Telescope Peak was still capped in gleaming white and there were springs running almost to the valley floor. The little meadow in Surprise Canyon flourished. Near the small stream that fed the meadow, the grass was still green, and flowers thrust up hopeful blossoms late into the summer.
“Good for the sheep. They’ll be fat for the winter.” Frank surveyed the slopes for any sign, but he and Linda were alone. Tiny blue butterflies were fluttering above the grasses that stretched away from the rivulet of clear water that brought life to the meadow. The hike up the canyon had been tough. He was out of shape, but not as much as he had anticipated. And his leg had held up—no weakness, no shooting pain. Of course, there hadn’t been any leaping across the table rocks or scrambling about on the talus slopes. He and Linda had taken the longer, less strenuous trail that skirted the tumble of boulders guarding the canyon mouth. Nevertheless, he felt almost a hundred percent recovered, except that now and then, if he sat wrong, a sharp pain knifed through his buttock like an electric shock. The walking part was actually easier than sitting on hard surfaces.
“Let’s see if we can watch by the waterfall.” Linda pulled on his arm.
He didn’t want to return to the rock blind just yet, not for a while. “We’ll have to sit still. No wiggling around. That’s tough for women.”
She punched his arm. “Sure, sure, Mr. Macho. I don’t think I’d go there if I were you. You’re going to have to spend less time around
cops and more time around reporters if you want to learn something about being patient.”
“I like spending time around reporters.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I like it very much.”
“Come on.” She headed across the canyon, away from the spring, the swish of her feet in the dry grass sending locusts buzzing into the air and launching clouds of tiny gnats. “Let’s get there before the sheep.”
Frank followed, the smell of the dry grass sharp in his nostrils. Linda’s T-shirt clung to her back and against her spine, her soft hair damp against her neck.
“If we sit back here against the rock, the fall should give us cover.” Frank knelt and explored the smooth sand for hidden rocks. If he was going to sit there practically motionless, he didn’t want to be in pain.
After a few minutes, they felt almost cold despite waves of heat shimmering off the meadow. The damp from the sand and the clouds of spray that blew in their direction from time to time made them shiver. Occasional rainbows appeared as the mist lifted into the sunlight and scattered in the wind. They waited, watching puffy white clouds trail across the sky. Frank found himself dozing, his head slipping forward in easy drowsiness.
“It’s been more than an hour. I’m getting hungry. Want a sandwich?” Linda nudged him with her elbow.
Frank frowned. “Have patience, Lois Lane, or you’ll miss the story.”
“Well, I’m hungry anyhow.” She rummaged carefully in her pack and produced a chicken sandwich, layered with Swab’s High Sierra Chileno Indian-style peppers and fresh tomatoes from the vegetable garden they had planted in Frank’s yard. Now he had a yard, with a fence around just the garden part. He wasn’t so sure about that, but he liked the fresh tomatoes and zucchini and melons.
“Shussh!” Frank put his finger to his lips and pointed with the other hand.
An old ewe made her way down the talus slope, leading a group of four in single file behind her. Rocks came spilling ahead of them, tumbling down the steep canyon walls, starting small avalanches of
rocky debris. The new lambs raced across the face of the slope, dislodging rocks at each bound.
Linda gripped his arm. “It’s a wonder they don’t fall.”
“Sometimes they do.”
The lambs seemed to be suspended in air, bounding with effortless joy as the earth slipped from under their feet.
And on this day, none of them fell.