It was a dark, wet and lonely night. The taillights winked at us from the creek bottom deep in the canyon as we wound our way along the road above. There was no road down there. It didn't look good. I was terrified, but as we eventually drove our pickup truck along the Salmo-Creston highway to a point directly above those little twinkling lights, I knew I was going to have to go down there and look. I stopped, got out of the pickup and weakly asked Linda to pray. I could see the skid marks on the pavement. I gingerly clawed my way down the deep canyon. The trail of destruction left by whatever had gone over the edge was awful. I could see the red taillights and eventually I was able to scale the cliff down to what was left of a pickup truck. The body of a teenage girl lay in the shallow water of the creek, some of her clothes and both of her shoes torn off from impact. A teenage boy was holding another male teenager beside the truck. The boy was dead in the arms of his weeping brother, who had a broken hip. The two dead bodies in the beam of my flashlight unnerved me, but oddly they did not freak me out. In fact, they seemed to capture my attention. Eventually the weeping and groaning of the lone survivor shocked me into action. I found some articles of clothing, covered the bodies as best I could, especially their faces, and went to work trying to help the survivor. Thank God an ambulance arrived sometime after that to take charge.