coaxed the stars to shine down out of the night sky, and wondered if the wedding reception was over, if Jolly John and Leona had left for the airport and their trip to Hawaii. Seemed like everyone wanted to honeymoon in Hawaii. If he ever got married, he’d opt for Alaska, maybe. He’d like to see the salmon run by the thousands up some wild, unspoiled river, camp in the shadow of Denali, float a raft down the Yukon…

He sighed and glanced at his watch. Ten minutes to seven. He was definitely going to be late.

MOLLY TOOK THE WRONG TURNOFF outside of Bozeman and was nearly in Deer Lodge before she realized her mistake. She pulled over and studied the road map intently, anxiously nibbling on one fingernail.

In less than an hour, she’d be officially launched as a real, practicing attorney, pacing studiously before the residents of Moose Horn, calmly and succinctly explaining the financial benefits and industrial intricacies of a world they knew nothing of. She’d be skillfully guiding them into a brighter, more financially secure future, and who knows? They might even name their new library after her.

Molly shook her head with a laugh. At this rate, she’d be doing well if she just found the town before the meeting was over. She tossed aside the road map and spun her car around, reversing her direction on a dime with a nickel to spare. She shifted, shifted again, and had the speedometer nudging sixty-five in mere seconds. Lovely little car to drive. It almost made this two-hour road trip fun. The window was down and the cool mountain wind whipped through the car. The road was made to order for her Mercedes, all curves and twists. She came around a tight corner and hit the brakes. A dark green Jeep Wagoneer blocked the road in front of her, traveling at a sedate speed that instantly caused her blood pressure to soar. She was already late for the first important assignment she’d ever had with Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein, and now she was trapped behind some nursing-home escapee.

Another corner approached, and then a brief straightaway beckoned with no oncoming traffic. She downshifted, accelerated and flew past the sluggish Jeep like it was standing still. On the next brief straightaway she pegged seventy and U2 was blaring from the speakers when something struck her cheek just below her left eye. The car swerved as she hit the brakes, slapping wildly as an insect fell into her lap. Her brief, panicked glance identified the insect as a honeybee even as she felt the car leave the road. The Mercedes slid sideways and nosed over into a ditch, throwing her against the seat belt as the car came to an abrupt stop in a thick cloud of dust.

Molly sat for a moment, dazed, then scrabbled to release her seat belt and jump from the car, brushing her hands over her clothes to make sure the bee was gone. She felt her cheek swelling where the bee had stung her. Tires crunched on gravel and she turned, blinking to clear the tears from her eyes. A vehicle pulled over onto the shoulder. The driver of that irritatingly slow Wagoneer she’d just passed emerged, walked around the front of his vehicle and approached the edge of the ditch.

“Are you all right?”

The man had a deep voice, and he was dressed to kill in a tuxedo. His hair was the glossy black of a raven’s wing and he had calm, dark eyes and a handsome face. He was certainly not ready for a nursing home, in spite of the way he drove. He was decades away from a nursing home. Eons.

Molly raised a hand to her cheek. “I’m fine,” she said as he started down the embankment toward her. “A bee stung me and I went off the road. I’m not sure if I can get my car out,” she said as he drew near. She took a step and stumbled into the side of her car even as he reached a firm hand to steady her. Her knees were wobbly and she was sure he could feel the trembling that was beginning to take over her body.

“Easy. Your car looks okay, but it’ll need to be winched out of this ditch. I could pull it out with my Jeep, but I’d need to pick up a good tow rope. You sure you’re all right?”

“Fine,” she repeated. “But I have to attend a meeting in Moose Horn. I was already late when this happened, and now—” She stopped speaking when her voice broke.

“I’ll give you a lift,” he said. “I’m on my way to the same meeting. We can get your car out of the ditch afterward.”

Molly hesitated. She had never before accepted a ride from a stranger, but she trusted her instincts, and they were telling that this man was safe. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that very much.”

“Glad to help. I’m Steven Young Bear, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.

“Molly Ferguson,” she said, liking his warm, firm grip. “Thank you again, Mr. Young Bear. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped.”

THE DRIVE TO MOOSE HORN took fifteen minutes. Steven’s passenger sat quietly beside him, reassuring him every time he asked if she was all right. Sporadic conversation centered on getting her car out of the ditch after the meeting. It would be dark. They’d need to either call a tow truck or see if one of the townsfolk had a rope or chain heavy enough to use. “Yes, all right,” she murmured repeatedly in response to his one-sided dialogue, nodding her agreement to his plans. She seemed distracted. He noted that her face was very pale and her hands were trembling in her lap, but attributed that to the adrenaline pumped into her system after skidding off the road. He hoped she wasn’t going into shock. It was a miracle she hadn’t been killed, driving that fast when she left the road. He hoped she’d learned that rural roads and excessive speed were a bad combination.

It would have been impossible to miss the town of Moose Horn, since the road ended at the one and only public building. A cluster of cars and trucks crowded the small gravel lot. Steven parked, got out, went around the vehicle and helped her out. Her hand was ice cold.

“Thank you, Mr. Young Bear,” she said, gripping her briefcase. “I was supposed to meet someone named Ken Manning. He should be here, though I don’t know what he looks like, and I’m not sure he knows I’m coming, so he probably won’t be looking for me….” Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the building.

“I know who Ken Manning is,” Steven said, wishing he’d never agreed to come tonight. The very mention of that man’s name set his stomach churning. “I’ll hook you up with him, but first I really think you should get checked out. I’ll ask if there’s an EMT present. Usually in a remote place like this, one or two of the townspeople are trained to handle medical emergencies, and—”

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Young Bear,” she interrupted, her voice strengthening, becoming firm. “I wouldn’t classify a bee sting as a medical emergency. Really, I’m fine.” She lifted her briefcase and took two wobbly steps before coming to an uncertain halt. Steven took her briefcase out of her hand and encircled her waist with his arm. “Thank you,” she said humbly as he guided her into the building.

“You’re very welcome,” he replied, taken aback by the unexpected surge of protectiveness he felt for a woman he’d only known for the past five miles and twenty minutes. By the time they reached the town office, she was walking unassisted. She paused to take her briefcase from him, smooth her clothing and give him a wan but reassuring smile before entering the room.

The whole town was there. There were chairs, but only enough for half. Rob Brown sat up at the front of the room behind a big desk. Next to him sat Ken Manning, the geologist from the mining company and there was an empty seat to his left. All conversation stopped as Steven led Molly past the crowd at the rear, through the maze of occupied seats at the front, and pulled out the empty chair while Manning stared with obvious dismay, both at Molly and Steven.

“Ken Manning, Molly Ferguson,” Steven said when she was seated, giving a brief nod to Manning. “Ms. Ferguson was just involved in an accident. Her car went off the road.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. “Mr. Manning, I’m Molly Ferguson and I’m here on behalf of Brad Little. He was taken ill at the last moment and couldn’t make it. He sends his regrets.”

Manning scowled, obviously taken aback by the young woman’s appearance and her announcement that she was replacing Brad. “I don’t recall Brad ever mentioning you,” he said, staring briefly at her swollen cheek. He glanced up at Steven. “There seem to be a lot of lawyers going off the road all of a sudden. I heard about Sam Blackmore’s accident. I suppose that’s why you’re here?”

“You supposed correctly.” Manning hadn’t changed a bit. Same cold eyes, same tight, thin face, same predatory expression. The memories of their past encounters were still vivid enough to rankle. Steven had a sudden fleeting vision of Mary Pretty Shield’s naive smile, and the pain was like a knife reopening a freshly healed wound. Steven glanced questioningly at Molly, who gave him another reassuring smile. He shrugged and then retreated toward the rear of the room, aware of the curious stares that followed him. It wasn’t every day a full-blooded Crow Indian came to a town meeting dressed in a black tuxedo. It was enough to get a rise out of the sleepiest of attendees, and none of them appeared to be the least bit tired.

There was a big land map pinned to the wall on one side of the room. A blackboard spanned the other and big angry words had been boldly scrawled and underlined in white chalk across the top.

We won’t be shafted by New Millennium Mining!

“Thanks for coming,” someone murmured behind him, and he glanced around to see Amy Littlefield. “You were so late we were afraid you might have had a change of heart.”

“The woman I came in with was just in an automobile accident. Her car went off the road about five miles from here and I was next on the scene. Does Moose Horn have an emergency medical technician?”

Amy shook her head. “Hank Fisher was the best, but he drowned in a boating accident last year. She’ll have to go into Bozeman. Is she seriously hurt?”

Steven glanced to the front. “She says she’s okay. I suppose I could take her after the meeting. What’s happened so far?”

“That guy from the mine, Ken Manning, talked about the project, pointed it out on the map and showed us some pictures of how the inside of a mountain looks and how they go about mining the ore, and then just about everyone here said something against the mine. The woman you came in with—who is she anyway?”

“She’s the temporary legal rep for New Millennium mine.”

“Oh,” Amy said, visibly dismayed. “Well, I guess we should have expected that they’d have their own lawyer.”

Rob Brown stood and adjusted his thick glasses. “All right. I guess we’ve made our position here in Moose Horn pretty clear. We’ve heard what Mr. Manning had to say about how great this project will be for all of us, but we happen to like things the way they are. We don’t want the top of Madison Mountain taken off and carted out of here in big trucks, and we don’t want cyanide leaching into our streams and rivers. We don’t want our town invaded by construction workers and miners, and we intend to fight tooth and nail to keep these things from happening.”

There was resounding applause from the twenty-six other people in the room. When the commotion died, Molly Ferguson spoke quietly to Ken Manning for a moment, and then, at his reluctant nod, she got to her feet. Moving to the wall where the map hung, she stared for a moment, a frown furrowing her brow. At length, she turned to face the population of Moose Horn. She cleared her throat—a small, vulnerable sound in the expectant silence.

“Hello. My name is Molly Ferguson and I’m an attorney with the law firm of Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein, which is representing this mining project,” she began in a surprisingly professional and well-modulated voice that provided stark contrast to her somewhat disheveled appearance. “I apologize for being late, but my car went off the road about five miles from here. I wasn’t here to listen to your comments, but Mr. Manning just attempted to summarize them for me. Your reservations regarding this project are completely understandable. It’s only natural that you wouldn’t want to see the rural character of your town changed or your way of life threatened, but please consider the benefits that would be realized.

“The Sourdough Mining Company stands on firm ground, and has since it was founded in 1877. An estimated one to two hundred million dollars worth of copper and iron ore is hidden within that mountain. This project would employ over one hundred and fifty people for ten to fifteen years,” she continued, apparently not seeing the confused glances being exchanged by members of the town, nor hearing the undercurrent of voices, one of which muttered, right next to Steven, “Sourdough Mining Company? What the hell’s she talking about?” and oblivious to Ken Manning, who had risen half out of his seat behind her wearing an expression that Steven could only describe as ominous.

“These are jobs that would pay employees a decent, livable wage. We’re not talking about criminals and hoodlums invading your town. We’re talking about honest, hardworking men and women, people like yourselves, who certainly deserve the chance to live a good life.

“And let me emphasize that your fears of pollution are completely unfounded. All of the mine’s waste products will be stored in a special reservoir and capped with rock and cement when the project is completed. There will be absolutely no leachate to contaminate your rivers and streams. Engineers have been designing these special reservoirs to protect places like your watershed. It’s state-of-the-art technology and absolutely safe.

“The increased tax base this mine generates would allow you to build your own elementary school, house your library in its own building, update your firehouse and your town hall. Businesses would move in to help support the larger population. A gas station, grocery and hardware stores. Moose Horn might actually become a place on the map.”

“It already is!” a woman called out.

“Well, no offense intended, but I couldn’t find it on mine,” Molly said.

“That’s no surprise,” a man guffawed. “You don’t even know what mining company you’re supposed to be representing!” The citizens of Moose Horn burst into derisive laughter as Molly Ferguson’s face flushed crimson. She turned toward Manning with a stricken expression, but he had slumped back into his seat, dropped his face into his hands and was shaking his head slowly back and forth. Steven moved quickly to the front of the room and the laughter instantly died.

“Good evening,” he said in the resulting hush. “My name is Steven Young Bear, and I’m an environmental attorney. I’d like to say a few things if I may. First and foremost, I was deeply saddened to hear that Sam Blackmore was killed earlier today in an accident on Madison Mountain. I’ve known him for many years, and I was asked to come here this evening to speak on his behalf. There was no time to prepare, so I must ask you to please bear with me.

“Ms. Ferguson has stated that up to one to two hundred million dollars worth of copper and iron ore would be hauled out of here by the Sourdough Mining Company, but unless Ken Manning has changed horses in midstream, I believe we’re talking about a different mine and a different mining company here. Ken is currently the chief geologist for New Millennium Mining Company, a subsidiary of the Texas-based conglomerate, Condor International. If what I’ve read in the newspapers is correct, what they propose to do here is remove the entire top of Madison Mountain and take out between six to eight hundred million dollars in silver and gold.

“I don’t know that much about this particular project, but I’m familiar with some of their other mines, and I don’t doubt those figures. They’ve mined a lot of ore out of a lot of mountains in this country. They’ve left a lot of messes, too. Big, state-of-the-art industrial-mining messes. In Colorado they’ve left a mess with an estimated cleanup cost of two hundred million dollars after taking one hundred and twenty million in metals out of the land, and a cyanide leak in one of their state-of-the-art reservoirs killed every living organism in a seventeen-mile stretch of the Arrowsink River.

“In New Mexico this very same company filed another claim on public lands and took thirty million out in metals, during which time leaking acid wiped out the entire fishery in the Rogue River. The cleanup cost at this abandoned mine is expected to run close to three hundred million dollars and may become a Superfund site, paid for by our federal tax dollars. That’s money out of your pocket and mine.

“Their Soldier Mountain Mine right here in Montana is contaminating the drinking water and causing high cancer rates among the Sioux on the Rocky Ridge Reservation.

“You folks are right to question the wisdom of situating an open pit mine in the middle of a beautiful wilderness area. Madison Mountain deserves better than to be sacrificed to the corporate bank. As a nation we need to speak as one voice to force our government to overhaul the archaic mining laws that allow such plundering of our public lands. We need to start now, today, right here, with twenty-seven voices. It may not seem like much, but it’s a beginning. We have a big job to do,” he concluded, “and we had better get to it.” He returned to the rear of the room to a deafening burst of applause.

Manning rose from his seat as if to offer a rebuttal but the first selectman beat him to the punch. “The next town meeting to continue discussing this proposal is scheduled for September tenth,” Brown said. “I hope that Mr. Manning and his attorney will be able to attend. This is the beginning of a process that is new to all of us, and I hope, too, that Mr. Young Bear can guide us through it. Thank you all for coming and for voicing your opinions.”

The meeting broke up and there was a slow shuffle of people out the door. Steven looked around for Molly, but she was standing beside Ken Manning, her face very still and pale as Manning addressed her. He could only imagine what Manning was saying. Rob Brown and Amy Littlefield approached with a score of other people in tow. “So what do we do now?” Brown asked.

“You can start by putting some emergency zoning into place. New Millennium will be looking to house over three hundred contractors in the immediate area. Zone your town to prohibit temporary cluster housing, rapid growth and sprawl. Zone the hell out of it. You say the water samples were destroyed?”

“They were in Sam Blackmore’s car,” Brown said, “and his car was totaled. It was hauled to a place called Maffick’s Salvage in Jefferson. Maybe the samples survived, but…”

“I’ll check with the local police,” Steven said. “But if they didn’t, you’ll need to take fresh samples from every year-round or intermittent creek or seep that would be impacted by this mine, and the samples need to be kept in a safe place. They’re the most important evidence you’ll ever have against this company. And then you need to start making noise. A lot of noise. The more people who know about this, the better. The more press releases that get into the newspapers, the better. Invite heavy-hitting journalists here to tour the site.

“We need to get the Yellowstone Coalition on the bandwagon, along with the Rocky Mountain Conservancy and the Beartooth Alliance. They can all help your cause. I’ll do what I can to get the ball rolling on that end. Every phone call can make a difference. If you can do a mailing, do it. Start a petition drive. Get signatures, names and addresses of all voters who oppose the mine.”

“We have no money,” Brown stated bluntly. “We all work, but our jobs barely put food on the table.”

“Money is what a campaign like this needs,” Steven said. “You need to find backing. Environmentally friendly businesses, sportsmen and women who hunt and fish this area. Neighboring communities, the tourism industry, the tourists themselves. Anyone who wouldn’t want to see this wilderness destroyed and would kick in dollars to protect it. A big coup would be to get a national group like the Sierra Club or the Nature Conservancy on board. I’ll make some phone calls to them, too.”

“Will you come to the next meeting?” Amy Littlefield asked.

Steven hesitated. He glanced back to Manning, who was stabbing his finger in Molly Ferguson’s face, then looked back at the ring of faces surrounding him. Thought about Mary Pretty Shield and the last time he’d ever seen her, the way she’d smiled over her shoulder at him as she walked out his office door. After her death, he vowed he’d never fight these fights again, yet it was her memory that had brought him to Moose Horn. How could he abandon these people now?

“I’ll be there.” He paused again. “A campaign like this takes over your life,” he cautioned. “Going up against a giant like New Millennium Mining will become the longest, nastiest fight you’ve ever gotten into. The litigation could drag on for years, and I’ll tell you this right now. The odds are against you.”

“We have to try.” Brown looked around at the ring of hopeful faces as they nodded their assent. “We have to.”