Stony Mesa Sagas. Chip Ward

when that stone stump was a green and living tree the night sky was much the same as the sky he was looking at right now, well, that was more than humbling, that was mind-boggling. But knowing that he was here now to participate in this amazing universe was also inspiring. I may only be alive for a moment, he thought, but this is my moment.

      As he stargazed he became a participant in the grand human quest to pierce the invisible and perceive the secrets of the universe. Squinting through a microscope at the hidden microbial world or squinting through a telescope at galaxies beyond the cave of the naked eye, one was opened to wondrous life and infinite possibility. It was this curiosity, this need to know the world beyond the physical limitations of our species, whether we mapped the stars, DNA, or the bottom of the ocean, that made us worthy of our unique place in the order of life, Otis thought. When he put his eye to Spock, he took part in the grand pageant of civilization. There was a kind of dignity to it. Compared to that, neon was just a gaudy trick at best, a reckless cataract of light made by fools to blind the enlightened.

      Such reflections about time and space made Otis Dooley modest, grateful, and reverent. The balm of his nightly skywatching also helped him to be a good and generous neighbor, a dependable and honest worker, a patriot who was even willing to take on the tedious and thankless job of Stony Mesa mayor.

      On the first night that the sign in front of the Wild West Museum and Mall was lit, Otis retreated from a day of low-back pain and aching fingers to his telescopic lair. He sighed, swung his barreled lens skyward, and pinched his face into the eyepiece only to discover that his beloved night sky had faded under the celestial bleach emanating from the museum’s pulsing sign.

      He was immediately thrown from his nighttime zone of awe and reverence into the arms of a bottle of bourbon that he hid behind the observatory wall. They woke up together the following morning. After a restless afternoon of grieving and steaming, it was clear. He’d be damned if that rich faux-cowboy Bo Hineyman would wreck his view of the stars. And as the town’s duly elected mayor, it was his duty to confront the offender.

      He marched in the Wild West Museum and Mall, a.k.a. the Bull and Stallion. Hineyman stood at the front desk reminding a cashier to greet customers with “howdy partner.” The night before, Kimmy Jo Roberts greeted a handsome and very buff male customer with a big smile and a salacious “Bang! Bang!” Bo overheard her. Now, he was telling her that the six-shooters were a part of a costume that might make some people, all the French people and the tourists from New York, for example, a little nervous. No need to draw attention to them. Kimmy Jo stole a glance at her cousin Starla Huggins and rolled her eyes while Bo’s head was turned. She started to make the sign for crazy but ended up fingering her hair when he turned her way.

      “Oh, and be sure to tell them the gift shop has a special sale this week on hats and genuine lariats.” He tried to smile to soften the criticism and come across as a good guy after all. It was a heavy lift for Bo as it required pushing his cheeks up against the tide of a perpetually furrowed brow.

      Otis couldn’t wait. “Bo, that electric bonfire you call a sign is ruining a precious resource.” Diplomacy was not Mayor Dooley’s strong suit.

      “What resource?” Hineyman huffed.

      “The night sky, you moron!”

      “What?”

      “People come from all over the world who have never seen the Milky Way, heck, never seen more than a few stars. They look up and they are awestruck. When they go home they tell all their friends who want to come here and see the same, maybe even buy a poster of John Wayne at your friggin’ gift shop. But when that sign of yours is on all they see is a rearing horse, a frothing bull, and the word ‘sale’ over and over with a big arrow pointing at the door.” His anger was peaking. “It’s an abomination! Damn thing needs a dimmer switch!”

      “The only thing dim around here, Dooley, is you. That sign cost me fifty grand. It has state-of-the-art digital controls, the whole works. It’s about time someone stepped up the hand-lettered crap that passes for signage here. That arrow doesn’t point to my door, knucklehead, it points to the future!”

      “Oh bullshit, Bo, it doesn’t fit here and neither do you. Do you think you can just push in here and take over the night sky—own it?”

      “I don’t have to stand here and listen to some squat gnome who cleans grease out of pipes for a living. Get out of here before I call the police!”

      “We don’t have any police. You ain’t in your office in Miami now, ya dickhead.”

      “We have a Boon County sheriff and if ever you walk your sorry ass into this establishment again, I’ll call him. Now get out!”

      The two men were mindful that they were arguing in a public place so they politely refrained from shouting. They delivered their insults through clenched teeth and red faces. A bystander may have mistaken them for contestants in a vein bursting contest.

      Otis left as he was ordered but the following week he posted a comment on his Facebook page under a photo of the neon bull and stallion. It read, “Our pioneer ancestors who settled Stony Mesa were rugged individualists but they understood that nobody can stand alone in a wilderness like ours. Neighbors stepped up and built an irrigation system that still keeps our desert valley fertile. They built a school, a town hall, and a church together. They understood that as tough and self-sufficient as a person might be, he still needs a community to make life good. It is our turn to step up and keep Stony Mesa from being gobbled up by the highest bidder.”

      Bo Hineyman was never named but everyone understood who Otis was talking about. Bo was livid. He called his lawyer in Miami, and asked if he could sue for defamation. “Are we aiming to win or just teaching him a lesson?” asked his attorney. “Teach him and any other hick motherfucker who wants to mess with Bo Hineyman that they better not start,” he replied. The lawyer chuckled and said he’d get right on it. Intimidation and Harassment were full partners in his Miami office. Bo hired them often.

      A week later Hineyman’s horse pooped on Otis’s shoes and Otis returned the moist bomb to its rightful owner. The feud was out in the open for all to see.

      When Bo Hineyman’s strangled body was discovered two weeks later, Otis was the prime suspect.

       Chapter 2

      Luna Waxwing tried not to tremble. Her voice cracked when she spoke so she stayed silent and pretended to be brave. The bulldozer with its enormous gleaming blade looked like a wall bearing down on her and a dozen compadres who sat chained together in front of the mining site gate. She noticed how the cobalt blue of the desert sky reflected in the mud-spattered blade that was about to chop and crush her. As the yellow monster closed in, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the maniac who was jerking levers back and forth in the bulldozer’s cabin. He wore a white helmet with a faded logo. The blade dropped and the helmet disappeared behind it.

      The bulldozer growled forward and the crowd gathered at the tar sands protest screamed and waved their arms frantically, imploring the driver to stop. Some covered their eyes or looked away. Luna stifled a sob and whispered, “Please, God, no!” a moment before the machine stopped inches away from the chained protesters.

      When it was clear that the dozer operator meant to scare them, not kill them, the protestors resumed their chant; “Tar sands no! Drexxel go!” Jacked up by the near slaughter, they shouted louder. Sheriff Taylor saw how the charging dozer infuriated the large crowd that had made the arduous trip to support those blocking the mining site with their bodies. He trotted over to the dozer and grabbed the sleeve of the man in the white hardhat. He ordered him to get down before he made the situation even worse. The driver walked away but not before flipping his middle finger at the chained demonstrators.

      Most of the protestors had been camping nearby at High Hollow Springs for two weeks. The strip-mining had not begun but heavy equipment had been moved in so that the site could be prepared. The road would have to be upgraded and a parking lot for work vehicles scraped out. They needed a warehouse for supplies and equipment, an office, a repair shop, a pad for fuel tanks. And that