Windy Ridge, one of the stories in the Angel Zabar Series
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Windy Ridge is one of several stories in Bob Miller’s An Angel Named Zabar. You never
know who you’ll meet on a hiking or horseback trip in the mountains and the bizarre
circumstances of such a meeting.
“Well, Earl, what do you think?” Sam said, taking in the beauty of the mountain.
Earl was a large, easygoing and uncommonly patient man. He studied Sam for a moment,
then looked out at the mountain. “Looks like just another snow-capped hill to me, Sam.”
Sam jammed his left foot into the stirrup and pulled himself atop the chestnut mare. He
smiled at his brother and muttered under his breath, “Let’s go, horse. No need getting all
misty-eyed over the wonder of nature with Mr. City Boy here.”
“I’m getting long in the tooth,” Earl shot back, “but the ears still work just fine. Be careful, you
little runt, or I’ll pin those big ears of yours back.”
It took effort, but Earl kept from laughing – at least for a moment. When the laughter did
come, it was with the realization that despite his six-inch and 110-pound advantage on his
brother, he would have little chance of “pinning his ears back.” Fighting Sam was like trying
to bathe a cat. Sam stood only five-foot-four, but he was all muscle, all heart. He was also all
for talking problems out, but it was a grave error to curse him or to use God’s name in vain
while discussing your differences with him.
“Gonna be dark in a shake,” Earl said. “Think it’s smart to try and get any higher up this hill
today?”
“For the record, Earl, land masses that ascend to ten thousand feet are seldom referred to
as hills – and that’s the tenth time I have heard you call this mountain a hill.”
They continued up the trail for another half hour before stopping. Sam spent some tense
effort reining in his mare. Earl watched him win control of the horse, sighed with relief, and
hopped off his own horse, anxious to make camp before night closed in. He had learned
long ago not to depend on Sam for decisions on when to stop for the night. Sam was totally
unconcerned about the creatures of the night.
“Go ahead and pitch the tent,” Sam said. “I’ll take care of the horses. I’ll be within shouting
distance if any lions or aliens attack.”
With the tent up and the horses taken care of, the two men shared a simple meal of beef
jerky and dried fruit.
Leaning back on a rock, Earl said, “You think Sis has the cotton planted by now?”
“If she’s gonna have a crop, she’d better. What makes you think of her, anyway? Getting a
little homesick?”
“Sixteen years isn’t exactly going to the store for bread,” Earl said. Sam didn’t answer that
one, so Earl added, “We could at least write to let her know we’re still breathing.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too. I guess it couldn’t hurt to . . . .”
“To what?” Earl said.
“To try and get in touch when we get back to civilization.”
The lodge was only a two hours away by horse, but for Sam, camping among the wildflowers
and Pacific Silver and Noble firs was a full-blown Lewis and Clark expedition. He dozed off
within minutes of climbing into his sleeping bag.
Earl admired his brother’s calmness. He lay frozen in his own bag, afraid to move lest he
disturb the spiders in his own bag (he’d forgotten to check for creepy-crawlies before
climbing in). He gazed out at the night with too-wide eyes, certain that the night shadows
showed a silhouette of a large bear snooping around the campsite. The minutes crawled
like hours, and sleep was out of the question even though he felt beyond tired. Relief
washed over him when he finally heard Sam’s voice: “Time to get up and go, Bro.” He
sounded well rested.
They exchanged little more than a mumble over the hot coffee (which was hard to boil thanks
to a suddenly blustery morning wind). While Sam packed up, Earl took a fast catnap, tried to
catch up on some of the sleep missed while spiders invaded his sleeping bag and a bear
prowled the camp perimeter. The morning sun was well into the sky by the time they
continued their journey up the mountain. The Abraham Trail was what Sam had called it, an
appropriate-sounding name for a place like this. Earl felt relieved to be on a horse, safely
above the world of creatures that scurried through the thick foliage while the horses clopped
through.
“Sam, is that a bald eagle?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Sam said without looking skyward.
Earl knew what was on Sam's mind. He was thinking about Cam again – about home. The
youngest of the three children born to Warren and Bernice Harris, Cam had married young.
Sadly, like so many other young girls who were anxious to know the joys of being wed, she
married the wrong man. Two weeks after the exchange of vows, her husband was shot dead
while trying to rob a grocery store – a store owned by her brothers, Sam and Earl.
Neither Sam nor Earl was in the store at the time of the shooting, but that didn’t stop Cam
from holding both of them responsible. She turned her back on them, spoke not a single
word to either of them for two full years until they did her a favor by selling the store and
heading west.
A good hour into the morning ride, Sam said, “Only been up this way once before. This isn’t
like I remember it.”
“All I know about this area,” Earl said, “is that there’s a couple nice places on this mountain
where they serve ice cold beer.” He scanned the sky for more eagles, but saw nothing. “You
want to know something, little brother?”
“What’s that?” Sam apathetically asked.
“I never did understand your infatuation with these hills anyway.”
“My infatuation? You been going to night school, Earl?”
“Didn't know there was such a thing, ” Earl said.
“Well I told you yesterday, I promised Truman I’d check on an elk that someone shot with an
arrow.”
“Aha,” Earl said, “an elk. So you don’t have an infatuation. We’re here on bizness.”
“You didn’t have to come. I’m kind of worried about being out here with you anyway.”
“You’re worried about me?” Earl asked.
“The way you been sniffing around that new gal at the lodge, it’s clear you’re in your rutting
season, can’t control yourself. Hell, I’m afraid to be around you. What if you get an amorous
urge and I end up having to shoot you?” Before Earl could answer, Sam slapped his mare on
the neck and opened a little distance between himself and his brother. Earl soon caught up
with him, though.
“Two things, Sam. First, a little female companionship might help your nasty disposition.
Second, if I ever do start thinking about you in that way, I’ll shoot myself.”
Laughing, Sam said, “That sure puts my mind at ease.” He rode for a moment in silence,
then added: “And since you mentioned it, I wish you’d cut back on that beer you were talking
about.”
“Sure,” Earl said.
“Sure?”
“But only if you convince your lodge buddy Truman to sell me a half glass every Saturday
night instead of a full one.”
“That’s all you’re drinking? One glass a week?”
“One, Sam. That’s the truth. And that Truman’s a cantankerous old grouch, isn’t he? He sure
does get profane if something agitates him.”
Sam didn’t answer. One beer a week was welcome news. And he wasn’t about to starting
talking about Truman’s shortcomings. If you were going to get into a person’s ups and
downs, that person ought to be present. Sam was pleased to have Truman as a friend.
Truman had integrity, and that covered a multitude of shortcomings.
The trail narrowed and steepened. Sam stopped his horse, tried to regain his bearings.
“What’s a matter?” Earl said.
A man in a Sheriff’s deputy uniform appeared on the trail fifty or sixty yards above them. Sam
and Earl spotted him at the same time, the stranger making his way on foot through the
waist-high saplings and other plants that were fighting to reclaim the trail.
The deputy walked down to them and said, “How you boys doing this morning?”
“Tell you the truth, Officer,” Sam said, swatting a fly from his cheek, “I think we might be lost.”
“Lost?” Earl said. “That’s news to me.”
“I thought I knew how to get to Windy Ridge,” Sam told the deputy, swabbing sweat from his
forehead. “But man, I guess I got it wrong coming up here.”
“You must be the Harris brothers,” the deputy said. “Truman said you headed this way.”
“Word gets around fast in these parts. The elk was just shot—”
“Fact is, I just left Truman to come and check on you. Truman was worried you might get lost.”
“Truman had a point,” Sam said.
“The problem is,” the deputy continued, “this is kind of a special day on the mountain for the
locals. There’s going to be a big family reunion here today and…well, it’s a private affair. I’m
going to have to ask you and your brother to go back down the mountain.”
“You’re joking,” Sam said. “Someone needs a whole mountain for a family reunion?”
“We just don’t want you riding through the function. We promised to keep it family only. The
chief really would appreciate it if you boys made your way back to the state road as soon as
possible. Just report in at the roadblock. That’ll keep them having to search for you.”
“We’ve been reported missing?”
“No,” the deputy said. “We’ve just been told you might not know your way. And don’t worry
about the elk. He’s not in any pain.”
“Hallelujah!” Earl shouted.
“You sound very fond of animals,” the deputy said.
“He isn’t,” Sam said. “He’s fond of soft mattresses at the lodge.”
“I do apologize for all this trouble,” the deputy said.
“Well, I guess I understand about family reunions.”
“Me, too,” Earl said. “Do I ever.”
“Earl and I might just be going to one ourselves pretty soon.” Sam wasn’t sure why he said
that. Whatever happened with Cam—whether she welcomed their bid for reconciliation, flew
into a tirade, or ignored them—it wasn’t going to be a family reunion, not in the way most
people understood the term.
“We’ll get back and report in,” Sam told the deputy. “Thanks for coming to get us.” He pulled
the reins to turn his horse, but stopped short of leaving. “Oh, and tell Truman that if I don’t
see him before I leave for Texas, I’ll write.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” the deputy said.
It took three hours to reach the paved road. Smoke and ash hung in the air. Negotiating the
trail, it became harder and harder to see.
“Looks like there’s been a major forest fire,” Earl said, coughing out smoke.
The flashing lights of a police car cut through the haze a few yards away. Sam rode over to
the car, dismounted, and introduced himself to the officer. Behind him, Earl’s horse was
spooked by the hazy flashing lights. Earl did his best to control the animal; kept it in place,
cooed comforting words in its ear.
“Officer, my name’s Sam Harris. My brother Earl and I were told to report in so you wouldn’t
go looking for us. What’s happening here? Where’s the fire?”
“It’s everywhere,” the officer said. “Hop in the back while I check my list.”
Sam climbed in the car, wondering if the air conditioner would filter the smoke out of the air.
The cop had to use a flashlight to read the names on the list. “Yep, here you are. Where were
you guys when it happened?”
“When what happened? We just this minute road down from Windy Ridge. We’d still be up
there if one of the sheriff’s deputies up there hadn’t told us to get off the mountain. He said
there some kid of big reunion going on today.”
The cop stared at him for an uncomfortably long time.
“What?” Sam said.
“Mr. Harris, stay in the car while I go get your brother. Can you do that?”
“Sure, I…listen, what wrong? What’s going on?”
The officer either missed the question or ignored it. (The latter felt more accurate.) Within
seconds, Earl was in the back seat and the cop started the car and began to drive, lights
flashing, siren blaring.
“What’s going on?” Earl said.
“What about our horses?” Sam asked the officer.
“The horses will be cared for,” the officer said in a monotone.
“We break a law or something? Sam said. You can’t just drive us away like this.”
“Sir, the officer that you say asked you to leave Windy Ridge.”
“Yeah, what about him?”
“Did he give you his name or badge number?”
Earl said, “He didn’t say and we didn’t ask. But come to think of it, he was wearing a name
tag.”
The officer’s eyebrows jumped. “A name tag? What name was on it?”
“Zabar,” Earl said.
The officer’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“You’re kidding,” Sam said.
“But I was transferred here just last month, so that’s no big deal. The hospital staff will be
better prepared to answer any questions that you might have.”
“Hospital staff?” What questions would we—”
“You might also be able to give them some information that’ll help save some of the others.”
Sam and Earl exchanged a long, confused look. Finally Sam said, “What others?”
“The others who were trapped on the mountain when she erupted this morning.”
Sam and Earl both missed a beat, then said in unison, “Erupted?”
Now it was the officer’s turn to look confused.
Sam continued: “There wasn’t an eruption this morning. We camped two-thirds of the way up
the mountain last night. We were up near Windy Ridge less than four hours ago. One of the
sheriff’s deputies was there, this Zabar. He was standing knee-deep in wildflowers.”
Earl studied the officer’s expression in the rear-view mirror.
“Mr. Harris, are you feeling all right?”
“Of course I’m feeling all right.”
“You didn’t hit your head while falling down? Anything like that?”
“I just told you, I feel fine.”
“Well, I want you to talk to a doctor anyway, okay?”
Sam turned to Earl. “Little brother, is it me, or does this fine officer now sound like a
kindergarten teacher talking to some toddler?”
“All I can tell you,” the officer said trying not to sound overly concerned, “is if you talked to
someone standing knee-deep in wildflowers on Mount St. Helens this morning, that person
was an angel.”
know who you’ll meet on a hiking or horseback trip in the mountains and the bizarre
circumstances of such a meeting.
“Well, Earl, what do you think?” Sam said, taking in the beauty of the mountain.
Earl was a large, easygoing and uncommonly patient man. He studied Sam for a moment,
then looked out at the mountain. “Looks like just another snow-capped hill to me, Sam.”
Sam jammed his left foot into the stirrup and pulled himself atop the chestnut mare. He
smiled at his brother and muttered under his breath, “Let’s go, horse. No need getting all
misty-eyed over the wonder of nature with Mr. City Boy here.”
“I’m getting long in the tooth,” Earl shot back, “but the ears still work just fine. Be careful, you
little runt, or I’ll pin those big ears of yours back.”
It took effort, but Earl kept from laughing – at least for a moment. When the laughter did
come, it was with the realization that despite his six-inch and 110-pound advantage on his
brother, he would have little chance of “pinning his ears back.” Fighting Sam was like trying
to bathe a cat. Sam stood only five-foot-four, but he was all muscle, all heart. He was also all
for talking problems out, but it was a grave error to curse him or to use God’s name in vain
while discussing your differences with him.
“Gonna be dark in a shake,” Earl said. “Think it’s smart to try and get any higher up this hill
today?”
“For the record, Earl, land masses that ascend to ten thousand feet are seldom referred to
as hills – and that’s the tenth time I have heard you call this mountain a hill.”
They continued up the trail for another half hour before stopping. Sam spent some tense
effort reining in his mare. Earl watched him win control of the horse, sighed with relief, and
hopped off his own horse, anxious to make camp before night closed in. He had learned
long ago not to depend on Sam for decisions on when to stop for the night. Sam was totally
unconcerned about the creatures of the night.
“Go ahead and pitch the tent,” Sam said. “I’ll take care of the horses. I’ll be within shouting
distance if any lions or aliens attack.”
With the tent up and the horses taken care of, the two men shared a simple meal of beef
jerky and dried fruit.
Leaning back on a rock, Earl said, “You think Sis has the cotton planted by now?”
“If she’s gonna have a crop, she’d better. What makes you think of her, anyway? Getting a
little homesick?”
“Sixteen years isn’t exactly going to the store for bread,” Earl said. Sam didn’t answer that
one, so Earl added, “We could at least write to let her know we’re still breathing.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too. I guess it couldn’t hurt to . . . .”
“To what?” Earl said.
“To try and get in touch when we get back to civilization.”
The lodge was only a two hours away by horse, but for Sam, camping among the wildflowers
and Pacific Silver and Noble firs was a full-blown Lewis and Clark expedition. He dozed off
within minutes of climbing into his sleeping bag.
Earl admired his brother’s calmness. He lay frozen in his own bag, afraid to move lest he
disturb the spiders in his own bag (he’d forgotten to check for creepy-crawlies before
climbing in). He gazed out at the night with too-wide eyes, certain that the night shadows
showed a silhouette of a large bear snooping around the campsite. The minutes crawled
like hours, and sleep was out of the question even though he felt beyond tired. Relief
washed over him when he finally heard Sam’s voice: “Time to get up and go, Bro.” He
sounded well rested.
They exchanged little more than a mumble over the hot coffee (which was hard to boil thanks
to a suddenly blustery morning wind). While Sam packed up, Earl took a fast catnap, tried to
catch up on some of the sleep missed while spiders invaded his sleeping bag and a bear
prowled the camp perimeter. The morning sun was well into the sky by the time they
continued their journey up the mountain. The Abraham Trail was what Sam had called it, an
appropriate-sounding name for a place like this. Earl felt relieved to be on a horse, safely
above the world of creatures that scurried through the thick foliage while the horses clopped
through.
“Sam, is that a bald eagle?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Sam said without looking skyward.
Earl knew what was on Sam's mind. He was thinking about Cam again – about home. The
youngest of the three children born to Warren and Bernice Harris, Cam had married young.
Sadly, like so many other young girls who were anxious to know the joys of being wed, she
married the wrong man. Two weeks after the exchange of vows, her husband was shot dead
while trying to rob a grocery store – a store owned by her brothers, Sam and Earl.
Neither Sam nor Earl was in the store at the time of the shooting, but that didn’t stop Cam
from holding both of them responsible. She turned her back on them, spoke not a single
word to either of them for two full years until they did her a favor by selling the store and
heading west.
A good hour into the morning ride, Sam said, “Only been up this way once before. This isn’t
like I remember it.”
“All I know about this area,” Earl said, “is that there’s a couple nice places on this mountain
where they serve ice cold beer.” He scanned the sky for more eagles, but saw nothing. “You
want to know something, little brother?”
“What’s that?” Sam apathetically asked.
“I never did understand your infatuation with these hills anyway.”
“My infatuation? You been going to night school, Earl?”
“Didn't know there was such a thing, ” Earl said.
“Well I told you yesterday, I promised Truman I’d check on an elk that someone shot with an
arrow.”
“Aha,” Earl said, “an elk. So you don’t have an infatuation. We’re here on bizness.”
“You didn’t have to come. I’m kind of worried about being out here with you anyway.”
“You’re worried about me?” Earl asked.
“The way you been sniffing around that new gal at the lodge, it’s clear you’re in your rutting
season, can’t control yourself. Hell, I’m afraid to be around you. What if you get an amorous
urge and I end up having to shoot you?” Before Earl could answer, Sam slapped his mare on
the neck and opened a little distance between himself and his brother. Earl soon caught up
with him, though.
“Two things, Sam. First, a little female companionship might help your nasty disposition.
Second, if I ever do start thinking about you in that way, I’ll shoot myself.”
Laughing, Sam said, “That sure puts my mind at ease.” He rode for a moment in silence,
then added: “And since you mentioned it, I wish you’d cut back on that beer you were talking
about.”
“Sure,” Earl said.
“Sure?”
“But only if you convince your lodge buddy Truman to sell me a half glass every Saturday
night instead of a full one.”
“That’s all you’re drinking? One glass a week?”
“One, Sam. That’s the truth. And that Truman’s a cantankerous old grouch, isn’t he? He sure
does get profane if something agitates him.”
Sam didn’t answer. One beer a week was welcome news. And he wasn’t about to starting
talking about Truman’s shortcomings. If you were going to get into a person’s ups and
downs, that person ought to be present. Sam was pleased to have Truman as a friend.
Truman had integrity, and that covered a multitude of shortcomings.
The trail narrowed and steepened. Sam stopped his horse, tried to regain his bearings.
“What’s a matter?” Earl said.
A man in a Sheriff’s deputy uniform appeared on the trail fifty or sixty yards above them. Sam
and Earl spotted him at the same time, the stranger making his way on foot through the
waist-high saplings and other plants that were fighting to reclaim the trail.
The deputy walked down to them and said, “How you boys doing this morning?”
“Tell you the truth, Officer,” Sam said, swatting a fly from his cheek, “I think we might be lost.”
“Lost?” Earl said. “That’s news to me.”
“I thought I knew how to get to Windy Ridge,” Sam told the deputy, swabbing sweat from his
forehead. “But man, I guess I got it wrong coming up here.”
“You must be the Harris brothers,” the deputy said. “Truman said you headed this way.”
“Word gets around fast in these parts. The elk was just shot—”
“Fact is, I just left Truman to come and check on you. Truman was worried you might get lost.”
“Truman had a point,” Sam said.
“The problem is,” the deputy continued, “this is kind of a special day on the mountain for the
locals. There’s going to be a big family reunion here today and…well, it’s a private affair. I’m
going to have to ask you and your brother to go back down the mountain.”
“You’re joking,” Sam said. “Someone needs a whole mountain for a family reunion?”
“We just don’t want you riding through the function. We promised to keep it family only. The
chief really would appreciate it if you boys made your way back to the state road as soon as
possible. Just report in at the roadblock. That’ll keep them having to search for you.”
“We’ve been reported missing?”
“No,” the deputy said. “We’ve just been told you might not know your way. And don’t worry
about the elk. He’s not in any pain.”
“Hallelujah!” Earl shouted.
“You sound very fond of animals,” the deputy said.
“He isn’t,” Sam said. “He’s fond of soft mattresses at the lodge.”
“I do apologize for all this trouble,” the deputy said.
“Well, I guess I understand about family reunions.”
“Me, too,” Earl said. “Do I ever.”
“Earl and I might just be going to one ourselves pretty soon.” Sam wasn’t sure why he said
that. Whatever happened with Cam—whether she welcomed their bid for reconciliation, flew
into a tirade, or ignored them—it wasn’t going to be a family reunion, not in the way most
people understood the term.
“We’ll get back and report in,” Sam told the deputy. “Thanks for coming to get us.” He pulled
the reins to turn his horse, but stopped short of leaving. “Oh, and tell Truman that if I don’t
see him before I leave for Texas, I’ll write.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” the deputy said.
It took three hours to reach the paved road. Smoke and ash hung in the air. Negotiating the
trail, it became harder and harder to see.
“Looks like there’s been a major forest fire,” Earl said, coughing out smoke.
The flashing lights of a police car cut through the haze a few yards away. Sam rode over to
the car, dismounted, and introduced himself to the officer. Behind him, Earl’s horse was
spooked by the hazy flashing lights. Earl did his best to control the animal; kept it in place,
cooed comforting words in its ear.
“Officer, my name’s Sam Harris. My brother Earl and I were told to report in so you wouldn’t
go looking for us. What’s happening here? Where’s the fire?”
“It’s everywhere,” the officer said. “Hop in the back while I check my list.”
Sam climbed in the car, wondering if the air conditioner would filter the smoke out of the air.
The cop had to use a flashlight to read the names on the list. “Yep, here you are. Where were
you guys when it happened?”
“When what happened? We just this minute road down from Windy Ridge. We’d still be up
there if one of the sheriff’s deputies up there hadn’t told us to get off the mountain. He said
there some kid of big reunion going on today.”
The cop stared at him for an uncomfortably long time.
“What?” Sam said.
“Mr. Harris, stay in the car while I go get your brother. Can you do that?”
“Sure, I…listen, what wrong? What’s going on?”
The officer either missed the question or ignored it. (The latter felt more accurate.) Within
seconds, Earl was in the back seat and the cop started the car and began to drive, lights
flashing, siren blaring.
“What’s going on?” Earl said.
“What about our horses?” Sam asked the officer.
“The horses will be cared for,” the officer said in a monotone.
“We break a law or something? Sam said. You can’t just drive us away like this.”
“Sir, the officer that you say asked you to leave Windy Ridge.”
“Yeah, what about him?”
“Did he give you his name or badge number?”
Earl said, “He didn’t say and we didn’t ask. But come to think of it, he was wearing a name
tag.”
The officer’s eyebrows jumped. “A name tag? What name was on it?”
“Zabar,” Earl said.
The officer’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“You’re kidding,” Sam said.
“But I was transferred here just last month, so that’s no big deal. The hospital staff will be
better prepared to answer any questions that you might have.”
“Hospital staff?” What questions would we—”
“You might also be able to give them some information that’ll help save some of the others.”
Sam and Earl exchanged a long, confused look. Finally Sam said, “What others?”
“The others who were trapped on the mountain when she erupted this morning.”
Sam and Earl both missed a beat, then said in unison, “Erupted?”
Now it was the officer’s turn to look confused.
Sam continued: “There wasn’t an eruption this morning. We camped two-thirds of the way up
the mountain last night. We were up near Windy Ridge less than four hours ago. One of the
sheriff’s deputies was there, this Zabar. He was standing knee-deep in wildflowers.”
Earl studied the officer’s expression in the rear-view mirror.
“Mr. Harris, are you feeling all right?”
“Of course I’m feeling all right.”
“You didn’t hit your head while falling down? Anything like that?”
“I just told you, I feel fine.”
“Well, I want you to talk to a doctor anyway, okay?”
Sam turned to Earl. “Little brother, is it me, or does this fine officer now sound like a
kindergarten teacher talking to some toddler?”
“All I can tell you,” the officer said trying not to sound overly concerned, “is if you talked to
someone standing knee-deep in wildflowers on Mount St. Helens this morning, that person
was an angel.”