Montana Standoff

by Nadia Nichols

  “I’ll be there,” Steven promised.

  He stared out the window after hanging up the phone, thinking about fundraising, or trying to, but a certain red-haired woman kept distracting his concentration. He thought about the barbecue Pony had invited him to at the Bow and Arrow, that beautiful ranch on the edge of the Beartooth Wilderness, and the next thing he knew he was pulling Molly’s card out of his wallet and dialing her office number. She answered on the first ring.

  “Ferguson.”

  “Young Bear,” he said, following her brusque lead. “I’m calling to invite you to a barbecue being held this Saturday at the Bow and Arrow.”

  “When?” No hesitation whatsoever on her part.

  “Two o’clock.”

  “How do I find this place?”

  “When you get to Katy Junction, take a left. You can’t miss the ranch sign. It’s about eight or ten miles from town.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said, and abruptly hung up the phone. Steven held the receiver to his ear for a few moments more, wondering how Pony had known that Molly would say yes, when he’d have bet his bottom dollar she’d politely refuse. He shook his head, marveling. Must be a woman thing.

  MOLLY GLANCED FURTIVELY out her open office door. Life went on as usual in the corridors. No one was watching her or hovering near her door, eavesdropping. No one suspected that she had just been speaking with the firm’s evil archenemy, making plans with him for a Saturday rendezvous at a ranch called the Bow and Arrow.

  She drew a deep breath and tried to remember that she was supposed to be working while she was at work, but she couldn’t concentrate. Steven Young Bear had just asked her on a date and she’d said yes. She’d said yes in spite of the fact that she wasn’t supposed to see him, consort with him, talk with him, laugh with him, and certainly not fall in love with him. In spite of the fact that when she agreed to act as Brad’s assistant, she’d sworn off all but professional contact with the opposition’s lawyer. On the other hand, attorneys represented clients, but the clients didn’t control their attorney’s private lives. As long as there was no breech of contract, as long as they both acted professionally, as long as their private lives remained separate from their professional lives, there was no conflict of interest. What harm could possibly come from going with Steven to his sister’s place for a barbecue?

  She jumped out of her chair and paced to the window, gnawing at her fingernail. No harm would come. No one from the office would ever know. Certainly Ken Manning would never find out. She would meet Steven there and they would have a good time and then she’d come back home.

  “Molly? Do you have those papers for me?”

  Brad’s voice startled her and she whirled around with a surge of guilt. He was hovering in her doorway, file folder in one hand, tie loosened, top buttons of his white shirt undone, hair tousled. He looked like he’d been busting his butt on the New Millennium permitting process and fully expected that she’d been doing the same.

  “Ah, well, no, not exactly. Brad, could I speak with you for a moment?” His expression changed from intense to questioning, but he stepped into her office and waited. Molly crossed to her desk. “I’ve been doing some research and I think that you should be aware that Condor International is in court right now on four different EPA violations with two of their other mining subsidiaries, and if I can dig this stuff up in such short order, you can be sure Young Bear’s all over it.”

  “So?”

  “Well, I’m just pointing out that if push comes to shove, these pollution violations at other mining operations aren’t going to look very good for our client. Two of the violations are so bad they’ve been proposed as Superfund sites.”

  Brad stared at her for a few moments more and then shook his head with a laugh. “Sometimes I forget how new to this you are. Don’t worry about stuff like that, just get those papers together. We have to fast-track this permitting. The courthouse rumor mill has it that Young Bear filed an injunction this morning. He’s just getting started making our lives miserable.”

  “How so?”

  Brad shrugged. “He’s shutting down the mine road, which is just bullshit theatrics on his part. The road permit’s not approved, but it will be in a matter of a few weeks. Everyone knows that, including Young Bear.”

  Before she could respond, Brad left. She stood for a moment by her desk, thinking about what he’d just said, then glanced at her computer screen. After a moment, she sank down in her chair and tapped in another legal search engine. She still had plenty of time to get the paperwork to Brad before the end of the workday and plenty of questions she might find answers to on the Internet. Brad’s comments had done nothing but increase her growing sense of unease. She had initially intended to sleuth out information she could use as examples to show how New Millennium’s proposed mine would benefit the tiny community of Moose Horn, but the deeper she dug, the more confused she became.

  Four days from now she would be joining Steven for a barbecue on the Bow and Arrow Ranch. Ethically she knew she couldn’t discuss any of this with him, but morally she wanted to. She wanted to believe that economic health did not necessarily preclude environmental health, and that the two could and should coexist in a progressive society. That the New Millennium mine could bring a huge windfall to a podunk town like Moose Horn. That change was necessary, growth was necessary, and that a static environment was a dead environment. But as she scrolled through the endless list of violations and the repeated warnings and fines levied by the EPA against the Soldier Mountain Mine and three others owned by Condor International, she began to wonder if her righteous beliefs had any validity at all.

  STEVEN LEFT HIS OFFICE EARLY to notarize and file some papers at the courthouse, and then, pausing on the courthouse steps, he thought suddenly about Luther Makes Elk and Pony’s request to engage the old man’s services for her upcoming wedding. The September afternoon was gentle and golden, and the fumes from the traffic swishing past made him long for the clean smells of blue sage and empty space that surrounded Luther’s little shack. He glanced at his watch. It was getting late. He would be even later getting home if he made the side trip to see the holy man.

  His adopted grandfather was a traditionalist elder who had once led the Crow into a battle that couldn’t be won; a spiritual battle against the white missionaries who had sought to erase the culture, traditions and religion that made the Crow people what they were. It was an ugly battle that Steven Young Bear had no intentions of ever fighting, and yet, such was the irony of life. A step taken away from one place might very well lead back to it in the end. He’d been on the rez the night that Luther Makes Elk was arrested six years ago for leading the traditionalists in a ghost dance and prayer to return to the old times. Steven had been visiting Pony and his aunt Nana and at their insistence he had accompanied them to the ghost dance. In spite of his resolve to remain apart from it all, he had been mesmerized by the rhythmic heartbeat of the drum, by the star-studded night sky, by the sweet-spicy aromas of the sage and sweetgrass smudge.

  He had felt as far removed as he could ever be from the white path he had chosen to walk as he watched the ritual dance, and yet it was that very path that had saved Luther Makes Elk in the end, after the blue lights and the sirens, after the forced dispersal of the traditionalists because of the lateness of the hour and the nervousness of the white farmers who lived on leased reservation lands.

  At Pony’s desperate urging, he had gone to visit Luther Makes Elk at the jail, to talk with him and explain why he had been arrested for accosting an officer of the law with his ceremonial drum, and ultimately, to post the bail that freed the old man. He’d even driven Luther back to his run-down shack in the foothills, not too far from where Pony lived. He had tried to leave then, but Luther Makes Elk had taken out the pipe and made a ceremonial smoke to share with Steven, and a young man did not show disrespect to an elder, especially a holy man.

  Steven had reluctantly shared the pipe. After a conte
mplative pause, Luther had nodded and said, through a curl of blue smoke, “You walk a different path, but one day, your blood will be important to you again, and when that day comes you will become a great man.” Luther had handed him the pipe and Steven had smoked. “I will have you be my adopted grandson.” Luther had nodded again.

  Steven had hidden his dismay from the old man. He did not want to be Luther Makes Elk’s adopted grandson, but neither could he insult him. “I would be honored to call you grandfather,” he’d said.

  Luther had drawn a thin-bladed skinning knife from a sheath at his belt and drew a shallow cut across the heel of his hand. He handed the knife to Steven, who did the same. They clasped hands, blood to blood, and that was how Luther Makes Elk, the legendary Crow holy man, became Steven’s adopted grandfather, and why Steven, instead of heading home at the end of the day, was pointing his Jeep east, toward the reservation, to ask Luther if he would bless Pony’s wedding to Caleb McCutcheon. Steven wasn’t sure what Luther’s answer would be. Luther had never before blessed the union of a white man to one of his own, and had said many times that he never would.

  LUTHER MAKES ELK was not surprised to see Steven. “I cooked enough supper for you,” he said by way of greeting as he stood in the doorway of his shack and watched Steven approach. His deeply wrinkled face was impassive yet his sharp black eyes missed nothing. “But you came too late,” he added. “And so. The food is cold.” He motioned Steven inside.

  The sun had long since set and the air was growing chill. “I can’t stay long, Grandfather,” Steven said. “I came to ask a favor.”

  Luther paused on his way to the little propane stove in the corner of the one-room dwelling. “Sit and eat.” He motioned to the only chair drawn up to the small metal table and Steven obediently sat. “I have gathered some things for your vision quest. An eagle feather. Four hardwood twigs to mark your place on Brave Heart Mountain. Red is the color of the cloth I tied around the twigs. Red seemed right somehow.” He nodded. “Some bags of tobacco. Sage and sweetgrass for your smudge.” He lifted a pot from the stove and set it in front of Steven. “Eat as much as you want,” he said.

  Steven took the offered spoon and pot of stew and dipped into it. “Grandfather, my sister Pony is marrying a white man. His name is Caleb McCutcheon and he owns the Bow and Arrow Ranch outside of Katy Junction.”

  “I got your traditional clothing, too,” Luther said. “It’s in the sack with everything else. You will need these things so the spirits can find you better. We will smoke the pipe together before you go. You can take the pipe with you. It is blessed.”

  Steven swallowed a mouthful of the stew. He glanced down at the pot, which was nearly full, then raised his eyes. “Grandfather, have you eaten?”

  The old man nodded. “Twice, already. I waited, but like I said, you were late.” His black eyes narrowed. “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s fine.” Steven took another reluctant bite.

  “We should have a sweat-lodge ceremony,” Luther said, “but there is no time if you are going to climb the mountain before dark.”

  “Grandfather, I can’t go on a vision quest tonight. I have to work in the morning.”

  “You can’t do your white man’s work when your spirit is confused. You need to climb the mountain and let the Great Mystery explain itself to you and take the red fire from your blood before it makes you sick.”

  “I’ll go as soon as I can, but it can’t be tonight.” Steven pushed the stew aside, realizing the futility of trying to explain the white man’s way to an old traditionalist. “Pony wants to do the seven sacred steps at her wedding. The vows are already written, but she needs a holy man. She was hoping you might agree to conduct the ceremony.”

  Luther glanced down at the pot, and then at Steven. “I got to thinking about Johnny Bird, and I wondered, where did he get that meat? Johnny doesn’t hunt. But then I tell myself, the meat is a gift. And so. I made a stew from it.” He shook his head in faint apology. “It isn’t very good, is it?”

  MOLLY WAS PACING HER APARTMENT, microwaved dinner untouched, when the knock came at her door. She flung it open and pulled Dani inside. “Steven’s invited me to the ranch where his sister lives this coming Saturday,” she blurted out, slamming the door behind her startled friend.

  Dani raised a hand to her temple as if momentarily lost in thought. “Wow, that’s great, Molly. The way you sounded on the phone I thought maybe you’d been fired from your job or disfigured in a horrible car accident. Couldn’t you have hinted at the good news and spared me losing several years of my life on the drive over here?”

  “They’re having a barbecue.”

  “You’re kidding. What will those crazy ranchers think of next?”

  “You’re my wardrobe expert, my fashion adviser. Advise me.”

  “What time of day?”

  “Two.”

  “Gee, that’s a tough one. Appropriate attire for a ranch barbecue. Let me think.” Dani’s eyebrows drew together in an exaggerated frown. “Wait,” she said, face clearing as she raised her hand, pointing to the sky. “I’m having a vision. Levi’s. Cowboy boots. Nice leather belt. White linen blouse, dark gray or paisley tailored vest. Minimal makeup, maybe one or two pieces of jewelry, simple earrings, and I don’t mean my emerald ones. Not appropriate for a ranch barbecue.”

  “What should I bring?”

  “A couple of nice bottles of wine and a copy of your résumé.”

  Molly paced to the window, stared out into the darkness. “I know I shouldn’t be going. I promised I wouldn’t see Steven other than professionally, and I should have said no when he asked, but I just couldn’t. I’ll take my chances and hope I don’t get caught.” She turned. “That’s awful, isn’t it?”

  Dani smiled. “That’s good. There’s hope for you yet. And don’t look so glum. The ranch owner might take pity on you and give you a job mucking out horse stalls or branding calves after you’ve been fired from that high-and-mighty law firm of yours.”

  STEVEN LISTENED to his phone messages when he got home that night. There were a few from colleagues touching base on various legal issues, a briefly worded message from Sam Blackmore’s widow stating that Sam’s digital camera, the water samples, the money and his briefcase were definitely missing and she had reported them stolen to legal authorities, and another from Conrad Walker, the sheriff who had conducted the preliminary investigation into Sam Blackmore’s death. “Thought you’d want to know,” Walker’s rough voice said. “Blackmore’s widow is pushing the district attorney for a forensic autopsy even though the medical examiner’s preliminary findings turned up nothing suspicious.”

  Good news.

  He pried off his shoes, retrieved a beer from the refrigerator and padded into the living room to read the newspaper when his phone rang. “I’m sorry I was so abrupt on the phone today but I was afraid someone in the office might overhear,” Molly said, and his heart jumped with gladness at the sound of her voice.

  “How do you know your home phone isn’t being tapped?” he said, dropping onto the couch.

  “Somehow I don’t think I’m that important.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Steven said, surprised at how easily the words came, and how much he meant them. Her soft laugh was followed by an awkward silence. “I’m glad you’re going to the barbecue,” he said.

  “I’m glad you asked me.” Another long pause, and then she cleared her throat. “Steven, maybe I’m way out of line bringing this up, could you tell me why there’s no public record on file of any lawsuit being brought against the Soldier Mountain Mine by the tribe on the Rocky Ridge Reservation?”

  Steven felt a jolt of surprise. He took a sip of beer to give himself time to collect his wits. “No,” he said.

  “But you told me that there was a lawsuit, and you helped them fight that battle.”

  “Yes.”

  There was a long silence on her end and then the soft sigh of defeat. “Okay, then. Her
e’s an easier one for you. Can you tell me if there’ll be dancing at this barbecue?”

  “Probably. My sister likes to dance.”

  “Do you?”

  “I didn’t inherit the talent that she did, but I can do a passable Texas two-step.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s a mandatory dance movement for anyone living west of the Mississippi.”

  She laughed again, and the warm sound made him smile. “I guess I have a lot to learn about this western stuff,” she said.

  “I’ll teach you the two-step if you teach me how to cook a cabbage.”

  “Deal,” she said. “Is this a casual event?”

  “Everything at the Bow and Arrow is casual. It’s a great place. You’ll like it.”

  After they’d said good-night, he sat in silence for a long time, the newspaper lying forgotten on the couch beside him. He sipped his beer and stared at the wall and wondered why she’d asked him about the Soldier Mountain lawsuit. He’d only brought her there to show her what an open pit mining operation looked like. Her question had startled the hell out of him. He hadn’t figured on her being interested in the plight of the Sioux who lived on Rocky Ridge and the uranium mine’s long list of environmental violations. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that she’d investigate the lawsuit. She’d already run into a major roadblock. Better to let her hit every wall and travel down every dead end until she gave up searching for the answers. Better to let her go on believing in truth and justice, law and order, and the sanctity of human rights, because when those beliefs died there was nothing left to hold on to.

  He knew that better than anyone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MOLLY DIDN’T SLEEP WELL that night. Just hearing Steven’s voice had had the most disturbing effect on her. It wasn’t enough to be talking to him on the phone, she wanted to be sitting with him in his cozy little living room, snuggling up next to him on the sofa, resting her head against his shoulder and gazing into the fire as he spoke. She knew it was nothing more than pure chemistry that she was experiencing. Pheromones. Wasn’t that what those chemicals that attracted the opposite sex were called? What else could it be to have addled her head so completely? She hadn’t known Steven long enough to be head-over-heels in love with him, and two people could hardly be more at odds when discussing big business and the environment.