Sagebrush Sedition. Warren J. Stucki
I can just tell,” Bucky muttered. “Bin in this business too long.”
“Well, we’ll be seein’ you.” Roper nodded to Bucky as he ducked through the door.
“I mean it, we really shouldn’t let him git away with this horse shit,” Bucky mumbled at Roper’s back.
“What?” Ruby asked, looking sharply at Bucky as she took her parcel.
“We should do somethin’ to stop him.”
Roper stopped in mid-stride and turned around again.
“For hell’s sake, stop who?” Ruby pushed on by.
“Whose the hell we bin talkin’ bout?” Lee demanded, a drop of spittle stuck in the gutter of his chin.
“Stoppin’ it now is like stopping a train after the caboose has already passed,” Ruby declared backing down the walkway. “But if you figure out a way, let me know.”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Roper insisted, his brow furrowed. “It was done perfectly legal. He invoked the Antiquities Act.”
“Antiquities Act, my ass! This is about as legal as my marriage, or my divorce for that matter,” Lee hissed through the cleft of his clenched teeth. “An it’s immoral. Only in the west does the federal government own this much land. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. When territories become states the federal government is supposed to give back all federal lands to the state. That’s the way it was in Texas and back east. That’s the way it was everywhere exceptin’ here in the west. Did ya know the federal government owns more’n sixty percent of this goddamn state?” Lee paused for a breath. “Youse gotta figure somethin’ out college-boy, or we’ll all be gatherin’ our belongin’s, like dust bowl refugees of the Great Depression, and jumpin’ trains or road-hitchin’. Either way, we’ll be out of heer a beggin’ for jobs.”
“John Steinbeck revisited, huh?” Roper said.
“Who?” Bucky glared back.
“Forget it. There’s nothing we can do, not now—not now in nineteen ninety-six,” Roper said firmly. “Like I said, the Antiquities Act makes it all legal.”
“We’re startin’ to get a group together,” Bucky said confidentially, pausing to fire a wad at the bucket, again hitting high on the sidewall. The yellow slime stuck momentarily then slowly slid to the floor. “Informally, of course. Either one of you interested?”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Roper said, shaking his head and scowling.
“Youse think about it, Roper. How bout youse, Rube?”
“When you get things organized and decide what you’re all about,” Ruby said hesitantly, “let me know. Then I’ll decide if I’m interested.”
“I’ll tell youse two right now, might don’t make right and legal don’t mean eagle, “ Bucky Lee snarled.
“Christ Almighty!” Ruby crossed herself again then stared incredulously at Bucky for a moment. She started to say something, abruptly changed her mind, pivoted on the heel of her boot and quickly stomped away.
“Who put a burr under her saddle?” Bucky asked, feigning offense.
“Sometimes you just have that effect on people,” Roper smiled, shaking his head.
“Like the prophets of old, I’se just tell it as it is,” Bucky Lee replied, staring at Roper with bleary eyes. “This heer ain’t no popularity contest.”
“Well then, Bucky,” Roper said testily, raising everted palms skyward in an apparent show of frustration. “What’s your answer?”
“All I’m sayin’ is it’s time to stand up and be confounded. Somebody’s gotta take back this country from them friggin’, bleedin’ heart liberals.”
2
One Year Later
THE GRAND STAIRCASE
Well over fifty-five hundred feet in total elevation, the cliffs of Utah’s plateau land are towering, rangy and distinctively colored. It is, in fact, the various rock hues that have inspired each tier’s popular name.
Commencing with the rim of the Grand Canyon and rising ever higher and higher in a northward progression is a great system of cliffs sometimes christened in western geology, the Great Staircase. In geological time, the oldest cliffs form the basal strata and the youngest, the crest or the crown. At the lowest echelon, sits the desert-edged Chocolate Cliffs; the second terrace, the brilliant Vermillion Cliffs; third, coursing ever upward in a step-like manner, are the chalky White Cliffs; the next landing, the steely Gray Cliffs; and the pinnacle, the lofty Pink Cliffs, alpine cap of the Aquarius Plateau.
Certainly, such a regal staircase, so massive, so majestic may be tramped, traversed, or otherwise trekked across by mere mortals—but surely only Gods may glibly stride up and down its colossal steps.
“What a great speech!” Sean Dunn O’Grady jumped to his feet, enthusiastically joining the erupting applause. With tears brimming and overflowing, he turned to the short, balding man on his right and shouted above the din, “Isn’t he great? Best damn president since JFK!”
The thunderous applause continued and so did Sean. His hands ached, his palms turned a meaty red and his fingers felt like stiff wooden appendages, numbed from the paralytic pounding. But who cared? What a victory! What a day!
Just imagine, Sean Dunn O’Grady rubbing shoulders with congressmen, senators, cabinet secretaries, governors, top-level bureaucrats and a virtual who’s who of the Intermountain business community. Everyone who was anyone was here, that is everyone except the conspicuously absent Utah political delegation. They considered it grandstanding, but to Sean it looked more like a grand display of sour grapes. The governor, both senators and both representatives, all republicans, as a show of solidarity in their displeasure, had snubbed the proceedings. What sore losers. Who needs them? Who cares?
But what an honor for the likes of Sean Dunn O’Grady. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would be hobnobbing with these people, literally the de facto royalty of America. Nor did it matter that they mostly ignored him. What counted, he was here!
Looking around he grinned, his abundant freckles bunching at the corners of his mouth and surfing over the bridge of his nose. Without a doubt, from the looks of the attendees, he must have the smallest bank account of anyone. Being president of the Southern Utah Chapter of the Western Wilderness Alliance wasn’t exactly a yellow brick road paved with blocks of gold bullion or landscaped with dollar trees. But he hadn’t done it for the money. He would gladly trade trivial paper money for a righteous cause any day. Environmental crusades were his staff of life, his soul food, and that’s what he did it for. Today was his payday, not some computer printed check. And this was one hell-uv-a-day.
When he’d first received the invitation, he had been ecstatic. It was so unexpected, not that he hadn’t dreamed about it. The summons had to be the administration’s way of thanking him for his part, however small, in bringing this mammoth project to fruition. And he had played a modest part. Perhaps, a bigger part than anyone had realized, but some things are better left unsaid, some stories simply cannot be told. By their very nature, some things are not to be openly applauded and are meant only for self-congratulations. His role was like that.
From his church days of another life and time, he knew pride was a sin, but even in those days it was always considered a minor sin. Now as a devout atheist, he really did not believe in retribution for transgressions, thank God for that, nor rewards for good works. He realized, of course, a certain code of ethics was necessary for society to survive and keep