Montana Standoff

The man had a deep voice, and he was dressed to kill in a tuxedo. His hair was the glossy black of a raven’s wing and he had calm, dark eyes and a handsome face. He was certainly not ready for a nursing home, in spite of the way he drove. He was decades away from a nursing home. Eons.

Molly raised a hand to her cheek. “I’m fine,” she said as he started down the embankment toward her. “A bee stung me and I went off the road. I’m not sure if I can get my car out,” she said as he drew near. She took a step and stumbled into the side of her car even as he reached a firm hand to steady her. Her knees were wobbly and she was sure he could feel the trembling that was beginning to take over her body.

“Easy. Your car looks okay, but it’ll need to be winched out of this ditch. I could pull it out with my Jeep, but I’d need to pick up a good tow rope. You sure you’re all right?”

“Fine,” she repeated. “But I have to attend a meeting in Moose Horn. I was already late when this happened, and now—” She stopped speaking when her voice broke.

“I’ll give you a lift,” he said. “I’m on my way to the same meeting. We can get your car out of the ditch afterward.”

Molly hesitated. She had never before accepted a ride from a stranger, but she trusted her instincts, and they were telling that this man was safe. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that very much.”

“Glad to help. I’m Steven Young Bear, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.

“Molly Ferguson,” she said, liking his warm, firm grip. “Thank you again, Mr. Young Bear. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped.”

THE DRIVE TO MOOSE HORN took fifteen minutes. Steven’s passenger sat quietly beside him, reassuring him every time he asked if she was all right. Sporadic conversation centered on getting her car out of the ditch after the meeting. It would be dark. They’d need to either call a tow truck or see if one of the townsfolk had a rope or chain heavy enough to use. “Yes, all right,” she murmured repeatedly in response to his one-sided dialogue, nodding her agreement to his plans. She seemed distracted. He noted that her face was very pale and her hands were trembling in her lap, but attributed that to the adrenaline pumped into her system after skidding off the road. He hoped she wasn’t going into shock. It was a miracle she hadn’t been killed, driving that fast when she left the road. He hoped she’d learned that rural roads and excessive speed were a bad combination.

It would have been impossible to miss the town of Moose Horn, since the road ended at the one and only public building. A cluster of cars and trucks crowded the small gravel lot. Steven parked, got out, went around the vehicle and helped her out. Her hand was ice cold.

“Thank you, Mr. Young Bear,” she said, gripping her briefcase. “I was supposed to meet someone named Ken Manning. He should be here, though I don’t know what he looks like, and I’m not sure he knows I’m coming, so he probably won’t be looking for me….” Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the building.

“I know who Ken Manning is,” Steven said, wishing he’d never agreed to come tonight. The very mention of that man’s name set his stomach churning. “I’ll hook you up with him, but first I really think you should get checked out. I’ll ask if there’s an EMT present. Usually in a remote place like this, one or two of the townspeople are trained to handle medical emergencies, and—”

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Young Bear,” she interrupted, her voice strengthening, becoming firm. “I wouldn’t classify a bee sting as a medical emergency. Really, I’m fine.” She lifted her briefcase and took two wobbly steps before coming to an uncertain halt. Steven took her briefcase out of her hand and encircled her waist with his arm. “Thank you,” she said humbly as he guided her into the building.

“You’re very welcome,” he replied, taken aback by the unexpected surge of protectiveness he felt for a woman he’d only known for the past five miles and twenty minutes. By the time they reached the town office, she was walking unassisted. She paused to take her briefcase from him, smooth her clothing and give him a wan but reassuring smile before entering the room.

The whole town was there. There were chairs, but only enough for half. Rob Brown sat up at the front of the room behind a big desk. Next to him sat Ken Manning, the geologist from the mining company and there was an empty seat to his left. All conversation stopped as Steven led Molly past the crowd at the rear, through the maze of occupied seats at the front, and pulled out the empty chair while Manning stared with obvious dismay, both at Molly and Steven.

“Ken Manning, Molly Ferguson,” Steven said when she was seated, giving a brief nod to Manning. “Ms. Ferguson was just involved in an accident. Her car went off the road.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. “Mr. Manning, I’m Molly Ferguson and I’m here on behalf of Brad Little. He was taken ill at the last moment and couldn’t make it. He sends his regrets.”

Manning scowled, obviously taken aback by the young woman’s appearance and her announcement that she was replacing Brad. “I don’t recall Brad ever mentioning you,” he said, staring briefly at her swollen cheek. He glanced up at Steven. “There seem to be a lot of lawyers going off the road all of a sudden. I heard about Sam Blackmore’s accident. I suppose that’s why you’re here?”

“You supposed correctly.” Manning hadn’t changed a bit. Same cold eyes, same tight, thin face, same predatory expression. The memories of their past encounters were still vivid enough to rankle. Steven had a sudden fleeting vision of Mary Pretty Shield’s naive smile, and the pain was like a knife reopening a freshly healed wound. Steven glanced questioningly at Molly, who gave him another reassuring smile. He shrugged and then retreated toward the rear of the room, aware of the curious stares that followed him. It wasn’t every day a full-blooded Crow Indian came to a town meeting dressed in a black tuxedo. It was enough to get a rise out of the sleepiest of attendees, and none of them appeared to be the least bit tired.

There was a big land map pinned to the wall on one side of the room. A blackboard spanned the other and big angry words had been boldly scrawled and underlined in white chalk across the top.

We won’t be shafted by New Millennium Mining!

“Thanks for coming,” someone murmured behind him, and he glanced around to see Amy Littlefield. “You were so late we were afraid you might have had a change of heart.”

“The woman I came in with was just in an automobile accident. Her car went off the road about five miles from here and I was next on the scene. Does Moose Horn have an emergency medical technician?”

Amy shook her head. “Hank Fisher was the best, but he drowned in a boating accident last year. She’ll have to go into Bozeman. Is she seriously hurt?”

Steven glanced to the front. “She says she’s okay. I suppose I could take her after the meeting. What’s happened so far?”

“That guy from the mine, Ken Manning, talked about the project, pointed it out on the map and showed us some pictures of how the inside of a mountain looks and how they go about mining the ore, and then just about everyone here said something against the mine. The woman you came in with—who is she anyway?”

“She’s the temporary legal rep for New Millennium mine.”

“Oh,” Amy said, visibly dismayed. “Well, I guess we should have expected that they’d have their own lawyer.”

Rob Brown stood and adjusted his thick glasses. “All right. I guess we’ve made our position here in Moose Horn pretty clear. We’ve heard what Mr. Manning had to say about how great this project will be for all of us, but we happen to like things the way they are. We don’t want the top of Madison Mountain taken off and carted out of here in big trucks, and we don’t want cyanide leaching into our streams and rivers. We don’t want our town invaded by construction workers and miners, and we intend to fight tooth and nail to keep these things from happening.”

There was resounding applause from the twenty-six other people in the room. When the commotion died, Molly Ferguson spoke quietly to Ken Manning for a moment, and then, at his reluctant nod, she got to her feet. Moving to the wall where the map hung, she stared for a moment, a frown furrowing her brow. At length, she turned to face the population of Moose Horn. She cleared her throat—a small, vulnerable sound in the expectant silence.

“Hello. My name is Molly Ferguson and I’m an attorney with the law firm of Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein, which is representing this mining project,” she began in a surprisingly professional and well-modulated voice that provided stark contrast to her somewhat disheveled appearance. “I apologize for being late, but my car went off the road about five miles from here. I wasn’t here to listen to your comments, but Mr. Manning just attempted to summarize them for me. Your reservations regarding this project are completely understandable. It’s only natural that you wouldn’t want to see the rural character of your town changed or your way of life threatened, but please consider the benefits that would be realized.

“The Sourdough Mining Company stands on firm ground, and has since it was founded in 1877. An estimated one to two hundred million dollars worth of copper and iron ore is hidden within that mountain. This project would employ over one hundred and fifty people for ten to fifteen years,” she continued, apparently not seeing the confused glances being exchanged by members of the town, nor hearing the undercurrent of voices, one of which muttered, right next to Steven, “Sourdough Mining Company? What the hell’s she talking about?” and oblivious to Ken Manning, who had risen half out of his seat behind her wearing an expression that Steven could only describe as ominous.

“These are jobs that would pay employees a decent, livable wage. We’re not talking about criminals and hoodlums invading your town. We’re talking about honest, hardworking men and women, people like yourselves, who certainly deserve the chance to live a good life.

“And let me emphasize that your fears of pollution are completely unfounded. All of the mine’s waste products will be stored in a special reservoir and capped with rock and cement when the project is completed. There will be absolutely no leachate to contaminate your rivers and streams. Engineers have been designing these special reservoirs to protect places like your watershed. It’s state-of-the-art technology and absolutely safe.

“The increased tax base this mine generates would allow you to build your own elementary school, house your library in its own building, update your firehouse and your town hall. Businesses would move in to help support the larger population. A gas station, grocery and hardware stores. Moose Horn might actually become a place on the map.”

“It already is!” a woman called out.

“Well, no offense intended, but I couldn’t find it on mine,” Molly said.

“That’s no surprise,” a man guffawed. “You don’t even know what mining company you’re supposed to be representing!” The citizens of Moose Horn burst into derisive laughter as Molly Ferguson’s face flushed crimson. She turned toward Manning with a stricken expression, but he had slumped back into his seat, dropped his face into his hands and was shaking his head slowly back and forth. Steven moved quickly to the front of the room and the laughter instantly died.

“Good evening,” he said in the resulting hush. “My name is Steven Young Bear, and I’m an environmental attorney. I’d like to say a few things if I may. First and foremost, I was deeply saddened to hear that Sam Blackmore was killed earlier today in an accident on Madison Mountain. I’ve known him for many years, and I was asked to come here this evening to speak on his behalf. There was no time to prepare, so I must ask you to please bear with me.

“Ms. Ferguson has stated that up to one to two hundred million dollars worth of copper and iron ore would be hauled out of here by the Sourdough Mining Company, but unless Ken Manning has changed horses in midstream, I believe we’re talking about a different mine and a different mining company here. Ken is currently the chief geologist for New Millennium Mining Company, a subsidiary of the Texas-based conglomerate, Condor International. If what I’ve read in the newspapers is correct, what they propose to do here is remove the entire top of Madison Mountain and take out between six to eight hundred million dollars in silver and gold.

“I don’t know that much about this particular project, but I’m familiar with some of their other mines, and I don’t doubt those figures. They’ve mined a lot of ore out of a lot of mountains in this country. They’ve left a lot of messes, too. Big, state-of-the-art industrial-mining messes. In Colorado they’ve left a mess with an estimated cleanup cost of two hundred million dollars after taking one hundred and twenty million in metals out of the land, and a cyanide leak in one of their state-of-the-art reservoirs killed every living organism in a seventeen-mile stretch of the Arrowsink River.

“In New Mexico this very same company filed another claim on public lands and took thirty million out in metals, during which time leaking acid wiped out the entire fishery in the Rogue River. The cleanup cost at this abandoned mine is expected to run close to three hundred million dollars and may become a Superfund site, paid for by our federal tax dollars. That’s money out of your pocket and mine.

“Their Soldier Mountain Mine right here in Montana is contaminating the drinking water and causing high cancer rates among the Sioux on the Rocky Ridge Reservation.

“You folks are right to question the wisdom of situating an open pit mine in the middle of a beautiful wilderness area. Madison Mountain deserves better than to be sacrificed to the corporate bank. As a nation we need to speak as one voice to force our government to overhaul the archaic mining laws that allow such plundering of our public lands. We need to start now, today, right here, with twenty-seven voices. It may not seem like much, but it’s a beginning. We have a big job to do,” he concluded, “and we had better get to it.” He returned to the rear of the room to a deafening burst of applause.

Manning rose from his seat as if to offer a rebuttal but the first selectman beat him to the punch. “The next town meeting to continue discussing this proposal is scheduled for September tenth,” Brown said. “I hope that Mr. Manning and his attorney will be able to attend. This is the beginning of a process that is new to all of us, and I hope, too, that Mr. Young Bear can guide us through it. Thank you all for coming and for voicing your opinions.”

The meeting broke up and there was a slow shuffle of people out the door. Steven looked around for Molly, but she was standing beside Ken Manning, her face very still and pale as Manning addressed her. He could only imagine what Manning was saying. Rob Brown and Amy Littlefield approached with a score of other people in tow. “So what do we do now?” Brown asked.

“You can start by putting some emergency zoning into place. New Millennium will be looking to house over three hundred contractors in the immediate area. Zone your town to prohibit temporary cluster housing, rapid growth and sprawl. Zone the hell out of it. You say the water samples were destroyed?”

“They were in Sam Blackmore’s car,” Brown said, “and his car was totaled. It was hauled to a place called Maffick’s Salvage in Jefferson. Maybe the samples survived, but…”

“I’ll check with the local police,” Steven said. “But if they didn’t, you’ll need to take fresh samples from every year-round or intermittent creek or seep that would be impacted by this mine, and the samples need to be kept in a safe place. They’re the most important evidence you’ll ever have against this company. And then you need to start making noise. A lot of noise. The more people who know about this, the better. The more press releases that get into the newspapers, the better. Invite heavy-hitting journalists here to tour the site.

“We need to get the Yellowstone Coalition on the bandwagon, along with the Rocky Mountain Conservancy and the Beartooth Alliance. They can all help your cause. I’ll do what I can to get the ball rolling on that end. Every phone call can make a difference. If you can do a mailing, do it. Start a petition drive. Get signatures, names and addresses of all voters who oppose the mine.”

“We have no money,” Brown stated bluntly. “We all work, but our jobs barely put food on the table.”

“Money is what a campaign like this needs,” Steven said. “You need to find backing. Environmentally friendly businesses, sportsmen and women who hunt and fish this area. Neighboring communities, the tourism industry, the tourists themselves. Anyone who wouldn’t want to see this wilderness destroyed and would kick in dollars to protect it. A big coup would be to get a national group like the Sierra Club or the Nature Conservancy on board. I’ll make some phone calls to them, too.”

“Will you come to the next meeting?” Amy Littlefield asked.

Steven hesitated. He glanced back to Manning, who was stabbing his finger in Molly Ferguson’s face, then looked back at the ring of faces surrounding him. Thought about Mary Pretty Shield and the last time he’d ever seen her, the way she’d smiled over her shoulder at him as she walked out his office door. After her death, he vowed he’d never fight these fights again, yet it was her memory that had brought him to Moose Horn. How could he abandon these people now?

“I’ll be there.” He paused again. “A campaign like this takes over your life,” he cautioned. “Going up against a giant like New Millennium Mining will become the longest, nastiest fight you’ve ever gotten into. The litigation could drag on for years, and I’ll tell you this right now. The odds are against you.”

“We have to try.” Brown looked around at the ring of hopeful faces as they nodded their assent. “We have to.”

CHAPTER TWO

MOLLY STOOD OUTSIDE the door of the town hall building, hugging herself against the cold and shivering in spite of her resolve to appear stoic, as the people filtered slowly from the building. Ken Manning had just blasted her with both barrels, not that she could blame him. She’d failed her first official assignment for the law firm quite miserably. “That was quite a circus act, Ms. Ferguson,” he’d stated bluntly as the meeting adjourned.

“I’m sorry.” It was all she could think to say.

Manning had frowned. “Quite frankly, I’m sorry, too. It’s a disgrace when a multibillion dollar corporation like Condor International is handed legal representation of your caliber, especially from a firm that’s done plenty of profitable business with us in the past and should know better.”

“Mr. Manning, really, I’m so sorry. I was informed about this meeting an hour before I had to drive down here. An associate somehow gave me the wrong file to study, and—”

“So I noticed,” he’d said. “Sourdough Mining?”

“I…I’m not exactly sure where the company is based out of, but they mine copper and iron ore and—”

“I also noticed that you arrived here with the opposition’s attorney. Is that another one of your questionable strategies?”

Molly had struggled to maintain her calm. “As I explained earlier, my car went off the road five miles from Moose Horn. Mr. Young Bear was kind enough to stop and offer me assistance. I accepted his offer of a ride. As a matter of fact my car’s still in the ditch…”

“How very unfortunate for you,” Manning said, as he pulled on his overcoat. “You made a mockery of my project at this meeting, and you can be sure that I’ll be calling Jarrod Skelton first thing Monday morning and letting him know what I thought about your performance.”

Without another word he’d turned and left her standing behind the desk, her left cheek throbbing and her job in very dire straits. Finding the door was a matter of following the cold draft that wafted in from outside. There she stood, shivering, searching her pockets for a tissue and praying that Steven Young Bear hadn’t left yet, because she was pretty sure none of Moose Horn’s decidedly hostile citizens were going to offer her a two-hour courtesy ride to Helena.

“You think you’re going to win, don’t you?” Molly turned to see a gray-haired woman flanked by a male companion. “You think you’re going to tear our beautiful mountain apart.”

Molly flinched at the aggressiveness in the older woman’s voice. “Well, I…”

“Excuse me, please, ma’am.” Steven Young Bear appeared beside her. “This woman was recently involved in a car accident and needs immediate medical attention. I’m sure you’ll allow me to see that she gets it.” His hand on her elbow gently but firmly propelled her past the blur of faces and into the darkness. Moments later they were leaving the town of Moose Horn, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

For a while they drove in silence, and then Molly said a heartfelt and humble, “Thank you for rescuing me once again. That was without a doubt the most humiliating experience of my life. When you walked up and began to speak…” Her voice faltered and she gazed at the tunnel of road illuminated by the Jeep’s headlights. “I wish I could have just disappeared.”

“I’m sorry. My intention wasn’t to make a fool out of you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Molly said. “I did that all by myself. A colleague of mine was supposed to cover this meeting but he got sick at the last minute. Another colleague asked me to go in his place and gave me the wrong file to study. This was my first real assignment, my first chance to prove myself to the firm, and I sure as hell dropped the ball.” Molly drew a deep breath and tried not to let the tears that were stinging in her eyes get the best of her. This wasn’t the end of the world, or the end of her career as a lawyer. She would explain to Skelton what had happened, and he’d understand, give her another chance.

But what if he didn’t?

“I think you should get checked out at the hospital in Bozeman,” Steven said. “Just to make sure you’re all right.”

“For the hundredth time, I’m fine. The only thing that was seriously hurt tonight was my ego.”

He said nothing to this, just drove on, while Molly slipped off her shoes, massaged her aching feet and wondered how she would ever save face after such a disastrous performance. The Jeep slowed and pulled over onto the shoulder, nosing downward just enough to illuminate the ditch. She stared at her car and felt a deepening sense of despair. “You’re lucky you weren’t seriously hurt,” he said, startling her out of her morose reverie. “Well, it’s pitch dark, I don’t have a tow rope, and you shouldn’t be driving even if I could pull your car out of the ditch.”

“I’m perfectly capable of—”

“It’s way past suppertime,” he said. “Let’s get something to eat and worry about your car tomorrow.”

She hesitated. “That sounds nice, Mr. Young Bear, and you’re right, I’m starving. But I’m sure you’ll understand why I really don’t want to be seen in public. If you could just drop me off at the hotel by the airport in Bozeman, I’ll order up room service tonight and have my car towed out of the ditch in the morning.”

“You’re forgetting one small matter,” Steven said. “The bee that stung you left its stinger in your cheek.”

Molly raised her fingertips to touch the spot gingerly. “How do you know?”

“I saw it,” he said, and pulled back out onto the road.

STEVENYOUNG BEAR TOOK HER to his house in Gallatin Gateway. She sat on a sofa in the living room while he mixed her a gin and tonic. He refused all offers of help and so Molly allowed herself to be tended to by a man she hardly knew. She felt so inexplicably comfortable in Steven’s presence that it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be curled up here on his sofa. He came out of the kitchen and pressed a cold glass in her hand. She sipped. Beefeater. Schweppes. Big slice of lime. Delicious.

“Thank you,” she said, but he was already gone. She heard noises behind her in the kitchen. Pans rattling. The sudden poofing sound of a gas burner being lit on a cookstove. Not only was he disconcertingly handsome, but she was finding that there was far more to him than met the eye. He came back into the living room and set a plate down on the coffee table. “Appetizers,” he said. She picked up a thin sesame-seed cracker and nibbled. Tried a piece of sharp cheddar. Sat back and closed her eyes, wondering if all this was real or just a dream. Moments later, she heard the snap and crackle of a fire in the fireplace, smelled the fragrant tang of wood smoke and sighed with something very close to contentment. She was far happier curled up on this sofa than she would have been listening to a Stradivarius violin. She heard Steven enter the room and sat up. He was holding a small basin and a pair of tweezers.