Johnny and the other two, now awake and stoked to take up at Elena’s where they’d left off two weeks before, as they drove off to the fire dorm to change.
The down-canyon breeze rustled in the cottonwoods that lined the creek. Just a sliver in the east, the moon cast a dim light into the side canyon behind the house. The west-facing wall of Cañon de Fuego stood in shadow.
Quiet settled over him. The side canyon was not as beautiful as big sister, Cañon de Fuego and her walls of fire. Few knew little sister existed, but she was well worth knowing. She was more prone to intimacy. She had her little secrets.
He listened, and caught the sound of distant voices. The voices, like bleating sheep, echoed from up the creek. The Fuego Canyon tree frogs--the endangered little creatures were calling. This late in the year.
Jack turned to the door. A note was taped to the glass.
Jack, welcome back. I need your help tomorrow. Let’s talk first thing in the morning. Come in uniform. Joe Morgan
This wasn’t anything to think about now.
He unlocked the door, carried in his gear, and pulled off his fire boots and clothes. After putting on canvas shorts and a pair of hiking sandals, he looked in the refrigerator. One beer. He grabbed it, and headed out into the night.
He found the traces of trail that made their way toward Warm Creek. Picking his way among the shadows, he slipped past desert shrub and slabs of sandstone. Once along the creek, he tread more softly, wanting, as he always did, to get as close to the tree frogs as he could before they became aware of him.
The community of tree frogs continued passing around their little love calls, and maybe a bit of news or rumor of the day. Jack crept toward his preferred location, a boulder outside the alcove from which the creek emerged as a dripping spring.
He made it to his spot. The voices continued.
CHAPTER 4
It would take a few days to shake the tired-to-the-bones feeling. This morning it hit with a vengeance.
A shower and coffee helped. A little.
The uniform felt good for a change. The gray shirt and loden green slacks fit better than nomex, and the shoes were comfortable compared to the heavy fire boots he had worn for endless hours of every day of the past two weeks. He put on his Stetson, dipped the brim forward on his brow, and cocked it slightly to the right. He inspected himself in the mirror—he looked like a ranger again. He left for his walk to the office.
The breeze carried the smells of sage and rabbit brush. Perhaps autumn was finally here on the high desert, on this edge of the Colorado Plateau.
The sun had not yet reached the canyon floor, but the dusky feeling of morning was past. Lighthouse Buttress beaconed in the mouth of the canyon. Below the rim of Cañon de Fuego, a veil of bright reddish-orange inched down the sandstone, hiding the soft red in flame, as it would for the duration of the morning.
“Canyon of Fire,” he whispered. Was the Spanish really a translation of an old Indian name, for a place where fire swept through the canyon? It stood to reason, lightning fires were so common on the plateau, and were known to occasionally drop burning timbers in from above. At this moment, however, he was more inclined to agree with those who thought it simply an appropriate name for a place with these flaming red rock walls.
A pickup, marked Park Ranger, drove slowly past, and turned into the campground up the road. Early rounds. The ranger stopped at one of the campsites.
Jack took the trail toward the river. All throughout the campground he noticed campers standing around their fires, seemingly captivated by the flames, their hands tucked away in pockets. Most had their backs to the down canyon breeze. It carried the aromas of coffee, bacon and pancakes. Breakfast, the kinds people associate with going camping.
September. These visitors were the lucky ones. The crowds were gone from Piedras Coloradas.
The river seemed low, almost languid as it moved about the cobbles. It was a wonder that la Fuente de los Fuegos—the Fountain of the Fires—had carved a canyon so grand, and yet could be a flash flooding torrent during the thunderstorms of midsummer.
As he approached headquarters, he saw a light on in Joe Morgan’s office. Always the early bird.
The superintendent’s secretary was expecting him. “Go on in,” Marge said.
Joe was on the phone. His solid frame was impeccably uniformed for whatever it was he had scheduled for this morning. He sat at his rustic timber desk, listening patiently, pulling his fingers through his graying hair. He noticed Jack at the door and waved him to a seat. “I understand,” he said, into the phone. A few moments later, he leaned back and said, “Yes, I hear you, but please tell the Congressman there are people on all sides of this issue. We intend to listen to all of them, not just the squeakiest wheels.” He fell back into a listening pattern.
When the call ended, Morgan rubbed his eyes. “Could you use some coffee?”
“Sure.”
Morgan stepped out of the office and returned with two cups of coffee. “Tell me about the fire.”
“It was a monster. We had some close calls, but we made it back in one piece.”
Morgan shook his head, and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s going to get harder to let you go out on those long fire assignments. While you were away, I needed you. Everyone needed you.”
Now wasn’t the time to get into it. “I understand,” Jack said.
“It’s good to have you back. Guess you got my note.”
“Yeah.”
“The deal is, I’ve set up a meeting in Las Piedras. This morning. Nothing formal. Just something to help set the record straight. Dispel some interesting rumors and open some lines of communication.”
Jack sat up. “Anything to do with that phone call, and what do you want from me?”
“They’re related. I need your help. Just in case I get questions I can’t answer.”
“Joe, you’re better off without me. I can’t help. Not on something like that.”
“Can’t or won’t.”
“You can order me to be there, but I won’t be any good to you. I’ll mess things up.”
Joe leaned over his desk. “That’s not your reputation. I know you’ve had some hard times, but you’ve got to get past all that.”
“You’d be better off alone.”
“I don’t believe that. I want you there.”
Jack felt the pounding of his heart. “But...” He would have to try a different approach. “You mentioned rumors.”
“Yes. Related to the new national monument.”
“I know very little about that,” Jack responded. “All I know about is the President signing the proclamation
