“Hold on here,” Smith said, “I ain’t going along with that kind of talk.”

“Not people, Captain,” the doctor said. “We’re talking about bulldozers. Power shovels. Draglines. Earthmovers.”

“Machines,” said Hayduke.

A pause in the planning, again.

“Are you certain this canyon is not bugged?” the doctor asked. “I have the feeling that others are listening in to every word we say.”

“I know that feeling,” Hayduke said, “but that’s not what I’m thinking about right now. I’m thinking—”

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking: Why the fuck should we trust each other? I never even met you two guys before today.”

Silence. The three men stared into the fire. The oversize surgeon. The elongated riverman. The brute from the Green Berets. A sigh. They looked at each other. And one thought: What the hell. And one thought: They look honest to me. And one thought: Men are not the enemy. Nor women either. Nor little children.

Not in sequence but in unison, as one, they smiled. At each other. The bottle made its penultimate round.

“What the hell,” Smith said, “we’re only talkin’.”

The Raid at Comb Wash

THEIR PREPARATIONS were thorough.

First, at Captain Smith’s suggestion, they cached supplies at various points all over their projected field of operations: the canyon country, southeast Utah and northern Arizona. The stores consisted of (1) food: tinned goods, dried meats, fruits, beans, powdered milk, sealed drinking water; (2) field equipment: medical kits, tarps and ponchos, fire starters, topographical maps, moleskin and Rip-Stop, sleeping bags, canteens, hunting and fishing equipment, cooking gear, rope, tape, nylon cord; and (3) the basic ingredients: monkey wrenches, wrecking bars, heavy-duty wirecutters, bolt cutters, trenching tools, siphon hoses, sugars and syrups, oil and petrol, steel wedges, blasting caps, detonating cord, safety fuse, cap crimpers, fuse lighters and adequate quantities of Du Pont Straight and Du Pont Red Cross Extra. Most of the work was carried out by Smith and Hayduke. Sometimes they were assisted by the doctor and Ms. Abbzug, flying up from Albuquerque. Hayduke objected, for a while, to the presence of the girl.

“No fucking girls,” he hollered. “This is man’s work.”

“Don’t talk like a pig,” said Bonnie.

“Here now, here now,” the doctor said. “Peace.”

From The Monkey Wrench Gang (1975)

“I thought we were gonna keep the cell down to three men,” Hayduke insisted. “No girls.”

“I’m no girl,” Bonnie said. “I’m a grown-up woman. I’m twenty-eight and a half years old.”

Seldom Seen Smith stood somewhat aside, smiling, rubbing the blond furze on his long jaw.

“We agreed on only three people,” Hayduke said.

“I know,” the doctor said, “and I’m sorry. But I want Bonnie with us. Whither I goest Bonnie goeth. Or vice versa. I don’t function very well without her.”

“What kind of a man are you?”

“Dependent.”

Hayduke turned to Smith. “What do you say?”

“Well,” he said, “you know, I kinda like this little girl. I think it’s kinda nice to have her around. I say let’s keep her with us.”