The Hundredth Meridianrnby Chilton Williamson, Ji.rnThe View From Mount NebornLast summer this expansive sagebrushrnbasin at the lower end of the WyomingrnRange made the annual encampment ofrnthe Rainbow Family of Living Light,rnspawn of a eongestive eivilization. Fifteenrnthousand strong, they organizedrnaccording to their various pursuits: drinking,rndrugs, nuditv, fornication, and—rnfor all the Lincoln County Sheriff’srnDepartment knows—cannibalism andrnhuman sacrifice. The Rainbows hungrnon for most of the season and chose forrnthis summer’s jamboree the state ofrnNew Mexico, home to several tribes ofrnApache hidians who have not forgottenrntheir old practice of burning intrudersrnhead downward, hi late July or early Augustrnthev allowed a campfire to get awayrnfrom them, but the blaze was extinguishedrnwith the help of the Big PineyrnFire Department before it could burnrnits way into the timber. Now SniderrnBasin stretched peacefully, intact andrnempt’, between Deadline Ridge, MountrnThompson, and Mount Darby as I approachedrnfrom the northeast on the dirtrnroad from Big Pincy, the horse trailerrnrumbling behind the truck in the loopingrnred curves above Porcupine Creek.rnBeyond the pioneer graves on the LanderrnCutoff of the Oregon Trail I turned intorna rutted track ascending to a benchrnabove South Piney Creek and parked atrnthe edge of a spit of forest running intornthe sagebrush. Already the sun was trvingrnto fit itself into the groove where therncreek emerged from the mountains betweenrnDarby and Thompson, and the airrnhad begun to chill. The guard stationrnhalf a mile out stood deserted, and thernwind coming down from the mountainsrnat the close of the day was the only humanlyrnaudible sound except for that ofrnthe horses stamping impatiently in theirrntin box.rn1 untied them through the mangerrndoors, opened the big ones to the rear,rnlet down the butt-bars, and drew themrnout by their tails. The headed grass beneathrna stand of lodgepole pines wavedrnsmoothly on the wind. I led the horses tornit, picketed the gelding on 30 feet ofrnrosined lasso, and, leaving the mare torntrail her lead rope as she grazed, walkedrnback to the big lightning-stricken pinernhalf of whose trunk had been removedrnbv the blow. Four years later it stoodrnstrongly, its pulp unrotted, still bearingrnneedles from the thrusting branches ofrnits uninjured side. I walked round therntree several times, observing the surroundingrnground. Then I walked over tornanother tree and went round it. Finally Irnreturned to the hurt tree and scraped therngrass with the side of my boot sole until Irnhad removed the duff, twigs, pineconcs,rnand fragments of rock from an area sixrnfeet long by three wide. When thernground was perfectly smooth I returnedrnto the truck for the horsepack, which Irnlifted onto my shoulder. The canvas bottomrnwas slick and hard with horse grease.rnI carried the pack to the edge of thernspace I had cleared and dropped it with arndull clank on the ground. I had packed itrnat home the night before with everythingrnI would need for three davs in the mountains.rnThen I unstuffed the sleeping bagrnand spread it on the even ground abovernthe soft green grass.rnEnough firewood lay around for suttee,rndry as if it had come from a kiln. Irngathered several armloads and removedrnthe fired rocks at the center of the firernring I had built four years before. Therernwas no need of kindling. When the firernwas burning hotly, ragged and orangernwith very little smoke, I brought therncamp baskets from the truck and liftedrnout the bottle of red wine. Havingrnforgotten the camp knife with therncorkscrew on it, I had to push in the corkrnwith a screwdriver, splashing a pattern ofrnpink stains across the front of my bluernwork shirt. I would wear them comfortablyrnfor three days now. I poured somernof the wine into a plastic cup and settledrnmy back against the rough bark of therntree. I set the cup on the pine needles.rnleaned forward to place the grill acrossrnthe fire that was already burning down torncoals, and sat back against the tree again,rndrinking wine.rnThe sun went down and the eveningrnstar arose behind Deadline Ridge. A coyoternon the forest’s edge 200 yards fromrncamp raised a wicked whoop, and receivedrna chorusing reply from a pack overrnon Coal Creek. The cries began just asrndarkness fell, and ended with its completion.rnFar back in the mountains a strangledrnbugle sounded as a voung bull elkrntested his breaking voice for the comingrnrut. I went to check on the horses andrnmove the gelding’s picket. Back at thernfire I filled a pan with water from thernbladder, and set it on the grill. Using therncamp knife I opened a can of red beansrnand put the beans in a second pan besidernit. When the water boiled I added a bagrnof minute rice, and when the rice wasrndone poured off the water and added thernbeans to it. I poured another glass of thernwine and ate the beans and rice togetherrnin one pan, seated on a pine stump I hadrndragged over. After I was through I filledrnthe pan from which I had eaten with waterrnand set it to boil again while I went forrnthe horses and snubbed them to the tiernrings at the back of the trailer. Then I removedrnthe pan and the grill from thernfire, threw on a pile of wood, and got insidernthe sleeping bag on my back withrnthe .41 magnum hog-leg by my head.rnAbove, the pine boughs were underlit byrnthe leaping fire that showed the grassesrnrippling as far as the edge of the circle ofrnlight, and presently the moon, just pastrnthe full, rose, across the valley from thernglow that still outlined the westernrnmountains. Beyond the circumferencernof its radius the Perscids sparked and disappeared.rnWrapped in the bag, from thernverge of sleep I thought I felt the groundrnmove, but it was only the horses stampingrnon their shortened leads.rnAt dawn I built up the fire for coffeernand let the horses graze while I brokerncamp and reloaded the horse pack; sincernwe would be following water up to thernpass it was not necessary to take them torndrink at the creek. I loaded them backrninto the trailer and followed the floodplainrnof South Piney Creek as far as I feltrnsure of backing the rig around. Thernhorses stood patiently in the hot sunrnwhile I saddled and loaded them, whisk-rnNOVEMBER 1995/49rnrnrn