THE INTRUDER page 37

One morning, after weeks of solitude and sunshine, I felt the trailer rock. I turned from the
stove to see a man leaning into my trailer totally blocking the doorway. He was extremely tall, heavy set, and appeared to be in his early fifties. He wore a dusty Stetson, a western style shirt, a red neckrchief and faded blue jeans tucked into elaborately tooled, well worn cowboy boots. His thick leather belt held a holster and a big gun.

There was no sign of London and I was instantly awash in panic. No phone, no quarry guard to whom I could call and my only exit blocked. G.B. my protector was one hundred fifty miles away. I wanted to scream and run. Instead I stared, waiting for whatever horror awaited me.

He growled and then added in a confident cultured voice, "Do you know where the jaspar deposit is?" "My rock hound map shows one in this area?"

Oh Gad! Only a Snowbird, the harmless, joyous breed that flies south to the Valley of the Sun each winter. They don boots, hats, guns and turquoise jewlery and then they play rock- hound, prospector, gold-miner, cowboy and golf until Spring Training and "Canada Honkers" signal the the trip north for the summer.

I pointed to the yellow jaspar deposit down below my butte, but I knew the assessment
work had all been stolen because G.B. and I had already hunted in vain for pieces of his yellow
jaspar to make book ends and a belt buckle.


by Charlotte Madison and Nana Cook copyright 1994