The old fella in the late model Chevy pickup dropped me off on the north edge of McGill, Nevada.

"I'm turning here." He said with a nod of his head out his window to the east. He then leaned over pointing out my window towards a clump of trees.

"That's the local swimming hole. Natural warm springs. You can probably camp there if you're quiet but the sheriff drives through once in a while."

I thanked him and jumped out, grabbed my pack from the back and gently thumped twice on the cab of the flatbed. He waved and took off across the highway bumping down a dirt road to god knows where. Probably a wife and a couple of kids.

And here I was -- part question, part statement. I pulled the bill of my hat down low to block the glare of the sun and took in my surrounding. On either side of the valley there were tall, desert mountains with just a hint of green on the northwest facing slopes. They dropped quickly to valley level and from there it was all dry, hot and brown. Land might be good for a few cattle but little else. Peering south down the main drag, the town of McGill looked pretty quiet, folks just kinda kept out of the sun this time a day.

I pulled a deep drought on a water bottle and sucked the last bit out. Had to be near 105 and that Chevy had no air conditioning. The smell of antifreeze suggested it didn't have much heat in the winter either. With a sigh, I shouldered my pack and headed to the trees.

I opened my eyes to a great wonder. A lovely, clear lake about twice as long as you can throw a good stone, a few grand willow trees, a nice outhouse and only two cars parked around. I spied some small kids playing in a roped off swimming area and then spotted the two moms hanging out in the shade. I headed to the opposite side of the lake, keeping out of view until I had the place fully scoped out. Water, I needed water, and God provided with a working spigot near the outhouse. Well maybe the city council would take objection to being compared with God but the town clearly took some pride in this place. Anyway, I chugged a quart, refilled, stuck my head under the tap and let the water run down my back.

I plopped myself down in the shade of an ancient cottonwood. From here, there was a good view across the lake, but my position was hidden from the road where a cop might come by. I was, after all, little more than a bum. Key was seeing them coming first. And then, if spotted, applying the social graces. Most cops are an easy mark for a friend. Gotta make them wish they were you, instead of being cooped up in this little shit hole. Had to make them dream of faraway places. And still not seem disrespectful. It didn't always work.

I pulled off my boots and socks and dug my heels into the stony sand. Tugged my shirt over my head and felt a cool breeze drop by for a quick visit. "I wish I had a beer" I said out loud. Damn that would be good.

Three young guys came wandering by. Local high school kids no doubt. They were pushing and shoving and splashing in the water. They didn't see me and nearly jumped out of their shorts when I called "How's the water? I stood up and said "Nice lake you got here."

A little taken aback by a stranger, they gaped at me for a short while until one of them remembered his social graces and replied enthusiastically "The water's great"

I waded in still wearing my jeans. Didn't own underwear in those days. And my jeans needed washing anyway. The water was a perfect swimming temperature. Being on the skinny side and prone to leg cramps in really cold water, I never found it very welcoming. But I could stay in this all day. A few short strokes and I was near the middle with a view of the entire valley distorted and shimmering in rising waves of heat.

I glanced back and checked to make sure those kids were not snooping through my stuff and my money. But they were swimming too. Two young women with kids on the far side paid me no attention. One of them had a nice ass and I was involved in contemplating that when one kid swam up and asked "Where you from?"

It startled me from my reverie and I turned to him and stated, "Came down from Missoula."

"You don't got-no car" he said with some challenge in his voice and squinted hard at me waiting for answer.

Observant kid. "Yeah, I'm hitchhiking to Tucson but couldn't pass up this little park."

"Wow. Really? How many days will that take?"

"Well, this is day three but I'm not in a hurry. Should be there in a couple more if I'm lucky."

I got out of the water and shook off. The kid introduced himself as John and motioned for the other two to come on over. They seemed a little leery but wander over slowly as John and I exchanged pleasantries.

Not one to spend time in the sun, I plopped down in the shade next to my gear and pulled out my water bottle. John and his friends sat down in the shade too but gave me a respectful distance.

"You spending the night here?" John asked.

I said I didn't know yet but it was much too damn hot to be on the road.

"Is there a grocery store near here?" I asked.

"Yeah, there's a convenience store in the middle of town and McGill's Grocery on the far end of town. Maybe a mile and half from here."

"You need a ride? I got a car" one of the other two volunteered.

I was contemplating the motive behind their eagerness to help me when John said. "We'll give you a ride there and back if you buy some us some beer." Well, that answered that question.

I needed some groceries and I hadn't eaten since early morning. And I sure didn't feel like hoofin' it a mile into town and back in this heat.

"Cops gonna hassle us for drinking here?" I asked.

"Naw, we only got one cop and he don't much care so long as we don't make it obvious.

I was more than dubious. Most cops would delight in harassing the local kids, confiscating the beer and I would no doubt get run in to the local jail, held overnight and, if lucky, driven to the edge of town and escape with a stern warning. But I hadn't seen any evidence of cops and, off in the weeds, I had spied some empty beer cans. It was a Tuesday afternoon and except for the two moms on the other side of the lake it had been very quiet.

Finally, the draw of a cold beer won over caution and I tried to figure out the logistics. "Ok." I said "but you do exactly like I say." They almost jumped for joy and soon we were plotting the master criminal plan of the century. They wanted an entire case and I said no to that but agreed to a half case. They wouldn't get too drunk and I, being a stranger in a small town, would look odd buying a whole rack of beer.

"Alright, let's go." I slipped on my boots and grabbed my pack.

The led me to a beat-up Chevy Impala. I jumped in the back seat to avoid being easily seen and before the driver could start the car, I demanded. "Let's see the money." They scrounged through their pockets and came up with enough wrinkled bills to do the job.

The third guy, riding shotgun, who hadn't said squat all, tossed in three more bucks and said "Get some cigarettes too." I eyed him a bit. He seemed older and more jaded than the other two. And I clearly didn't bother him much. I decided he was the real trouble maker in the bunch and might need watching. As I would have to leave my pack in the car, I quietly fished out all my valuables as we headed to the store. It was a risk losing my gear, but I wasn't taking any chances with my knifes, cash and ID.

"Pull around back in the shade. I don't want you guys seen out front. And stay in the car." The store was small and the guy at the counter greeted me with a curious nod as the doorbell jangled. But he went back to what looked like a muscle car magazine and ignored me. I headed down the aisle and picked out some rolls, lunch meat and cookies. A cold meal but I figured a cooking fire would attract to much attention. I headed back to the beer cooler. A large sign said "No Liquor Sales on Sunday" and I remembered this was Mormon country. Cop would probably be Mormon too but it didn't seem a hard-core pious community. Not much selection of beer and I just grabbed a half rack of Rainier.

"And two packs of Marlboro - hard packs, and a lighter" I told the clerk. He didn't say anything except "That'll be eleven nineteen and I need to see some ID. I fished out a ten and two ones from the wad the kids had given me and showed him my Montana license. I still had some cash left over. "And a can of Copenhagen." I requested and tossed another 2 bucks on the counter.

I was a bit worried that this guy would take some interest in my presence in his town. But the doorbell rang and some guy just as shabby as I walked in and said "Hi Monty" and headed towards the beer too. "See ya" I said and caught the door before it fully closed.

The boy kinda hopped up and down in their seats when I jumped in with the 12 pack and handed Mr. Shotgun the cigarettes. "Head up this side street and then cut across the highway to the park entrance." I told the driver. I didn't want to be seen driving around with these clowns and a bunch of beer. Back at the park, the moms had gone home and we had it to ourselves and settled back under the same tree. I passed around the beer, keeping the 12 pack partly hidden from view and an eye towards the park entrance. Anyone coming in on the dirt road way would put up a pretty good dust cloud that I could easily spot.

The boys clowned around, while I enjoyed a crisp cool beer and relaxed. I didn't want to be in Tucson yet, didn't want that responsibility yet. And I knew Montana was in the past. I might not ever live there again. My girlfriend and I hadn't really split up but we both knew that was the odds-on outcome. She was gonna be a forest ranger and I had quit logging, moved to Tucson and was gonna get a PhD in chemistry. Hard to see those two futures coming together. I drained the beer and popped open another.

John and the other kid, the driver, were playing in the water. Shotgun, as I thought of him, kept silent with his head down studying his cigarette, sipping slowly from his beer. "Can I have one of those." I asked. Without a word or so much as a glance he handed me the pack and lighter. I don't smoke much but sometimes I bum a cigarette just to get a conversation going. This kid was gonna take some work.

"What do people do for a living round here?" I asked him.

"Mostly work at the copper mine." he replied.

A long silence ensued as we puffed on the cigarettes.

He stuffed his out, ground it into the sand and said with a certain vengeance. "But I'm getting the hell out of this shithole."

I handed him another beer.

"Thanks.", He mumbled and stood up suddenly.

"John and Billy just want to work at the mine and stay around. But I hate this place."

"Where you gonna go? What would you do?

"I don't know, might go to UNLV but that would cost some dough my mom doesn't have."

"Dad got any money?"

"Some. He works at the mine and mostly drinks it up. He's got himself some regular slut who helps him spend what's left. Mom works as a waitress downtown. And she drinks up her fair share of gin too."

"You got the grades", I asked. He didn't look like typical college material but neither did I.

"Yeah. Near straight A's. But high school here is a joke." I was a bit shocked. I had underestimated this kid. It takes some intelligence to get good grades in any school but even more to realize the world is bigger than just what you've seen in life.

"Maybe you can you get a scholarship or something?"

"Maybe but I don't know how to apply."

"How about the counselor at school?"

"Aw shit, he just says the union jobs at the mine are all we need. 'Work there for 20-30 years and retire with a big fat monthly check.' he says. Yeah right. I look at my old man and his union job and how that shitty dream just didn't come to fruition."

The word 'fruition' caught my attention coming from some twerp in high school. There was more to this kid than met the eye.

"What would you study?"

"I don't know. Probably engineering of some sort and then come back here and be somebody important." He couldn't see any future outside this tiny community and Vegas and UNLV were big dreams. Vegas was 200 miles south and I'd be there tomorrow afternoon if hitching went well.

"Why the hell come back here?" I said with more anger and disgust than I should have, "With an engineering degree you can go pretty much anywhere you want. That's what I did. Got the hell out of a small logging town up in Washington. Didn't want to work on the fucking green-chain all my life, smoke up my paycheck on weed and watch TV. Christ, my high school friends hardly even get laid and if they do, they're too stupid to keep the bitch from getting pregnant."

I surprised myself with the bitterness with which I said that. But yes, it was true. Longview, Washington was just a much a shit hole as McGill, Nevada. Except it was a hell of a lot wetter than here.

He laughed and listened as I ranted on about Longview Washington. My high school didn't even offer physics classes. Our chemistry teacher read us Br'er Rabbit stories. Math stopped at trigonometry. No algebra and certainly no mention of calculus. Our biggest worry was what draft number we would get for the Vietnam War. I paused and popped open my third beer and lit another cigarette. I thought about my friend Greg, who stayed in town and got busted for selling quaaludes and acid. I didn't mention that to Shotgun.

I told him about going to school at the University of Montana and painted a picture of meeting kids from back east who seemed so cool and sophisticated. All I knew was Charlie Pride, these easterners played instruments and introduced me to blues and jazz. I felt like a back-country hick and I was.

But one by one they disappeared headed back home to rich parents. They got their fill of partying, hunting and fishing, backpacking and skiing. When things got serious, they couldn't get the grades or find the jobs. Some of them made it and found a new life in Montana but most were just there for a lark. Not until much later did I realize these eastern kids were jealous of me. I grew up in the west, it was my culture and I had the ability to get any job from janitor, to quarryman, to logger and I still got better grades in college - and in the hard sciences to boot. This was my country and I had the chops to do pretty much anything I wanted.

Once I got over this fear of being inadequate, Longview became history, a shitty little hole that once seemed like a prison. The world was a much bigger place than I had imagined and the kids from back east, to give them some credit, helped open my eyes.

I suddenly ran out of words and Shotgun, who's name I never asked, just said "Wow." We smoked another cigarette in silence and I said, "It's too hot let's go for a swim."

Round about quitting time some other folks started to arrive. At first, I was a bit concerned about cops and do-gooders but the beer was about gone and I was getting anxious to make my next move. I was sure glad we hadn't opted for a full rack. They'd be too fucked up to go home without their parents being too inquisitive and that would surely bring the cops down on me. But nobody seemed to pay us much mind. I saw a few other folks slip beers out of coolers, sit back and keep an eye on their kids playing in the water.

"Hey we gotta go," John said. "My old man expects me home for dinner soon."

I was kinda sorry to see them leave as they provided me some anonymity; I could just be a long-lost cousin in town visiting. But being a loner, amongst all the other families, set me apart and made me suspicious -- beer or no beer. John came over to where I was sitting and shook my hand.

"Thanks for the beer, man."

"Hey, no problem. Just keep it quiet until I'm out of here."

The third kid, still a bit shy of me, waved at me and mumbled some thanks and followed John towards the car. I stood up and Shotgun said simply, "Thanks, man." I just replied, "Don't worry, just get the hell out of town and go to school anywhere you can get in. They are looking for kids like you." And he walked away.

Alone, I shrank into the shadows, fixed a bologna sandwich, watched the crowd and drank the last beer. Most folks didn't even know I was there. But the sheriff did drive through and spent a few minutes scoping the area. Like any good, small-town, cop, he would have identified pretty much everyone and, if he'd seen me, probably would have questioned my purpose.

The sun set early behind the mountains to the west. And like magic, everyone packed up and went home. Leaving me alone. I carried my gear back into the brush about a hundred yards and up on a small rise that gave me a view of the valley. I hung my damp jeans on a sagebrush and spread out my sleeping bag. The black moonless night enveloped me as I sat cross legged with only my hat on listening to the hum from the highway and an occasional waft of music from the center of town. A small group of coyotes behind me sang their evening song and latter another larger group answered from the south. An ass brayed out clear, loud and strong as if to say it was time for bed. No one knew I was there and that suited me just fine.

The End

Prologue

I woke at the very vaguest light of day, packed my gear, wolfed down the last of the bologna and dinner rolls and started my hike through town. At 5:00 am nothing was open and only a couple of trucks passed by going the other way. It wasn't two minutes on reaching the south end of town when a flat bed, one ton truck stopped and I hopped in. "I'm headed to Las Vegas," he said "and help yourself to some coffee in the thermos." The morning was chilly and the coffee felt good. I wondered if Shotgun would ever make it out of town.