Stony River

by Ciarra Montanna

  “You mean, like the mousetraps I wanted—so they won’t be harmed?”

  “Yes—he’s catching them alive, stealing not just pelts but the whole animal.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe for a fur farm. Or maybe he’s just an idiot who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. All I can tell you is that it’s absolutely illegal.” His jaw was set like someone ready to swing a punch. “I’d like to get my hands on that so-and-so and ask him where he gets off, thinking he can come in and steal our otter. We’ll leave this as we found it and go give Randall a call.”

  They crossed the river again where it was not so fast, Sevana with an exhilarating lightness of heart. No longer was she plagued by doubts about Fenn’s innocence. The indignation in his face, his willingness to call in the authorities, his outrage that someone was poaching on the river, told her he would never do the same. He was a true sportsman who respected the law and took his privileges seriously, would never do anything to jeopardize them.

  After Fenn changed his wet clothes at home—coming downstairs in a pair of old boots and grumbling because they gave him blisters—he drove to camp to call the constable on the base radio. But predictably, the always busy Mr. Radnor was in another part of his territory. The constable thought he would be back in town that evening or the following day. Not to be put off, Fenn left a message to be delivered if the warden could be found sooner.

  He was frothing with impatience when he arrived home, ready to take matters into his own hands and hunt down the poacher himself. “Maybe we could drive to town and leave a note at Mr. Radnor’s house,” Sevana suggested, trying to distract him from what sounded to her like a very bad idea. “Does he have a family?”

  Fenn gave a snort. “What do you think? No one could live with his vigilance, his attention to detail, his perfect standards. The crew wishes he would get married, so he’d knock off a little on the job-is-my-life thing, but no way that’s going to happen.”

  “That may be so,” she said, trying to be fair, “but no one could work harder at his job. And it’s a big job, after all—so much country. It seems the crew could appreciate that.”

  “I’ll point that out next time Randall sticks them with one of his picayune violations.” He paced the floor until he decided on a course of action: he would take a few hours off work in the morning and swing into town to look up Randall, thus saving the extra trip tonight.

  They had dinner on the porch away from the heat of the stove, as they’d been doing for some time. While they ate their hash, an oyster-colored cloud layer spread across the sky—which was such a small space between the overleaning mountains, it could change from clear to overcast in just a minute or two. A lone thrush piped plaintively into the dull light. She didn’t hear them so often now, in full summer. Toward Cragmont the sky grew darker, an ominous purple-black. “Somebody’s getting it,” said Fenn.

  It was in that stormy, threatening dusk that a rangy figure loped into the clearing—Randall Radnor, wet and muddy and breathing a little fast, but not so winded that he couldn’t talk in full, articulate sentences. He had the poacher handcuffed and in the office of the constable. He had heard Fenn’s transmission on the radio, but was in a box canyon where he couldn’t get a signal to respond. It was hearing the trap was on the opposite side of the river that made him decide to check out Fire Creek again. And this time, he’d found a truck hidden past the end of the road in some brush. It was the same vehicle he’d followed—and inexplicably lost—once before, with mud on the license plate. Here he gave Sevana a significant glance. Down in the draw of Fire Creek he’d found the camp—and the poacher, napping—and four cages of healthy otters. Open and shut case. The man was poaching live animals for a fur farm up at Barriere. He had already confessed to it. After turning in the poacher, he’d gone back to photograph the evidence and find the rest of the traps laid along the river. All the traps were accounted for; he’d found the one Fenn reported last of all. From there he’d waded the river—and wondered if he could inconvenience Fenn to drive him back to his truck. He would walk back the way he came, except it was getting dark and he’d left his flashlight in the truck. It was really quite inexcusable—he shouldn’t have neglected to bring it with him. Sevana could see him making a mental note to make sure it didn’t happen next time he made a long trek in the afternoon.

  It was a lot for Fenn and Sevana to assimilate, but now wasn’t the time to get the details from the weary warden who had just descended a thousand feet to the river from the poacher’s camp, then followed the bank on foot for twelve miles without any trail, all with thunder rumbling over his shoulder—as Fenn graphically elaborated to Sevana later. “How could he have done all that in one afternoon?” she questioned, unable to figure it. “That’s Randall for you,” said Fenn, as if that explained it all.

  Fenn took Randall around to Fire Creek and was gone five hours, for it was much further driving the road system than walking cross-country. Throughout the rest of the night the rumblings continued, but the weather stayed to the east.

  During breakfast a knock sounded on their door. Sevana expected to see Mr. Radnor back for more investigating—but it was Pete, and he wanted Fenn to come fight fire. The lightning had touched off dozens of starts east of there, and the government didn’t have enough firefighters to staff them all. So Fenn left his oatmeal unfinished and went upstairs to throw a pack together.

  While the husky, brown-whiskered logger stood waiting, he made known to Sevana how much everyone had liked the cookies, fought over them, were still being stockpiled by some. He said he would like to see her again. She tried to be as polite as possible without committing to anything definite. But she didn’t have to fend for herself long before Fenn reappeared, ready to leave.

  “Don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said as he went out the door. “Take care of Trapper, will you?”

  “Of course I will.” Sevana wished he didn’t have to go. Firefighting sounded even more dangerous than logging, and she was worried for him.

  It wasn’t until noon that Sevana discovered Fenn’s boots behind the stove. She stared at them in horror. He had gone off to the fire in the old pair that gave him blisters. Somehow, she had to get his good boots to him before he got sore feet.

  She put the boots in the sun to dry while she devised a plan, then toted them out to the truck, astounded at how heavy they were. Steeling herself because she wasn’t a very experienced driver, she got behind the wheel of Fenn’s four-wheel-drive—and after temporarily stalling it in the ford of Avalanche Creek, proceeded without further panic to Cragmont. She didn’t even meet anyone in the narrows.

  In town she looked up Mr. Sutter’s address at a phone booth; but even without it, his house would have been easy to find just off main street with a logging-cab parked out in front. Mr. Sutter’s wife, a plump, fair-haired woman as affable as her husband, understood the need to get Fenn’s boots to him and drew a map, but cautioned it was a long way and she’d best wait for morning. “Henry told me you were staying out there,” she said in a friendly way. “He’s treating you all right, isn’t he?”

  For a second Sevana looked blank, thinking she meant Henry, before she realized she was talking about Fenn. “Yes, of course,” she assured her. All at once she had the feeling the whole town had been talking about her staying ‘out there’ with someone they perceived as a hardbitten, irascible loner—starting with that first skeptical reaction she’d received from Clarence. Come to think of it, when Joel had introduced her at church as Fenn’s sister, there had been some surprised looks and subtle pauses she hadn’t placed at the time, but now she believed she had pinpointed their cause.

  Mrs. Sutter urged her to stay the night and get an early start in the morning, but Sevana said it couldn’t wait. Thanking the helpful woman, she was off at once following the lake north, driving dirt roads she hadn’t known existed—until all daylight was extinguished and she could see only by the headligh
ts.

  Ahead the road was barricaded. She parked to the side and walked around the barrels. She could hear noise and see light in front of her. And then she was in the fire camp, with dozens of men in government-issue fire clothes moving about.

  As she stepped into the light in her button-up white shirt and jeans, she was immediately noticed.

  “Hey, sweetheart, are you lost?”

  “You need someone to help you find your way home?”

  “Did they send you to cheer up the troops?”

  “You can cheer me up.”

  Firefighters crowded around her calling out saucy, good-natured remarks.

  “I’m looking for Fenn Selwyn,” Sevana said loudly.

  This brought a round of jeers. “Never heard of him.” “No one here by that name.” “Would you settle for me?”

  But then one man took pity and bent to her. “He’s over there,” he said in a low voice.

  Sevana went the way he pointed, and found Fenn sitting at the campfire with some others. He had his kerchief knotted gypsy-style around his head and was eating something out of a tin. “Fenn—”

  He was disturbed when he looked up and saw her there. “Good lord, Sevana, what is this?”

  “Hello there, Sevana.” It was Pete, grinning ear to ear. “Have a seat.” He slid over to make room on the log between him and Fenn.

  “Oh, no, I—” Sevana began.

  “You’re just in time for chow.” And the benevolent fellow tossed her a box of rations.

  “You trying to poison her?” accused one of his companions.

  Not quite sure what to do, Sevana sat down with the rations.

  “What’d I give you?” The irrepressible lumberjack bent to see the lettering. “Chicken Stew. Lucky. That’s one of the better ones. Here, let me open it for you.” He tore it open and handed her a can with a spoon. “Here you go.”

  So it was that Sevana found herself eating cold chicken stew in a campful of firefighters. “What’s going on?” Fenn hissed.

  “I brought you something,” she said, swallowing her mouthful. Pete was right, it wasn’t too bad. “I’ll show you in a minute. How are you?”

  “Terrific. Just like being back in military school.”

  “Are you done for the night?”

  “That’s right. We don’t go back on the line until 4 a.m. How’d you get here?”

  “I drove your truck.”

  “Look, Sevana, whatever this is about, I want to know.”

  “Have a brownie,” interjected her right-hand man, handing her a sealed square packet. “’Course they’re nothing like yours.”

  “My god, Pete, that’s no way to treat a lady,” somebody said across the fire.

  Sevana took a bite of the chocolate-covered brownie and practically choked. It was like a brick of sawdust coated in wax. When Pete wasn’t looking, she dropped it in the fire.

  “Hey, Sevana, did you hear the news?” Sevana recognized Emery from her outing to Foxtail Falls. “We’re getting a phone at camp.”

  “You are? That’s wonderful.” She was gratified to hear that the conveniences of civilization were coming, however slowly, to their valley.

  “Sure ’nuf. Hawk got hold of an old radio phone. You ought to check it out when we get it set up. If you ever need to make a call, feel free. Only thing is, the batteries run on solar and they’re pretty old. You might only be able to use it when the sun’s been shining for a while.”

  “Thanks, Emery, I might do that,” Sevana responded in appreciation.

  “That’s great, as long as your emergency happens in good weather,” someone opined.

  “Yeah,” another firefighter pitched in, “if you’re gonna maim yourself, remember to do it on a nice day.”

  Sevana laughed; but conscious of Fenn glaring at her, she turned and asked him privately, “How are your feet?”

  “They’d be a heck of a lot better if I had my other boots,” he retorted sulkily.

  “Come with me,” she said. “Thanks for dinner,” she said sweetly to Pete.

  Fenn followed out of sheer curiosity. The sight of the two of them disappearing into the dark brought forth another round of comments, some of them crude.

  “Shut up, she’s my sister,” Fenn grumbled.

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  “Good one, Fenn.”

  At the truck Sevana handed him his boots. “I didn’t want you to ruin your feet,” she explained.

  For once Fenn had nothing sarcastic to say. “Hey, thanks a lot. I didn’t think about it until I was on the way. Never expected you to bring them, though.”

  “I didn’t know if I could find you, but I had to try. After all, it was my fault they got wet. Well, take care of yourself, Fenn.”

  She started to get in the truck, but Fenn stopped her. “Look, Sevana, I’m not too keen on you going home in the dark on all these back roads—with my truck. Think you could wait for daylight?”

  “Well, I—”

  “I’ll find a place for you to sleep.”

  But when she saw the crew tent was what he had in mind, she drew back in protest. “Fenn, I can’t sleep here.” She was genuinely disturbed.

  “Don’t worry—women firefighters and personnel get thrown in with us all the time. Nobody thinks anything of it.”

  He rounded up an extra mat and blanket and made a place for her between his sleeping bag and the wall of the tent. “This is my sister,” he announced to the tentmates who’d come in for the night. “She’s sort of stranded for the night, so she’s staying here. And if any of you bother her, I’ll knock your block off,” he added pleasantly.

  “I wasn’t going to bother her,” a man said piously. “I was going to ask her to marry me.”

  Sevana lay beside Fenn in the tentful of smoky-smelling firefighters; and even though she’d never expected to find herself in that situation, she knew a certain elation that Fenn had acted the part of a real brother—at least in front of all those men. She felt closer to him than she had all summer—and not just because of his proximity on the tent floor. She could hardly sleep for the uncomfortable ground and the strangers around her, but an unexpected warmth smoldered in her heart.

  Before dawn she opened her eyes. Fenn was sitting on his sleeping bag eating rations by headlamp. Others were getting up, moving about. One unlucky soul was vigorously trying to trade his canned scrambled eggs for something else—anything else at all.

  “Fenn?” She sat up. “When are you going to be done here?”

  “It’ll be a while. They have more fires burning than people to man them.” He handed her a box of rations. “Here’s a rat-pack. Corned beef okay?” He was on his feet now.

  Firefighters were leaving the tent. Fenn donned his hardhat, picked up his gear. “So long, Sevana. See that you get my truck home in one piece.”

  “I will. Oh Fenn, please be careful.”

  She went outside in the drab light to watch the crew pick up their pulaskis and march off in a line toward the waiting school bus—Pete waving goodbye, and the man who had wanted to marry her falling on one knee with his hands clasped toward her beseechingly, so that she had to laugh. But in reality she could see the smudge of brown smoke rising high against the pinkish sky behind them, and she was afraid for all the men going off to battle the flames of those many wildfires.

  CHAPTER 24

  Sevana anticipated no trouble retracing her route since she had traveled it once already. But instead, everything looked different going the other way by daylight, and before long she realized she was on the wrong road, for it had dwindled to two tire tracks snaking through fender-high weeds on the side of a very steep canyon. She chewed her lip as she squeezed around a tight corner, and resolved to turn around at the next wide place.

  But now there were no more wide places. She drove more and more slowly, until the truck was barely crawling. She thought about stopping and backing out, but she knew she couldn’t back that big vehicle around all those corners with no room for
the slightest miscalculation. Even now, she wasn’t exactly sure where her tires were, and the right side of the truck appeared to be out in space. Sweat broke out on her forehead. There had to be a wide spot ahead, she told herself. The person who made the road had turned his equipment around somewhere.

  At the next curve she brought the creeping truck to a standstill, for she didn’t like what she saw. An entire section of the cutbank had gone down the mountain, taking part of the road with it. Enough rocks had been cleared from the remaining road surface to make a path through the slide, but it hardly looked wide enough to proceed.

  Sevana viewed it queasily. If she hugged the inside as far as possible, maybe she could get by. There must be enough room, or the road would be posted as closed. In any case, she had to go on, because there wasn’t room to turn around where she was. She pushed the hair out of her eyes. How had she gotten into this predicament? She didn’t want to go through that hellish place, but it was the only choice she had.

  Mouth set in a firm line, she put the vehicle in gear and moved forward, dangling her head out the window to make sure the tires were as close to the bank as possible. As for the other side—she didn’t even look. She had always liked Fenn’s square-front truck, but now she wished it was streamlined and sleek. She inched forward, hearing rocks crunch under the tires.

  She was in the middle of the slide, and experiencing a bit of premature elation because the truck hadn’t fallen off the cliff yet, when there was a loud pop and the truck gave a sickening jolt. Petrified, she jammed on the brakes. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t even open her door to investigate because of the boulders blocking it.

  Crawling out the window, she clambered over the rocks to the front, where her eyes told her what she didn’t want to see: the passenger-side tire was flat, punctured by a rock. She was also horribly fascinated by the mere handbreadth between the deflated tire and the slumped edge of the road.

  She’d really done it this time, she congratulated herself, leaning her elbows on the hood of the truck. Even if she did know how to change a tire, which she didn’t, there was no way to do it unless she didn’t mind standing on thin air. Fenn’s truck would have to stay right where it was until he came to claim it, and she—she had a four-mile hike back to the other road before she could even hope to catch a ride. Nobody would be coming along this road, because she was the only one in the world stupid enough to travel it.