After the professor pulled out, Charlie sat a few minutes thinking about what had been said. He knew several early cultures had evolved on what is now the Navajo reservation. There were, in fact, several national monuments devoted to them, and they drew thousands of visitors a year. They had, over the years, become an important financial resource for the tribe. But it was big country, and there were still those few Diné who were not afraid of the ancient ones and were sometimes even willing to come up with the occasional artifact, if the price was right. Charlie thought his own people should be taking more responsibility for these ancient sites. Protection of “Cultural Heritage Sites” was not only in the interest of the general public, but that of the Navajo people as well.
8
1075 A.D.
The Way Back
The boy and girl spent the rest of that horrific day of the battle, burying the dead, but only by heaping on rocks to protect them from animals. The marauders were left as they fell. The recovered packs of grain and other plunder were concealed in a hidden fissure, rocked up and secured behind a curtain of brush. The boy thought it would do until they could bring help to retrieve them.
Though it was nearly dark by the time they finished they were determined not to stay another night in that place, and began their weary climb out of the canyon. When they reached the high ledge where he and her cousin had left their packs, he deemed it far enough. Still they did not make a fire or eat other than parched corn from the packs.
They were still three days hard travel from the boy’s village, and though heavily laden, they were young and strong and spurred on by hope of what might lie ahead for them. The girl knew of several short cuts and he was now thinking they would make better time than he and his old father, when they had last come into this country. Those people left in the girl’s village would have already headed south and he hoped his father was with them.
They spent a cold and restless night and the girl shivered despite the woven feather and rabbit-fur robe from her dead cousin’s pack. As the sun rose they were well on their way, and both had time to think as they jogged along under their heavy loads. The boy was certain the girl’s people were not far in advance and knew they would be taken in by his clan. His father would see to that. Were he and the girl not to be married? They would all be family then. And her people brought their own store of food…that would be in their favor, and too, there were still their stolen caches hidden safely away to the north. The newcomers would be people of substance and he was certain they would be treated as such.
The girl kept her thoughts to herself and tried to convince herself of the debt owed this boy who had come for her, despite the many dangers. She had to admit he had many of those qualities generally looked for in a husband, a little young perhaps, but still older than she, and with the skills and intelligence to one day take his place at the council fires. He was not as big or as fierce as her cousin, but had given a good account of himself and she doubted the rescue would have happened without him. He was of the people from the old town to the south and of the old blood––unlike her cousin, whose mother had been chosen by the Holy Ones, then later discarded. When the woman came back to her people, it was because she had no choice, then she had the son that would forever be an outsider; shunned and whispered about behind his back. Always, the boy had a hidden rage lurking just below the surface. Some thought he went too far to the outsider’s blood, through no fault of his own. She knew her father would have had him banished…if he were not his sister’s son.
Her young rescuer carried his bow in his left hand, and three of the arrows plucked from his enemies were back in their quiver, the heads now set in enemy blood. The girl carried his father’s atlatl and the few long darts that were left. The women of his clan were well versed in the use of weapons and he assumed this girl would know at least something about them. At the last moment, the girl picked up the stone-headed club her cousin had dropped; although it was heavy, she was determined to have it as a remembrance of him and his part in the death of her captors.
Once they topped out of the canyon the way would grow somewhat easier and while they would pass through the girl’s home village, the boy had decided to avoid the next two settlements after that, those he and his father had passed through on their way up. Their heavy packs might arouse people’s curiosity and perhaps even cause them to be jealous. Nothing was as it once had been, nor would it ever be again. What lay ahead was uncharted and each day could only be taken as it came.
~~~~~~
The boy left everything, including the girl, hidden in a cluster of cedars then cautiously circled her old village, watching for some time before deciding it safe…only then did he go back for her.
The village was abandoned, leaving only an old woman who lie dying at the side of the elder with the wounded leg, already dead of infection. He had sent his woman’s only child to extract revenge, a boy he considered his son, but he would never know the outcome. The old couple was left food and water but there was little else to be done. It was the survival of the many that was paramount now; the old people knew that and could only wish their relatives luck on their journey.
The two young people spent the night in the girl’s family quarters. She unearthed a hidden cache of sandals and her sewing pouch to add to her pack, along with a shallow bowl, which she carefully wrapped in a piece of buckskin. Her mother had made her that bowl. She had helped decorate it with tiny swallows around the inside rim.
The boy judged they were only a day behind her people now and thought they might easily catch them the next day. There were still those who could not travel so quickly, and that included his father. The girl made a careful tally and judged there should be no more than ten or twelve of her people left, and they mostly women, two or three with children. Her mother and father should be among them as far as she could tell. They had taken everything they could carry, and she was glad they would not go as beggars in these dark times.
The next morning when the girl went to check on the old woman, she was dead. Since the remains were protected in an inside room, they were only covered with woven mats and left as they were. Time was short and neither could say what awaited them down the trail.
The pair gave a wide berth to the other villages in their path and, by the sign the girl’s people left, knew they had done the same. They encountered no trace of raiders and were now far enough south they thought themselves safe. The boy concentrated on catching up to the girl’s relatives, possibly only a short distance ahead. If that were the case, they would find them not far from his village and able to make a proper entrance without causing undue alarm. The boy would be returning as a man, with a wife and a new home waiting, not to mention additional people to share the work of building and bring fresh blood to strengthen the clan.
He would have to speak with his sister and see what guidance she might offer to secure their future. Who could say what she already had planned… certainly more than he.
~~~~~
Autumn lingered, as the boy and girl readied their new house for winter, and the girl’s people settled in and allied themselves with the others. It was then the elders decided it was time a party should return north and retrieve the hidden stores before the first blizzards tore through the canyon and brought life to a standstill. Then there would be time to gather in the kiva and warm themselves at a common fire while they told stories and sang the old songs to their ancient Gods. This is what separates us from those others in the town to the south, the boy thought––those people he once tried not to think of, and now seemed to have trouble remembering.
Frost laced the ground the morning the little band gathered to go north. The boy and girl would show the way and would again avoid the settlements––hoping they would neither hear nor see those people––if indeed any were left in that wild land. No one could be trusted now.
The way north was uneventful. The caches were found just as they had been hidden. The stories of the battle were again to
ld and the account of the girl’s cousin and his fearless attack became an even greater source of pride and strength for those of her people.
The animal-ravaged remains of their enemies were mute evidence of the fierce encounter and most thought it a miracle that even one girl captive had been saved. The graves of their people were properly mourned; their fate became a further incentive to be on guard and away from that dangerous country as quickly as possible.
Just before dark, on the second night of their homeward journey, the boy’s wife spotted a single small girl near the mouth of a rocky draw and would have pursued her if the men had not called her back. It couldn’t be certain the child was alone they said. Silently, several men dropped their packs, and keeping only their weapons gave chase, thinking the child might be of their own people. They were aware she might be a decoy but thought, Surely raiders would not have bothered with so small a girl.
The child first hid from them. She had not eaten in a while and was weak and fearful. When they drew near she ran, but soon stopped and turned when she heard her pursuers call to her in her own language. The men brought her back and allowed the women to decide what should be done with her. It would be foolish to leave her out there where she might give them away or tell others what she had seen.
They found no sign of others and eventually learned the girl was from the second of the two villages that lay beyond their own. That night after camp was made, and with only a little coaxing from the women, the child related her story of hiding in the underbrush as her people were attacked and the village destroyed. The girl was sure she was the only one left, and it was decided to take her along rather than leave her to an almost certain fate. Perhaps the Gods had brought them this girl and who could say what plans they might have for her.
~~~~~~
Winter settled in late, but with a vengeance, blizzard after blizzard howled through the canyons, leaving deep snow to hinder travel and make difficult the collection of firewood or hunting. By the month of popping trees, even the oldest could not remember it being so cold.
And it was then the wolves of winter began to appear––first only one or two, who watched silently from the other side of the canyon; finally, shrugging deep into their blankets they went away. This village on the cliff was not like those to the north; this one would not be so easy.
9
The Informant
FBI Agent Eldon Mayfield took it upon himself to personally notify the professor his work could resume. He surprised George when he appeared interested in the little ruin and seemed curious to hear more about it. “I’ve read some,” he admitted, “After being transferred to the area, and while such things don’t fall under our agency’s specific jurisdiction, they still are under federal mandate.” The agent paused, and then said, as though he had memorized it from a text; “All federal agencies should at least understand the problems facing the preservation of these historic sites.”
The professor was delighted to hear this and immediately launched into a rather detailed overview. “This little site most likely escaped serious attention due to the overgrowth obscuring the alcove. It’s been dug in over the years, of course, all of them have, but it’s never been extensively excavated. Other than a few shallow potholes the kiva remains almost untouched.” He emphasized several unusual features of the little complex and how they differed from others in the area, and then went on to mention several of the other ruins recently worked over by looters.
The FBI man shook his head and frowned over this. “I’m sure the Department of Interior would be interested in those reports.” The Federal agent hesitated, and then continued almost reluctantly. “I’ve recently been made aware of rumors… Professionals, collecting and selling artifacts on the sly.” The FBI agent said this in an unassuming manner, seemingly not calculated to include the good doctor.
The professor nodded thoughtfully and appeared not to consider the information accusatory, though secretly, he was beginning to think the FBI man’s visit might have been more than just a courtesy call from the beginning.
Harley Ponyboy and Thomas Begay, who had remained slightly out of hearing till now, sensed things were not going well and thought the offer of lunch might be a good idea. Ever cautious in the presence of the law, the pair edged forward and wondered aloud to the professor if he wanted them to start lunch, and for how many.
Taking this as a hint the FBI man excused himself, despite the professor’s insistence he stay on for the noon meal. “No,” he said, “I’d best be getting back to Farmington. I have a meeting this afternoon, and what with the road being torn up it makes for a long drive.” He turned privately to the professor. “The agency will be finishing up its reports in the next day or so. I’ll let you know should I need anything further regarding your people’s altercation with the two murdered men.”
The professor smiled and again nodded, but thought this last sounded somehow ominous. As he stood watching Eldon Mayfield gun the government car up onto the roadway, it occurred to him that there might be more to his statement than he let on. He understood now why Charlie Yazzie displayed a certain reticence when dealing with the man. He would have to be more careful what he told the agent in the future.
~~~~~~
Paul T’Sosi stood, hat in hand, waiting for the receptionist to buzz Charlie Yazzie’s desk phone. He had no idea what he would say to the tribal investigator, but thought it important he at least let him know what he’d heard. It would never have entered his mind to go to any regular law enforcement officer with it. Paul T’Sosi was not in the habit of divulging the secrets of those who sought his services. When the buzzer sounded, the old man could hear it even at the front desk and wondered why the woman hadn’t just called out, instead of going through this electronic rigmarole. Why did these people have to make everything complicated?
Charlie leaned slightly to one side for a view of the outer office and seeing the old singer, waved him back, then smiled as Paul set the new black Stetson on his head and made his way through several occupied desks to the investigator’s office. The old man wore the hat in the old fashion; flat brimmed, with no crease. Several office workers smiled as he passed but he paid them no mind, looking neither to the right nor left.
“Come on in Paul… I see you have a new hat.” Charlie gave the hat an approving nod.
“Yes, my daughter thought the old one a disgrace and bought this new one for me. Her blankets are selling well and these days she spends money like it’s water, new house, inside bathroom, a telephone, and is talking about a new truck.” He smiled, “There was nothing wrong with that old hat; I’m sure it would have lasted at least as long as I will.”
The two men grinned, knowing he was probably right. “What can I do for you today Paul? Nothing in the way of legal problems, I hope.”
“No, it’s more in the line of what I can do for you that I have come.”
“Ahh… and that would be?” Charlie was used to a long and convoluted prelude to any conversation with the older Diné, and was surprised when Paul came directly to the point.
“Yesterday, Danny Hat’s sister came by our place. She talked about Danny for a while saying their mother had taken his death pretty hard and all. But when she got down to business she said Harley Ponyboy told her I might be able to help with a little problem she’s having.”
“Oh? Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Yes, I am afraid it is serious. She admitted she and Danny have been using drugs for a while now––after his death she decided she might better quit while her mother still had a child left.” Here the old man lifted an eyebrow. “Harley Ponyboy told her I might be able to help her with that. She told him she didn’t want to go to Health Services. She was afraid some of those girls down there would talk it all over the reservation––she didn’t want her mother to know.”
“Have you talked to Harley about this?
The old man gave a vigorous shake of his head, which caused his hat to go awry. Frowning, he reached f
or a tissue from the box on the desk, folded it lengthwise several times and tucked it inside the hatband. After squinting an eye at the job, he placed it firmly back on his head and appeared satisfied with the fit. “I told Luanne, curing that sort of thing was best left to white medicine, and probably I could not do much about it, at least not ‘til she was clean… then maybe we could work on getting her hozo right.”
Charlie frowned and fixed the old singer with a wry smile. “I knew from the autopsy report that Danny’s death was probably drug related, but it’s interesting Harley knew about Luanne and never said anything about it. We were talking about her only a few days ago.”
Paul T’Sosi shrugged. “You know Harley, he don’t like to point no fingers. He’s been know’n Luanne since they were kids and probably thought I could help make this thing go away and no one the wiser.” He pulled the Stetson back off his head with a frown and inspected the packing, adjusted it slightly, then paused and brushed a bit of dust from the brim. “The thing I really came about…I know now where Danny Hat was getting the stuff. She didn’t mean to tell me but she was upset and it just slipped out.”
Charlie brought his chair upright and leaned forward.
The old man narrowed a cautious eye toward the door. “I would not usually say anything about something told me in confidence, but in this case I don’t see how I can stay quiet about it. There’s been two murders already and another person’s death as well, and who knows if it will end there.” Paul lowered his voice to the point Charlie had to lean even closer to hear. “It was that man from the road crew…James Erdric.”
Wolves of Winter: A Navajo Nation Mystery Page 9
