Fire on the Mountain by Edward Abbey Read Free Book Online Page A

the tank to pick up twigs and dead sticks for kindling. While Lee went galloping after the cow and her calf and Grandfather drew a running iron and the vaccine syringe out of his saddlebags, I opened my knife, pared shavings from a stick and lit a little fire. Grandfather placed the tip of the iron in the fire, opened his own knife and tested the blade’s edge with his thumb. I led old Blue to the tank, watered him and tied him to the corral fence; at the same time Lee came back to the fire dragging the calf at the end of his rope. Beside the calf came the mother cow and both of them were bawling.
    I preferred not to watch what was going to happen. I leaned over the wall of the steel tank, which was already hot from the sun, took off my hat and submerged my head in the cool water. Under the water’ssurface I opened my eyes and peered down through green mystic depths to where tadpoles undulated dreamily among clouds of algae.
    Coming out for air, I turned my head for a look at the struggle. Through the dust I saw Grandfather kneeling on the trussed-up calf, the blade glinting in his hand, and saw Lee drawing the white-hot iron out of the fire. The bellow of cow and calf were deafening; I went under water again.
    The next time I came up the operation was over: branded, castrated, earmarked, de-horned and inoculated, the calf had staggered on trembling limbs back to its mother. But something was wrong: the old man sat on the ground in the meager shade of the corral fence, sweating, his glasses off, and Lee was fanning his face with a hat.
    “I tell you I’m all right,” my grandfather snarled. “Give me back my hat.” And he reached out, snatched it from Lee’s hand, and smashed the hat down on his head.
    “You sure you’re all right?” Lee was saying.
    I ran up to them. “What happened?”
    “Your grandfather—”
    “Nothing happened,” Grandfather roared, though his face shone with sweat. “A bellyache, that’s all. I’m okay now, just let me get my breath, will you?”
    “I think you better—”
    “Lee, will you stop fussing over me?” the old man pushed himself up on his knees and from there to a standing position. He brushed the dust from his pants and felt around for his glasses. “Now where in the devil—”
    “Here, here.” Lee put the glasses in his hand.
    “Thank you.” The old man drew the bandana from his hip pocket, wiped the glasses carelessly and put them on. “All right. Let’s get a drink of water and get out of here.” He walked heavily toward the tank, muttering and grumbling. Lee and I looked at each other.“Maybe he ate too much chili last night,” Lee said, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s what he claims.”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “You think he’s all right now?”
    “Maybe. He seems to be mad enough.”
    Grandfather raised his dripping face from the water, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, untied his horse and swung briskly into the saddle. Without a word to us he started up the rough trail road that led into the mountains. We stared at him. He checked his horse and glared back at us. “Well—? You two coming or do I have to do everything myself?” We climbed on our mounts and rode hastily after him.
    “Nice day,” he said as we all drew abreast on the narrow road. “But hot. It’ll be good to get up yonder.” He squinted at the crest above, the line of granite against the deep dark delirious blue. Not even a shred of cloud could be seen in that vibrant sky.
    “We’ll split up when we reach the south ridge trail.”
    “Sure,” said Lee.
    “Keep your eyes peeled from here on, Billy.”
    “Yes sir.”
    I looked intently about. The vegetation changed as we gained elevation, the brush of the desert yielding place to parks of pinyon pine and juniper and thickets of shiny green scrub oak. I could smell the sweet scent of resin and pine needles, and heard, from somewhere up ahead, the excited clamor of flocks of pinyon jays. I saw a redheaded woodpecker