The Deadly River

by Jeff Noonan

  Lee stifled a sob as he stared at the painting and remembered their plans. For the first time, he looked up past the ceiling and addressed his parents. “I’m just sorry, Mom and Dad. I wish we had done this sooner. We put off the best things in life and now we’ll never be able to do them. God, I love you! I miss you guys!”

  He was crying openly now, the first time since he had come into the house yesterday morning. His eyes remained fixed on the painting. Then slowly, the sobs lessened and a calm, thoughtful expression came over his face.

  Slowly and softly, words formed and slipped out of his mouth as his eyes explored the painted scene before him. “We put it off too long. But we’re gonna do it now. I know you’re here with me. I’ve felt you for days and I know you’re worried about me. Now stop worrying, ‘cause we’re gonna go west. I’m going to find the place that painting was made and the three of us will see it through my eyes.” He fell silent, in deep thought. Then he continued, “Once I find that place and we see it, I’ll worry about the rest of my life. But first, we’re going to make the trip you dreamed about.”

  Lee stood and purposefully made his way to the pile of donation items. Fumbling around in it, he found what he was looking for, an old Kodak box camera. Coming back into the office, he took several pictures of the painting. He took care to photograph the painting’s title, “Montana Mountain Lake” and the almost illegible one-word signature “Hilda”. Carefully he took the painting down from the wall and carried it out to his car.

  He’d found a purpose. He was going to find the lake that had meant so much to his family. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

  Looking around, he picked up a family picture that had been made last year; one that showed his parents proudly standing beside him. He was in his baseball uniform, waving the trophy his high school team had just won. He stuffed the framed picture unto his jacket pocket, looked around one last time and left the home.

  He would never return.

  CHAPTER TWO: MONTANA, 1959

  The four men had walked about a mile up the gravel logging road. Their trek had been mostly uphill, following a winding trout stream known locally as Little Joe Creek. All four were tall men and all were wearing heavy jackets to ward off the mountain chill. Two of the men were walking effortlessly, as the other two struggled to keep up. Finally, one of the slower men, who appeared to be the eldest of the group, called a halt.

  “Hold it you two. I can’t sit in a chair back in D.C. every darned day and be expected to keep up with you fellas. I need a break.” He was laughing ruefully as he said it. His younger friend managed to gasp out, “I’ll second that!” The older man settled his long, gaunt, frame on a big rock beside the road.

  The man who had been leading the group, Ray Moore, stopped immediately. “My gosh, Senator, I’m really sorry. I was so excited to be able to show you this that I never realized how tough it might be for you.” His friend, Kurt Kochran, was also attempting an embarrassed apology. But Senator Mansfield, from his seat on the rock, waved them off. “My wife will thank you guys. Now I know I have to get some exercise once in a while. She’ll be happy.” His friend, Congressman Lee Metcalf, was bent over with his hands on his knees, taking long breaths of the sweet mountain air. He looked up and laughed. “Yeah, sure, Mike. I’ll betcha twenty bucks that I never see you in a gym.”

  “You won’t see me ‘cause you’ll never be there either, you butt-head!” Both men were laughing now.

  The four men rested for a few minutes, talking about the beauty that surrounded them. Their walk had followed a ten-mile automobile ride from their starting point, Ray’s little café and truck stop in the mountain hamlet of St. Dubois. It had been a spectacular trip, following the little stream from where is gushed into the St. Dubois River up through the wild mountains to where they now sat. When they first left St. Dubois, small ranches covered the landscape, but the open valleys soon narrowed, becoming mountain canyons and gulches. The open fields gave way to the pine and fir forests that were characteristic of this part of Montana.

  After several miles, the canyon narrowed and the patches of snow became a solid foundation for the bushes and trees that grew through it. Now an entirely new and spectacular landscape had come into view. As Congressman Metcalf was to remark later, it was as if the pine and fir forest had just been an appetizer and now a main course in alpine beauty lay before them.

  The trees around them were huge, rising from the narrow, moist, valley to point into the heavens hundreds of feet above them. They were immense cedar trees, their light green needles and beautifully gnarled trunks distinctly pronouncing them the kings of this Montana forest. Their unique, aromatic, scent was everywhere, making this narrow valley a very pleasant experience for even the two tired travelers.

  It had been Senator Mansfield who’d asked Ray to stop the car and walk for a bit after they’d driven several miles between these cedar giants. He said that he wanted to experience this up close. During the mile-long walk, he’d tried to lead them off the road to walk on the forest floor whenever an opportunity arose. But snow patches and the debris from hundreds of years of cedar growth had foiled that effort and now he had gone as far as he could. It was time to talk.

  The Senator looked up from his seat on the rock and addressed Kurt Kochran. “Kurt, you have a reputation for being a pain in the ass about this environmental crap. That’s why I didn’t want to come out here. I don’t necessarily see eye-to-eye with all the things that the environmentalists are doing. I only came as a favor to Lee.” He nodded his head at the Congressman, who had found a seat on a nearby log. He continued, “But you’re onto something here. This cedar forest is something I haven’t seen before. How big is it?”

  “Senator, the stand of cedars is usually only about a half-mile wide. In a few places, it gets a bit wider than that. It follows the creek bed from where we first saw it on up to the crest of the mountain range, about twenty miles from here. The crest is also the Montana-Idaho border. The cedars go almost to the crest and then a few are growing on the Idaho side of the mountains. The plan to log the cedars is only on the Montana side of the mountains, where the majority of them are growing.”

  Congressman Metcalf now joined the conversation. “This is why I wanted you to come up here, Mike. The mining and lumber companies have had their way in our state for too long. As far as I’m concerned, this is the final straw. Sure, this is valuable timber. Sure, it will make our tax base bigger. But where do we stop? How many ancient treasures like this forest are we going to destroy? What are we going to leave behind for our children? And their children?” He stopped talking, just swinging his head and waving his hand at the forest in disgust.

  The Senator was lost in thought for a moment, then he roused himself. “Kurt, tell me what you know about this proposed sale.”

  Kurt was ready for the request. The words rushed out so fast that he had to start, stop, then start again as his words got ahead of his thought processes. “The sale is supposed ... Oh, dammit, let me start over, okay?”

  He drew a deep breath and started anew. “The Forest Service is planning to hold an auction for the rights to log this entire canyon. The auction is scheduled for about a month from now. By then, the snow will be mostly gone and the logging gear will be able to get in here.”

  The Senator interrupted him at that point. “I think I know the answer to this question, but I’m going to ask anyway. Why have they decided to let this area be logged?”

  “Heavy political pressure, Senator. The local State Representatives and County Commissioners have been driving the Forest Service crazy about this. The truth is that the local politicians are almost all in the pockets of the big lumber mills and logging companies around here. They look at this, and all they see is dollar signs. Cedar timber is very valuable.”

  “Do you know who, or what company, is the lead instigator on this?”

  Kurt paused to think about this question. But before he could answer, Ray Moore chimed in. “Yeah. I hea
r a lot down at my truck stop. Wards Logging Company out of St. Dubois is expected to take the contract. The other logging companies around here just don’t seem able to successfully compete with Wards.”

  The Senator replied instantly to that comment. “Why can’t they compete?”

  “I don’t know, Senator. It seems like the Wards group underbids anyone that tries to compete. Plus, they have a really bad reputation. People who try to compete with them seem to always have a run of bad luck. Equipment fires, broken legs, missing employees, things like that.”

  Congressman Metcalf joined the conversation at that point, addressing the Senator. “Yeah, Mike. This bunch is bad news. I’ve run into them before. It’s headed up by a guy named Bill Wards who owns several businesses in the area. Everything from heating oil distribution to logging to some mining stuff. People pretty much steer clear of him all over western Montana.”

  Senator Mansfield grunted his understanding, then, “Yes. I’ve heard of him. Nothing good. One more question, though.” He turned toward Kurt Kochran. “Do you know for a fact that this sale is imminent or is this still just a rumor?”

  Instead of answering, Kurt gestured toward Ray Moore. Ray reached into his old jacket’s inside pocket and produced a neatly folded sheaf of papers. He handed them to the Senator without saying anything. Mansfield took them and carefully looked them over, taking his time as he reviewed first one page, then the next. As he finished each page, he handed it to Lee Metcalf, who studied them with an equal intensity.

  Finally Senator Mansfield looked up. Handing the last paper to the congressman, he leaned back, staring at the sky with his hands cupped behind his head. After a long pause, he redirected his gaze to Ray Moore. “Those are the U.S. Forest Service’s confidential, internal, working documents that describe the entire process leading up to the sale of this cedar forest. They certainly support everything that the two of you have been saying. I’m not going to ask where you got them. But I have to admit that I’m curious.”

  Ray smiled broadly. “Let me just say, Senator, that not all Forest Service employees like the idea of clear-cutting these trees.” He waved his hand at the magnificent forest surrounding them. “In fact, most of the Forest Service guys think it is an atrocity.”

  The Senator stood then, pulling his long, lean body into a stretch that seemed to reach for the treetops. “Good! If they were allowing this to go down without a fight, I’d be looking for new billets for them. In northern Alaska.” For the first time, he seemed to relax and he smiled widely. “Let’s go, Guys. We’ve got a fight to win and time is burning.”

  As they started back down the road, Congressman Metcalf fell in beside the Senator. “Mike, what can I do to help?”

  “Nothing needed, Lee. I know the Secretary of the Interior well. I’ll call him as soon as we reach civilization. If I promise him a good steak dinner, I think that will do the job. If it doesn’t, Ike owes me a favor or two and this is important enough to call one in. Do you agree?”

  “Yup!” Smiling, the four made their way back to the car.

  It was just a week or so later that the rumors began circulating. It seemed that somehow Washington D.C had become involved in local timber sales and some of the sales wouldn’t happen this year. In fact, one sale, up Little Joe Creek, was permanently barred from further action. Local politicians protested and the St. Dubois loggers grumbled, but there was no way to reverse the decision. But there were still lots of pine trees approved for cutting, so tempers cooled and the cedar forest slowly faded from people’s thoughts. It looked like life in the Montana mountains was back to normal.

  CHAPTER THREE: CAR TROUBLE

  Big Ray Moore was singing along with Elvis as he followed Highway 10 west from Missoula. He was in a great mood and the rollicking sounds from the pickup’s radio just made it better. It was a beautiful summer day, with the sunlight reflecting off the Clark Fork River as it wound its way along the highway through the pine-covered mountains.

  Ray was returning from his weekly trip to Missoula, where he’d picked up supplies for his garage and his wife’s little café, a combination of businesses that they’d named the “St. Dubois Truck Stop”. It was a trip that they usually took together, but Dawn had been too busy to leave the café this morning.

  Ray’s big body was shaking the entire pickup as he beat the steering wheel and sang along with Blue Suede Shoes. People who knew him would have stared in amazement at the sight of this huge, always serious, man rocking out in synch with Elvis. But Ray was alone and happy, so he let it all out.

  Rounding a curve in the highway, Ray noticed a car pulled off to the side of the road. Instantly he let up on the gas and stopped singing. If someone was in trouble, Montana people helped and Ray was no exception. In a characteristic gesture, he rubbed the huge scar that slashed its way from his left eyebrow to his hairline, as he mused aloud. “Nice car, ‘55 Ford Crown Victoria. Pennsylvania plates. Must be a tourist. But I wonder what it’s doing there in the ditch?” He stopped beside the car, but no one was in it, so he continued on down the road.

  After about a mile, he spotted a man walking purposefully toward St. Dubois. Slowing, Ray pulled even with the man and rolled down the passenger window. “Need a lift?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. My car broke down back a ways.” Ray was startled. The stranded man was just a teenager, probably somewhere between sixteen and eighteen.

  “What’s wrong with the car?”

  “I dunno. It overheated and started steaming and I didn’t want to push it, so I pulled over and started walking.”

  “Probably a broken hose or something like that. I could push it to town and save you a towing bill if you’d like?”

  Lee hesitated. The man seemed nice enough. But the huge scar across his forehead gave him an ominous appearance. Plus, the man looked like one huge mass of solid muscle! Lee knew that he wouldn’t have a chance against this man, if it came to that. But what choice did he have? He had no idea how far it was to civilization, so he decided to take his chances. “That would be great. But I don’t want to bother you so much. You obviously have a load here.” The boy gestured toward the bed of the pickup, filled with bags and boxes from the morning’s shopping.

  “No problem.” After the boy was seated, Ray made a U-turn and headed back toward the disabled car. He held out his hand. “I’m Ray Moore. I run the truck stop in the next town. We can take your Ford there and I’ll take a look at it for you.”

  The boy’s face was an amazing mixture of emotions. He appeared appreciative, but at the same time he looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His smile was even somehow sad and discouraged-looking as he said, “Thank you! My name is Lee Raines. I really do appreciate this. I’ve been worried.”

  They pulled in behind Lee’s car and checked the bumpers to make sure they were the same height. With the match verified, Mike gave Lee instructions as to where to go when they reached town and the little parade left for St. Dubois.

  After a few miles, as they crested the last hill and started down into the town, a spectacular scene slowly unfolded. Two fairly large rivers joined together at the base of the hill. The rivers’ passage had, over the centuries, spread the mountains and formed a large, green valley. Near the rivers, two railroad tracks crossed one another, one running north and south and the other east and west. A small town nestled around the river junction, while ranchland stretched from the edge of town to the far mountains. In the distance, a thin plume of smoke rose from the waste burner of a lumber mill. The entire valley was framed by pine-covered mountains in picture-postcard perfection.

  Recalling the directions the big stranger had given him, Lee pushed in his clutch and coasted across the two river bridges. Shortly after crossing the second bridge, he turned left into the truck stop’s parking lot where the car rolled to a stop. Ray pulled in beside him and shouted out his window, “Just set your brake and leave it there. I’ll get this stuff unloaded and then take a look at it. You can wa
it inside.”

  “Thank you. If it’s okay with you, I’ll go in and get a burger. I’m starved.”

  “Go for it. See you in a few minutes.” With that, Ray pulled the pickup around to the rear of the café.

  It was a classic small town café. When Lee entered, he was facing a cashier’s station flanked by a long counter and about a dozen stools. To his right, several teen-agers were sitting at a corner table, nursing soft drinks and harassing one another in the timeless manner of teens everywhere. To his left were five tables lined up alongside the café’s front windows, across an aisle from the counter and stools. A brunette waitress was leaning on the counter as she flirted with a man sitting on one of the stools. The man nodded to Lee and the waitress brought him a menu as he slid onto one of the stools close to the cashier’s station. He could hear big Ray back behind the kitchen talking to someone as he unloaded supplies.

  Lee ordered a burger, fries, and a coke. He was just finishing them when Ray entered and slid onto the stool next to him. “I took a look at your car. It’s a bit worse than I thought. The water pump is shot. That’s why it was overheating.”

  Lee nodded and swallowed the food in his mouth before replying. “Okay. What do we have to do to get it fixed?”

  “I can’t fix it today. I’ll have to try to get a new pump from the Ford dealer in Missoula. If they have one, they can send it out on the Greyhound bus tomorrow. It would arrive at about two in the afternoon. But I should warn you, it could be expensive. I think those things cost about a hundred bucks or so.” He was studying Lee’s face as he spoke. He was obviously wondering if this kid could afford to fix the car.