"Think of the people who work in the lumber mill," Vern said. "Think of the logging truck drivers, the cowboys, the outfitters, the fishing guides. They'd be unemployed while the Feds roped off the entire valley for the future. Environmentalists from all over the country would move in with their little round glasses and sandals and start giving press conferences on how they're here to protect the innocent little creatures from the ignorant locals. Whether or not anything was ever found up there, the environmentalists would keep things tied up in the courts for decades just so that they can tell their members they're actually doing something with their dues.
"Third-generation ranchers would lose their ranches. Support people--teachers, retailers, restaurant owners--would lose their jobs or move on eventually. All because Joe Pickett, master game warden extraordinaire, suspects that there might be some rare thing in the mountains.
"Half the people in this town would hate your guts," Vern said. "Some would lose their jobs. Your cute little girlies would catch all kinds of horrible crap in school. They would bear the brunt of it, Joe, and it would all be your fault."
Joe found himself breaking his gaze with Vern and looking down at the table, but thinking, Inter West Resources and their pipeline wouldn't do too well either.
Vern continued, "It might be different if the endangered species laws either made any sense biologically or if they weren't just political mind games. But neither is true. Listen."
Vern went on to recount how there were more than 950 plants and animals listed as either "endangered" or "threatened" and an additional 4,000 species that were candidates for future listings. And how 20 years and billions of dollars later, fewer than 30 species have come off the "endangered" list. He said the laws were hypocritical, that species considered "cute," like wolves and grizzly bears, fared better than species that were ugly to human eyes, and no rational scientific basis was used. He said he had looked at the numbers and figured out that more than $190 million had been spent on bald eagles, northern spotted owls, red cockaded woodpeckers, grizzly bears, West Indian manatees, Florida scrub jays, and whooping cranes. Then he spoke in broad, global terms and stated that at least 99 percent of all species that had ever lived on earth had become extinct naturally, without man's "interference." Mass extinctions had happened since the dawn of time. Snail darters, Colorado squawfish, spotted owls, and Mount Graham red squirrels wouldn't be missed by anyone or anything.
"Animals die, Joe," Vern said. "Species go belly up. It happened before the first fish crawled on land and figured out lungs, and it will continue to happen. What gives us the right to be so arrogant that we think we can control what lives and what dies? We aren't as almighty as we like to think when it comes to affecting the real world, the natural world. All of the nuclear bombs on earth have about one ten-thousandth the power of the asteroid that slammed into the planet and killed all of the dinosaurs. What humans can do to change the planet is puny. We're deluding ourselves if we think we're so fucking smart that we can either save or create a species. How do we know that by saving some little dickey bird that we aren't preventing a new and improved dickey bird from evolving? Who do we think we are?" Vern asked.
"Who the hell are we to take on God?"
Joe sat back. He felt as though he had been pummeled.
Vern noted the reaction and, obviously thinking he had persuaded Joe, drank the last shot of bourbon and smiled. "Speaking of God," Vern said. "Have you ever heard of the God Squad?"
Joe shook his head no. "It's a real thing. I didn't make this up. It's composed of the secretary of interior, the secretary of the army, the secretary of agriculture, and a couple of other guys. It is their job, when it comes down to the nut cutting, to decide which species live or die in the national interest. Can you believe the incredible arrogance of that?"
Joe and Vern finished their beers in silence. As Joe got up to leave, Vern reached out and held his arm. Their eyes locked. "There is an offer on the table, Joe. The window of opportunity for that job offer is starting to close. If you choose not to take advantage of it, you will be making a mistake."
Joe was unsure whether he was being advised or threatened.
"I'll let you know, Vern," Joe said. "Seems like there are a lot of things I need to decide."
"You'll do the right thing," Vern said, patting Joe on the hand. "You're a good man, Joe, and you'll do the right thing."
***
Sheridan and Lucy named the largest creature the first one they had seen Lucky, the smaller, brown creature Hippity-Hop, and the long, thin creature Elway. They decided the animals were a family, and a happy one. Lucky was the dad, Hippity-Hop was the mom, and Elway was the son. The names, they thought, matched their personalities. And boy, could they eat.
They ate everything. Not only would they emerge from the woodpile for Cheerios, but they would stuff bits of hot dog, luncheon meat, and vegetables into their cheeks. The only thing they didn't seem to like were jelly beans, and that upset Lucy because she had a whole plastic purse full of them.
During dinner, Sheridan had learned to hide bits of food in her napkin to take out to the backyard later. Lucy ate all of her dinner, but she would gladly sacrifice her snack because she wasn't much on sweets. Together, while Mom was clearing dishes or talking on the telephone or visiting with Grandmother Missy, Sheridan and Lucy would ask to play in the backyard (the wish was always granted) and then go feed the secret pets.
Lucky, Hippity-Hop, and Elway weren't silent after all. They could chirp and chatter and make a trilling sound like a muted baby's rattle when they were annoyed or playful. Sheridan sometimes thought the animals were so loud that there was no way Mom or Grandmother Missy wouldn't hear them, but they never seemed to.
Lucy would eventually give the secret away, Sheridan thought. She was just too little to keep her mouth shut. Just that evening after dinner Lucy said she wanted to go outside and "feed Lucky." Sheridan explained that Lucky, along with Elway and Hippity Hop, were their imaginary pets. Mom complimented Sheridan for playing so nicely with her little sister. Grandmother Missy beamed at them both.
When the creatures were done eating or didn't emerge from the logs, Lucy wanted to "play animals" with Sheridan. Sheridan went along, which meant Lucy pretended she was one of the creatures and Sheridan was feeding her. Sheridan would throw imaginary food on the grass and Lucy, a good mimic, would replicate the creatures as they picked up the food in their claws and stuffed it into their cheeks.
Sheridan knew it wouldn't last. Something would eventually happen. It always did. But while the creatures were alive and playful, and while they just belonged to Sheridan (and Lucy), she would enjoy it. Having the secret and seeing those little faces pop out of the woodpile was a wonderful treat--and something she looked forward to every afternoon on the bus ride home.
While it lasted, it was magic.
***
Joe Went back to the break lands before sunrise. He drove there in a heavy, wet mist and had to use the four-wheel drive to get to the top of his lookout hill.
The day broke wet and dark, and the rain increased. The clouds were low and filled the sky, and the water pooled on the slick bentonke clay of the plateaus or created chocolate brown ponds or streams that foamed through draws. The valley was socked in, and from what he could see through his spotting scope, the antelope hunters had stayed in their camps. The roads had already deteriorated and were either marble-slick or mushy, depending on the terrain. He decided to get out of the area while the option was still available. On the way back he winched out a crew of hunters stuck in a ditch and followed them down to the main road.