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surveyors and maybe game wardens.”
I wanted to squash this idea once and for all. “And we also have the new
Mountie coming in. We have to be discreet.”
    “What then?” the Braids asked. She sounded a little
desperate. I didn’t know what secrets she had—what many of my neighbors had—but
I knew we all wanted to keep them buried in our little town.
    I turned to Whisky Jack.
    “Someone has got to survey a better route—and back it up
with facts and figures and maps and all that stuff. We need to hand the
government a logical alternative to bringing the pipe through here. And we need
it fast.” I waited a beat for Whisky Jack to take my meaning.
    “Me? Do a survey?” he asked blankly, his earlier confidence
gone.
    “Yes. We don’t have anyone else who is qualified. Do we?” I
asked, belatedly realizing that many of my neighbors had past lives I didn’t
know about and there could be any number of surveyors among them. No one spoke
up though, so I turned back to Jack. “It’s all on you, Jack. You can have
anyone you want to help you and name your fee—but you’ve got to do it.”
    “Free whisky for the rest of the year,” Big John offered,
cutting to the chase and making his best offer.
    “The good stuff,” Whisky Jack said, suddenly more amenable.
    “Fine—but only when the job is done. Not one ounce of it do
you get before!”
    “Okay then. And I want Horace, Sasha, and Anatoli to come with
me.” The three men looked startled. “If I run into bears or Bigfoots I want
someone who can defend us.”
    “You want a marksman?” Horace asked.
    “Hells bells! I don’t want to mark them, I want to blow them
up. Anyway, we might need someone familiar with munitions for taking samples.”
    “I would be honored,” Anatoli said, rising to the occasion.
    “Me too,” said Horace. Then he spoiled the solemn moment by
adding, “Oh boy!”
    “We’re set then.” Whisky Jack spat into his palm and offered
it to Big John. It took our mayor a moment to bow to the inevitable and spit
into his own hand and shake on the deal. After, he headed straight for the
kitchen pump to wash his hands.
    The rest of us went out into the street to meet the new
Mountie. I hoped people wouldn’t be too rude, but xenophobic sentiments were
running high and you know what they say: Hope for the best but expect the
worst. That went double for the Gulch.
    I also hoped that Chuck wouldn’t mind his father going into
the wild on the survey mission. Probably he wouldn’t have time to get upset.
This was the worst possible time to have another Mountie in the Gulch.
     
    *  *  *
     
    Chuck felt the tips of his fingers digging into the armrests
of his seat as the Wings soared low over the tall pines on his final approach
to the main street of McIntyre’s Gulch. No matter how many times he’d
experienced it he still couldn’t get used to how close to the ground the Wings
liked to fly. He felt a scream building in his throat before the landing gear
cleared the last treetop and settled onto the recently paved street. The
touchdown was gentle as usual and allowed the Mountie to expel a long pent-up
breath of anxiety.
    During the flight the Wings had kept his antics to a
minimum, but then from the sounds and smells coming from the back of the plane,
it was obvious that it didn’t take much to affect the recruit’s gentle stomach.
Thomas didn’t complain once, possibly because he couldn’t catch his breath long
enough during their flight to say a word, but he obviously wasn’t handling the
situation well. As usual, Chuck couldn’t wait to throw the passenger door open
and fall out of the plane onto unsteady legs.
    “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Chuck commented under
his breath when the Wings finally joined him.
    “What?”
    “You know.”
    “Oh, that. He deserved it. He’s an officious prig. And I
only did it the once.”
    Chuck glared daggers at the Wings until the pilot turned
away in amusement and walked with