Durango (13 page)

Dan, please, Mrs. Farnsworth.

Alright then, Frances for me. I want your opinion on the Animas–La Plata these days. You haven't been visible on this in many years, but you understand the project top to bottom, and it's stuck. It's in the ditch, and it must be got out or we're going to have a civil war around here. I for one intend for that not to happen. So under these circumstances, it would be a waste not to have your opinion, if not also your advice.

Well, Frances, he said, though my hide is as tough as any one of my steers, this is a topic that I've left alone for quite a while and I'd just as soon leave it alone, if you don't mind.

I do mind, Mrs. Farnsworth said vigorously. This is your community just as much as it is ours—she pointed at Caroline and herself—and you're darn well responsible as we all are to see it doesn't end in some kind of shoot-out disaster. It's simply unconscionable what's going on around here, especially among supposedly civilized people.

Taken aback by her directness, her challenge, Sheridan tried to regroup. I didn't say I wasn't concerned. What I meant to say is that there are a still a good number of people in these parts who'd not welcome me into this debate.

I'm not asking you to get into the debate, Daniel, I'm asking you simply to tell me what, in your judgment, ought to be done.

Sheridan took his time refilling the wine glasses while Caroline went for a second bottle. Alright, he said, here's the only way this thing is going to end up without a canyon down the middle of Main Avenue for the next fifty years. The Southern Utes get their fair share of the water from the project—in perpetuity, not for a few years—so that they can carry out their energy projects and build decent communities on that reservation and set up their long-range trust fund. Then they sign off on the project and Leonard Cloud and Sammy Maynard go back to Washington and tell the government that this is the deal. And this deal, with the Utes as full partners and major beneficiaries, is the only way there will ever be an Animas–La Plata storage dam and distribution system. Full stop.

Caroline nodded in agreement. Leonard Cloud told me the very same thing, she said.

You've talked to Mr. Cloud? Mrs. Farnsworth said with a degree of astonishment.

Of course, Frances. Why not? He's a thoughtful man.

I know he's a thoughtful man, Mrs. Farnsworth said. But I didn't know you knew him that well.

It all began two or three years ago when all this energy and mineral wealth began to come together, the younger woman said. He contacted me, said he knew I had financial experience, and wanted my ideas.

Well, now, the older woman said. Isn't that something. Good for you. I had no idea. What did you tell him?

Caroline smiled. I thought you were not a journalist tonight, Frances. I'm not a paid consultant, so I have no contractual restrictions. But I know you'll understand the confidentiality of my advice. I simply helped him develop this idea of a long-range trust fund for the tribe's future. He hadn't thought of that and wasn't sure how it might work. Then we took it to the Maynard law firm and they began to reduce it to legal documents and research the tax implications.

Isn't that something, Mrs. Farnsworth marveled again. How in the world did I manage to corral the two smartest people in Durango for dinner at my table to discuss the biggest problem this town has faced in decades, if not ever?

Now Caroline and Sheridan laughed together. Only his napkin kept Sheridan from spewing wine across the table. Caroline said, Frances, don't treat us like your reporters. You're pretty transparent, even if you don't think so. I've gotten to know you well enough to know you carry a whole deck of cards up your sleeve at any given moment.

Mrs. Farnsworth said, Well, I must tell the truth, I actually intended to chalk this evening up to matchmaking. But something tells me I may be a little late for that.

24.

Sam Maynard passed the coffee pot around and said, I'm not going to talk about the tribe's business—won't do it—but I can say what's pretty obvious: Mr. Cloud and the Southern Utes are going to get a fair share of Animas water or there's not going to be a project.

Mr. Murphy said, Hell, every time you turn around these days, they want something else.

Now, Tom, the professor said, you know that's not right. You know their history as well as I do. Everyone around here who can read knows that they've been sitting down there on that reservation for well over a century with almost nothing.

They could have worked and earned more, just like all the rest of us, Mr. Murphy said.

Let's not get into that yet again, Sam Maynard said. We've been over all that. They got some of the worst land in the state of Colorado—probably in the United States for that matter—and they've scratched out a living, barely a living, all these years. They've done their best to get tourism down there, even at the cost of demeaning themselves and dressing up like some damn Hollywood Indians for the picture-taking. And we—he gestured around the table—let them have whatever's left over up here, including water.

Bill Van Ness said, You walk out there on Main and most people would say they just get drunk all the time. Well, I'll tell you something, if I lived on the res I'd probably drink a little myself.

Mr. Murphy said, I still don't know why they have to get storage water from the Animas–La Plata. That's our water.

Sam said, Tom, the water belongs to whoever the law says it belongs to. Now, I encourage you not to push your argument too far, because Colorado law has said from the beginning that water from our rivers and streams belongs to whoever appropriated it first. I don't think there's much doubt that the Utes appropriated it long before us immigrants showed up here.

Mr. Murphy said, You lawyers and your fancy tricks. I'm no lawyer, but I know enough to know that “appropriate” means put to beneficial use. Some squaw woman pulling a gourd full of water out to cook with, or washing her kids in that stream, or a guy letting his horse have a drink doesn't count as “appropriation.”

Right you are, Mr. Murphy, Sam said. Move to the head of the law class. But there are two things that trump Colorado law, especially on interstate rivers, which most of ours are. One is called the Congress of the United States and the other is called the Supreme Court. They seem to think the Indians are entitled to a share of water the federal government pays to dam up.

Well, I'll tell you something, Mr. Murphy said. There's a whole lot of folks around here who think both of those outfits are operating way beyond their authority. A lot of us are ready to throw out the whole kit and caboodle of those people in Washington and start all over again. And we ought to also get a president who's going to put some conservatives on the Supreme Court. I don't know who those people are saying we got to give our water to the Indians.

Sam shook his head and smiled. Mr. Murphy, as Mr. Dooley said, the judges follow the election returns. My bleeding heart is with the Utes and I'm going to see they get a share of water from any project that's built.

Be honest now, Sam, Mr. Murphy grumbled, it's not your heart that's with the Indians. It's your wallet.

Be careful there, Mr. Murphy, Bill Van Ness said. You're walking pretty near the edge.

The professor said, Sooner or later, and it better be sooner, a decision has to be made about the Animas–La Plata or there are not going to be any Monday and Friday coffee clubs around here…and there may not be a Durango left worth living in.

 

 

Part Two

 

25.

The Weminuche Wilderness Area, created by Congress in 1975, contains upwards of 480,000 acres. It has scores of peaks over 13,000 feet and three Fourteeners located in the granite Needle Mountains toward the western end of the wilderness. Volcanic eruptions millions of years ago threw up the soaring, rugged peaks, and then the glaciers came in several ages to leave behind more than sixty pristine high mountain lakes.

Eighty miles or so of trails follow the Continental Divide to form the spine of the Weminuche and the backbone of America.

The snows that collect in this dramatic high country form the headwaters of dozens of major rivers, primarily the Rio Grande and San Juan Rivers, and many smaller streams, including the Florida River arising a few miles above the Sheridan ranch site.

Over toward the western end of the Weminuche Wilderness are the Needles. And within its ragged high peaks and precarious cliffs arise the streams that feed into the Animas River, called by the Spanish
Rios de las Animas Perdidos
, the river of the lost souls. The area was also notable for its number of lost mines—gold and silver—discovered, traded in a poker game, locations lost in bottles of whiskey, mostly just disappeared. But they were out there, a bonanza if you could just find those lost diggings.

More than once, Daniel Sheridan's place had been the collection point for US Forest Service rangers and expert wilderness rescue teams setting off to pluck unwitting hikers and campers out of the southwestern areas of the wilderness area, stranded there from weather, misread compasses, or dumb fool behavior. You could give these people every kind of instruction on wilderness trekking and what to do, and even more what not to do—and the USFS rangers did their utmost to do so—and they would still run amok.

Sheridan knew the crews, and they all knew him. He was a fixture whenever rescue operations had to be undertaken. It was believed that he knew his southwest quarter of the Weminuche better than anyone, or at least better than anyone since the Ute tribes roamed the area and gave it its name. He had gone through a number of trail horses in his lifetime, mostly Tennessee Walkers with their incredibly sure footing on the loose high mountainous trails, but none had proved as steady, as downright reliable as Red, his current favorite. Red actually seemed to enjoy the treacherous cliffside hanging trails that dropped off to a sure death six or seven hundred feet, or more, below.

On the occasions when Sheridan took Caroline with him up to his hidden lake hideout, he took along a sturdy pack animal with panniers loaded down with a tent, sleeping bags, cooking gear, fishing rods and reels, a whiskey bottle and some good wine, and cornmeal in which to fry the trout.

A few years back, when he first invited her to join him, she was uncertain.

I've spent plenty of time outdoors and on horseback, she had told him, but I've never had to deal with the kind of trails you're talking about.

Nothing to worry about, Sheridan had assured her. That horse I helped you pick out last year, she's trail savvy. I made sure about that. As the old-timers used to say, “The horse knows the way.”

What if I get scared going up there—or coming back down? she said.

They had been sitting on old wooden outdoor chairs on the banks of the Florida on his property. Well, now, he looked at her over his whiskey glass, if that were to happen I'd give you a choice. You could just stay right there on the trail. And I suppose sooner or later, probably sooner, one of those old cougars up there would decide you and that filly looked pretty tasty. Or, you could just close your eyes and follow Red and me till we got somewhere without a long drop-off.

She smiled grimly at him and hoped he didn't see her involuntary shiver. What a gentlemanly choice, she said. If you're serious about me coming along to your place up there in the wilderness, I guess I'll either have to learn to trust you and my horse, or I'll have to learn how to fight cougars.

After more than four hours of steady climb on that first occasion, they came around a sharp hairpin turn on the narrow trail, and there was Sheridan's hidden lake. She could not breathe as she took in its beauty. He helped her from her horse and noticed her brush tears from her cheeks.

After a few minutes, while he staked out the riding horses and the pack horse, she said, It is absolutely stunning. It is hard to imagine that there is any place like this on earth. I am speechless.

That's good, Sheridan said. These trees and rocks and those fish in that lake aren't very much used to human talking, surely not from me, so they won't mind it if you don't give them any speeches.

Repeating a familiar process, Sheridan unpacked the panniers, set up the tent, and began to scour the area for firewood. She soon joined him, and together they gathered dry twigs and branches. But Sheridan set out into the trees for heavier wood for the following two or three nights.

Caroline watched him retreat. Then, in a spontaneous move that shocked even her, she pulled off all her sweat-stained trail clothes and ran to the water's edge. She knew she would never have the courage if she entered slowly, so she held her breath and jumped as far out as she could. Though warmed by days of sunlight, the lake water nevertheless was still nothing but melted snow.

Inadvertently and without restraint, after a moment of shock she let out a howl. Immediately, Sheridan dashed out of the tree line toward the lake, dropping firewood as he ran. He was almost at the edge of the lake when he saw her head bobbing ten feet offshore.

How about that, he exclaimed. Now, how about that.

You've got to go back into the trees, she said through chattering teeth. Please, just go back into the trees.

I couldn't do such a thing, ma'am. What if you were to drown? I'd never forgive myself. Plus, I've got all this food and spirits here and I couldn't possibly handle it all myself.

Please, she said, please go back in the trees—or at least just turn your back.

Well, Sheridan said, I guess I could do that. But then what're you going to do? You've still got to get some clothes or something to put on. Look here, he said. Right over there is a towel I brought for you. I'll just go get that and you can get out of that water and dry off while I'm getting a fire going so you don't catch something.