Montana Standoff (22 page)

“Yeah. I got 'em.” Luther sat back with a contented sigh. “Boy, this stuff smells good.” He began to eat. “And so,” he said after a couple mouthfuls. “You think she got in trouble because you didn't eat the stew?”

“You told me once that an owl was an omen of death.”

Luther took another forkful and chewed slowly, with obvious relish. “And you are afraid Red Hair will die?”

Steven watched an old pickup whip past. Dust swirled and was whisked away on the light wind. He shook his head. “Ken Manning's a dangerous man. If there's anything you can do to protect her…”

Luther opened a different box and poked inside it with his fork. He sampled the contents of the new box and grunted with satisfaction, sitting back again. “Red Hair doesn't need protecting. But you?” He shook his head. “You should eat a lot of that owl stew. Are you carrying that pouch I gave you?”

Steven reached to tug the leather thong that hung around his neck and showed Luther the pouch.

“Good. That's big medicine.”

Molly emerged from the shack, carefully balancing two tin bowls of the stew. She handed one to Steven, then perched beside him on the bench and balanced her bowl on her thighs. “Sorry it took so long. I could find only one spoon.”

“That's because I only need one spoon,” Luther said.

“We can share,” Steven said, handing her the spoon that she'd nestled into his stew. Molly smiled her thanks and then tasted Luther's cooking for the first time. Her
expression remained unchanged. She hesitated only fractionally before diving in and rapidly finishing off her portion, after which she handed Steven the spoon and raised her empty bowl with a smile of gratitude.

“That was good,” she said to Luther.

Luther nodded. “A man living alone learns to be a pretty good cook.”

“Well, thank you. That was delicious,” Molly said, “but I couldn't help but notice that you don't have a refrigerator. How do you keep things from spoiling?”

“I don't worry about stuff like that,” Luther told her. “I'm too old. You know, I'm so old that tonight, I could die in my sleep. And so. I'll eat all this Chinese food first, before it has time to spoil.”

Steven regarded the spoon Molly had handed him. He dipped it into the stew and took the obligatory taste, swallowing quickly. “Grandfather,” he said, feeling sweat prickle his forehead as his stomach turned, “you may be old, but you can't die in your sleep until you've married my sister.” He rose to his feet, setting his bowl upon the wall bench. “We have to go. We have a meeting to attend tonight.”

“Another meeting.” Luther shook his head. “It would be better if you went on a vision quest instead.”

“I'll go soon, Grandfather,” he said. “We can't be late for this meeting tonight. It's very important. Thank you for the stew.”

“You go to your meeting if you have to, but climb the mountain soon. There is much wisdom that needs to find you, but when you hide yourself in the white man's world, the spirits get confused.” Luther shifted his solemn gaze to Molly. “You have already had your vision,
Red Hair,” he said, “but you don't know what it was you saw. The owl sees in the night and flies on silent wings to bring you his message. And so. If you want to come here again, that would be okay.”

 

“T
HAT WAS JUST
L
UTHER
'
S WAY
of saying you didn't bother him too much,” Steven said in response to Molly's prodding questions as they drove away. “He was telling you that he liked you. You cleaned your bowl. You ate all your stew.”

“And that was enough to make him like me?” Molly said.

“Yes. Like I said before, most white people think he's a crazy old man.”

“But he told me himself that he was a good cook,” Molly pointed out. “It shouldn't have surprised him that I cleaned my bowl.”

“If it weren't for his friends bringing him food to eat on a regular basis, Luther would probably starve to death. All the meals he cooks for himself taste like that owl stew.”

“That's because he's poor. He doesn't even have a refrigerator, or a bathroom with running water. I looked while I was inside, and that shack of his isn't fit for a junkyard dog—”

“Luther wouldn't live any other way,” Steven interrupted. “He has no need for what he calls all your modern inconveniences. He'd live in tepee, go back to the old ways and the time of the buffalo, and be happy. That's why Pony wants to be married by him. He's the last of his kind, and she's the last of hers.”

Molly frowned. “What did he mean about the owl?”

“I told him about the dream you had on the way to the Bow and Arrow. An owl is a powerful omen.”

“Yes, but what was the message I was supposed to learn?”

“Luther speaks in riddles, but I think he meant that you should listen to me, and obey me at all times.”

Molly glanced at him. “Nice try, Young Bear. So when are you planning to climb
Cante Tinza?
”

“Not tonight.”

“Can I come with you when you go?”

“A man can't have a vision unless he's alone. Besides, you're still lame from your ride.” Steven concentrated on the road. “Don't worry. We'll climb a mountain together, but we should start with one that's not as tall as Brave Heart.”

Molly's chin lifted. “I can climb your spirit mountain, Young Bear. Just tell me when, and I'll be ready.”

 

T
HE PUBLIC MEETING
in Bozeman was so well attended that afterward, the media dubbed it opening night on Environmental Broadway. All the major TV news crews were on hand, as well as a whole slew of journalists from across the country who'd had the time to hop a flight to Montana. The only person missing was Dehaviland.

At first his absence was hardly noticed. There were enough diversions to shift the attention of the crowds who jammed the room, spilled into the hallway and stood outside the court building, waiting and hoping for some positive glimpse into the future or a bloody feud between opposing factions.

Amy Littlefield was the spokesperson for the citizens
of Moose Horn, giving her presentation with a poignant naïveté and passionate innocence that couldn't help but move the most hardened of journalists present. Following on her heels, Steven delivered his own summation of the New Millennium project on Madison Mountain. His delivery was calm and deliberate, and everyone present, whether for or against the mining project, hung on his every word.

Molly listened to both deliveries with a pounding heart. She was next up, but where was Dehaviland? Why wasn't he here? She caught Steven's eye as he stepped down from the podium and could read nothing in his expression. She glanced at Brad and he nodded that it was time. She stood on trembling legs, hoping that her fright was well hidden as she approached the podium, and gazed out at the sea of faces. So many people had come to hear what was about to happen to the place they lived in, the land they loved. She drew a deep breath to calm herself and released it silently.

“Good evening. My name is Molly Ferguson, and I'm the attorney representing Condor International and New Millennium Mining Company. A few short days ago I was drawn on the carpet for pushing this project forward without waiting for the proper permitting. I stand humbly before you tonight and ask your forgiveness for my inexperience in these matters. Having come to know some of you personally during the past few weeks, I can only hope that my track record will improve.

“This is a great state, and she has great champions, many of whom are in this room tonight. Two of those champions, Steven Young Bear and Amy Littlefield,
have helped me realize that a mountain is far more than just a pile of rock, dirt and minerals, that a national forest is more than just a green spot on a topographical map, and a river is more than just a blue ribbon of water that ends its journey in the sea.”

Molly paused, scanning the crowd, searching for some positive reaction to her words. “I'll be the first to admit that I'm a city girl. I don't know the first thing about trees and rivers and mountains. I moved here to take a job in a law firm that represents companies who specialize in extracting minerals from the earth, and my interests were necessarily with the law firm's clients.

“What's wrong with that? Nothing. The minerals are there, the need for them exists, and they possess tremendous value. But how we go about mining them makes all the difference. My client, Condor International, believes that mineral extraction can be accomplished without the destruction of precious natural resources like the Yellowstone River. In fact, they want to guarantee that the river is protected. How? By not creating an open pit mine anywhere within the river's watershed.” Molly paused for a moment and glanced at Brad, who responded to her raised eyebrows with a negligible head shake. Her interpretation: Dehaviland had not yet arrived.
Where could he be?
Dare she discuss his proposal in his absence?

She gripped the sides of the podium, drew a steadying breath, and stepped off the edge of the cliff. “The CEO of Condor International, Gregory Dehaviland, has urged his board of directors to ensure the preservation of the greater Yellowstone ecosystem for generations to come, and to that end they voted just yesterday to suspend the Madison Mountain project.”

There was an audible murmur of surprised exclamations from the crowd. Only the citizens of Moose Horn had any inkling of what her statement might contain, and even they seemed startled to be hearing it from her, as well as visibly pleased and relieved. Applause rippled through the room and gained volume as the reality of her words sunk home.

“There are conditions, of course,” she continued, leaning toward the microphone and raising her voice until the applause died. “Condor International has invested a lot of money to date in establishing the New Millennium mine on Madison Mountain, over two million dollars in the past year and a half. The board of directors passed a vote that gave the option to purchase the patented mine claims to a land trust set up by Steven Young Bear's constituents. The purchase price is two million dollars, and the land trust has until March to come up with the funds to save Madison Mountain.”

A journalist in the front row stood, pen poised over notebook. “Excuse me, Ms. Ferguson, but two million dollars seems like a pretty big chunk of change for twenty-seven blue-collar workers living in Moose Horn to raise in six months.”

“Indeed, it is a great deal of money,” Molly replied smoothly, “but Madison Mountain is part of our national forest, and therefore its fate lies in the hands of all the people of this nation, not just the citizens of Moose Horn. Surely a country as great as this one can rally around such an important cause.”

Amy Littlefield stood up with her hands clasped tightly before her and said, “I have a question for you,
Ms. Ferguson. Condor International is a pretty big company, is it not?”

Molly nodded, her eyes scanning the room as her heart hammered and her mouth grew dry. Where on earth was Dehaviland? “Very big,” she said.

“I guess the point I'm trying to make is, two million dollars is peanuts to an outfit like that,” Amy said. “If they're suddenly so anxious to color themselves green, can you explain to me why they wouldn't just forfeit the patented claims to a land trust in the name of good publicity?”

“Two million dollars is two million dollars,” Molly said briskly. “We're talking about a corporation here, with stockholders that demand fiscal profits. What Condor International has offered is a compromise that will benefit both parties and serve as a blueprint for future interactions with environmental interests.”

“I think what your client has offered is a cheap way out of an embarrassing situation,” Amy challenged. “Condor International broke a whole slew of laws trying to push the New Millennium mine down our throats, and several people were seriously injured as a result of those laws being broken. Isn't there the possibility of a big lawsuit being brought against them, a lawsuit that might cost them well over two million dollars? And where is their CEO, anyway? Wasn't he supposed to attend this meeting tonight? Maybe his board of directors had a change of heart. Maybe there
is
no compromise, and that's why he's not here.”

W
HEN
P
ONY TOUCHED
Steven's shoulder, he was just rising from his seat to go to Molly's aide. He turned, startled, then relaxed when he saw it was his sister. She leaned closer. “Steven,” she murmured in his ear. “The lady in the reception area took a phone call a few minutes ago from Gregory Dehaviland. He's on his way but he had some trouble and is going to be a little late.”

Steven nodded. “Good,” he said, relieved that Molly didn't have to face the crowd alone. “I hope he gets here soon.”

“And Caleb has some important information for you about Luther Makes Elk's rifle,” Pony added before returning to the rear of the room.

As Steven approached the podium, Dehaviland himself entered the room. The CEO of Condor International shouldered past the onlookers standing at the rear of the hall and strode up the aisle to the podium. He glanced at Steven with an apologetic expression, turned to Molly and said, “Did you make the announcement?” and when she nodded, swung to face the room.

“Good evening. I'm Gregory Dehaviland, and I'm sorry I'm late. My attorney has outlined Condor International's proposal, so I won't beat around the bush
while you wonder why in hell Condor International would suddenly give up an enormously profitable venture just to appease a handful of protesters. My initial reason for proposing this compromise was selfish. I own property on the Yellowstone River. I want the fishing to remain great, and the wilderness around that old cabin to stay the way it is. While I strongly believe it's possible to extract mineral resources from the earth in a safe and responsible manner, I also believe that when the proposed mine is being situated on public lands, the people of this nation should decide whether or not the permits are granted.

“Bottom line, Condor International is willing to work with local communities and environmental groups to ensure that the land gets the respect it deserves, and we want our stewardship to reflect our belief in a future that allows all of us to experience the power and the beauty of the wilderness.

“Perhaps Thoreau said it best when he said, ‘In wildness is the preservation of the world,' but I think my daughter said it even better when she told me, ‘Dad, you owe me and my children and my grandchildren a world that has at least as much to offer as yours did. The air and water should be as clean, or better yet, even cleaner, the forests as full of trees, the wild places just as wild.' And she's right. We need to think about the resources we're using and how we're using them. We need to think about what we're leaving behind for future generations.

“I'm seeing a lot of skeptical faces out there,” Dehaviland said, drawing a fold of papers from inside his parka. “I have the papers with me, and there's a notary here to make it all nice and legal.” He held them up. “So
here's the deal, in black and white, waiting for signatures. This is for real. The price may seem steep, but it's fair, and I'm sure that Steven Young Bear is the man who can make this all happen. He's a fighting man, as you can tell by the bruises on his face, but hopefully the fight to protect the Yellowstone watershed from this moment forward will be a good, peaceful, and positive fight.” He lowered his arm. “If the notary could please come forward, we can get these papers signed.”

Dehaviland gestured for Steven to stand beside him as a stout gray-haired woman stood and made her way to the podium. While she watched, both parties signed the documents, after which she added her own signature and stamped them with her notary seal. Steven held the papers as she left the podium, then shook hands with Dehaviland and allowed himself a rare smile.

“The Madison Mountain Land Trust has been given six months to raise the money necessary to buy the patented leases from Condor International,” Steven spoke into the podium microphone. “Two million dollars is a lot of money, but it's just money. Money passes through our hands like water, and when it's gone we don't even remember the measure of it, but the measure of the land is timeless and infinite. A mountain and a river live forever. This is a gift we can give to future generations. One day they might look back at the place we once stood and say, ‘Thank you.' That would be a good epitaph for all of us—that together, we cared enough to make a difference.”

 

M
OLLY FELT HERSELF MELTING
as Steven spoke, felt a growing warmth and softness battle with her cool and impersonal professional image. When he finished speak
ing, he glanced at her and she felt herself falling ever more deeply in love with him. She was uncomfortably warm, almost dizzy. A hand touched her arm and she jerked her eyes upward to meet Caleb McCutcheon's.

“May I say a word or two?” he said.

“Of course.” She nodded, and Steven, who had overheard the exchange, gestured for McCutcheon to take over the mike. He stood in front of the podium, a tall, handsome man equally as self-possessed as the two who had preceded him.

“Good evening. My name is Caleb McCutcheon, and I live at the Bow and Arrow Ranch, outside of Katy Junction. Some of you might know of the place, but for those of you who don't, it's one of the most beautiful ranches in the West. My opinion, of course, but as a matter of fact that's why I'm here tonight. I think Montana truly is one of the last great places, and I believe we should try our best to keep it that way. Like Steven Young Bear said, money is just money, but a river and a mountain live forever. We can raise that two million dollars one dollar at a time, and I'm going to start the process here and now with a contribution of five thousand dollars.

“Furthermore, I'll match any contributions made here tonight dollar for dollar, and be glad to do it. I'm thinking that almost everyone in this room is here because they care about this land, so if you can kick in five bucks tonight, I'll match it. Five hundred and I'm right here. One thousand? Better and better. Think about it. Alone, we don't stand much of a chance, but together we can raise this money. We can leave a helluva legacy for our children and grandchildren.” McCutcheon's
keen gaze scanned the room. “So come on. This is your chance to make a difference. Get your checkbooks out and write a big one. Help save a small but precious piece of the wilderness we all belong to.”

Molly felt her eyes sting with gratitude. She moved to the microphone, and, in a voice that trembled with emotion, said, “I pledge nine hundred dollars,” which was the total sum of her savings account, and amounted to more than what she could have gotten for her car after paying off the loan.

 

T
HE MEETING
, for all intents and purposes, might have ended then and there with people rising from their seats in response to McCutcheon's words and reaching for their purses and wallets, but at that moment a journalist rose from his seat and said in a loud western twang, “Mr. Young Bear, you were the attorney who tried to shut down the Soldier Mountain mine two years ago, were you not? Doesn't Condor International own that mine as well? And what was the outcome of that law suit?”

Steven paused for a moment before stepping up to the podium to respond to the question. His dark eyes gazed out across the room. “It's true that Condor International also owns the Soldier Mountain mine just outside of the Rocky Ridge Reservation,” he began slowly. “And yes, I was involved in the lawsuit that attempted to close that mine down. For those of you who might not be familiar with it, Soldier Mountain is an open pit uranium mine situated on federal land that's been in operation for over twenty-five years. Two and a half years ago, the mine petitioned to extend its original permitting for an
other ten years. Tribal members approached me and asked me to fight this extension, because they believed that over the years the mine had contaminated their water sources, and that people on the reservation were getting sick from drinking that water.”

People were settling back into their seats with interested expressions and the journalists resumed scribbling in their notebooks. Video cameras zoomed in as Steven spoke. He didn't look in Molly's direction, though he was very much aware of her. He met Dehaviland's questioning eyes only briefly before continuing. “At the time, a geologist by the name of Ken Manning was managing the Soldier Mountain operation. Manning was also actively involved in raising funds to combat the environmental roadblocks we were putting in his path. Condor International paid out considerable sums of money over an equal number of years to a nonprofit right-wing antienvironmental lobby called the Wise Use Movement, a group dedicated to protecting the interests of oil-and-mining industries by thwarting local environmental efforts.”

Steven paused for a moment, carefully considering his words. “During my research into the Soldier Mountain mine I uncovered copies of two interoffice memos, both from the Department of Health and Environmental Studies, dated two and a half years ago, and both sent to Ken Manning at Soldier Mountain, with copies forwarded to the headquarters of Condor International and the law offices of Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein. These memos confirmed high levels of radioactive contaminants found in the groundwater surrounding the mine, and growing complaints of illness, particularly organ cancers, in young people on the Rocky Ridge Reservation.

“Twenty-three officially documented cancer deaths are mentioned. The memos concluded that if Soldier Mountain intended to extend the operating life of its uranium mine, future permitting would be directly contingent upon the defeat of the Clean Water Initiative, a bill proposed by powerful environmental lobbies.

“This bill was defeated at the ballot box six months later, after the mining industry kicked in over two
million
dollars to campaign against the initiative.” Steven paused for effect before continuing. “There's no question that it's hard for ordinary citizens to fight the corporate giants, especially when our own government backs them at the expense, and often the health and well-being, of its own people. But I believe that together, with the help of honorable and powerful people like Gregory Dehaviland, we can overcome the greed, corruption, and legalized murder that has prevailed in the mining industry.

“I believe that with a strong enough voice we can amend current mining laws, which allow mineral exploration and development on public lands. Saving Madison Mountain is only the beginning. It's a great beginning, but we have a long, hard road ahead of us.”

Steven stood back to a swelling murmur of voices. He was turning from the podium when a reporter called out, “What exactly do you mean by legalized murder, Mr. Young Bear?”

He turned back. He thought of Mary Pretty Shield, and a shadow on hushed wings flew through his consciousness. He hesitated briefly, glancing at Molly and noting the paleness of her face. “Changing the laws to allow continued contamination of the drinking water on
the Rocky Ridge Reservation, and accepting the resulting illnesses and deaths as a justifiable cost of doing business, can be construed as nothing less than legalized murder.”

“Then am I to understand, Mr. Young Bear,” another journalist asked, “that both Condor International and the law firm of Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein were fully aware of the repeated violations of the clean water act at Soldier Mountain and the high cancer rates on Rocky Ridge Reservation from contaminated groundwater and were also actively involved in the push to repeal legislation that would have corrected those wrongs?”

Steven paused only momentarily before speaking into the microphone. “Montana's Department of Health and Environmental Studies was equally aware. I have no further comments,” he said, and then, amid a burgeoning onslaught of queries from other reporters and attendees, he turned, and without so much as a glance toward Molly or Dehaviland, departed the meeting.

 

E
VERYTHING HAD GONE
so well up to this point. Molly listened with growing dismay as Steven told the crowd just how dark and political the environmental arena was. He spoke simply and eloquently, and when he fielded the question about legalized murder she felt her heart skip several beats as she waited for him to tell the world about the death of Mary Pretty Shield. She knew he desperately wanted to avenge her death, but she hoped just as desperately that he didn't. As if reading her thoughts, he had caught her eye, then concluded by damning both
the law firm she worked for and the corporation Dehaviland spearheaded.

Chaos erupted when Steven stepped away from the podium, and the triumph of Madison Mountain might have been eclipsed by the travesties of the Soldier Mountain mine had not Dehaviland smoothly taken over the microphone and said, with a grace that bespoke both his power and his blunt honesty, “Thank you, Mr. Young Bear, for beginning this new age of enlightenment so boldly. I fully intend to do my best to pick up the gauntlet you've thrown down, and work toward righting any wrongs and clarifying any misconceptions, real or perceived, that may or may not have been perpetuated through ignorance, misinterpretation, or deliberate actions on behalf of the mining industry and its supporters.”

McCutcheon, as if on cue, took over the meeting, refocusing the crowd's attention on the two-million-dollar fund-raising effort. He announced once again his intention to match every donation that was made there and then. “Don't forget that your donations are tax deductible. I've already been pledged nine hundred dollars. Come on, everyone. Let's show the world how much spunk a bunch of Montanans have.”

Molly watched the people rise out of their seats and approach the podium, but all she could think about was Steven's voice as he stood before God and country and so calmly destroyed her career and her life. She was suddenly desperate to escape the confines of the room. In her blind haste to flee she bumped squarely into Dehaviland, who steadied her with a hand on her arm. “I'm sorry,” she said, overcome with humility and perilously close to tears. “What Steven said here tonight… I had no idea….”