It seared all the way down. He looked for anyone he knew in the anonymous tourist crowd, telling himself that he was safe here even as he damned it for a lie. Through the wide windows opposite, he saw the oasis that irrigation had created, a sanctuary for Mammoth’s elk herd. A group of perhaps fifteen lay in the soft grass while daylight waned. Steve imagined what would happen if the North Fork, only ten miles south, burned to here. Over two thousand firefighters were on the lines, but today’s blowups made it clear that man was helpless in the face of such natural forces. If the North Fork came to Mammoth, he wanted to be on the front lines, to cut that bastard down the way it had destroyed those defenseless elk. Steve took another drink. It didn’t burn as much. If Clare knew he’d succumbed, she’d be disappointed. He wished he knew where she was on his first evening in civilization. At Old Faithful, West Yellowstone, or was she in one of the myriad fire camps? With the thought, he had a nagging feeling of betraying Susan, even after four years.
