Another Like Me

by Albert Norton, Jr.

  “You’re going to dictate terms.”

  “You can call it that,” Rupert said. “And you ought to be happy about it. No war.”

  “If they accept,” Jack began, “which they won’t. They still forage some. Anyway, you’re forgetting something. The Diné think they’re the ones who have been wronged. As far as they’re concerned, one of the Apache just shot two Diné—and killed one of them. They might be talking, right now, about coming after you.”

  “We’re not all in one place, but anyway, that just ain’t true,” Cabe said. “They’re wrong about what happened.”

  “This is what I’m trying to say to you,” Jack replied. “It’s not just about what’s true and what’s not. They believe this to be true. You believe something else.”

  “I believe the truth.”

  “That the Diné provoked Bridges, and he defended himself.”

  “And they shot a boy. An innocent boy,” Cabe said.

  “The Patrolman was probably trying to shoot Bridges,” Jack said.

  “And that’s all right?” Rupert asked.

  “No, no, no,” Jack said, both hands up in protestation. “Look, I’m not trying to say everything they did is right. I’m only saying that they do not know about Junie.”

  “Junie?” Rupert asked.

  Jack paused, glad to be the one to inject some humanity back into the conversation. “Junie. Bridges’ son. That’s his name. Look, I care about this as much as you do, but you have to see their side of it. They don’t know about Junie at all. They don’t know about the conflict with Bridges at all. It’s not getting back to them.”

  “All the more reason we have to act,” Cabe said.

  After thirty minutes or so, the men emerged from the house. Peter and Millie had left the discussion early and were already outside, standing in the drive near the horses.

  As they readied the horses, Cabe said, “So I reckon you’re not one of us.”

  “Cabe,” Jack said, “I’m a little surprised at you talking about being one of anything. I thought you were Apache, like the Willises. Free. Independent. Beholden to no one.”

  Rupert answered for him. “Yeah, we’re all free men, but we aim to keep it that way, and there’s no living next to these people.”

  “They’re 200 miles away,” Jack said.

  Cabe spoke up again. “St. Johns ain’t no 200 miles away.”

  “And my very own barn ain’t 200 miles away,” Rupert said.

  “What about you, Peter?” Cabe asked.

  Peter looked at Millie and back at Cabe, and then at Rupert. Jack realized the conflict that would be unique for him. Rupert was an Apache, as was Scott, and that made their whole family Apache, including Millie. Jack remembered Peter’s insistence on checking with Rupert before courting Millie. He wouldn’t want to let their family down, but more than anything, he wouldn’t want to be diminished in Millie’s eyes. It occurred to Jack that Millie held the keys here.

  “When do you leave?” Peter asked.

  Cabe said, “Daybreak. St. Johns. Scene of the crime. Cleveland Street, on the main east-west drag. You can’t miss it.”

  Peter was silent a moment. Millie leaned into him, holding his arm. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “I’ll pray.”

  Jack was relieved that at least Peter didn’t commit. The reference to praying perhaps said something positive about the kind of influence Millie would have on him.

  “Look here, Jack,” Rupert said. “If you’re neutral, that means you don’t go running up there to tell ’em our plans.”

  “Well, that’s a good point, in a way. I’m glad you said that. If there is to be some sort of battle, I’m not rooting for the Diné, I assure you. So I have no interest in helping them win a battle over the Apache.”

  “Good.”

  “But how about we don’t assume there’s a battle. You want to resolve this peacefully, don’t you?”

  “If we can.”

  “Right. But look at it this way. Maybe I can actually help you if I do go up and talk to them first.”

  “Rupert just said—” Cabe began.

  “No, no, hear me out,” Jack said. “I’m not going to do anything behind your back, but listen to me. For one thing, if you show up in force out of the blue, they take that as an act of war. It’s on already. Remember, you’re not their favorite people right now. They’re riled up already, whether we think they have reason to be or not.”

  “So why should we let them get ready for us?” Rupert asked.

  “Because you said you wanted to resolve it peacefully. You have to meet with them. It just isn’t right to show up and start fighting. You can’t dictate terms if you never get a chance to talk to them.” Jack could see the wheels turning, in both Rupert and Cabe.

  “Anyway, you have to understand something particular about the Diné. They don’t have a president or a king who can meet you for a summit, like back in the old days. They all decide things together.”

  Rupert scowled. “That’s why they’re so screwed up in the head.”

  Cabe nodded his agreement.

  “Well, before you go on about being screwed up in the head, who’s the president of the Apache? Anyway, I’m just telling you how it is. There’s no point trying to talk to just one or two of them. If you’re serious about giving them a chance at peace, you need to do it in a way that lets them all participate.”

  “And get ambushed,” Cabe said.

  “You’re smart enough not to let that happen. Anyway, if they’re all there, you could just as easily ambush them.”

  “They’re sneaky,” Rupert said.

  Jack was exasperated. “Okay, just go on up to their stronghold then. Take the one highway north. Maybe just this once they won’t see you coming from about a hundred miles off. Ride on into town, and go right on up to the canyon until you run into some Diné to kill. See how that works out for you. “

  They were silent.

  Chapter 26

  Rupert, Cabe, and Scott moved on, leaving Millie behind. She clung to Peter’s arm, watching them ride off at a canter.

  “Now what?” Peter said.

  “Well, it looks like I’ve got to get back in the car. I’m getting tired of this same stretch of road,” Jack said.

  “Now? You could go tomorrow.”

  “I’d rather go tomorrow, but I think sooner is better.”

  Robin said, “I’m going.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Peter said.

  “I’m going.”

  “Peter’s right,” Jack said.

  “Here’s why I’m going,” Robin said. “You two don’t want me here by myself, usually, and you’re both going.”

  “This is different,” Peter said.

  “It could be a bunch of nothing, but it could be a war zone,” Jack said.

  “You’re both going, and I’m going. How would it be if something happens to you, and I’m here by myself?”

  Peter and Jack both hesitated.

  “And Peter,” Robin continued, “if you don’t go with Jack now, that means you’re going to war with the Apache.”

  Jack noted, not for the first time, the celerity with which Robin was able to think through events. Jack was about to leave, to be on the scene, and maybe to influence events so that there would be no violence. Peter was not going to just sit it out. If he went with Jack, then he was there on a mission of peace. His only alternative would be to go later with Rupert or Cabe or Scott or any of the Apache, and then he would be there as part of the Apache war party. It would be one way or the other, there was no in-between. And there was no way for him to put off the decision.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Peter said to Millie.

  They wheeled away up the drive, leaving Jack and Robin. Robin sat on the stoop to the little back porch, petting Dewey.

  “You know, the same will be true for Millie,” Jack said.

  “We could drop her at her place.”

  “Have you ever tried to throw a cat
?”

  Robin was quiet a moment, trying to visualize.

  “They claw their way back. You can’t shake ’em.”

  Robin laughed. “What a weird image. What makes you come up with that kind of expression? Just being old?”

  A few minutes later, Peter and Millie returned. Millie paused at the stoop, where Robin was still sitting, and Peter made to walk toward the barn, eyeing Jack significantly. Jack fell in step with him.

  “Can I go with you?” Peter asked.

  Jack smiled. He was quite relieved. Not because Peter would be less likely to be in harm’s way because that might not even be true. Rather, it was because he was making the right moral decision. It’s always the way that a young man feels he must prove his valor. It’s a strong pull, in a situation like this, and it would take a strong-minded young man to choose against violence. There is a time to fight, but this wasn’t such a time.

  “Peter, just when I think I’ve plumbed the depths, you show me there’s more.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I admire you. I was your age not so very long ago. I don’t think I had the moral strength you do. You’re a good man.”

  “Fighting isn’t the right thing to do here if it can be avoided. Anyway, Millie’s not like her old man.”

  Jack looked up the drive toward Millie, who was chatting with Robin out of their earshot. Peter was following his conscience, despite the temptation to do otherwise, but it helped that apparently Millie wouldn’t be impressed with Peter going into battle just because there was a battle.

  “She’s a good woman,” Jack said.

  “One more thing,” Peter said.

  “I know, I know. She wants to go with us.”

  Peter just smiled, tilting his head to the side.

  “All right, then,” Jack said, shoving off from the barn and making his way back up the drive, with Peter following.

  “What are our lunch prospects, Robin?”

  Neither Robin nor Millie moved, but looked back at Jack expectantly.

  “If we leave in an hour, we’ll still get there before dark,” he said.

  Robin jumped up and ran into the kitchen. Millie remained motionless.

  “What would Pa say?” Jack asked.

  “My place is pretty much on the way,” Millie replied.

  “He won’t be there, I’ll bet. He’ll be out rounding up Apache.”

  “Mama’s at home.”

  Jack just nodded. No use debating this. Might as well see how it played out.

  To get to the Willis’ house by car was a long way around compared to the overland horse trail that was their usual route. The county road ended at the Coronado Highway, and then they had to go south, not north as they later would to get to Chinle.

  They pulled up to the front door, in the graveled area between the Willis’ barn and house. Penny Willis met them in the yard. Rupert, Cabe, and Scott had already returned and swapped out the horses for their truck and Cabe’s, and were out again visiting neighboring Apache. Jack had hoped to find Rupert at home. Stay or go, what Jack wanted was the least friction with Rupert over Millie.

  Millie jumped out of the vehicle, and Jack got out, too, loitering in the drive so as to be available for Penny. He wanted it to be apparent that he was not advocating for her to go, and either way, he was not taking over as surrogate parent. He would regard Millie as the adult that this world required her to be.

  Not unexpectedly, Penny objected. Millie addressed the issue right there, not bothering to pull her mother aside or take her back into the house. “I’m going,” she said. “If I don’t go with them, I’ll find another way. I’m not staying here while Peter and Daddy and Scott go. And besides, Mama, Daddy, and Scott are trying to go to war. I’m going with Peter to try to make peace. If I don’t go with Peter, then I’m going with the Apache, and they’re going to do battle.”

  Penny’s anxiety was etched into her face. But the argument was compelling. Whatever else might happen, Millie staying at home and out of the affray was not going to be an option.

  In short order, they were on the way to Chinle. Jack was a veteran of several solo trips up and down these roads. Now he had company, but the trip was still mostly quiet, at first, with each of them thinking through what might await them at Chinle. To break the silence, Jack began narrating the places and events that were significant to him along the way, leading up to the confrontation. The spot in Eagar where Jack first encountered zombies. Lyman Lake, where Jack met Bridges and his son Junie. St. Johns, where Jack first spotted the Road Patrol, and just that morning had buried one of them. Sanders, where Jack was shocked by the sudden quiet appearance of space-suited Road Patrol, and where his first escort to the canyon began. The mesa staircase of the desert below Chinle. In between those places, he tried to talk through various scenarios they might encounter at the canyon, but the project was more suited to quiet thought than out-loud locution, so his narrative several times just died out without resolution, as each possibility presented a hydra of other possibilities in response.

  At Sanders, Jack slowed down to a crawl before turning onto I-40. He thought it very likely that the Road Patrol would be out in force, and it was at Sanders that he thought he might encounter them. He felt confident that they’d be allowed into Chinle, but there was a possibility they wouldn’t, and if not, they’d probably be turned back here. There was no sign of Road Patrol yet, so Jack turned west onto I-40, first crossing the bridge so as to enter on the traditionally correct travel lanes, as the Diné riders had done. He was on I-40 only two or three minutes when he saw motorcycles behind him. When he slowed at Chambers to exit and go north, two more motorcycles were waiting at the top of the exit ramp, and they entered the road ahead of him. Now they were in a motorcade just like on that first trip to the canyon. They continued on in silence, but for the sound of engines, across that wide stretch of lonesome, mesa-stepped terrain, across which the highway of imperceptible gradients stretched out over a vast sea of emptiness, save for the creosote bushes, dry grass, lizards, and sand.

  They entered Chinle with trepidation, which did not dissipate as they traversed the wide empty streets and turned east to get to the canyon entrance. Knowing that his passengers would have no idea what to expect, Jack told them that most of the Diné now lived very close to the mouth of the canyon, at a hotel next to a restaurant called Arturo’s, so there was a good chance that they’d encounter Diné there.

  Sure enough, the Road Patrol ahead of them slowed down and were met by yet another pair. They stopped in the middle of the road within sight of the restaurant, surrounded by the six Road Patrolmen. Jack opened the door.

  “Everyone out, please,” the closest Road Patrolman said.

  “Hello, Rafael.”

  “Jack, hello. You were just here. Now you’re back. Con más amigos. These don’t look like fearsome Apache,” Rafael said, as Millie, Robin, and Peter alighted the vehicle.

  “Actually, Rafael, they are. Apache Indians, that is, but not the group the Diné are concerned about. This is Robin, and this is Peter.”

  Rafael shook Peter’s hand. “Amigo.”

  “And this is Millie.”

  “You’re not Apache,” Rafael said, noticing appreciatively her flaming red hair. Millie smiled demurely.

  “What do you want?” Hashkeh interjected. He was a storm cloud over the mood of bonhomie that Jack would have had prevail under the auspices of the affable Rafael.

  “Peace, Hashkeh,” Jack said. “Peace. How about you?”

  “Freedom from Apache,” Hashkeh responded.

  “That’s a two-way street. Anyway, we’re here to talk about it.”

  “Do you represent all the Apache?”

  “Not any more than we represent the Diné. We’re not on anyone’s side.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I already told you. We’d like to meet with the Diné.”

  Hashkeh held Jack’s gaze longer than necessary. Jack didn’
t blink. Eventually, Hashkeh said, “Guns stay in the car.”

  The Road Patrolmen made no move to escort Jack and his coterie. They stood awkwardly for a moment, in the middle of the street, until Jack took to introducing everyone around. No point standing around stewing in Diné indecisiveness and Road Patrol suspicion or malevolence.

  “Roy, you look a lot better than the last time I saw you,” Jack said. “My friends Millie, Robin, and Peter.”

  Roy just sort of bounced his head in a nod of acknowledgment, not sure what his attitude toward them ought to be, especially in front of the other Diné Road Patrollers present.

  “Baum.”

  No response.

  “Rollo, is it?”

  Rollo actually shook his hand.

  “We haven’t met, I don’t believe,” Jack said to the last Patrolman present.

  “Davey.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Davey.”

  While all this was going on, Jack saw one of the mayor types making his way from the hotel. This was Dexter Wallace, the middle-aged and somewhat self-important man Jack had met at the Diné picnic. A time that now seemed long ago. Behind Dexter was a clump of residents. Jack could see that Alma was among them. Following that clump of people were various others, some walking by themselves, others walking in groups of two and three. No children, though.

  While they all approached, Jack kept up a running narrative about his encounters with all of the Road Patrolmen present, sanitizing the stories in some places and embellishing in others, all to the end of making his group nonthreatening and the Patrolmen more honorable in the minds of their peers—and perhaps a little more obliged to Jack, as a result.

  “Mr. Wallace, is it?” Jack said, shaking his hand.

  “Pleasure, Jack, once again. Your visit is timely.” Wallace looked around, deferentially giving at least some of his Diné brethren an opportunity to catch up before resuming. “Are you here on behalf of the Apache?”

  “Glad you asked,” Jack said, speaking up a bit for the benefit of the still-approaching Diné. “No, I’m not here on behalf of the Apache. Like I said last time I was here, I’m not an Apache myself. An outsider is what I’ve been called, both by them and by the Diné, and that label still fits.”