by Gary Hart
It’s a strange world, missy, Sheridan said, one I still can’t quite get used to. Nobody’s got any privacy anymore. Everybody’s business is everybody’s business now. You’d think in a place like Durango that world would pass us by and leave us alone. But I guess it’s too much to hope for.
I know, Daniel, it isn’t fair. But I think the good news is that when everybody’s business is everybody’s business, maybe it goes away quicker. There is too much sensationalism and scandal to keep up with and pretty soon people either drown in it or go mad or just shrug it off. Mostly the latter, I think. If everything’s a scandal, then nothing is a scandal. Most overused word in modern America.
He drank his coffee and thought. Well, if those Denver newspaper folks were to ask my opinion, and for all I know they’ll try, I’d just tell ’em to publish and be damned. Nothing I can do about it anyway. He took her hand. But I’d just as soon they left you alone. You’ve suffered enough because of me.
No, Daniel, don’t say that. You haven’t caused me any suffering, she said, quite the contrary. You and your way of life, Red and Toby, your ranch, your lake, your cougar—she laughed—even your damned finortens, are a blessing to me. I’ve never been happier and more contented in my life.
Well, then, he said, I tell you what. Come up to the place tonight and I’ll cook up two of the biggest, most beautiful trout you ever saw. Brought them down the last time I was in the high country. I went downtown to the bookstore yesterday and got some maps and travel stuff about Mexico, and we’ll finish off that tequila and plan our trip. What do you say?
I say that would be perfect, Caroline said. I had planned to bake a chocolate pie today. Would it be okay if I brought it along? You do like chocolate, don’t you?
Hate it, he said. You’d better bring two.
51.
At the site of the proposed Ridges Basin Dam, several miles south of Durango toward the boundary of the Southern Ute reservation, the Durango High School band was warming up its repertoire of Souza marches for the big ground-breaking ceremony the following morning.
A makeshift speaking platform for the dignitaries was being hammered together. Every half hour or so, a city official showed up to order it extended a few more feet. By now the attendee list included both US senators from Colorado, the Fourth District congressman, the mayor and city council of Durango, the La Plata County Commission, the chairmen of the Southern Ute and Ute Mountain Ute Tribes, the deputy director of the Bureau of Reclamation and a special assistant to the Secretary of the Interior from Washington, and a passel of water big shots from Denver.
The mayor of Durango had assumed the position of master of ceremonies and was agonizing about the number and length of the speeches. The politicians would, of course, each have to speak. But they were all politicians.
Behind the scenes, the real organization was being carried out by Sam Maynard, who had issued most of the invitations and followed up to insure attendance of the most important figures. It had not been difficult. He kept repeating the Kennedy saying about victory having a thousand fathers and laughed every time he did.
Sam Maynard had called Dan Sheridan the day before. He said, It would be great if you’d be here for this, Dan.
Sheridan had demurred, talked about a couple of calves that were sickly, and mentioned the forecast of a storm in the high country.
Sam said, I’ve been checking with the weather service about every hour. You’re right about the high country, up in the Weminuche and the Needles, but it’s supposed to keep north and east of Durango. We’re supposed to have sunshine, at least in the morning, so I think it’ll be okay. I hope you’ll think about being here.
Well, Sam, Sheridan said, I do appreciate it. And I’ll give it some thought. But if I do get down there, we got to have an understanding. No platform, no introduction, no speech. You may just see me toward the back of the crowd. I’ll be the tall, ugly guy. Arrive late and leave early.
Better than nothing, Daniel, Sam said. Though my sense of justice tells me we ought to hang a big medal around your neck for this. And Mr. Cloud agrees.
You try to hang a medal around my neck anytime soon, Mr. Maynard, Sheridan said, and I’ll hang something a lot less pleasant around yours.
Sam laughed and said, See you tomorrow. He stayed an hour or two longer to supervise the location of the Stars and Stripes and the blue and white Colorado flag with the big red and yellow C in the middle. And he watched as the red, white, and blue bunting was strung around the platform and speakers’ stand.
Then Sam Maynard returned to his office to complete his list of calls and confirmations. He had worked on this project nearly all of his life. Throughout those thirty-some years, he had often thought it would never happen, that it was a pipe dream, that his beloved Utes would never get their water, in more recent times that hotheads in Durango might take to shooting it out. But here it was, and he found it difficult to believe. Tomorrow morning shovels were actually going to be put into the earth. Dirt would be moved along the banks of the Animas. He slapped his desk in happiness and said to himself, By God, this is actually—finally—going to happen.
52.
Frances Farnsworth hung up the phone and began to type on her computer. She was writing an editorial, two editorials, for the morning paper. The first was a celebration of the commencement of the Animas–La Plata water project so important to southwestern Colorado. The second was a commentary on the Russell Chandler story that she had just been told by the managing editor of the Rocky Mountain News would run in its Sunday edition.
She completed the first, then picked up the phone. Caroline, she said, I’m calling to say that the Denver paper will have much, though not all, of the exposé on your former husband and his serpentine manipulations down here years ago. And apparently he’s got himself in more financial hot water where he is now. The Denver paper is using the Colorado connection to anchor the longer story about financial mismanagement in high places. I’m writing an editorial for tomorrow that tries to put all this into some sort of historical—and, yes, moral—context. I have no choice but to let people around here know what’s coming.
It can’t be stopped? Caroline asked with heavy resignation.
Afraid not, my dear, Frances said. I’m not going to run the full story or even part of it. I’d already decided that. But the workings of my profession once more took charge of fortune and fate. The story will be out. It’s messy stuff, especially since it involves your former husband. But the good news—as we occasionally say around here—is that it will make Daniel Sheridan look like a redeemed hero and the longtime victim of a real serpent.
I needn’t tell you that he will like neither part of that, Caroline said. He’s made it clear since all this came up that he’s not anyone’s victim and he doesn’t need restoration.
This isn’t for him, Frances said. It’s for us. For Durango. It was a lie, and it has been a cancer in this community. And it did have to be dug out for the sake of everyone’s future. I didn’t want young Carroll to stir up this pot at the beginning. But he convinced me that it had to be done. And now, despite Daniel’s uneasiness with the spotlight once again, it is the absolute best thing for Durango. I’m just glad I didn’t end up having to do it—for the very reasons you’ve stated.
He will have to bear with it, Caroline said. And if anyone can, he can. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever met. I’m seeing him tonight. Let me tell him what’s going to happen.
Thank you for doing that, Frances said. I was not looking forward to the call. Do you think you can persuade him to come to the ground breaking tomorrow?
I might have before, Caroline said, but I seriously doubt it now. The Rocky will not be out until Sunday. But I gather you want your editorial out tomorrow.
Frances said, I do. The only way I can preempt the Rocky and forewarn everyone is to run the piece tomorrow.
Caroline
said, I’ll explain all this to Dan. He hasn’t told you, but you must know how much he appreciates your understanding about all this.
I do know it, Frances said. But it is not his style to say so. She hesitated, then said, Do me a favor this evening. Maybe after your first drink. Say to him that he is a hero and he always will be so long as any of us are alive to remember his service to Durango and this area. But most of all he is a hero for holding his head up under very bad circumstances and for teaching all of us what character really is.
53.
The phone rang and Sheridan picked it up. Dan, it’s Steve Ramsey. I hate to do this to you yet again. But we’re putting some search parties together to bring down some kids from the Weminuche and I’m wondering if one of the teams could use your place again as a collection point?
Of course, Sheriff, Sheridan said, you’re always welcome. Tell me what’s going on.
Pretty much the usual, the sheriff said. Three kids from the college—new ones this year, I guess—got it in their heads to camp out in the high country and as usual didn’t pay much attention to the weather. The weather service is forecasting the first big storm tonight and the people at Fort Lewis and their friends are scared these kids will get caught in it and get frozen.
It’d help to have an idea of where they might have got themselves to, Sheridan said.
We’re pretty sure it’s up near the Vallecito Basin. There’s a trail along Johnson Creek up there, and they told their friends they were going to camp out at Columbine Lake, just west and a little south of Mount Hope.
I know it, Sheridan said. Who’s coming up here?
A couple of my guys, a couple of US Forest Service rangers who know the area, and one or two of the local mountain rescue types. Another group is forming up at the north end of Vallecito Reservoir and will head north up that trail and come into the area from the east. And we’ve got a third group coming over from Pagosa Springs. They can use those four-wheelers part of the way after they leave their trucks.
You got an army, Sheriff, Sheridan said. Just make sure your guys don’t get themselves lost.
Naw, the sheriff said, this is the A team. You know most of them. Seems one of the girls is some big shot’s daughter. So, I wasn’t given any choice but to roll out the best. And the group coming to your place should be there in about fifteen minutes. They’ll need to park their horse trailers at your place, if you don’t mind.
Don’t mind at all. Problem is, Sheridan said, looking at his watch, it’s going to take a good three or four hours or more to get up there on horseback. And if that weather comes in, it could get pretty shaky getting down from up there. Might have to overnight. I hope your guys have their long johns and sleeping bags.
They do, the sheriff said, though if we’re lucky and those kids are where they’re supposed to be, it’s not out of the question everybody can get back by midnight. We’ve got a chopper coming down from Grand Junction to try to locate these kids from the air while it’s still daylight and make sure they’re alright. If we could find a clearing up there, we might even try to lift them out.
Not much clearing around that area, Sheridan said, and a lot of tall trees and some pretty steep slopes. I probably know that area better than any of your guys. You want me to take them up there?
Naw, Dan, you don’t have to do that. We’ve rousted you out much too often. Just give our guys some guidance and go over their maps with them so they know what they’re doing. Then he hung up.
When the rangers, deputies, and rescue crew arrived, they parked their trucks and horse trailers, unloaded their horses, and saddled up. Sheridan bent over their trail maps on his kitchen table, pointing out trails, gulches, streams, and rough patches, and suggested the most effective route up and back. Once found, the students would have to leave their gear and double up on the horses of their rescuers to get down. Sheridan made the crew check their heavy-duty flashlights. It’s either going to be overnight up there or a long dark ride down to get back here by midnight, he said.
Sheridan watched as they assembled in his yard. He then made a quick decision, scribbled a note and placed it against a brown paper–wrapped package on his table. He patted Toby and told him to watch the house.
He went to the barn and saddled Red. He put on a parka and a liner with ear covers under his Stetson. Out in the yard he told the group that he would take them up as far as he could to make sure they found their way. Despite their disavowals of his obligation, he said, I can get you up there faster than you can get yourselves there. We don’t have a lot of time to waste.
He led them across the north end of the Waldron property to the east and then north up the McClure Canyon toward the Endlich Mesa. A trail there would take them due north past Lake Marie and up the Crystal Valley toward Columbine Pass and Columbine Lake. They would pass just west of Sheridan Mountain, the 13,000-foot peak his grandfather had climbed and given his name in 1906.
54.
The lights were on when Caroline reached the Sheridan ranch that evening. She knocked repeatedly, with Toby jumping and barking inside the door, until she finally found it open and went in. She couldn’t account for the yard full of trailers and trucks, but assumed it was one of the rescue parties Sheridan had told her about.
Her calls to Daniel went unanswered, and she asked Toby for his whereabouts as if she expected an answer. She thought he must have needed a last-minute dinner item and had gone to the tiny grocery and tavern down the road. She must have just missed him.
Then she saw the package and note on the table. The note said, “Have gone up to find some stray lambs. Fix your dinner and leave some in the frig for me. Don’t drink all the tequila. Will be back late. Dan.” Then she saw something he had never written to her before scrawled at the bottom. “I love you.”
She didn’t like this at all. He shouldn’t keep tempting fate like this, she thought. Why can’t he just…settle down? she thought. Then the idea made her laugh and she relaxed. He couldn’t do those things, she realized, because if he did he wouldn’t be Dan Sheridan.
She drank a little tequila, and it burned fiercely. She got crackers and cheese to lessen the fire and ate them with the drink until she relaxed. She looked at her watch as the sun began to sink. How far up? Where did he have to go? She knew from the yard full of trailers and trucks that he was not alone. In fact, he was leading a cavalry unit, she thought. At least he wasn’t up there by himself.
She sighed and settled in for a long, and mostly lonely, evening. Toby followed her everywhere and stayed close to her when she sat down. She turned on Sheridan’s radio for news and music. After an hour or so, a weather bulletin warned about heavy snow and high winds in the high country. And she did not like that information. The early winter storm was coming down from Montana through western Colorado and on to the southeast. It was expected to bring heavy drifts in the San Juan Mountains but bypass the city of Durango.
Thinking that by some miracle he might be back earlier in the evening, she considered it best to cook the trout she found in the refrigerator and have it, together with some corn, ready for a late supper. He would be hungry. But he would also be thirsty. She poured another bit of tequila but made sure they was plenty left for him. She occupied some time looking at the maps and reading the tourist booklets laid out on the kitchen table and planning a getaway to a Cabo San Lucas beach when the January weather came.
Once she had rolled the fish in cornmeal and fried it the way he had shown her, she found it difficult to eat very much. She had little appetite and considered that she probably would not until he got back safe and sound.
From time to time, Toby would go to the kitchen door, look toward the barn, and whine softly. She called him back to the kitchen table and gave him bites of her fish.
She thought of the unopened package on the front room table and brought it into the kitchen. She untied the string and unwrapped the paper. It
was the carved figure of an Indian woman holding a bird, perhaps a dove, in her arms. She wore a traditional dress that fell almost to her feet. The figure was long and sinuous. It had been freshly oiled and rubbed, and the walnut glistened. She read and reread the note he had left.
For a time she held the figure so tight her knuckles turned white. She sent up a silent prayer. She didn’t know what else to do. Very late that evening she lay down on the worn leather living room sofa and covered herself with a sheepskin throw. She thought it best to wait for Sheridan like this. It would do little good to continue to stand by the window hour after hour.
Despite her vow to await his arrival, she presently fell into a deep sleep. Toby lay on the floor close beside her.
55.
At ten o’clock that Saturday morning, the dignitaries filed onto the platform at the Ridges Basin Dam site. A crowd of close to two thousand had gathered, much to Sam Maynard’s delight. He scanned the back of the crowd for Daniel Sheridan’s familiar hat but could not locate it. He somehow felt Sheridan would come late, but he would be there.
The band played “The Star-Spangled Banner” and the crowd sang along. The opening remarks were delivered by the mayor and then by his predecessor, old Mayor Hurley. The speeches then began and ran on for quite a while.
Despite instructions for brief remarks, too many on the platform saw an opportunity to claim credit, to compliment each other, or to view with delight the dawn of a wonderful new day. And this day turned out to be a brilliant fall Colorado day. Despite the storm clouds moving out of the San Juans and drifting to the southeast, the sun shone and the day began to turn warm.
After well over an hour of talks, the principals came off the platform and filed to the nearby beribboned dam site. Shiny new shovels were handed out and, predictably, there were not enough to go around. Several political figures ended up sharing grips with other political figures, some sworn enemies. But it was too important a day for old grievances and grudges.