At the first gray glimmer of dawn, three figures climbed the stone steps of the South Pass highway. There, the alpine road crested the high granite shoulder of Mount Sunder.
Tomas Reed paused at the stone milestone that marked the southern boundary of Split-Stone. He slipped his right arm from the padded strap of his ash pack frame. He set the heavy timber load on a granite outcrop. Then he turned to look back across the valley.
The sight took the breath from his chest.
Two weeks ago, when they had first crested the Devil’s Rib, Split-Stone had been an arid, dying desert of gray limestone dust and cracked earth. Now, lit up by the pink and gold rays of the rising autumn sun, the entire valley was a breathtaking mix of vibrant, emerald-green life.
Sixty thousand terrace acres were drinking from the mountain’s bounty. The twelve main canals gleamed like polished silver ribbons. He carried living water through the stepped vineyards, apple orchards, and cabbage patches. Thin plumes of fragrant woodsmoke rose from the stone chimneys of five hundred cottages. In the lower meadows, the bells of newly purchased draft oxen clinked merrily as the morning teams set out for the fields. The air rising from the valley was sweet with the scent of wet loam, green grape leaves, and clean mountain wind.
