It should have been a waterfall. But the river ran in the opposite direction, beginning in the soft rolling plains to the North. On its way southward it wound lazily between gently sloping hills and grazing cattle before gathering the energy to cut through the steep terrain of the mountains.

        The river picked up momentum after cutting through the tiny town of Compass, but then about fifteen miles out, slammed into a wall of solid rock fifteen stories high. This barren and cracked cliff face served as a backboard to the confused river as it slammed into it, stopping its forward progress and forcing it left and right like a capital “T”.

        The presence of this cliff face directly in its path caused momentary confusion, and the newly turned river folded backward, clashing with the steady current as it searched for a path of lesser resistance.  Bewildered, it regrouped: one branch headed off to the its left before meandering again south, and the other silently died in a quiet eddy near a sandy shore of ground about 500 feet to the right of the cliffs.

        Just before the river met the cliff-face, the water became turbulent. In the middle of these rapids a fence hung, dangling crazily across the swirling water from one bank to the other. The rusty barbed wire fence, decorated by the occasional cluster of litter caught between its tiny squares, was attached on either side of the river by rotting four by fours.

        On the right bank the land was smooth and hard, eventually rising as it ran toward the cliff-face into a massive hunk of rock. The boulder jutted out and up from the land, toward the cliff-face. Steam from the churning rapids below the left side of the boulder almost obscured the still swirling, but defeated branch of the river running in front, beneath, and between the massive rock and cliff-face. Below, in front and to the right of the boulder, small waves broke upon the sandy shore as that branch of the river died.

        The boy leaned forward slightly and looked down past his feet at the water swirling below. As the early morning mists converged, it was hard to tell what was foam from the churning water, and what was fog. His shoulders caved forward around his body as the moisture bathed his face.  He sighed. It really didn’t matter.

        Wearily, he lifted his head to the cliff-face beyond the river. A face stared back, or so he thought, but was gone before he could focus. He scanned the barren slab of rock. Funny. It looked as if someone had taken a knife and just sliced through the mountain. Maybe the part that had been sliced off was down river somewhere.  He examined the remaining portion.

        There, at the very top, a solitary cluster of scrub pine perched almost in thin air. He wondered how they grew there, taking their nourishment from pure rock?  What did the roots cling to? He suddenly thought of Melanie, lowered his head again to the thrashing water, and with a tired sigh, bent forward at the waist and let gravity take over.

            Headlights cut through the darkness and fog. A green jeep swerves, leaving the gravel road for a bit and driving into the soft grass, trying to avoid the biggest potholes.

            The Jeep comes to a stop at the gate at the end of the road and a large German Shepherd jumps out, followed by a woman in uniform.

            She sighs as she removes the chain from the gate, pulling one side open. The stiff gate resists for a bit as she pushes it across the gravel road and to the side. The dog darts through, his ears perked, his muscles tense.  

            The woman gets back in the Jeep and drive up towards the parking area just behind the big boulder jutting out over the river. The dog runs happily along side.

            As she gets closer to the cliffs a roaring sound increases. The crashing noise of water. The sound, trapped by stone seems to rebound on itself.

            She gets out of the Jeep and starts to make her way up the boulder.

            “Be careful Sam,” she tells the dog as they climb up the steep boulder.

            Suddenly he lifts his nose, then turns and runs off the rock and down into the undergrowth around the edge of the forest.

            The woman continues to climb the slippery damp surface carefully, examining the rock as she climbs. There is nothing out of the ordinary. No trash, or scratches, or scuff marks. She hadn’t seen a car along the road, and the gate had been locked..

            Once she reaches the edge, she stands up and but instantly crouches back down into a crawl position. She takes a deep breath and looks down into the swirling water below. The rising mist from the churning water envelops her face.  She can barely make out the cliff face across the river.

            She looks down once again at the swirling water below, but can’t see anything. Just air.  No trace at all.  Nothing.  Like he was never here.  Not like she expected to find anything. If he had jumped from here last night, his body would be long gone by now, carried away miles downstream...probably. That is, if it hadn’t gotten hung up in something, like a rickety old fence.  

            The mist swirls around her head and disappears in the strengthening light of the sun.  She defiantly steps to the edge.  

            The mists part briefly and she sees something across the river. There. A movement in the trees at the top of the cliffs. She scans the trees, then turns and start an awkward crawl down the boulder, jumping off and turning toward the sandy beach.

            “Come on Sam,” she yells.  Sam’s head emerges from a clump of Rhododendrons around the water’s edge. He stands at attention, ears pricked.

            The woman runs past him and into the forest around the edge of the cliffs.

            Sam lopes in behind her and the two begin to run past the deceptively calm, lake-like part of the river and towards the bottom and of the mountain and back-side of the cliff face.

            Once into the dark protection of the trees, the ground begins to rise. The dog suddenly begins to run up the side of the mountain.

            “Sam, wait,” she calls out, but he scampers up the hillside and disappears into the forest.

            “Listen Sir, you’re aware that this is State land and that it is posted NO Trespassing? That’s what the fence is for?” Cassie motions toward the river with her arm. “I’d advise you to cooperate with me on this.”

            With a final look, the man turns and begins to walk away.

            “Excuse me! Sir? I’m not through talking!”

            He continues to walk away, on up towards the hill where he disappears into the trees.

            Cassie’s face turns red and she begins to jog after the old man. When she catches up to him she stands in the middle of the trail and shouts, “I order you to stop or I will shoot!”

            He makes no sign he has heard her command, and keeps on walking at the same pace.

            Cassie calmly draws her revolver out of its holster, releasing the safety, and points it at the disappearing figure.

            “I’m going to count to three, and if you don’t stop, I will shoot.”

            The old man continues to walk at the same even pace.

            “One . . . two . . . three!” Cassie’s grip on the trigger tightens as she aims for the air above his head.

            A shot rings out through the silent forest. She lowers her arms, bringing her gun back down in front of her. The old man has not even flinched and disappears over the ridge and into the forest. She holsters her weapon and begins to run after him.