Montana Standoff (3 page)

“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-modu
lated 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 tour
ism 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.”

M
OLLY 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 oppo
sition'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.

S
TEVEN
Y
OUNG
B
EAR 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.

“Hold still,” he said, as he set the basin down and bent over her. “I'm going to remove the stinger and dab this poultice of baking soda and water on your cheek. It should help with the swelling.”

She held obediently still for his first aid. “Thank you,” she repeated when he had finished. He didn't reply, but went back to the kitchen. Soon she could smell intriguing aromas. He returned and laid another log on the fire, then disappeared back into the kitchen and made more domestic noises. She thought it was extraordinary that a man she hardly knew was cooking supper for her, especially under the circumstances. She took another sip of her drink and touched her fingertips
to the poultice that Young Bear had applied to her swollen cheek. He was right. It already felt better.

“I hope you like shrimp curry,” Steven said, coming from the kitchen with a plate of food and setting it onto the coffee table in front of her.

“Never had it,” Molly admitted. “I'm a corned-beef-and-cabbage kind of a girl, but it smells wonderful.” She set her drink down, picked up the fork he'd laid beside the plate, and in a matter of minutes had cleaned it of the last grain of rice.

“More?” he said.

She sat back with a flush of embarrassment at how quickly she'd devoured the meal. “No, thank you. That was delicious and once again I can't thank you enough.” She hesitated. “Forgive me, but I have to ask. Do you always wear a tuxedo when you go to public hearings?”

“Only when they're important,” he said.

Molly laughed. “I have only one more favor to ask. Could you please call me a taxi to take me into Bozeman?”

He picked up her plate and took it into the kitchen. “You're welcome to stay in the guest room,” he said over the sound of running water. “Tomorrow's Saturday. Most law offices are closed, but the auto parts store will be open and we can pick up a tow rope. My Jeep should pull your car right out of that ditch.”

Molly sat up, gripping her gin and tonic and wondering if she'd heard him right. “That's way too much to ask,” she finally managed to say. “I'll just take a taxi to the airport hotel. You've done more than enough as it is.” She rose to bring her glass into the kitchen but he beat her to it, appearing in front of her, taking it out of her hand, and replacing it with a plate.

“Finish off the rest of the curry so I can wash the pan, and I'll fix you another drink,” he said, as if offering her a fair trade.

Molly sat back down, plate resting on her knees. She should insist that he call her a taxi, but the combined lure of the cheerful fire in the fireplace, the peaceful ambience of the house, and the company of this extraordinary man won out. “Thank you, Mr. Young Bear.”

“Steven,” he corrected. “And you're welcome.”

 

S
TEVEN POURED HIMSELF
another cup of coffee, dropped back into his chair and bent over the text he was studying. He took a taste of the strong black brew, read for a little while and then glanced up at the kitchen clock. Nine a.m., and not a peep from the guest room. He didn't know if he should be relieved or concerned. Perhaps she was a late sleeper, or maybe she was allergic to bee stings and during the night had slipped into an irreversible coma. He walked into the living room, where he paused for a long moment outside the guestroom door, listening. Nothing. He gave a light tap. No response.

“Molly?”

Silence answered him and his anxiety deepened.

The door opened smoothly when he turned the knob. She was lying on her back with the covers drawn up to her chin, fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, and red hair hiding the pillow beneath its fiery cascade. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing evenly. He closed the door, satisfied that she was alive but wondering how to wake her. He had work to do. He wanted to get her situated in her own world again so that he could
concentrate on formulating a battle plan to fight this New Millennium Mining proposal.

In the kitchen he lit the propane burner and put the cast-iron pan over it to heat. Within moments, thick slabs of smokehouse bacon were beginning to sizzle. The sweet hickory aroma mingled with the sharp, rich fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee. Surely the smells of breakfast cooking would rouse her from slumber land.

In the meantime, he'd keep studying.

 

M
OLLY WAS IN
A
THENS
, standing among tall, bone-white pillars. A long gown of the finest silk whispered in the breeze off the Aegean Sea and brushed against her long, slender legs. Her magnificent hair was long and thick, the deepest chestnut, just as she'd always wanted. His was a shade of ebony that shamed the night and his eyes were dark, as they were in life. He lifted a powerful, beautifully muscled arm, beckoning her to the top of a mountain where men swarmed like ants carrying rocks out of a shaft and running to the bottom. Thousands of rocks being carried by thousands of men, all of them running, running….

“They're stealing our soul,” he said in his deep, masculine voice. “They're killing our mountain.”

Her mother was calling her to breakfast. “Molly? Time to get up. Rise and shine, lass, you're burning daylight.”

Molly's eyes flew open. She stared up at the blur of white ceiling, moved her head toward the rectangle of light in the unfamiliar room. Her momentary disorientation was quickly replaced by the pleasant memories of the night before. She relaxed and stretched beneath
the covers. It was so quiet here, and so gloriously peaceful. The smell of bacon tantalized, and her stomach growled in response. She pushed the covers off and sat up, reaching automatically to try and subdue her wild hair. Hopeless.

She stood and went into the bathroom, stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked almost normal. The swelling had gone down overnight, but there was no mistaking where she'd been stung. She sighed with relief and glanced down at the vanity. Steven had left her a brand-new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. She brushed her teeth, washed the baking soda poultice off her cheek, and was drying her face on a hand towel when she heard a knock.

She padded barefoot across the room and opened the door. Nothing. The knock came again and she realized that there was someone at the front door. She waited a moment for Steven to answer it, but apparently the loud spatter of frying bacon had drowned it out. Still holding the hand towel, Molly crossed the room, slid back the dead bolt, and opened the front door. Sunlight spilled over her bare legs but the chill air negated any warmth. She blinked with surprise as a very pretty young woman with eyes and hair as black as Steven's stared back at her.

“Yes?” Molly said. “Can I help you?”

P
ONY
Y
OUNG
B
EAR
was struck speechless by the sight of the woman who stood in her brother's doorway, dressed in what she had to assume was one of Steven's white shirts…and apparently little else. The young woman's hair was a shoulder-length flaming mass of curls that took on a life all their own. Her left cheek was
red and slightly swollen, and she was holding a hand towel as if she'd just come from the bathroom.