Mesa Trail ch. 8
Draft 3

"At the sound of his name, BD thumped his tail against the bottom of the boat. BD, short for Best Dog. He felt Keeper rub the soft fur behind his ears. In return, he gave her a slurpy kiss." – Keeper


What Hannah may or may not have found in that sluice box that night, just as the sun was rising up over the eastern horizon, still remains to be known for sure because Hannah didn't know if it was gold just yet.  Only old Nevada could have known the full truth, but then again, as we said before, the Husky is one of the world's great companions. The Husky, as far as we know anyway, keeps her secrets, she doesn't chat much in among dog groups, or make a lot of noise upon exciting circumstances.

The Husky is more than happy to share its excitement with big licks and a lot of uncontrollable dashing off into the dark, seeking even more friends from the wild backcountry, but you'll never ever find her taking snapshots, nope, secrets are kept with a good companion like that. Hannah called out to Nevada.  "What do you think about us doing some mining this summer?" She felt the contours of her charm once again. It was there still, solid as ever, and maybe, just maybe, throbbed a little as Hannah started to use that planning mind of hers, full speed. Nevada swung her tail but this time didn't yelp.

She had options. It doesn't take long for all of the components of a great class project to take shape in one's mind! The next day was a school day, so Hannah listed them as fast as she could out loud, as though pleading her case to the first best school administrator that would listen, "don't forget you have the red rocks to start, I mean they look like dinosaurs, and so they are fun to learn about how they erupted up through the earth's crust. Kids of every age love dinosaurs.  Imagine the exercise every day and for a good reason.  Mesa Trail is not dangerous at all and we could hike to Bear Canyon Creek in no time flat.  The parents would love their kids getting outside every day under the sun.  We could learn about the vegetation, how a desert lives up in these mountains, I mean this is really fascinating." Mr. Macintyre would look at Hannah at this first lobbying effort with eyes that were not totally shocked; in fact, these were the very same reasons he himself chose to teach here in the Boulder schools. If it were up to Mr. Macintyre, how's about skipping the standard classroom stuff altogether, he would live up at Flagstaff House, way up on top, and work from the fine dining room table overlooking vast sweep of mountains.  "Hannah, I totally get it," he would say later, not fully understanding why today the revelation. I grew up in Fort Collins, too, like your dad. My parents could barely keep me out of my  tree house. I used to build them in neighbor's backyards.  That was what I was going to do for a living. I spent a summer traveling the country on a crew of treehousers. If you ever come up with a plan to get us out, let me in on it."

This was why Hannah started here, with Mr. Macintyre, she knew there was a chance.  They would forever applaud her for being the voice of "out of class, into the world," or some such catchphrase that she would make up later. Mr. Macintrye looked back at her, "but," he said, " even here in Boulder Colorado, nature capital of the world, it might be a tough sell I'm afraid."
 
"And there is gold." Hannah could no longer hide her secret.  Who wasn't interested in gold? The Gold Rush of Bear Canyon Creek, founded by the sophomore class of Boulder High.  All proceeds go to school resources, feeding the hungry...she could go on and on.  It was at the that moment that Mr. Macintyre's eyes lit up like two Spanish medallions that it all began.  They would have to concoct such a variety of permission slips and educational underpinnings that the paperwork would challenge even the mightiest of local law firms. Once the gold was found, and Hannah already knew it was there, whose claim was it, exactly? The mountains told the story for them, the greatest of storytellers.
Along the way, with a little help of Nevada's peculiarly sensitive nose, they might just find a box or two dug into the ground, holding those treasures great grandfather hid along these trails all those years ago.