Free A Clearing in the forest by Gloria Whelan Page B

well.
    Pete said, “Well, once she hears we’re drilling over there, you aren’t going to be welcome on her property. “Hey, Barch, where you going?”
    Lyle had started off across the location toward his car. “Be back in a couple of minutes,” he called over a shoulder.
    T. K. spat a jet of tobacco juice. “Laziest guy I ever worked with. Don’t know why you keep him on.”
    Lyle was taking a gun from his car. They watched him disappear into the woods in the direction of the trail, carrying the gun and a flashlight. They could follow his progress through the darkness by its beam.
    Wilson took advantage of Lyle’s absence to get more information about where on Frances’s property they planned to locate the well.
    Pete was in the midst of explaining when suddenly he jumped up. “I believe that son-of-a-gun is shining deer! Trying to attract that buck to the light. Doesn’t he know he could get slapped in jail for having a deer rifle in his possession out of season?”
    â€œHe’s lazy, but he’s not dumb,” T. K. said. “That’s a shotgun. Anyone catch him, he’ll say he was after raccoon.”
    â€œBut using a shotgun on a deer?” Wilson was disgusted. “Half the time you just injure the deer and it gets away and bleeds to death.”
    â€œThat’s right, son, but Lyle isn’t thinking about the deer, he’s thinking about number one.”
    They sat watching the light move through the woods. With Lyle’s figure invisible among the trees, the light seemed to have a life of its own. Finally the light moved back toward the location. If the buck had been out there, he had been too smart to expose himself.
    Pete and T. K. exchanged glances and then winked at Wilson. As Lyle walked toward them, Pete said, “There’s so much sand and mud around this doghouse someone’s going to slip and break his fool head. Wilson, you get the hose out and clean up some of this swill.”
    The mud they used to lubricate the drill and keep any gas from escaping through the deepening hole was slick and slippery. Every so often they dragged out a big hose and cleaned off the metal steps and floor. On an especially hot day they’d turn the hose on each other to cool off, but you had to be careful, as it carried a great force.
    Wilson held the nozzle firmly and called to T. K. to turn on the water. The nozzle was pointed away from Lyle, who was just starting up the stairway. When Wilson felt the hose stiffen with the full force of the water, he suddenly turned it on Lyle, who tripped over the bottom stair and fell back onto the ground, fuming and sputtering. His clothes were drenched and water ran in little rivulets down his angry face.
    T. K. walked over and looked down at Lyle. “Hell’s fire, Lyle, what are you doing down there?” he shouted. “We’re already ten minutes behind schedule.”

13
    Abruptly, before Frances was prepared for it, autumn arrived. In the morning she was out under a hot sun picking tomatoes, warm and solid in her hand. By late afternoon the day turned from summer to fall. The sky was still intensely blue, but large swatches of white cloud rolled in ahead of a chilling northwest wind. Bright sun and deep shade followed one another. A goldfinch rode a swaying mullein stem, picking out seeds where only a few weeks before there were yellow blossoms.
    After a week of rain the blackberries were plump with purple juice. They only had to be touched and they plopped softly into her basket. She saw that something had been pecking at the berries and solved the mystery when she came upon a buff-colored feather, dappled with brown. She stuck it in her hatband. A ruffed grouse was sharing her territory.
    While she picked, two motorcyclists gunned down the trail not more than fifteen feet from where she was standing. Had they seen her? She disliked their obtrusiveness. In the woods you ought