Model Railroading

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The Useful Art of Colorful Names

Today I’m wearing a T-shirt from our local short track where The Conductor and I like to watch the Sunday night races in the summer. It’s bright orange, and my wife reluctantly acknowledges I look good in it.

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Bright Orange doesn’t effectively describe the color, and that has me thinking about the paint scheme on the FCFL. The power is orange and blue with silver, maroon, green and yellow accents. The maker of the paints we use calls them “competition orange” and … wait for it … “blue.”

That won’t cut it. Union Pacific locos are yellow and gray but the company calls them “Armour Yellow” and – I love this – “Harbor Mist.” Or how about the Great Northern? You can’t help but dream of Montana and crossing the Cascades when you see rolling stock sporting “Glacier Green” and “Big Sky Blue.”

So I’m calling the FCFL’s colors “Desert Lightning Blue” and “Lakeshore Sunrise,” and the turquoise rolling stock “Inland Sea.”

But why stop there?

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FCFL 5630, wearing “Desert Lightning” and “Lakeshore Sunrise” paint spots a covered hopper decked out in “Inland Sea.”

The world is what we make it, folks, and there’s much to be said for good branding.

The winner of the office chili cook-off was a so-so recipe with ground turkey, but the guy took home the trophy because he called it “Turkey Two-Bean Tango.”

Half a can of soda in a plastic cup is “Complimentary In-Flight Beverage Service.”

I’m usually pretty intolerant of such baloney. The best things in life outshine their names: Quarter-Pounder with Cheese. Monday Night Football.

But on this autumn Monday with the gray (or is it Harbor Mist?) of winter marching steadily toward us, couldn’t we all use a little creative packaging?

At the very least, it’s a fun excercise:

Sweeping away the cobwebs around the house? You are an “Arachnid Domicile Relocation Engineer.”

Staff meeting at 10? Call it a “Gathering of Serfs for the Pleasure of the Lord of the Manor.” Bonus points for telling your boss.

Branding our model railroads adds a layer of depth and realism. Rebranding the dreary helps us laugh it away.

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Signature

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Mom died in May. It was unexpected, a heart attack I guess, and it came on the heels of a couple rough years that included knee and ankle surgeries that left her immobile for many months. But she was getting better, walking without a cane finally and driving herself to the Y and then for coffee and a $1 McDouble with her buddies. She was sixty-seven, and Dad had retired just three weeks earlier – timing that was terrifically cruel to him, in my opinion.

Anyway, Mom knew me better than just about anybody else. We shared our joys and sorrows in a way only a Mom and son can. She understood from her own occasional darkness the melancholy with which I am sometimes tinted, and knew when to offer encouragement and when to shut up and let me be gloomy.

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She also embraced silliness. Reveled in it. She loved musicals – especially Fiddler on the Roof – and one night last winter I had “Sunrise, Sunset” in my head but couldn’t remember all the words. My sons and I got Grandma on the speakerphone and we worked through it until all four of us were belting it out in harmony: “I don’t remember growing older, wheeeennnn diiiiiiid theyyyyyyyy?” Then we said, “Love you Grandma” and hung up. She was always up for that kind of goofing off, and I’m smiling now remembering the laughter in her voice that night.

A few weeks before she died, I was out and about for work and had a little time between appointments, not far from her and Dad’s house. Dad was off somewhere so we ate lunch together, watched Days Of Our Lives, laughed. I don’t remember much of what we talked about. It doesn’t matter. We just enjoyed being together, and that turned out to be the last time we had each other to ourselves.

During that visit I told her I was thinking about naming a restaurant in Salvation Point after her. We talked about what it would be called, and what the sign might look like. Before I left that day, I had her write her name and some of the restaurant names we’d played with on a scrap of paper. That scrap sat on my workbench for a few weeks.

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The night before her funeral, unable to sleep, I went down to the workshop in the wee hours of the morning and got to work.

I took some thin copper wire – 22-gauge maybe? – and “traced” her handwriting by bending the wire with a fine needlenose pliers. Where the letters made angles too sharp to bend, I soldered pieces together (the “n,” the “i,” a few other spots). I also made solder joints where the wire crossed, like in the double Ls, to give the thing some stability. I then bent the whole assembly into a gentle curve and sprayed it turquoise – Mom’s favorite color.

The rest of the sign (“Clean Plate Club”) was just printed from a Word document. The plate was scavenged from a miniature playset of one kind or another that my boys outgrew. (I have a collection of similar tiny plates, spoons, coffee cups, toothbrushes and a very small scissors that I or a modeling friend will someday put to good use.)

The plate and signature I glued to the Design Preservation Models building with CA (super glue).

It’s not a good enough tribute to my Mom, but she would have gotten a kick out of it.

Janibelle Clean Plate Club serves Chicken Paprikash, Chicken Cacciatore, Beef Stroganoff, and darn good chocolate chip cookies – all just like Mom used to make.* It’s the only place I can get the stuff anymore.sign

*In fairness, the secret to Mom’s chocolate chip cookies has been revealed – Dad made them.

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Nice Caboose…

If you’re describing something that brings up the rear, you call it a caboose, right? And if your wife looks good in those new jeans, you might (carefully) tell her you like her caboose. It’s a useful term, universally understood.

So when’s the last time you saw one?

The FCFL is a modern railroad, and like it or not my trains are caboose-less.

If you’re not familiar with railroads, since the mid-1980s the ends of trains in North America have largely been marked by “end of train devices” instead of cabooses. These are electronic boxes usually strapped to the trailing coupler of the last car to monitor the train – the pressure in the air brake lines – and send information by radio to the crew in the locomotive up front.

End of train devices usually also have a flashing red light to visibly mark the end of the train, leading to their other name, “flashing rear end devices,” or FREDs. Folks who miss cabooses – especially those who used to make a living riding in cabooses doing the work now done by FREDs – substitute a more derisive word for “flashing.”

I only vaguely remember cabooses, seeing them as a boy and occasionally waving to crews aboard them from the back seat at grade crossings. Most of my railfanning days are post-caboose, so I don’t miss them all that badly.

But now and again, I get a hankerin’ for the old days. Plus, I’m planning to add a switching district, and my crews will be doing a lot of shunting and a good bit of waiting around.

I think most railroads today use old cabooses simply as “riding platforms,” where crews doing a lot of switching and backing can stand on the platforms rather than hang on garbage-man style to the sides of the cars. I don’t like that idea. A whole glorious caboose, welded shut with only the porches put to use? No. The crews that will handle the Flagstaff turn are going to ride in style. A mobile office, with bunks and seats in the cupola and a pot of coffee brewing (though it is 2013 – maybe one of those Keurig things?).

This project started with an Atlas Norfolk & Western caboose, $12.50 at my favorite hobby shop. I would have preferred a more modern “wide vision” caboose, but those are more pricey and I figured I could bring this one up to date.

I disassembled the model and discarded the roofwalks, ladders and friction bearing trucks. I used Squadron White Putty to fill the ladder and roofwalk mounting holes, then painted everything Competition Orange. Once that dried, I painted the ends of the carbody and ends of the cupola blue. The roof got a coat of silver before I added safety stripes on the ends and the other decals, then weathered the whole thing with alcohol ink washes and some weathering powders. New running gear is a set of Micro-Trains 70-ton roller-bearing trucks and 33-inch Fox Valley Models metal wheels.

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FCFL Caboose #14 waits for its next assignment at Salvation Point yard. The model is from Atlas, custom paint, decals and weathering, upgraded with MicroTrains trucks and Fox Valley Models metal wheelsets.

Old No. 14 here might not get much use. Only when I’m in the mood, and only then to show the way on long push moves during switching. But I think it looks pretty good just sitting in the yard.

Plus, my kids will know what a caboose is.

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Onboard Camera

Thanks to my friends at the Milwaukee N’ Southeastern for spending some time this weekend taking onboard footage of the FCFL. This video starts as we exit southwest staging, crosses the Benjamin Henry River, rolls through Herbst Junction, passes the Salvation Point Yard, then skirts Many Lost Ways National Park and crosses the high bridge before coasting into northeast staging. It’s a whole new way to see the layout.

I’m a novice video editor so forgive the amateur treatment. To save time I trimmed out the staging yards and long tunnels. I wasn’t able to trim out the giant people wandering about trackside. See anyone you know?

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What’s in the bag?

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A solitary backpacker waits for the train at Herbst Junction after a few days of wilderness hiking. His bedroll and backpack – crafted from bits of Play-Doh – complete the scene.

Very few of the N-scale figures I’ve encountered seem to be carrying anything. That’s a problem when your layout is focused on a National Park and a tourist-heavy town on the edge of the desert. Visit your favorite rail depot, outdoor destination or vacation spot and you’ll see people hauling all kinds of gear – backpacks, roll-aboard suitcases, duffel bags, sleeping bags, and more backpacks. The factory options for this kind of luggage are limited, and what is available is spendy.

What’s a modeler to do?

Get out the Play-Doh.

I got playing with some bits of the stuff during a recent sculpting session with The Superintendent. After a few minutes with a toothpick, a steady hand and a scale rule I had crafted fashionable bags for passengers and shoppers, as well as rugged gear for backpackers.

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A scale rule helps keep the size of the sculpted luggage in check. These Play-Doh pieces were dry after about 24 hours.

It takes about 24 hours for Play-Doh sculptures this size to dry. I brush a coat of Tamiya acrylic paint over each piece, then highlight pockets and edges with a contrasting color. I glue backpacks to the backs of a figures with CA and paint straps on with a fine brush.

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Highlights with contrasting colors along the edges and pockets give the luggage dimension.

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This tourist looks much more authentic carrying a backpack.

Pieces stacked on the ground add nice detail to any scene, from station platforms to the beach.

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A rested tourist watches the luggage while his

wife does some last minute shopping. They’ll board the next train east, toward home.

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The cool water of the Benjamin-Henry Reservoir were so inviting, this bather didn’t bother to unroll his beach blanket before wading in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you have people on your layout, are they traveling a little too light?

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Check yer Neck

What’s a model railroad without a couple of hillbillies? Here’s how I transformed a “stock” Atlas Ford F150 into this jacked-up monster.

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Check yer Neck.

The project begins with disassembly of the stock model.

The body of the truck is conveniently molded in two pieces: the cab/front clip and the bed. To give the truck a more authentic “redneck” feel I sprayed the front half with gray primer and the back half “bomber tan.” Any drab, ugly colors will do. I then added a coat of dullcoat and finished with a wash of india ink and rubbing alcohol.

Next is the chassis work, which is what makes this model distinctive.

The stock wheels are easily removed by simply pulling the axle out of the molded pockets on the undercarriage. I then cut two lengths of Plastruct 3/64″ tee styrene strips to span from the front of the front axle pocket to the rear of the rear one. I glued these in place to create frame rails.

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Styrene frame rails added to undercarriage.

I then made four shock absorbers out of doorbell wire. I stripped about 1/16″ of insulation, cut another 1/8″ of wire above that, and repeated the process until I had a set of four.

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Shock absorbers made from bits of wire.

I then used CA to glue the shocks into the axle pockets.

Next I made suspension arms with more of the tee styrene. Rather than measure, I simply found the middle of the frame rails, held one end of the strip there and cut where it met the bottom of the shock. I secured these in place with plastic cement at the frame rail and CA at the shock. I then used a round jeweler’s file to notch the bottom of the arms to accept the axles I made later.

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Suspension complete.

I painted the frame rails and suspension arms competition orange and set the chassis aside to dry.

While the suspension was drying, I made a transfer case from a small block of styrene. I drilled a 1/16″ hole in the center of one side, and another on the other side offset to the driver’s side. I then used CA to secure driveshafts made of wire, then secured the assembly to the undercarriage with plastic cement.

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Transfer case and driveshafts in place.

I made the axles by cutting lengths of spare railing from an old engine service terminal kit. Any round styrene about 1/16″ in diameter will do. I cut two pieces to 5/8″ lengths.

I used the white metal cast rear wheels from two old straight truck models. I used white putty to fill in the groove between the dual wheels to make one wide tire. I then sanded them smooth and sprayed them with Pollyscale grimy black. When the paint dried, I drilled a hole into the center of the back of each wheel and secured them to the axles with CA. I then painted the rims flat black and put a dot of silver on the hubs.

Next I glued the axle/wheel assemblies to the ends of the suspension arms with plastic cement. I then bent the wire driveshafts to meet the axles and trimmed them to length. Then I used white putty to sculpt differential housings around the axles and driveshafts. When the putty dried I painted the housings black with silver covers.

A redneck pickup is not complete without rednecks, so I crafted Zig and Lerline from a couple of unpainted Model Power figures.

Zig was a hefty gentleman wearing a coat, tie, and for some reason a ball cap. I cut his torso just above the waist, then used a jeweler’s file to remove the molded clothing detail. I then carved a buddha belly and flabby chest. I filed his ball cap down to a bald head. I then mixed up a sunburn color with white and Rock Island Red and painted him, making sure to give his neck an extra coat. A few dabs of rail brown were added for a goatee and nipples.

Lerline was another odd Model Power figure of a chubby woman wearing a slinky dress. I trimmed her above the waist as well, then painted her with the sunburn color, brown hair, and a red bikini top. After the paint dried I glued Zig and Lerline into the seats molded in the chassis.

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Zig and Lerline.

The stock window glazing would not fit above their heads, and I wanted the windows open anyway, so I trimmed the windshield and rear windows out of the glazing. I accidentally cracked the windshield, but I think that’s a happy accident.

Before final assembly, I used some more styrene tee strips to make a rugged-looking brush bumper, and glued it in place with plastic cement. Then I put the body back on and placed the model on the layout.

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Heading out of Salvation Point for a day on the trails… Y’all.

Another time I might make a set of roll bars for the bed of the truck. I also might add a whip antenna, a flag, or a dog. Oversized mirrors and exhaust stacks would also be a nice touch. For now the model does a nice job helping establish Salvation Point as a recreational hub on the edge of the desert.

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A Find in Lost Ways, Conclusion

“If I don’t see your lazy hide in this office in fifteen minutes, you’re out of a job!” LaVerne Hinks slammed the receiver onto its cradle and swore under his breath. “Rotten kids.”

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and pressed his fingers to his temples. The last forty five minutes had been a frustrating gauntlet of demands from management, crew no-shows, and equipment breakdowns. Jake and Aaron – the yard crew for the day – started the melee with back-to-back phone messages announcing illness. LaVerne was disappointed in Aaron – he showed a promising interest in the transportation business – but Jake was a lost cause. Then the regional VP requested the business car the Senator had used be prepped and routed to San Diego for a customer. Jake and Aaron would have handled that, if they weren’t hungover in the back of some pickup or wherever they’d passed out.

Two locomotives wouldn’t start.

A conductor twisted his ankle dismounting a cut of cars.

The dispatch computers were on the fritz.

The only coffee left was decaf.

But those were minor frustrations, stuff he dealt with every day. What put his stomach in knots today was Annie. Her rushed message said she wouldn’t be available for a couple of days, she didn’t know when she’d be back, and she’d call when she could. It was a major fly in the scheduling ointment, but more importantly an uncharacteristically flaky move from his most reliable engineer. He was angry, but mostly he was worried.

He leaned forward, rubbed his eyes, and swore again. Then LaVerne Hinks, Superintendent of the Four Corners Division of the FCFL rail network, rose from his chair and walked to a utility closet, retrieved a vacuum cleaner and dust rags, and made his way out to the luxury business car waiting in the yard.

* * *

The two-hour trail ride by horse from The Column to Herbst Junction was one of Mayer’s favorite things about field work in Many Lost Ways. He loved the change in temperature and vegetation during the descent into the canyon, and the sound of hooves clattering on the rocky trail thrilled him.

Today he would have rather been anywhere else.

Mayer rode second in line behind Lars, and behind them a third man whose name Mayer didn’t know. It didn’t matter – the man never spoke, just glared straight ahead. A jagged scar started on the middle of the man’s left cheek and carved a deep arc upwards until it disappeared behind mirrored sunglasses. They each rode a horse with a pack horse behind, six ponies altogether. They were dressed in casual outdoor gear, but Mayer knew that beneath the billowy Columbia shirts his companions wore, there was serious firepower.

This all looked good on paper, he thought.

“So we’re going to put two boxcars worth of stuff on three horses?” he asked. He knew the plan – they would make several trips – but he wanted the men to speak.

They didn’t.

“So, two trips today?” He rubbed the reigns with his thumbs. “Maybe three?”

Lars looked over his shoulder, glaring.

They rode on in silence, neither man speaking even when they entered the narrow switchbacks just above Herbst Junction. The horses tiptoed along, sometimes brushing Mayer’s legs against the rock face. When the trail widened and the grade eased, they saw through the trees to the railway junction below. Lars pulled to a stop, signaling the others to do the same. For the first time in two hours, he spoke. When he spoke, he cursed.

There was the tiny hamlet of Herbst Junction: the Navajo jewelry stand, the sun-battered pickup with thick grass growing in the wheel wells, the tiny railway depot shared with the park service for a backcountry office. There was a dusty jeep, parked hastily in the employee spot.

There was the siding.

Empty.

* * *

LaVerne took pride in his work, be it making the trains run on time or taking out the trash. He saw no shame in cleaning the business car, and worked at every detail with the gusto he gave to managing the railroad. It was part of his character, deep and firm, that made him a respected leader not only in the railway, but in the community. He was everyman, and he was bourgeois. Few people knew that he and Clark Willoughby were close, the Senator looking to the Superintendent for the mood of the electorate. He wasn’t alone.

From his little yard office or his stool at the breakfast counter at Janibelle’s, Vern Hinks quietly took meetings with everyone from the mayor of Salvation Point to the Governor of Arizona. When the park service wanted to know how a new wildlife management agenda would go over with ranchers, they’d ask Vern. When the railroad and the highway department clashed over grade crossings, it was Vern who mediated. When business leaders considered locating in Salvation Point, the Chamber of Commerce made sure they met with Vern. When Senator Willoughby sponsored a bill on locomotive emissions and fuel economy standards, it was hailed by rail industry leaders as common sense regulation and by environmentalists as effective climate protection. The Senator had Vern to thank for that.

So it pained him that Sarah Willoughby was missing, under such odd circumstances, and he could do nothing about it. Pained him, but didn’t slow him. He learned long ago that worry was best extinguished by hard work, so in thirty minutes he had vacuumed the carpets and upholstery, dusted the woodwork and tabletops, washed the windows and polished the brass. He was reaching behind an overstuffed armchair to replace a wastebasket, his knee on the seat, when he noticed a scrap of paper peeking up from behind the cushion. He snatched it and was about to crumble it up, but the scrawled words made him pause.

It was on FCFL stationary, the courtesy tablets placed on the writing desks before every trip. The top line, scrawled hastily in the soft penmanship of a woman, said “statement for after.”

“I am profoundly saddened and angered that the disappearance of my daughter, and the bravery and sacrifice of so many searchers, would be overshadowed, and even used for cover by vandals.”

“Vandals?” LaVerne furrowed his brow and read on.

“The Column has long been a symbol of this great park, and of the beauty of the southwest. It’s destruction by so ferocious an attack is an assault on our very way of life.”

What in the world? Vern thought. There was more.

“Further, this act makes it plain that these wonderful resources, so remote and so vulnerable, are better cared for by commercial enterprise. Development of these lands, careful, thoughtful development, will ultimately be their best protection.”

Vern reached for his hip, withdrew his cellphone, and dialed the park office at Herbst Junction.

“Herbst Junction backcountry office, this is Chip.”

“Chip, Vern Hinks. How’s things down there today?”

“Umm, you lookin’ for Annie?”

“As a matter of fact,” Vern said. “Also wondering if anything exciting happened lately. Hows that column of yours?”

“I, um, guess it’s fine,” Chip said. “Haven’t been up there in a couple of days. Been busy with the search and all. Annie tore in here a few hours ago, she was in a real hurry. I made her buy a permit, then she practically sprinted up the trail. I couldn’t stop her in time to tell her to move her Jeep. Geez Vern, is everything OK?”

“I don’t know, Chip,” Vern pressed his fingers to his temples again. “Write down everything you see today, OK? And be careful.”

Vern sat in the big chair and read the scribbled words again. The Senator had arrived the night before last, when the early stages of the volunteer search effort were underway. It wasn’t too odd that he would reference that. But what was this bit about vandalism of The Column? Destruction even? Chip would have known about something like that. He turned the page over in his fingers, puzzling. The line about commercial enterprise and development was baffling, too. Willoughby was a Republican, friendly to business, but surely he undertsood that Many Lost Ways was the biggest money maker for the people of his district. Development around the park was always part of his agenda. But in the park? It was impractical and politically toxic. Then there was that line scratched hastily across the top, “statement for after.” After what?

Something was up. Vern didn’t want to be involved, but too many questions were gnawing at him. He decided to pay a visit to the man who could answer them.

* * *

TJ’s head pounded. He stooped by the river and cupped his hands, splashing cold water on his face and scrubbing at the lump on his forehead. His hands came away clean, which told him he wasn’t bleeding anymore. He was thirsty, but didn’t trust the river water for drinking. He soaked his T-shirt in the water, sat back on his heels, wrapped the cool cloth around his head and closed his eyes.

What day was it?

He remembered calling Annie. He’d known she was working and wouldn’t answer her phone, so he’d waited for the beep and talked as fast as he could, wanting to tell her everything about Sarah Willoughby, secret copper mines, his location, his raft being sunk. He’s not sure how much he actually got out. Everything went black, and when he came too – minutes later? hours? – his head was ringing and the Senator’s daughter was gone. Had she hit him with something? Someone else? It was all a fog.

He’d decided to abandon his pursuit of Sarah Willoughby. First off, he was no longer certain she was alone. Second, his head really hurt and he wanted to try to move closer to potential help. And, he had no idea which way she had gone. So he wandered downhill until he caught sight of the river, and followed it south. He’d been walking for at least an hour, he figured, but he wasn’t sure.

He rested another moment, then hefted himself to his feet and continued, unsteadily, along the river. He was dehydrated and weak. The sun beat down, high in the sky and bright white so he could barely open his eyes. He had picked up a walking stick somewhere – he didn’t remember doing it – but now he used it as a crutch, picking along the rocky riverbank.

As he walked, his mind wandered back to Annie. He hadn’t realized until this ordeal in the wilderness how frequently she invaded his thoughts. For weeks he’d sensed a growing fondness, maybe a crush. But limping along in the heat, his brain throbbing, his fate uncertain, so much to worry about and so much to do, he still dwelt on her. No, it was more than a crush. He was falling for her, he was certain of it.

Or was he delirious? Like those people who have near-death experiences, was his mind shutting down, and placating him with comforting sensations?

Or was that really her voice?

* * *

“Clark, how are you holding up?” Vern shook Clark Willoughby’s hand, put his other hand on the Senator’s shoulder, and looked him square in the eye. “You look tired. How’s Grace?”

“I am tired, Vern,” Senator Willoughby said. “Grace, poor Gracie. She’s gone to stay with her sister for a while. It’s too close for her here, she said she needed to not be so close to the search. Me, I can’t imagine being anywhere else but, she’s more fragile I guess.”

Vern nodded and clapped the Senator’s back. Willoughby moved behind his desk and sat, Vern took a chair in front.

“Real nice of you to stop by.” He leaned back in his chair and exhaled deeply. “Your support means a lot, always has.”

Vern nodded again and looked at the floor, taking the scrap of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and held it between his knees, where the Senator couldn’t see it. He hoped it wouldn’t unravel decades of friendship.

“Clark,” he sighed. “I need your help with something.”

* * *

Chip didn’t have a good feeling about the three men dismounting from their horses outside his little office. The taller one stayed outside and seemed to be peering into the windows of Annie’s Jeep, while the other two strode in, businesslike, and approached the tiny counter where he sold backcountry permits. There was an edge to them that wasn’t tourist, and wasn’t search volunteer. He tried not to sound uneasy when he spoke.

“How’d the trails treat you fellas?”

The shorter one started to reply but the taller, meaner one spoke over him.

“Who do we see about rail freight?” His eyes were stone, his voice cold and hard.

“Geez I don’t know,” Chip said. “Closest office I think is in Salvation Point. I see crews in here once in a while dropping off paperwork but otherwise.” He trailed off, shrugged.

“Where do they drop the paperwork?” The man leaned on the counter, eyes locked on Chip.

Chip nodded toward the locked Dutch door across from the counter. There was a mail slot, and a plastic organizer hung from the wall with various forms tucked in the pockets.

“It’s all locked up,” he said. “I don’t have a …”

The man withdrew a large pistol from under his shirt.

“A key,” Chip finished weakly.

“Oh,” the man said, his eyes following the gleaming barrel to Chip’s forehead. “I reckon somebody does. Why don’t you give somebody a call. I’m sure they’d be happy to come help some, ah, fellow employees”

“Ya… yeah, sure,” Chip stammered. With shaking hands he lifted the receiver and dialed Vern’s cell phone.

“Chip?” Vern answered. “You alright?”

Thank God!

“Oh, sure thing Vern,” Chip said. “Got a, um, train crew here that say they need to get in to the office. Can you please bring a key? Please?”

“Good,” the man said. “Now, outside.”

* * *

Hiking down the switchbacks over Herbst Junction was tricky enough, but shouldering the weight of a stumbling, barely coherent TJ took all the stamina Annie could find. They were nearly there, though, so she gritted her teeth and pushed the pain and fatigue from her mind.

“Come on, you big lug.”

The grade evened out and the trail widened, and she paused in the same spot Lars and the others had to survey the junction below. Her heart sank.

The sight of Chip, kneeling on the ground with a very large pistol pointed at his head, made her sad.

The sight of her Jeep, sitting where she’d parked it – but with four slashed tires – made her angry.

* * *

Clark Willoughby had called out the cavalry. He rode with LaVerne Hinks in the second of two National Guard helicopters, and the two men in their late fifties were quite a sight as they tumbled from the craft as it touched down in Herbst Junction. Soldiers and state police led the charge to the parking area behind the backcountry office, but when they got there the fight they had prepped for didn’t materialize.

Annie and Chip sat comfortably next to two squirming forms, dusty men with their hands and feet bound by the plastic seals used to secure railcars. Mayer sat nearby, his head in his hands. TJ was propped up in the shade of a tree, a bottle of water in his lap and a peaceful grin on his face. As the group approached, he called out.

“Man, you should have seen her!” He laughed like he was drunk. He felt like it. “The other guy helped, and Chip held his own, but wow. Don’t mess with a girl’s Jeep, hey?”

Annie rose and met the leading officer.

“There’s two bad guys who won’t say much,” she said. “And a geologist with a bad conscience who has a lot to get off his chest.”

The soldiers and officers fanned out, tending to TJ, getting Lars and his partner upright and properly handcuffed, securing the office and nearby bushes while unfurling yards of yellow tape.

When Mayer saw Senator Willoughby, he wept.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m just so sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone! It was her own daughter, you know? They seemed like they were in on it together. I hope she’s OK. I just hope she’s OK!”

Willoughby looked at him pitifully.

“Arrest him just like the others.” He motioned to an officer.

The officer approached Mayer and reached for his wrist, but the geologist squirmed away and made a feeble attempt to flee. He landed face down in the dust a few yards away, and three officers made quick work of shackling him.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, TJ sat comfortably in a hospital bed waiting for the doctor to sign his discharge orders. Vern and Annie waited with him, she for moral support, Vern to give them both a ride.

“So how much of this ridiculous scam was he actually in on?” Annie asked.

“He says not much,” Vern said. “I’m inclined to believe him. I’ve known Grace Willoughby for a lot of years, and she is every bit the politician he is. I have no doubt she could engineer something this massive. She’s as well connected, if not better, than he is. Or was – I think he’d be lucky to be elected dog catcher ever again.”

“I still don’t get how she thought she could mine copper in secret.” Annie thoughtfully unpacked a shirt and pants from the bag she had brought from TJ’s camper.

“There wasn’t ever going to be a copper mine.” Vern shook his head. “The idea was to damage the Column, ruin the land so the park service would deaccession it. Then it would be ripe for development. Grace Willoughby’s family has an interest in a big construction firm out here, and Clark had arranged for some nice contracts. Like most lawmakers, he didn’t read them enough to realize they were for proposed work in the park.”

TJ stood and began to slide into his pants while trying to hold his robes closed.

“Any sign of Sarah or Grace Willoughby?” he asked.

“None,” Vern said. “It’s still tearing Clark apart, but he’s relieved that you saw her alive and well.”

“So that’s Sarah and Grace Willoughby missing, but I think they’ll lay low for a while. What concerns me,” Vern looked sternly at Annie. “Is the two boxcars of unspecified material, likely dangerous in nature, that have also gone missing.”

Annie dodged his gaze and looked out the window. “Happens all the time, Vern.”

“Well, I also have two missing yard hands,” he said. “Not smart ones. And while they don’t know much, I think they know where those boxcars are.”

She looked at him, startled. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah, well,” Vern said. “It’s your problem now.”

“I know, I screwed up,” Annie said. “I’ll try to find them.”

“Don’t try, kid.” Vern put his hands on her shoulders. “You just have to get it done. That’s what the superintendent does. Congratulations.”

“What?” She was incredulous. “Was all this too much for you? Are you quitting?”

“I wish,” he chuckled. “I got a call from the Governor. Seems a Senator has resigned and she needs to appoint a replacement.”

Annie gave him a hug. “I’ll miss you. You think I can handle this? Really?”

“You know you can handle this,” he said. “And I won’t let you miss me. The FCFL employs half my district. I have a keen interest in seeing that it’s run right.”

The doctor arrived and handed TJ his paperwork. The three made their way down to Vern’s truck and drove to TJ’s camper.

Annie got out and walked TJ to the door. He opened it and they lingered a moment.

“You want a ride to your place, Annie?” Vern called from the cab.

She thought a moment, then put her arms around TJ’s neck and pulled him close.

“Nah,” she said, keeping her eyes on TJ’s. “I think I’ll stay here a while.”