Montana Standoff Page 2

  Brown fidgeted, his face flushing. “No. We called the Beartooth Alliance, the Greater Yellowstone Coalition and the Rocky Mountain Conservancy. They all recommended you highly. They said you were good, that you were a fighter.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I no longer handle active environmental litigation. My fighting days ended two years ago. And besides the fact that I’ve given up litigating, I have little knowledge of this particular proposal. I’m familiar with the mining company you spoke of, but—”

  “Isn’t that enough for a start?” Amy asked. “Please, Mr. Young Bear. We’re desperate. I know the town of Moose Horn doesn’t matter to most of the people on this planet, but to us it’s a beautiful place. We live there and we love it, and we don’t want to see it destroyed by some greedy mining conglomerate.”

  Steven shook his head. “I’m sorry you wasted your time.”

  “But…”

  “You’ll be late for your meeting if you don’t leave right away.”

  Brown reached for Amy’s arm but she shrugged away from him, thin face determined, eyes fierce. “My mother left me her diamond engagement ring,” she said. “It’s two carats, pear cut. Blue. A beautiful stone. I’ve had it appraised and—”

  “No,” Steven said.

  “It’s worth a lot of money. I’ll sell it and you’ll have the fee you need. Name your price. Just please come to the meeting tonight. Please, Mr. Young Bear. This means so much to all of us. If you could only walk on that mountain, you’d understand the awful thing that’s about to happen to the entire area, and what it means—”

  “Does it mean more than your mother’s engagement ring?”

  “This fight is so much bigger than me,” she said without hesitation. “So much bigger than all of us.”

  Steven felt his resolve beginning to crumble. Ever since Mary Pretty Shield’s death, he had deliberately avoided the fights, avoided the risks, avoided the pain of failure. He’d rolled down his shirt sleeves, buttoned his cuffs and toed all the proper political lines. But he would never forget her, or what she stood for. When Amy Littlefield spoke almost the exact same words that Mary had spoken nearly two and a half years ago, it was as if Mary were reaching out from the grave, trying to remind him of what was really important in life.

  And there was this truth, too. It was his fate to back the underdogs. All of his life he would walk that path. He’d never be a rich attorney. It simply wasn’t meant to be.

  “I’ll go to the meeting, but on one condition,” he relented. “You keep your mother’s engagement ring.”

  Steven declined the offer of a lift to and from the meeting with Amy and Rob, preferring the privacy of his own vehicle, but he had rapidly fallen behind their Dodge sedan and given up trying to keep apace. He felt as though the entire world were rushing by him at breakneck speed, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere, everyone late for something…but what? What drove people to live their lives at such a frenzied pace? Where was the enjoyment in that?

  He admired the alpenglow that backlit the mountain range to the west, highlighting those last clear streaks of gold and vermilion before dusk coaxed the stars to shine down out of the night sky, and wondered if the wedding reception was over, if Jolly John and Leona had left for the airport and their trip to Hawaii. Seemed like everyone wanted to honeymoon in Hawaii. If he ever got married, he’d opt for Alaska, maybe. He’d like to see the salmon run by the thousands up some wild, unspoiled river, camp in the shadow of Denali, float a raft down the Yukon…

  He sighed and glanced at his watch. Ten minutes to seven. He was definitely going to be late.

  MOLLY TOOK THE WRONG TURNOFF outside of Bozeman and was nearly in Deer Lodge before she realized her mistake. She pulled over and studied the road map intently, anxiously nibbling on one fingernail.

  In less than an hour, she’d be officially launched as a real, practicing attorney, pacing studiously before the residents of Moose Horn, calmly and succinctly explaining the financial benefits and industrial intricacies of a world they knew nothing of. She’d be skillfully guiding them into a brighter, more financially secure future, and who knows? They might even name their new library after her.

  Molly shook her head with a laugh. At this rate, she’d be doing well if she just found the town before the meeting was over. She tossed aside the road map and spun her car around, reversing her direction on a dime with a nickel to spare. She shifted, shifted again, and had the speedometer nudging sixty-five in mere seconds. Lovely little car to drive. It almost made this two-hour road trip fun. The window was down and the cool mountain wind whipped through the car. The road was made to order for her Mercedes, all curves and twists. She came around a tight corner and hit the brakes. A dark green Jeep Wagoneer blocked the road in front of her, traveling at a sedate speed that instantly caused her blood pressure to soar. She was already late for the first important assignment she’d ever had with Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein, and now she was trapped behind some nursing-home escapee.

  Another corner approached, and then a brief straightaway beckoned with no oncoming traffic. She downshifted, accelerated and flew past the sluggish Jeep like it was standing still. On the next brief straightaway she pegged seventy and U2 was blaring from the speakers when something struck her cheek just below her left eye. The car swerved as she hit the brakes, slapping wildly as an insect fell into her lap. Her brief, panicked glance identified the insect as a honeybee even as she felt the car leave the road. The Mercedes slid sideways and nosed over into a ditch, throwing her against the seat belt as the car came to an abrupt stop in a thick cloud of dust.

  Molly sat for a moment, dazed, then scrabbled to release her seat belt and jump from the car, brushing her hands over her clothes to make sure the bee was gone. She felt her cheek swelling where the bee had stung her. Tires crunched on gravel and she turned, blinking to clear the tears from her eyes. A vehicle pulled over onto the shoulder. The driver of that irritatingly slow Wagoneer she’d just passed emerged, walked around the front of his vehicle and approached the edge of the ditch.

  “Are you all right?”

  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.