Shadow on the Land Read Online Free PDF

Lee’s face. He thought of following her, and immediately knew it would be the wrong move. He had the one trick that he hoped would thaw the chill from her, and he was too old a hand at the game to play his ace too early. His thoughts turned to Deborah Haig, and anger ran through him. Neither Deborah nor Quinn was in sight, and, knowing Mike Quinn, Lee could make a good guess what had happened.
    A small man had come from the lunchroom with a mug of coffee. He removed a half-chewed cigar from his lips, took one drink, and immediately spewed it from his mouth. Emptying the cup into the sand, he glanced at Lee and grimaced. “Did you drink the stuff?”
    Lee nodded. “It’s wet.”
    â€œSo’s the Columbia.” The little man returned the mug and came back. Taking a fresh grip on his cigar with worn molars, he nodded westward. “You came to The Dalles on the Inland Belle , didn’t you?”
    â€œYes.” Lee drew pipe and tobacco from his pocket and, studying the man as he packed the bowl, found that he could not remember him. He was well dressed, and Lee noted that the heels of his expensive boots were built up to increase his height, and that he wore a light-colored Stetson with an extremely high crown. It was a vanity Lee had seen expressed in small men before. He asked: “Were you on the boat?”
    â€œIn the main cabin most of the time. Interesting trip through the gorge.”
    Lee sauntered off, the little man falling into step beside him. They moved slowly to the track side of the depot. Lee felt interest stirring, for he sensed that the other was purposely seeking conversation.
    â€œI’ve always wondered about this gorge,” Lee said, “and some of those marks on the rock. Looks like water had made them, but the Columbia was never that high.”
    â€œPerhaps it was. This is an old battleground, my friend. There was a time when the Pacific washed against the Idaho mountains and most of Oregon was nothing more than sludge on its bottom.”
    Lee looked at him in quick interest. “That’s hard to believe.”
    â€œScientists are slowly putting the story together. Probably there were two island masses where we now find the Siskiyous and Blue Mountains. The Cascades and Sierras rose and tore a segment from the sea and pinned it inland. The land kept rising, leaving lakes, but sending most of the water pouring through this gorge.” He nodded at the far shore. “There’s the evidence you mentioned.”
    Lee shook his head. “I don’t see how anybody, scientist or not, can tell that.”
    â€œIt’s taken a long time to put it together.” The little man’s cigar had gone out. Now he took a moment to relight it. “Erosions like these, and shells and impresses of plants and animals. They all tell the story to men, like Doctor Condon, who can read it.”
    â€œWhat happened to the lakes?”
    â€œThe land had just started its part of the war. Lava poured out of the mountains, filling the lakes and soggy valleys, and the land continued to swell until it shoved the coast line twenty or thirty miles west of where it is now.”
    â€œSo the sea lost the fight?”
    â€œNo. The land couldn’t keep up its offensive. It became cold. Ice came down from the north. Mount Mazama collapsed and made Crater Lake. The land sank and the sea rolled in again, back up the Columbia and over the interior. Things were just about the same as when this started.”
    Lee, knocking his pipe against his heel, thought of Mike Quinn, of their friendship and then a fight, again friendship and a fight. The age-old pattern. Now Quinn was here on the Columbia, and a railroad fight was in the making. He said somberly: “A lot of fights end up that way.”
    The little man nodded. “That’s right. Nothing but bitterness. That’s the way it was here. The land made one more try, and threw up the Coast Range.