“Foul,” the ref called, after blowing his whistle. He pointed at the boy who had hit Johnny. “I don’t want to see anymore hard fouls like that. Understood?” The Miles City player sheepishly nodded agreement.
Johnny stepped up the foul line and took a deep breath. It was going to be a cleaner game. Not so rough as the last time, he thought. He relaxed, dribbled twice and sank the free throw.
The first half was a seesaw battle with both teams playing hard. The Miles City Mustangs had more bench players, and their coach kept putting in fresh players to try and wear down the St. Andrew team. With two minutes to go, Coach Goodheart called a time. “Everybody okay?” he asked. The starters were breathing heavy and drinking water.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Richard Amos said. “It’s been a tough game and a lot of work just to get a rebound. This is a good timeout, though.”
“I want you to slow down and play for the last shot. Just keep passing the ball around until there are about 10 seconds left. Johnny, you try to get the last shot.” Goodheart put his hand in the middle and the players joined him.
“Go, Chiefs!” they shouted and broke the huddle.
Miles City led 18-16.
Johnny tossed the ball inbounds, immediately got it back, and dribbled to his left while the Miles City guard trying to steal the ball. He passed, got the ball back, dribbled, and passed until ten seconds remained. He drove toward the basket, stopped quickly, shaking off his defender, and sank a ten-foot jump shot as the buzzer sounded. Tie game.
The St. Andrew fans stood and cheered as both teams ran toward the locker rooms. “Way to go, Johnny!” his father shouted to him.
The boys ran down the stairs to the basement and into the locker room; they laughed and patted each other on the back until Coach Goodheart walked in. He clapped his hands and smiled. “Great half of basketball. You played hard and clean but need to play even harder in the second half. I want you to bring the ball up nice and slow for the first five minutes. I hope that lures them into a slower pace of play. I’ll call time out and then I want to run our fast break offense and maybe make some easy baskets.”
He pointed at the other guard, Bobbie Whitehorse. “Bobbie, when we start to run, get the ball in Johnny’s hands quickly. He’s our best dribbler, but everyone run up court and he’ll spot someone open.”
“Let’s go!” he shouted and the team ran through the locker room door and up the stairs to the gym.
The referee blew his whistle and tossed the ball above the two players for the center jump to start the second half. The taller Mustang player tapped the ball to his guard, who was already running toward his basket. He had two steps on Johnny and easily banked the ball into the basket.
Johnny grabbed the basketball and passed it inbounds to Bobbie Whitehorse, who bounced it back to him. He started racing up court when he saw Coach Goodheart signaling with his hands to slow down the pace.
The Chiefs set up their slowdown offense, passing the ball back and forth in the backcourt. Johnny played point guard, tossing to each corner player as Miles City grew frustrated with the pace. When they double-teamed Michael Amos, he flipped the ball to a wide open Johnny, who sank a fifteen-foot jump shot.
Quickly inbounding the basketball, the Mustangs raced up court, but the Chiefs clamped down defensively on each player. Double-teaming and aggressively attacking whoever got the ball, they forced Miles City to pass backward until they risked a pass inside. Michael Taos intercepted the ball and passed it to Johnny. Once again, the Chiefs slowly brought the basketball up court and repeatedly passed to each other. A minute ticked off the game clock when Miles City double-teamed Johnny. He jumped over their heads and fired the ball to Richard Amos, who was left alone. Richard banked in an easy layup for two points.
As the game wore on, frustration grew for the Mustangs, but they still only trailed by two points. Playing aggressive defense, they had accumulated seven fouls trying to steal the ball. Their center angrily yelled at his point guard to get the ball to him. The guard tried to lob a pass into him, but Michael Taos intercepted the pass. He waited for the players to clear and handed the ball to Johnny, who slowly dribbled toward the Chiefs’ basket. Johnny couldn’t help but smile.
With four minutes left on the game clock, Coach Goodheart called a timeout. The players gathered in a circle around him to listen.
“Okay boys, it’s time to kick into our fast break offense. When we rebound the ball or after a basket, inbound to Johnny and everyone race to the other end.
“Johnny, you know what to do. Just like practice.”
The referee blew the whistle, and both teams broke out of their huddles. The Miles City boys walked slowly to their positions, not paying much attention to the Chiefs. The ref handed the ball to Bobbie Whitehorse, who inbounded it to Johnny. He dribbled once and then threw the ball down court past the Miles City defense to Michael Amos, who made an uncontested basket.
Part of the faster pace consisted of full court defensive pressure. The Chiefs seemed to be everywhere, and the Miles City guard panicked and threw it into Bobbie Whitehorse’s hands. He dribbled twice and made another easy layup basket. Before the Miles City coach could call time out, Johnny grabbed the next inbound pass and dropped another fifteen-foot jump shot. They were suddenly winning by six points with around two minutes left to play.
After the Miles City time-out, they placed their tallest player at the foul line, where he easily caught the high inbound pass and handed the ball to his point guard, who then dribbled into the Chiefs’ half despite Johnny’s best effort to steal the ball. There were two quick passes with one to the center, who dropped in a hook shot over the shorter Michael Taos.
Johnny took the inbounds pass and was met just over the half court line by a pair of Mustangs. He managed to flip a pass to Thomas Brown Bear, who missed an easy shot.
Miles City pushed the ball up court quickly, trying to catch the Chiefs before they could set up their defense. Johnny went for a steal but missed, leaving his man alone. The Miles City point guard drove toward the basket and banked the ball into the net. The Mustangs were within two points with less than one minute to play.
Johnny looked to the coach, checking for a time-out, but Goodheart just waved him on. The Chiefs set up their four corner offense, trying to eat as much clock as they could. With thirty-five seconds left, the Mustang guard fouled Bobbie Whitehorse. He stepped to the foul line.
Johnny patted him on the behind. “C’mon Bobbie, you can do this. Relax and take a deep breath.”
The St. Andrew fans were cheering wildly when Bobbie stepped up to the foul line. He bounced the basketball twice and smoothly shot the ball. It hit the front rim and fell to the floor. Bobbie backed away from the foul line, made the sign of the cross on his chest, and took the ball from the ref. He took a deep breath, bounced the ball twice, and smoothly sent the ball toward the basket. This time the ball landed gently on the rim, rolled all the way around it, and it fell off into the hands of the Mustangs.
“It’s okay, Bobbie!” Johnny shouted, clapping his hands. “Get back on defense.” They ran toward the Miles City end and set up a tight man-to-man defense as the clock ticked down to ten seconds. A Mustang player forced a shot, which missed, but the Miles City center grabbed the rebound and put it back in to tie the game.
Bobbie grabbed the ball and tossed it to Johnny. Dribbling the length of the basketball court, he drove down the middle, and with two seconds left, he tried to bank the ball in. A Miles City player hit him hard on the right arm and shoulder, and he fell to the floor as the ball fell with him.
This time a foul was called.
Richard Amos helped Johnny to his feet. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
The referee stood at the foul line with the ball. “Can you shoot the free throws, son?” he asked.
“I’m good,” Johnny answered, taking the ball. He looked at the game clock, which showed just two seconds left. The crowd grew quiet. Only his
teammates were shouting encouragement. Dribbling the ball three times, Johnny slowly released it, and it swished through the net.
The St. Andrew crowd jumped to their feet, screaming and cheering, clapping their hands. The tribal drummers pounded on their drums; the noise in the gym grew ever louder as Johnny stepped to the line for his second foul shot. Once again the ball swished cleanly through the net.
Miles City grabbed the ball and tossed it to half court. The Mustang player grabbed the pass and threw a wild shot at the basket. The basketball fell way short, ending the game.
The Chief players mobbed each other, falling in a pile on the floor. Their fans poured onto the court, joyfully waving and shouting.
On the other end, the Miles City Mustangs stood silently; they shook their heads, and a couple of them had tears in their eyes. Their coach tried to console them but couldn’t be heard over the noise.
Finally, Coach Goodheart was able to reach the players and pulled them out of the crowd. “Line up, boys.”
The Miles City team formed their own line, and the two teams passed each other, shaking hands and congratulating each other on a great game. Johnny’s nemesis from the first game shook his hand, and Johnny gave him a hug. They smiled at each other.
Walking toward the locker room, the St. Andrew fans had formed a human tunnel and cheered the players as they passed. Johnny smiled and thought, What a game, what a game. Man, I love basketball!
SATURDAY MORNING, JOHNNY slowly woke up. As he lay in bed, he smiled reliving the second Miles City game. A dream come true, he had sunk the two free throws to win the game for the Chiefs. Even though the early morning sun was peeking through his window, he felt so good, he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep to enjoy the victory a little bit longer, especially the part where Sarah Pretty Feather gave him a kiss on the cheek after the game. He pulled his wool blanket up to his shoulders.
“Why are you smiling?” his mother asked as she gently rubbed his shoulder to wake him.
He sluggishly opened his eyes to find his mom sitting on the side of his bed. His skin flushed, and he took her hand in his. “Oh, just remembering the game.”
“You played really well and made me and your father very happy.”
Johnny sat up in bed. He wore a sweatshirt and jockey shorts as his pajamas. “Is it late?”
“Not for most people, but not your grandpa. He’s in the kitchen, drinking black coffee and grumbling about you sleeping in so late. He wants you to go rabbit hunting with him this morning.”
“I better get up then or he’ll be in here dragging me out of bed.” He sat on the side of the bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. Minatare handed him a plaid shirt and some clean socks out of his dresser.
“Better put on two pair of socks,” she said. “It’s very cold outside.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s still sleeping. He had a late night after the game.” She frowned and shook her head. It had been early in the morning before Billy had staggered into the house and collapsed on the bed in his clothes.
Johnny patted her gently on the shoulder. “I guess he just wanted to celebrate our win.”
Minatare smiled sadly but didn’t say anything else.
In the kitchen, Gray Man sat at the table, drinking his third cup of scalding black coffee. He greeted Johnny: “Good to see you up and about. I’m sure the rabbits are sleeping in too.”
“They’d be sleeping in, too, if they won a big game yesterday.” Johnny sat down, yawning. A hot bowl of oatmeal sat in front of him, and Minatare brought him a tall glass of milk. She tousled his hair.
“My little hero,” Minatare said, smiling broadly.
Gray Man finished his coffee, got up, and put the cup in the sink. “I’ll go get the horses ready. We’ll be using saddles today. Bring your .22 rifle and I’ll get my 12 gauge shotgun.”
The old man slipped his long sheepskin coat over his faded plaid shirt. “And I heard it was a good game,” he said. Cold air rushed in when he opened the door.
Johnny hurriedly finished his oatmeal and milk. He returned to his room, found his galoshes and pulled them over his boots. Snapping the boot’s metal clips, he then pulled on an old wool sweater. Minatare help him into his sheepskin jacket and pulled a dark blue cap with ear flaps, tying its strings under his chin.
He reached under his bed and pulled out the .22 rifle, and then opened the top drawer of his dresser and grabbed a box of cartridges. “I’m set, Mom”
“Just promise me you will be careful. Guns scare me.”
Johnny hugged her. “I’ll be very careful, and some rabbit stew would taste so good.” He let her go and went outside, where Gray Man was sitting on his horse, holding Thunder’s reins in his hands.
“Let’s go, Hunter. The rabbits won’t wait forever.”
They rode slowly down the road past Logan Badger’s house. Smoke poured from the chimney, and Johnny thought how nice and warm it would be inside. Gray Man was silent as they rode; it was a comfortable silence.
The wind picked up but the snow fell lightly, and they easily turned off the road and into the woods. Circling around the trees, Gray Man signaled to stop. “We’ll leave the horses here and walk this cornfield, maybe kick up a bunny or two.” He climbed off his horse, leaving his bow on the saddle.
Johnny slid off Thunder and pulled his .22 from its holster. He pushed cartridges into the rifle’s chamber. “I’ll walk on the outside, Grandpa. Anything I scare up will probably run toward you.”
The snow was about four inches deep, which made walking a little tough, but they had hunted in much worse conditions. Gray Man and Johnny started slowly walking up the field toward a creek and a large stand of old pine trees. The cornstalks were bent over and crackled as they moved; as quietly as possible, they watched ahead for any movement. Johnny loved the whole experience of hunting: the cold, crisp wind blowing on his face and just being with Gray Man, away from civilization and the complications that arose from it.
“There she goes!” Johnny shouted when a rabbit hopped up in front of him. His heart pounding, he released the safety and raised the rifle to his shoulder. Leading the rabbit, he squeezed the trigger, and the cottontail flipped over and lay still. Johnny shouted happily and ran to find the rabbit dead from a head shot.
Gray Man stood there smiling. “You are a good hunter,” he said and patted Johnny on the head. “You make an old man proud that you are a Cheyenne.” Gray Man took his hunting knife from its sheath and handed it to Johnny.
Johnny took the knife, slid it into the rabbit’s belly, and slit it from tail to chest. He grabbed the rabbit by the head and white tail and forcefully swung it until the guts and intestines of the rabbit flew out onto the ground. He slid the still warm rabbit into a plastic bag and into his jacket pocket. He wiped the knife blade on some grass and handed it to Gray Man.
Sliding the knife back into its leather sheath, he said, “It is always good to leave something behind for the coyotes and the hawks. We have taken a life, but these guts will help other animals make it through the winter. It has long been the way for the Cheyenne.”
They resumed their careful walk down the field, kicking at small brush piles and watching for the sudden movement when a rabbit would explode from its hiding place and dart away from them. They tended to run in circles when Johnny scared them up, and they raced in front of Gray Man. Using his double-barrel shotgun, the old man was still an excellent shot, hitting almost all the cotton tails he shot at.
By the time they reached the trees and creek, they had killed five rabbits between them. They turned around and started walking up the other side of the field. The wind was in their faces and felt colder, but Johnny was still warm from excitement. His feet felt cold, so he stopped and stomped them on the frozen earth.
Gray Man turned and moved his hands down, wanting Johnny to be quiet. He peered into the snow.
“What it is?” Johnny whispered.
Gray Man pointed toward the snow-
covered trees where their horses waited. A small herd of mule deer, grazing along a frozen creek, was barely visible. They chewed on a few willow shoots, frost puffs blowing from their noses. The dominant male mule deer stood off to the side of the herd, keeping a watchful eye for danger. He occasionally raised his head and bellowed a loud call.
Crouching down, Gray Man whispered, “If we can kill a mule deer, we won’t have to hunt rabbits for a long time. I wish I had my bow. My shotgun is no good for mule deer hunting. It destroys too much good meat. I think you will have to shoot it with your rifle. Don’t shoot the male; their meat is too tough. So, pick out a doe to kill. I will creep up on the herd from the left. You sneak down on the right side. The wind is in our favor, so we should be able to get close.”
“What do you want me to do, Grandpa?”
“When I make a bull mule deer’s call, the herd will become distracted but it shouldn’t scare them off. The females will continue grazing while the bull will be looking to find me and run me off. My call will be your signal to crawl in as close as you can. Lie on the ground and take careful aim at the mule deer’s chest, just behind the front legs. Be ready to quickly shoot twice as the .22 may not be powerful enough to drop a mule deer.”
Johnny shook his head in agreement, his heart pounding in excitement.
The two Cheyenne moved slowly and silently through the snow until they could better see the mule deer herd. Johnny counted eight mule deer, including the bull. He crouched down and continued walking quietly. He saw several females grazing near the creek. He heard the trumpet call of a bull mule deer. Gray Man was squatting low, bellowing loudly.
The bull raised his head, and Johnny could see his giant antlers moving as he sniffed the air for the scent of another male mule deer. Gray Man repeated the bellow and crept a little closer to the herd before repeating the call.
Dropping to all fours, Johnny crawled forward, stopped, and crawled some more. Feeling he was close enough to get off a shot, he lay down and tried to sight on a doe. Then he saw a ghost-like figure gliding among the herd. Johnny blinked and rubbed his eyes, but the spirit slid among the mule deer, finally stopping next to a small doe nearest to him. The white, wispy figure, which looked female, pointed at the mule deer.
Johnny Hunter Page 6
