Free 360 Degrees Longitude by John Higham Page A

able to get the attention of the owner.
    â€œMy daughter hurt her leg climbing down the boulder face when the rope snapped.” I handed the frayed coil of rope over for dramatic effect. “She can’t walk, and I’m afraid her leg might be broken. Is there someone you can call to take us down the mountain?”
    â€œThere is a helicopter, but it is quite expensive,” he answered. “It also usually takes an hour or two to get one to respond. You could carry her down before one arrives.”
    â€œHow about a four-wheel-drive vehicle from town?”
    â€œThey are not allowed to come up here.”
    â€œI saw tractors and trucks on the way up here. What about them? How come they’re allowed to drive up here?”
    â€œThey have a special permit for harvesting, and that is all. They are not licensed to take passengers.”
    The Swiss and their freaking rules. “What about a horse then? If I can’t get a car or truck up here, what about a horse?”
    â€œSorry. No horses. You carry her yourself or I can call a helicopter for you. It is $5,000 U.S. and it will be here in an hour or two.”
    As if it would suddenly change the situation, he offered his advice. “Your daughter just took a little fall on my playground. Her leg is not broken. It may hurt, but it is not broken.”
    â€œSo you are a doctor, then?” All pretense of civility evaporated. “You can diagnose a broken leg without looking at an X-ray?”
    â€œI have been a guide in these mountains all my life and have had a lot of experience with broken legs. There is bruising and swelling. It causes a grown man to cry out in pain. She has neither bruising nor swelling and makes no cry of pain.”
    I couldn’t help but wonder if his lack of conviction for the seriousness had any influence on whether a horse or four-wheel drive could come to the rescue. Fuming, I turned on the spot and while walking out the door said, “A mountain guide inspects his ropes daily. You should, too.”
    I started to carry Katrina down the steep trail, trying my best not to slip on the gravel. It wasn’t long before my knees ached, and the helicopter option wasn’t looking too bad. “Maybe our insurance will cover the helicopter.”
    â€œMaybe,” September said. “There’s only one way to find out. I can go back to the restaurant and call the insurance company.”
    A long time passed before she returned from the restaurant shaking her head. “They don’t have a proper phone, just a radio.”
    I knew any amateur radio operator worth his salt could patch into the telephone network. I interpreted the situation as an unwillingness to help. Without a word, I picked up Katrina and proceeded down the mountain.
    It was a long way down, but we took it one step at a time. About two hours later we arrived at the edge of town. “Now what do we do?” I was asking this question of myself more than of anyone else.
    â€œNo idea. I guess we go to Tourist Information,” September replied.
    Just then a woman walked up to us. It was easy to tell we were in a bind, since I was carrying an eleven-year-old girl around, talking frantically, and looking bewildered. She asked in English, “Can I help you?”
    The Swiss speak four languages in their country, and English isn’t one of them. Many in the tourist industry speak English, but it is unusual for someone from the general population. We were grateful once again for the help of a stranger.
    After a brief review of the facts, our new friend explained, “There is always a local doctor on call for emergencies.” She hailed us one of the infernal golf-cart cabs that we had grown to loathe and asked the driver to take us to Dr. Julen.
    Dr. Julen immediately recognized us. “You are the tandem family,” he said in perfect English. “I saw you a few days ago in the park. You were eating lunch, I