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Authors: Edward Abbey
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of mountains. About eighty miles northwest of where we stood, admiring the DANGER—KEEP OUT signs, lay the site of the first atomic bomb explosion.
Returning from there, we followed wandering deer paths and cattle trails along the spine of a ridge that led toward a junction of two other ridges high on the east side of Thieves’ Mountain. Up in there, too far away to see, was the perennial spring, the corral, and the old log cabin where we would camp overnight. And far above the camp, above timberline, the naked and jagged peak soared into the blue.
“What’s up there?” I pointed toward the summit.
“What do you see up there?” Lee’s gaze followed my pointing finger.
“Well,” I said, “I don’t see anything up there.”
Lee was silent. He lowered his head, returning his eyes to the trail and terrain ahead of us.
“There must be something up there,” I insisted.
“What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Something.”
“You won’t find it up there.”
“How do you know, Lee? Were you up there?”
“Yes, I climbed it once. On foot. You can’t get a horse all the way to the top.”
“Well, you must have seen something up there.” He did not answer. “What did you see up there, Lee?”
“Good God,” he said. “I mean, my God, you’re persistent.” He smiled at me. “You really got the disease, don’t you.”
“What disease?”
“The disease. I don’t know what else to call it, I already feel sorry for the woman who marries you.”
“I’m not going to marry anybody. I like horses better.”
“That’s a twist.”
“All right,” I said patiently. “When you went up there, Lee, what did you find? I mean, besides rock?”
“Besides rock? Well—I found a little grass. Not much. A strange green kind of grass. And some tiny little flowers. Tiny flowers, no bigger than snowflakes.” He paused. “Some wild-sheep droppings. One eagle’s nest.” He stopped.
“What else?”
“That’s about it.”
Lee fell silent again. We rode quietly side by side, through a glade among the stunted pine trees. The quick wild birds flew before us, the sky deep and silent over their spontaneous cries. I waited.
“Are you positive you were up there, Lee?”
“Look,” he said, pointing to sharp hoofprints intersecting the trail ahead of us. “A buck and a couple ofdoes
pase por aqui
not five minutes ago. See where one of them peed on the ground? Not five minutes ago. We should’ve seen them. I must be getting old.”
“How old are you, Lee,”
“Last year I was thirty-three. Old enough to be crucified. I got married instead. Next year I’ll be thirty-five. Old enough to run for President.”
“Are you going to run for President?”
“I’d rather be right than be wrong. My country, right or wrong? There’s talk about it, Billy. There’s a ground swell of support appearing in Guadalupe County. The grass roots are growing and I’m mending my fences.”
“Let’s talk about something important.”
“Like what? What could that be?”
“I’m hungry.”
“You can say that again.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Now you’re talking. Now you’re making sense. Let’s jog up these here saddleracks and see what the old man has for supper.”
The sun was hanging close to the shoulder of the mountain, roaring down from the cloudless sky, when Lee and I regained the old wagon road and measured its final few switchbacks up to the bench of level ground where the corral and cabin stood. We saw the sorrel stallion, barebacked and glossy, staked out in the little dry park in front of the corral. A thread of smoke dangled over the cabin chimney and Grandfather himself, when he heard our horses, appeared in the open doorway.
“Evening,” he said. “I thought you boys would show about now. I got three cans of beans and a panful of corned beef warming up on the stove.”
“That’ll do for a start,” Lee said.
We dismounted and unsaddled our horses. I was
Returning from there, we followed wandering deer paths and cattle trails along the spine of a ridge that led toward a junction of two other ridges high on the east side of Thieves’ Mountain. Up in there, too far away to see, was the perennial spring, the corral, and the old log cabin where we would camp overnight. And far above the camp, above timberline, the naked and jagged peak soared into the blue.
“What’s up there?” I pointed toward the summit.
“What do you see up there?” Lee’s gaze followed my pointing finger.
“Well,” I said, “I don’t see anything up there.”
Lee was silent. He lowered his head, returning his eyes to the trail and terrain ahead of us.
“There must be something up there,” I insisted.
“What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Something.”
“You won’t find it up there.”
“How do you know, Lee? Were you up there?”
“Yes, I climbed it once. On foot. You can’t get a horse all the way to the top.”
“Well, you must have seen something up there.” He did not answer. “What did you see up there, Lee?”
“Good God,” he said. “I mean, my God, you’re persistent.” He smiled at me. “You really got the disease, don’t you.”
“What disease?”
“The disease. I don’t know what else to call it, I already feel sorry for the woman who marries you.”
“I’m not going to marry anybody. I like horses better.”
“That’s a twist.”
“All right,” I said patiently. “When you went up there, Lee, what did you find? I mean, besides rock?”
“Besides rock? Well—I found a little grass. Not much. A strange green kind of grass. And some tiny little flowers. Tiny flowers, no bigger than snowflakes.” He paused. “Some wild-sheep droppings. One eagle’s nest.” He stopped.
“What else?”
“That’s about it.”
Lee fell silent again. We rode quietly side by side, through a glade among the stunted pine trees. The quick wild birds flew before us, the sky deep and silent over their spontaneous cries. I waited.
“Are you positive you were up there, Lee?”
“Look,” he said, pointing to sharp hoofprints intersecting the trail ahead of us. “A buck and a couple ofdoes
pase por aqui
not five minutes ago. See where one of them peed on the ground? Not five minutes ago. We should’ve seen them. I must be getting old.”
“How old are you, Lee,”
“Last year I was thirty-three. Old enough to be crucified. I got married instead. Next year I’ll be thirty-five. Old enough to run for President.”
“Are you going to run for President?”
“I’d rather be right than be wrong. My country, right or wrong? There’s talk about it, Billy. There’s a ground swell of support appearing in Guadalupe County. The grass roots are growing and I’m mending my fences.”
“Let’s talk about something important.”
“Like what? What could that be?”
“I’m hungry.”
“You can say that again.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Now you’re talking. Now you’re making sense. Let’s jog up these here saddleracks and see what the old man has for supper.”
The sun was hanging close to the shoulder of the mountain, roaring down from the cloudless sky, when Lee and I regained the old wagon road and measured its final few switchbacks up to the bench of level ground where the corral and cabin stood. We saw the sorrel stallion, barebacked and glossy, staked out in the little dry park in front of the corral. A thread of smoke dangled over the cabin chimney and Grandfather himself, when he heard our horses, appeared in the open doorway.
“Evening,” he said. “I thought you boys would show about now. I got three cans of beans and a panful of corned beef warming up on the stove.”
“That’ll do for a start,” Lee said.
We dismounted and unsaddled our horses. I was
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