Free A Clearing in the forest by Gloria Whelan Page A

strenuous digging, he found himself shivering with cold.
    He was grateful to turn onto the open trail and feel the warm sun. His sadness over the fawn’s death disappeared. Everything around him seemed important. He noticed how many shades of purple there were among the wildflowers that bloomed this time of year, the asters and vervain and knapweed. He found a translucent green stone, still wet from the rain. It looked like a small piece of deep water that had solidified. He slipped it into his pocket, not caring that when it dried it would look like an ordinary stone. He would remember what it had looked like now. A turtle was crossing the trail. Wilson stopped to admire the intricate red and black design on the margins of its shell. When he finally reached the cabin the dog, free of his rope, ran to meet him. Without thinking, Wilson reached down and ruffled the dog’s fur.

12
    Because the night crew was short of drillers, Pete had taken Wilson off the engines. Nearly every night now he had to steel himself to scramble up the ladder to the platform where he wrestled the length of pipe in or out of the slots where they rested while a new bit was attached or the well logged.
    For a while Wilson had considered quitting rather than face another night on the platform, but Frances had encouraged him to stay on. “Surely you haven’t saved enough yet to see you through school, Wilson?”
    In a way he would have been sorry to leave the other men on the rig. After weeks of working together they had grown close and were proud of how quickly they could draw out the thousands of feet of pipeline or send it back down. He liked spending time with men like T. K. Dorp, who always seemed to have some wild story to tell.
    T. K. got away with a lot because he was so experienced. He had been everywhere: up on the North Slope of Alaska and in the Middle East. He had taken a dislike to Lyle Barch, who was never fast enough to suit him. When he wasn’t harassing Lyle, he was bickering with Pete, the tool-pusher.
    Tonight things were going smoothly. They had made their connections in record time, and the four of them, Pete, Lyle, T. K. and Wilson, were sitting together eating pizza just delivered by the sandwich van.
    The August sun had beaten down all day on the metal roof of the doghouse at the base of the derrick, where the tools and records were kept. Even though it was one o’clock in the morning, it was still stifling in there, and they were happy to be sitting outside in the cool night. The glare of the fluorescent lights made the location as bright as day, but beyond the lights the dark forest encircled them. Wilson wondered if raccoons and skunks and other nocturnal animals came to the edge of the clearing to watch them. Several times, just before daybreak, when they were up on the platform, they had seen a large buck wander down the trail that led to the location. It reminded Wilson of the old buck on Frances’s land, the one he meant to go after when the deer season opened.
    T. K. said, “Where we headed for after we finish this job up?”
    Pete said, “I hear we’re going to be drilling over near the Oclair River.”
    Wilson asked, “Where?”
    Pete did not notice the alarm in Wilson’s voice. “I heard there’s some little old lady got some property along the river. Guess she’s not going to be too happy about our drilling there.”
    Lyle was watching Wilson. He knew whose property Pete was talking about and asked, “Don’t you know old lady Crawford?” He was enjoying Wilson’s discomfort. Lyle resented the fact that Mrs. Crawford chased him off her property while she allowed Wilson to fish there.
    Pete and T. K. looked at Wilson. “I been fishing down there a couple of times,” he said in what he hoped was an offhand way. If they thought he was friendly with Mrs. Crawford, they might not tell him what information they had about the