Vineyard Fear by Philip R. Craig

Author:Philip R. Craig [Craig, Philip R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780060594442
Publisher: Avon
Published: 1992-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

— 15 —

Between rising mountains, the valley was narrow, green, and fertile. The river wound through it and the railroad tracks paralleled the highway. A black engine sending puffs of dark smoke into the air chugged along, towing a string of yellow cars filled with people. It looked like something out of the last century.

“The Little Flier,” said Billy Jo. “Goes up to Silverton and back through the canyon. A lot of fun, and in places pretty spectacular even by local standards. Tourists love it. You should take the trip before you go home. The best way is to ride the train up to Silverton, then have somebody meet you up there in a car and bring you back down by the highway. That way, you get two good looks at the country.”

“It’s worth looking at,” I conceded. I’d never seen such mountains. Their lower slopes were covered by oak brush and pines. Farther up the slopes, quaking aspen grew, mixed with more pine and spruce. Great rimrocks broke the slopes into steps, and red sandstone escarpments climbed up from the valley floor. Along the edges of the valley, houses, old and new, could be seen.

“Old ranch houses and new places built by folks who’ve retired or who just love the country,” said Billy Jo. “Lots of Texas and California money. Otherwise, this hunk of country is what you might call economically deprived. It used to live off of mining and ranching, but now it lives off of tourists.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Wages are low, unions are rare, prices are high, houses are expensive, and work that really pays anything is hard to find.”

She nodded. “You’ve got it. How did you guess?”

“Places that live off of tourists are all like that. I live on an island that’s like that. College kids who want to vacation come in the summer and take what jobs there are, and then leave in time to go back to school…”

“Right again.”

We crossed a small, clear river running from the mouth of a narrow valley off to the left. A promontory topped by red cliffs split this valley from the Animas Valley.

“Hermosa Creek,” said Billy Jo. “We could go up there and ride in from the end of the road, but we’re not going to. We’re going around to the foot of the Hermosa Cliffs and taking the Goulding Trail up to the top. I think John will be up there somewhere. He likes the meadows and the cliffs more than he likes being down in the canyons.”

We left the flat green valley floor behind us and drove into wilder, rockier country. Farms gave way to pasturelands scattered between granite cliffs and forests of pine, spruce, aspen, and oak brush. Rivulets of clear water flowed in and out of marshes and between rocks. To our left, quite suddenly, a row of gigantic cliffs broken only by a few narrow rimrocked cuts rose into the sky. The farther we drove, the higher they got. Ahead of us, huge ragged mountains touched the clouds with their peaks.

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