by T J Reeder
The next thirty minutes were very enlightening! Cutting to the chase it seems the weapons used to create the EMP had been developed by the folks at INL, or rather ‘somebody’ at INL, and under a direct order from the top of the DC food chain.
What it seemed had happened was that somebody had figured out that the best way to get the whole world back on an even keel was to bring down all the countries that counted, thus putting them all on an even playing field and starting the game over again with nobody owing anybody.
Sandy looked at me and asked if I remembered saying that weeks back? I said, “Yes but it was a WAG and I had no idea.” The Sheriff asked what a ‘wag’ was and Walter said, “Wild Assed Guess” which was funny enough to get a laugh, amazing me that we could be so easy with all that was happening.
Somebody wanted the folks in Texas to know who and why the EMP had been caused by, for what reason we had no idea. Maybe to use as ammo against the Senator Scummer crowd in DC who want to make us a Socialist nation.
After talking it over, we came to the conclusion that there were several factions at play at INL and not all of them were aware of the others. Why this would be so is beyond any of us, but these days anything seems possible, even the impossible.
I decided we would take the disk with us, but had several copies burned before we left. Just in case. And the way things had changed, everything looked likely to be important.
I still had no idea how the New Government in Texas would use this information, but I could see no harm in delivering it. I was still pissed about the so-called thirty second delay that became a two second delay. But Sandy offered up the thought that maybe all the people involved in the making of the DVD weren’t on the same side. Now that was interesting.
I trust Sandy and Buck and mostly Molly when she is awake. I see no reason to distrust Walter or any of the folks here in Moab since they helped save our butts with the ‘thirty’ second fuse crap. I wanted to go back to see those folks in Idaho but not today.
Come daylight we were ready to head off on 191, to 491 then to 160. A lot of this area is Navaho country and they are a great people who have lived in this beautiful area for who knows how long. I really didn’t see any issues coming from them.
But like a lot of the tribes they were screwed over by the whites, so I guess we would have to see how it went. After making our goodbyes and thank yous, we headed into the unknown. Again.
We made pretty good time on the narrow road as it had very few stalled vehicles, which wasn’t a surprise since this is an empty part of the country.
Monticello is another small town in the middle of nowhere, and we got there in quick order. But we had a get out of jail pass from Walter and were waved right on thru.
We didn’t linger, and were soon out of town heading to Cortez, Colorado- about 60 miles away. Then, the same issues as before. We stopped short and unloaded the bike and Sandy took off like an MX racer… damn woman!
She was back in nothing flat, and said it was good to go- there was a small roadblock and a few people there, but they too were flying old glory so we eased on in, slow and easy and were met by another lawman in uniform who offered his hand and name of Jake.
We introduced ourselves and were told the word had come down and we were free to go when we wished.
I said thanks and we headed on out, but not before we were warned of less than nice folk who had taken charge of things in Durango, and we might wanna rethink our route.
Problem being, all we could do was take 491 to Shiprock and then take a long look at things. The new route would take us thru the Ute Mountain Reservation. The Ute people have been in the area for about 2,000 years, so I kinda figured it was theirs, and hopefully they would let us pass.
Jake said they was like anybody else, good and bad. I asked how to tell the difference. He gave a big smile and said, “Well sir, if they’s a shootin’ atcha, then they is bad!” I love a clown! Sandy laughed, which made Jake’s day.
He did say that the tribal elders had a tight rein on the youngsters, and he figured if we were simply respectful we would be fine. So with another handshake and some ‘good lucks’ we were off to see what was cooking on the Rez. And soon enough we were at the town of Shiprock which for some reason was a Navajo town. I’ll admit willingly I have no idea how these reservations are cut up, I thought we were on a Ute Rez. Now we are on Navajo lands.
I had been thru this area many times, and have always thought the land and people were both silent yet spectacular, open and closed. The vistas are beyond description to somebody who has never been there. Beautiful yet forbidding mountains of red sandstone, deep beautiful canyons sculpted as by the hand of God- which I guess it may have been.
I guess most folks, at least of my generation, know that the Navaho were a top secret weapon in ww2. Their language is so complicated that the Marines used them as ‘Talkers’ on the radio since nobody but another Navaho had a clue as to their language. They earned their place in the Marine history books no doubt about it.
We drove right into Shiprock! No road block. No armed men watching close. We slowed then stopped at a café and got out and walked into the place where several locals were sitting. I nodded and several of them did too. OK, we were off to a rousing welcome.
At last an ancient Navaho woman behind the counter said something, and a young girl about fifteen came over to us and asked if she could help us? I said, “Yes, thank you.”
I asked if we could buy a meal, which was translated to the old woman who nodded. I then asked if we could water our animals which she asked an old man, who nodded but whose eyes also opened a tiny bit. So we headed back out the door, followed by the whole place including the old woman and the cook.
I guess they wanted to see what kind of animals a couple of white folks would have. When I opened the back doors and lowered the ramp and Buck ambled out on his own their eyes really lit up. Then Sandy slipped inside and untied the rest of the bunch.
They all headed right for Buck who was tearing up some tough looking weeds and enjoying the hell out of them. His gang joined him and they really got with it. Sandy led her Arabian off the truck and it got some murmurs going.
The Arabian walked over to the stuff the mules were eating, snorted disdainfully and found something more suited to her liking. There was a water trough right close, so they were set.
I looked at the men and asked if it was OK for them to be loose. I looked at the girl, but the old man said, “Sure they’re fine and nobody will bother them.” I said, “Thank you,” and headed for the café with Sandy bouncing along like a kid, all smiles and happy.
We got inside and settled and the old woman came over and said in perfect English that pickings were slim but they could feed us. I asked if anything like a breakfast was OK. She smiled and said, “Sure thing.” Sandy said, “Me too!” and off the old gal went.
She was back soon with water and said there was no coffee, which was enough for Sandy to be out the door like a flash and returning with a three pound bag of coffee beans, which really pleased the old woman but she had a worried look so Sandy said, “Trade for breakfast?” She even got a smile from the ol’ gal.
I said, “Ya know sweetie, that was our last bag of beans.” She said, “Ya know honey, I have five more in the trailer!” Now I was stumped. How and when and where?
I thought I knew where every item in there was and I sure didn’t remember eighteen pounds of coffee beans. She said, “Well dear, I traded the 30-30 and all the ammo plus the 9mm and ammo in with one of the Mormon folks back in Moab.
I thought about that for a bit and said, “Well that’s strange, coz they don’t as a rule drink coffee.” Sandy just smiled and said, “Well they do trade it! And they trade hard liquor so I got a few bottles of JW! “
I was afraid to ask what she traded for the booze, but she said not to worry because she had been gathering up a lot of stuff women folks would want, and the men may talk but the ladies run the home.
I asked what she had that would be that valuable. She smiled and said, “Girly stuff," with a wink, so I just shut up and basked in the warm glow of knowing my woman was a damn fine horse trader. And she had coffee and booze- hell, she could own part of Texas with that.
Our breakfast arrived and it was awesome. We each got four eggs and ham steaks cut thick, diced spuds fried in bacon grease with onions and a pile of hot biscuits with real butter. And a pot of hot coffee with real cream!
Amazing what a few pounds of coffee beans can do! When we were done I asked for the ticket and was told no ticket, and she wanted to offer some silver for the coffee but we both said, “No, thank you.”
Outside, the men were still admiring Buck and the gang, but I think Sandy’s Arabian had their attention most. The old man came over to us and asked if the horse was for sale. Sandy smiled that killer smile and said, “No, but if she was I’d only sell her to you.”
His old eyes smiled at that. She did have a way, this woman. She just seemed to know what to say and when. He offered us a place to sit so we did. He sat down and was quiet for a long time but I was OK with that- I do understand. The way of ‘The People’ is quiet. And well thought out words are important. So we sat and just enjoyed the peace of the moment.
At last the old man said, “These are bad times.” I just nodded in agreement. After a bit he said, “The road you travel has some bad men on it.” I still said nothing but slowly nodded. He nodded and after a bit said, “They are white men with guns and kill people trying to use the road.”
Now we were getting to it, and I had an idea of where this was heading. After that settled, I cleared my throat as to say I was going to speak. Finally I said, “Have these bad whites hurt any of the People?” He looked at me a long while and at last nodded.
I think I knew where this was going and since I liked these folks I said, “Well then they must be stopped.” He nodded and got up and walked away to where the others were and sat on the ground and they talked quietly.
Sandy asked me what was going on, so I explained what I thought it was. Whites had set up a road block and were charging a toll and had killed or harmed some of this group’s people, but it was the same old White/Indian thing.
White men hurt Indians but the Indians can’t hurt them back. Well, they can but the repercussions always fall on the Indian. So it looked like I was going to play Lone Ranger although they had not asked me too.
Sandy said, “Well, ya forgot one thing .Your ass ain’t going no place without me! And if you call me Tonto I’ll shoot ya”…all said with a smile. Hell, I already knew that but I had to let her say it.
Soon the old man came back and said the others were worried about the old troubles coming again if they fought back. They weren’t scared for themselves but for the People.
I nodded and said, “Yes, and it’s true.” Even though they were bad men people would always remember it was the People who killed them. And one day the problems of today would go away and peace would return to the land. But these people and others like them needed to be dealt with.
How in the hell I get into these things is beyond me. I just wanna get home, but these pukes are in my way so at least I’m warned and can deal with them in my way and in my time. Which was now. My old Mama was waiting for her bouncing blue eyed baby boy and I was by god going home.
The old man was called Charley since nobody but a Navaho could pronounce his name. So Charley said he would go with me to scout the place these bad people were at. Sandy agreed to remain behind, and we loaded into Charley’s old truck along with a bunch of the others and drove away. I took my 308 along as well as some other items I might need.
We drove for about an hour and slowed down, then pulled over off the pavement onto a narrow rutted dirt trail which we followed for a couple of miles.
We parked and unloaded and Charley started walking up a hill so I followed him and that ol’ man could walk. I was panting like ol’ Molly when we got to the top of the hill where he dropped down and eased forward behind a bush and removed his hat.
I followed his lead, and after getting settled I looked down the hill and saw their roadblock which was in a low spot and anybody coming would be on top of it before they saw it.
There was a few cars parked off the road and what looked like about six men sitting around a fire passing a bottle around. I asked Charley how long they had been there. He said about four days and pointed off to the right in a gully where using the glasses I made out four graves.
Well maybe the word ‘graves’ is too proper. Shallow pits with sand over the bodies better describes what I was looking at. One was real small. Now they would die! A child? Really?
I looked at the ol’ guy again and understood. This was his people in the pits. I asked him how they did what they did. He pointed over the hills to the southwest and said there was a ranch house over there and the main bunch was there and they rotated.
It seemed to me this whole setup wasn’t worth their time simply because there just wasn’t enough people on the roads to warrant it. And so I asked the question of why they were here.
Charley looked me right in the eyes and said, “They wait for you, Long Gun!” I was taken aback, as they say, and asked him to explain.
“Word of your coming has spread along the way and somebody is unhappy because of something you are doing. And also because you did not do what you were told to do. These men are waiting to take away something you have, and to kill you and your woman. They have been here for four days and the only truck to come by was my grandson and his wife and two children. They killed them to prevent word of their being here to spread.”
I laid there choked up and couldn’t speak for a bit. Charley knew what I was feeling and said what happened to his people wasn’t my fault. Bad people do bad things because they can and like it.
A few minutes passed before I could speak and then I said, “Charley, these people will die. They will never leave here because of what they have done.” He looked deep into my soul and said, “I know.”
I wanted to take time to plan a good hit, but hell- there might be another vehicle along any time and said so to him. He said, “No. There will be no cars because we have cut the road and nothing is getting thru.”
Best news I had today. I asked him if he had any young men who would be up for the task. He smiled and said, “Long Gun, we have ‘Men’- age is not a matter here.” I nodded and said, “I only meant young men who need the experience,” but I was smiling as was he.
I told him I needed to know what the bunch at the ranch were up to, and just how many there were. He said there were fifteen there and they were just loafing and drinking. I must have looked funny, so he pulled a small radio from his pack. I wanted to laugh out loud.
We eased back down to the truck and loaded up to head back, leaving two of the others behind. Both were armed with lever action rifles. I had no doubt they could shoot.
Back at the café we held a pre-raid planning session and all agreed to go that night. All we had to do was kill all of them and be done with it. How’s that for a plan?
Charley had a topo map showing the ranch area, the contours of the terrain and just how the ranch buildings set in relation to the lay of the land.
Charley said his people were already in place and ready to hit them in the morning when they all gathered for the meeting they held every morning outside the ranch house.
I asked him if he had it all worked out, why did they need me? He smiled his small smile and said, “Because you are ‘Long Gun’ and this is what you are needed for.”
Being easily confused, I asked him about this nickname. He said word had come down that I carried a rifle that would shoot far and that I didn’t miss. Well, I had to laugh and asked him where he was getting his information. He just smiled and said, “It comes on the wind.”
OK, I could see this wasn’t gonna get answered soon, so I dropped it and asked what he wanted me to do. He said the leader of these people tal
ked every morning, giving orders. He stood on the front porch of the main house which was covered and shaded making a shot even more difficult, and that the only good place to shoot from was about 500 yards away and out in the open but on a small hump of sand.
His people were ready to ease in just before daylight and would be well hidden but the hard shot was mine because his people were armed with the usual 30-30 rifles.
We had the rest of the day to prepare for it, so I said I needed to sight in my rifle. We were taken to a small narrow canyon back a ways from the café and found it was a rather nice shooting range.
Charley had one of the kids take a full silhouette target out and staple it up. I set up my spotting scope with Sandy spotting for me. I felt a bit of trepidation with all eyes on me- what with having acquired a reputation and a name that I might not be able to live up to.
I knew the 308 was dead on at 300 and with no wind here on the range I just held on the head of the target and fired. Sandy took forever to spot the hole and then said it was really low. I said, “Darlin’, really low is not a proper measurement. Try inches please.” She made a snorting sound and said, “Well, I say your low three feet.” I looked at her and said, “Three? Really?” She laughed and said, ”Yes darlin’- three feet!”
