Apache Winds

by Danny Jewell

  * * *

  APACHE WINDS

  * * *

  Danny Jewell

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Gatekeeper Press

  3971 Hoover Rd. Suite 77

  Columbus, OH 43123-2839

  Copyright © 2016 by Danny Jewell

  All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form without permission.

  Cover by: JOHN ADAM MCINTIRE

  ISBN: 9781619845275

  eISBN: 9781619845282

  Printed in the United States of America

  Thanks to:

  Katherine J. Faulkner for support

  Sheila Sheppard for giving me hope

  Mildred F. Robinson for giving me birth

  GOD for giving me LIFE

  Contents

  1 AN INDIANS LAMENT

  2 SACRIFICES MUST BE MADE

  3 AND SO IT BEGINS

  4 REST IN PEACE

  5 A FOOLS CHANCE

  6 LIVING LEGEND

  7 WHAT WAS, IS NO LONGER

  8 GETTING THE UPPER HAND

  9 A LAST REQUEST

  10 HEADLONG INTO THE PAST

  11 TEARS OF THE FALLEN

  12 DIVIDED WE STAND

  13 DRESSED TO KILL

  14 STICK-EM UP

  15 HOMESICK

  16 MY PEOPLE

  17 BUFFALOED

  18 GOING HOME

  19 SWINGIN

  20 OUT WITH A BANG

  21 REALITY AND DREAMS

  22 THE PAST COMES TO LIFE

  23 A COLD WIND BLOWS

  24 A WARRIORS REGRET

  25 KARMA

  26 ECHOES OF HATE

  27 AMONG THE LIVING

  28 CRIES OF THE FALLEN

  29 IT’S NEVER EASY

  30 LIFE GOES ON

  31 PAYING IT FORWARD

  To all those who read the words written within these pages. This may seem like a condemnation of a government whose choices in history have left scars upon a nation destined for greatness.

  In truth, all facts herein are done so, not to condemn or condone any actions taken by those with a poor sense of knowledge of the first inhabitants of this great land but to inform the reader of a forgotten past in that they may make a better tomorrow for each and every person they may pass this knowledge on to.

  The two main characters are fictitious and any relationships to anyone real is coincidental and only done in order to educate the reader and give them the opportunity to ask “why” and formulate an answer that they can build upon.

  As we have seen. History is built on the blood of the innocent.

  Empires have crumbled and Dynasty’s brought to their knees in the pursuit of fortune and the lust for power.

  Only those who understand it can make the future a better place to live in; not in leaps and bounds but in making a difference; one piece at a time, one voice at a time and so it is with our two characters Zeke (a black man from the ghetto) and Billy (an Indian from the gutter) who along the way will find what is most important in life.

  1

  AN INDIANS LAMENT

  Billy (Two Trees) Matson was a proud Indian. He had two loves in his life. One was his little sister Lilly (White Dove) Matson and the other unfortunately was whiskey.

  Lilly was loved by everyone and worked in the Land Management Office not far away. She always had time for Billy and did her best to help him in any way she could. You see; Billy had a hard time adjusting/finding work and when he did it always turned out bad. Lilly would remind him that lifes answers were never found in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

  One Friday afternoon Billy woke up and figured he would visit Lilly and see how she was doing.

  He knocked on the door and when she did not answer he walked right on in. There he found her sitting on the couch with her face in her hands. He called to her and when she looked up he could see the bruise on her cheek. His blood ran cold. He sat next to her and asked “Who done this”?

  She could not answer at first, then she realized he would not stop until she told him the truth and that he always knew when she was lying.

  Lilly thought quickly and knew she had to soften the impact the story would have on Billy to keep his temper from getting the best of him for he had one and she had seen it first hand when fueled by fire water.

  She spoke softly “Well, you know the agent at the bureau “Joe”, he invited me a picture show over in Albuquerque with some of his friends. I knew from the beginning things would not go well when I heard the whispers referring to me as “The Squaw” “Indian Whore” and the like. After the show they all wanted to go to the local bar for drinks. The name calling got louder and I found myself wanting to go home and asked Joe to please take me home. He said “okay” after talking to his friends.

  When he got me home he stopped at the door and instead of saying good night he pushed me through the door and started manhandling me. I told him to stop and he back handed me; that is where the bruise came from.

  Billy’s hand was on her knee and she placed hers on top of his then gave it a squeeze and with tears streaming down her face said “Billy; he took me and all the while was calling me the same names his friends were calling me at the bar.

  He put his arm around her and then placed her head on his shoulder then she pleaded with him to not say or do anything because they were just Indians on a reservation and nobody would listen to them or care what they said. “Let it go; Billy; let it go”.

  He left her place with a heavy heart and troubled mind. The hours passed and no matter what he thought about he could not find the answers that would make him accept what had happened. His pride of being an Apache clashed with his realization of how the world looked at him and his people.

  The night had fallen and without any answers Billy found himself wanting a drink and told himself it would help clear his head.

  The Buckskin Inn wasn’t far and he waked down the road to it. Just an old adobe building with the name painted over the doorway and the usual totems down each side.

  Billy waked in and heard someone call his name. It was Rick (Tail Feathers) Jones, his best friend.

  He knew everyone at the table and they motioned for him to come over and sit with them.

  He sat down and noticed the usual upbeat mood at the table was gone and asked “Okay, what gives; buddy”?

  Rick was looking down at his beer and in a low tone said “We all grew up here, hunted wild game and done what we could to help keep our way of life alive but in all this time we have all come to know and understand that in such a community as ours word gets around. My sister and yours are best friends and she went to see her today. We all feel your pain and have talked it over. It seems there is nothing we can do. The Government took our land; they changed our Native Tongue then they took our dignity. All that we have left is our pride. We are sorry but we came up with nothing”.

  Billy nodded to his friends and someone put a beer in front of him.

  It was quiet and he could feel the eyes of everyone in the bar upon him and then someone spoke up and said “In the old days this would have been settled like men and very few words would have been used”.

  Someone else spoke up and said These are not the old days and we have been forced to live like dogs who take whatever scraps the government throws at us”.

  Everyone nodded then a waitress who had listened to what w
as said spoke up and said “Billy; you know more about the “Old Ways” and the “Old Chiefs” of days gone by. Tell us some stories to lift our spirits that we may once more leave this place, if only in our minds”.

  Billy told stories handed down through his family and when the name “Cochise” crossed his lips his chest stood out and he held his head high for more than once he had dreamed of the greatest warrior his people had ever known. The one Indian that defeated all odds of survival in a time when survival was almost impossible for someone of his stature.

  Billy finished his story of the warrior by proudly telling of how Cochise’s burial place was done in secret in the Dragoon Mountains of Arizona and that the only white man to know of its location was his good friend Tom Jeffords and nobody to this day knew the exact location.

  Life seemed to come back into the room and the place came more alive with the telling of a new story then the place fell silent as the grave. Through the door walked Joe Wood with two of his friends.

  Those in the Land Management never set foot in this bar. It was an unwritten rule and unspoken agreement.

  Billy had several drinks in him by then and started to come out of his seat only to be caught and settled back down by his friend Rick.

  The three of them walked up to the bar and asked for drinks. Someone shouted “YOU DON’T BELONG HERE” and Joe Wood responded “We just came to see how the other half lived”.

  The Bar Tender told him that he and his friends were not welcome, to which he responded by saying “We better be or you will be out of business”.

  The next two hours were somber and the tension was so thick you could almost see like a cloud of foreboding hanging over the room.

  Joe got up from the bar stool and said he had to relieve his bladder.

  Like so many Juke Joints and off the beaten path watering holes, the bathroom was anything but sanitary and just as the rest of the patrons Joe just went out the back door to water the cactus.

  Billy watched him go and followed in behind him with Rick bringing up the rear to try and keep his friend out of trouble.

  Along the back of the bar there was a wooden fence that was meant to keep out animals and intruders.

  Joe was doing his business when he heard Billy say “Lilly Matson is my sister and you had no right to do to her what you did”.

  It startled Joe for a moment and he turned so quickly that he got the front of his pants wet from things off short and gathering himself back up.

  Joe was a cold man and did not like the job or those he had come to know as “Native Americans” and it showed in the way he spoke to them. He felt they were holding him back from climbing the ladder of success in his political career.

  He looked at the drunken Indian before him and said “I had every right; she and all those like her are here because people like me allow it! You and your little whore of a sister should be thanking me”.

  Billy could not contain himself or control his emotions for the alcohol in him had taken away any chance of reasoning he had. He lunged at the man before him and Joe grabbed him by his shoulders and had Billy’s forward motion carry him into the trash cans. Billy had game, but every move he made to get his feet under him resulted in a fist to his face or a kick to the ribs.

  Billy’s head was spinning and through the haze he heard Joe’s friend say “He has had enough Joe, let him go”.

  Joe answered over his shoulder “I want to make sure that before I deposit this trash in one of those cans, he gets the message not to mess with a real man”.

  Joe dragged Billy to his feet to deliver the final blow, a blow that never came.

  Billy’s mind was racing and his thoughts of what had led up to this moment were a tangled mess. He did not even know what possessed him to do what he did next. Perhaps it was all the suffering he had seen his people go through or the times he felt like an outsider in a world he could not control or the pain on his Sisters face as she wept on his shoulder.

  The young warrior had carried a Bowie knife in his waist band and at that moment when his eyes looked into Joe’s his knife was plunged deep into the man’s chest.

  The agent stumbled backwards and fell leaving Billy to stare at the bloody knife he held in his hand.

  Rick had ahold of Billy and John was at Joe’s side trying to comfort him.

  As Joe was drawing his last breath, John told him he was a fool and should have listened to him when he told him he should not have come by here tonight.

  It was over and Rick urged Billy to run, Billy stumbled off into the night never hearing John tell Rick “I never cared for his attitude and am sorry this happened, not that it will do much good I will say what I saw was self- defense”.

  Rick looked at him and said “It should have never have come to this”.

  By the time the Reservation Police and the Feds had showed up Billy had told his sister, sought council from his father (the medicine man) borrowed his cousin’s motorcycle and headed west.

  2

  SACRIFICES MUST BE MADE

  Ezekiel Henley grew up on the rough side of Pontiac Michigan. His Parents were Creole/French from New Orleans. Discipline was part of order and structure in his youth.

  His friends called him Zeke and he had a good job at the automobile plant.

  He had a wife and two sons that he vowed would grow up and have a better life than he did so he bought into a bar with his father on Maple Street and worked there after his daytime job at the plant was finished.

  For two years he had worked every waking moment at both jobs and knew it was taking a toll on his wife and kids. It was a Thursday night and his father suggested he leave the bar early and spend time with his family. Zeke could not wait to get home, bought a dozen roses and with a smile on his face and a song on his lips drove home.

  Thinking he would sneak up on his wife Annie he eased up the steps on the front porch and quietly opened the front door.

  He had only taken a couple of steps when a sound from the couch caught his attention.

  Ezekiel Henley was not the kind of man to be messed with. He grew up learning to box at the local gym and trained in self-defense by his uncle, Roy. He rounded the corner of the couch to find his wife and best friend (Tim White) in the heat of passion.

  He exclaimed “WHAT THE HELL” and with anger controlling his actions took a step forward and before anyone could react, tossed the flowers aside, grabbed his friend by the hair with his left hand and his unbuckled jeans in his right hand and threw him over the end of the couch. Zeke followed the motion and was on top of Tim “YOU ARE MY BEST FRIEND, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME”?

  Zeke had landed a second blow and had Tim seeing stars. He drew back for a third and before he could have his fist make its mark was set upon by his wife who was half naked from the waste up and pleading for him to stop.

  She was not a big woman and Zeke’s right arm propelled her 7 feet forward as she grabbed ahold of it and sent her headlong into the bookcase sending several books off their shelves and onto the floor.

  He looked up just in time to see her right arm make contact with its frame and he could hear the sound of her arm when it made a sickening “crack”. He had broken her upper arm and she lay crumpled in pain on the floor.

  He gathered up his senses, walked over and picked up the flowers. He looked down at Annie as she lay there in pain with tears running down her cheeks. He took the flowers and tossed them down at her.

  With tears forming in his eyes the only word that he could think of was “Why”?

  She was looking at the floor holding her right arm with her left hand and through the pain she said “You were always working and every time I tried to get close to you, you were always too tired or had business to take care of at the bar. I have needs and Timmy was there when you were not”.

  Annie pushed t
he flowers away as if it were his unwanted love and the silence was broken by one word. “Daddy”.

  In the doorway stood his 5 and 7 year-old sons he called “his little men”. Zeke walked over, knelt down and wrapped his arms around them and said “I love you both and daddy has to go away for a while”. He stood up and as he walked towards the door he looked back and heard Annie say “and don’t come back” as she crawled towards Tim’s motionless form.

  His whole life had crashed down around him and he had only one person he could turn to, his daddy.

  The bar was crowded and he had to park the car a block away. Zeke walked down the sidewalk and heard the sound of some locals singing the blues and gospel across the street. The harmony was so orchestrated that it echoed off the surroundings and seemed to take on a life of its own. He thought it was the one thing that would last forever.

  He entered the bar, found his dad and took him to the stock room.

  When the story was done his dad told him “Boy, you done it now. Well, you can sleep on the cot in the corner and I will call your Aunt Bonnie in Atlanta in the morning. Most likely if Annie turns you in it will take a couple of days before they make it to this side of town, by then ole Doc Billings will have made out an excuse for your job and you will be there till this mess get sorted out”.

  Joe Henley disappeared and came back a few minutes later with Two Hundred Dollars and handed to Zeke. “Take this and go see Bonnie for a few days. Call me every night and I will try to get things worked out on this end”.

  He hugged his dad and said “Thanks Poppa”.

  The old man just lightly slapped his cheek and said “You are the joy of my life and I will always be there for you”.

  Zeke borrowed his dad’s old truck the next day and headed to Atlanta.

  A day later he called his dad and although his dad was doing his best to explain what was going on it wasn’t good enough for his mother and she grabbed the phone and said “Ezekiel Henley, I told you that woman was not right for you. I went over there and when I got there that hound dog Tim was there and I told him to hit the street, she told me it was her house and he did not have to go. I reminded her just whose name was on the papers to get the house and if she did not want a cast on the other arm then he needed to leave and she needed to shut up and listen to what your momma was telling her”.