Johnny Hunter

by Richard L. DuMont

  She laughed and hugged him; they danced until Mrs. Morgan put on one of her old favorites: “Great Balls of Fire.” He quickly pulled her back to their table and she laughed at him. They sat and watched Bobbie, Thomas, and even Richard dancing in a wild display of arm swinging and jumping. Their movements had no relationship to the beat of the music, but all the kids on the dance floor were laughing and clapping, and some of the girls tried to keep up with them.

  The song ended and Mrs. Morgan declared a fifteen minute break from the music. Everyone knew it was so she could go outside to smoke a cigarette. The gym was quieter without the music but still loud with laughing and yelling.

  After a minute, Sarah turned to Johnny. “Why do you think we’re rich?”

  Surprised by the question, Johnny hesitated before he spoke. “Well, you have the nicest house on the reservation, both your parents drive new cars, and your dad owns a construction company in Miles City. Your family has it a lot better than most of us.”

  “Yeah, but we aren’t rich. My mom and dad both work but right now they are paying tuition for my two older brothers who are going to Montana State. Plus, they give a lot of money to St. Andrew to keep it afloat. Without them, and a few donors in Lame Deer and Miles City, this school would have closed. It hurt me when you said we were wealthy.”

  “Oh, Sarah, I’m sorry.” Johnny said, taking her hand in his. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just thought of it as another reason why you wouldn’t want me for a boyfriend. We don’t have any money. I thought that might be a problem for you.”

  Sarah brushed her hand across Johnny’s hair. “That’s part of what I like about you. You work so hard at school and basketball to try to make a better life for you and your family. I know you will get a scholarship for college after high school, and it will be because you are a good basketball player, and your good grades will really help, too. Then you can get a good job and make life better for your parents.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I do.” Sarah bent over and kissed him on the cheek. “Maybe we can go to the same college.”

  Mrs. Morgan had returned and turned the volume up as loud as the small speakers could handle.

  “Sounds like a great plan to me!” Johnny shouted over the noise. “Do you want to dance?”

  “But it’s a fast dance. Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure I can dance as well as those idiots can.” He nodded his head toward the basketball players who gyrated wildly on the gym floor.

  “Okay,” she said, laughing and shaking her head.

  The night flew by. Johnny hated to see it end. As he walked Sarah out of the building, Sarah kissed him on the lips just inside the school doors; he felt it was the happiest night of his life. She ran to her father’s car and waved goodbye before she got in. He climbed into his family’s truck and slammed the door.

  “Hmm” his mother said, “judging by that smile on your face, you had a pretty good night.”

  Johnny smiled at her but didn’t say a word.

  BASKETBALL PRACTICE WAS hot and heavy for the first two days of the next week. The Warriors from the Crow Reservation Indian School were coming to St. Andrew for the annual intertribal game, and Coach Goodheart worked the Chiefs extra long. Each night they ran, dribbled, passed, and shot until well after dark. Johnny had never felt so tired, yet the excitement of this game drove him on. It was the game of the year. All their parents would be there, and Johnny wanted badly to please his father. And, of course, Sarah. As it turned out, it was a game that would have to wait.

  The snow blew sideways into their faces when Johnny and the team walked out to the bus after another hard practice. Coach Goodheart always drove the players home when it was late. Over two inches had already fallen, but the bus lumbered out of the school yard without any trouble. Fishtailing slightly, the school bus headed east, away from Johnny and Richard’s homes. It would travel a lengthy circle around the reservation before dropping Johnny off in forty minutes.

  “Relax, boys!” Goodheart shouted back into the darkened bus. “It’s going to be a long, slow trip home tonight.”

  The heavy snow blew harder against the windshield and the coach slowed down, trying to see the road ahead. The worn-out rubber wipers streaked the wet snow across the glass, making visibility even worse. The snow flew wildly across the white shafts of light from the headlights. Goodheart downshifted and let the bus creep along the slick highway.

  The bus slowly emptied as it crawled along the roads, dropping each player at his driveway. “So long, Thomas!” Johnny hollered as their forward climbed down the bus steps. Thomas stopped for a moment and twisted a green scarf around his neck before starting the long climb up the dirt road to his house. He slipped on his first step and then walked slowly out of sight into the snowy darkness.

  Soon, Johnny and Richard were the only boys left on the bus. “Be careful, Coach!” Johnny shouted as the bus spun its tires returning to the pavement. “You still got your two superstars back here.”

  The coach laughed. “I’ll be careful, all right. With the big game tomorrow, I couldn’t get by without my two shooters. Nobody else on the team seems to get to shoot the ball.”

  “Do you think we’ll play?” Johnny asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s snowing very hard, and the wind is whipping pretty good. I’m having a heck of a time just keeping this old tub on the road. If the roads aren’t safe, they’ll cancel the game.” Goodheart gripped the big black steering wheel with both hands.

  “Boy, I hope they don’t. My dad’s even got Father Shannon to let him off work to watch this game. He might not be able to convince the old padre the next time.”

  “Don’t be so hard on Father Shannon,” Goodheart said. “He’s not as bad as you think.”

  “Sure, Coach,” Richard answered. “He’s really a swell guy.” They laughed and Goodheart couldn’t help but join them.

  Suddenly, the bus slid sideways on a sheet of ice as they rounded a bend on the top of a ridge. Goodheart slowly pumped the brakes, trying to regain control by steering into the spin. Instead, the bus rocketed across the ice, turned around, and slid backward down the hill. “Duck down!” he shouted, spinning the steering wheel wildly. “I can’t stop her.”

  The bus careened like a leaf in a whirlpool toward the guardrail and the creek below. Johnny hugged Richard as they rolled on the floor between the seats. He felt the bus tilting over as it dropped off the road.

  “Oh, God,” Richard moaned, “we’re really going to crash.”

  Johnny opened his mouth to speak but was slammed against the wall of the bus when it crashed through the guardrail and rolled on its side. The noise of screeching metal filled the bus. Like a giant sled, the bus slid down the hill and smashed through a band of small fir trees before dropping five feet onto the frozen waters of Cedar Creek. Sliding smoothly across the ice, the school bus plowed into a snow bank and stopped moving; only the clicking of one flashing red turn signal broke up the quiet of the snow-covered valley.

  Johnny lay on his back, one arm across his face from trying to block out broken glass or flying seat parts. It’s so quiet, he thought. He listened for Richard or Coach, but the only sound was his breathing and the wind whistling through the broken glass of the bus windows. The crash had pinned him down under several cushions and part of a seat.

  Feeling his face, he found a cut above his left eye bleeding slightly. He pulled a handkerchief from his jeans pocket and pressed it into the cut. The gash was about an inch long but not very deep.

  The bleeding stopped almost immediately. Johnny crawled backward under the seat until he felt something soft with his boot.

  “Richard, is that you?” he whispered. “It’s so dark I feel like I’m blind.” He reached around the seat and felt his friend’s face.

  “Richard, are you okay? Don’t be dead, please, don’t be dead.” Fighting back the tears, Johnny put his head on Richard’s chest and listened. The reassuring
beat of Richard’s heart lightly thumped in his ear. Johnny slid his arm under Richard’s head and brushed the hair back off his face.

  “C’mon, Richard, talk to me. I’m scared. You gotta come to.”

  The Amos boy rolled his head from side to side. “Oh, Johnny, you mean we ain’t dead? When we started sliding down that hill, I thought we were as good as buried.”

  Johnny hugged his friend. “Thank God that you’re alive. Can you move your arms and legs? Be careful. Something might be broken.”

  “I think I’m okay,” Richard said cautiously, stretching his arms. “Where are we? This is like being inside a cave.”

  “I think we’re underneath the seats and a bunch of other junk. If you’re ready, let’s try to crawl toward the front and find Coach. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”

  “Which way’s the front of the bus?” Richard asked.

  “I’m not sure, but we’ve only got two choices. Stay close behind me and maybe we’ll get lucky on the first try. Watch out for the broken glass; it’s everywhere.”

  Johnny pushed through the cushions and broken seats until he found a tunnel for them to squeeze through. He felt his way with his hands and slowly crept along. After he ducked under a twisted bar, he stood up. He could see the red taillight blinking behind him.

  “We’re going in the right direction,” he told Richard. “I can see the taillight blinking. We’ve got to be really close to the front of the bus.”

  “Good because I’ve got to stand up. Man, I’m really cramped and sore. Every muscle in my body aches.”

  “Shh,” Johnny whispered. “Did you hear something?”

  “No, I didn’t hear a thing,” Richard said, standing up next to Johnny.

  “Be quiet. I heard it again.” They stood in the darkness and listened. The wind howled through the bus, but then they both heard it.

  “Ohh,” a voice moaned. “Ohh.”

  “It’s Coach,” Richard said. “He’s under that pile of junk and probably suffocating. Let’s dig him out.”

  Johnny grabbed a cushion and flipped it behind him. Coach Goodheart’s face was barely visible. “Careful now; he might have broken bones.”

  The two boys lifted a heavy metal frame off Goodheart. “What’s this thing?”

  “I think it’s the door,” Johnny answered. “Move that seat behind you, and we should be able to see the doorway above us. I think the bus is lying on its side.”

  Richard pushed the seat away from him, and they could see the snow falling in the bus from the doorway over them. The wind hurled the snow through the opening into the bus.

  “Coach, can you hear me?” Johnny whispered. “Coach, are you okay?”

  Goodheart lay still, breathing deeply and moaning.

  “He probably hit his head on the dash or steering wheel,” Richard said. “I think he’ll be out for a long time.”

  “What are we going to do?” Johnny asked, suddenly shivering in the cold. He was wearing a sweatshirt and his sheepskin jacket, but his cap and gloves were lost in the bus. The cold air was creeping in through his leather harness boots. “I guess the first thing we ought to do,” Richard said, “is figure out some way to cover that hole in the bus so that Coach don’t freeze to death when we leave.”

  “What do you mean when we leave? We just can’t leave him lying here,” Johnny said.

  “Well, we ain’t doing him any good just hanging around. See his leg? Hell, it’s bigger than a watermelon where it’s broke. There’s no telling how bad he’s really hurt. He might be out for hours, and you and me are the only ones that know where we are. If we cut out across the hills toward the agency, we can get the doctor to him in a couple of hours.”

  “I don’t know,” Johnny said. “Maybe we’d get lost and then all three of us will freeze to death.”

  “There you go, talking like a white boy. Did you ever hear of a Cheyenne getting lost on his own lands? I could find my way across this reservation blindfolded.”

  “But what if he wakes up while we’re gone?” Johnny put his hand on his stomach to quiet the churning. He just knew that Richard would hear the noise because his stomach was roaring like a rushing river.

  “You don’t have to worry about Goodheart waking up and missing us. He’s a believer and will know we went for help. If you’re scared, just stay here. I can make it by myself.”

  “I’m not scared, but I don’t know what to do.” Johnny was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Okay, I guess you’re right. Let’s find something to use as a cover for the coach and we’ll go.”

  They rummaged through the dark bus and found three cushions that had been torn from the seatbacks. Piling the cushions over the coach to warm him, they moved him slightly so he was no longer jammed against the steering column. Goodheart’s breathing was irregular, his chest jerking up and down with each breath. Occasionally, a moan slipped from his mouth. On his head was a lump the size of a small egg and Johnny placed a gym towel over the lump.

  “Ready?” Richard asked.

  “Ready.”

  They climbed up the seats and out of the door to the top of the overturned bus. Johnny and Richard pulled the broken door behind them and slid it over the doorway, stuffing the gaps with seat covers. They slid down the side of the snow-covered bus and dropped onto the snowbank below them. The wind gusted through the valley and whipped the snow into them. Johnny pulled his jacket around his neck.

  “Which way?” he yelled over the wind.

  Richard pointed toward the hill above them, and they slowly started climbing the frozen hillside. The snow was wet, and they sank into the six inches of new snow. Using trees and rocks for support, the two boys struggled upwards until Richard signaled a stop in a small stand of aspen trees.

  “Look,” Johnny pointed to the wrecked bus, “we’re lucky to be alive. The bus looks like it’s been through a trash compacter. The whole side has collapsed in the back.”

  “The only thing working is the taillight,” Richard said in a whisper.

  “It looks like a wounded animal,” Johnny said. “It’s kind of sad.”

  “Come on, we got a good hour or so of hiking yet before we reach the clinic. After we go between the plateaus, it’ll be downhill and we can pick up one of the mining trails from there. It’s a piece of cake.”

  “Okay,” Johnny said, patting Richard on the back. “Lead the way, oh mighty scout.”

  They marched slowly between the cliffs, protected from the wind and snow by the sheer rock walls above them. The snow wasn’t too deep, but it was covering a sheet of ice from an earlier thaw and the boys slipped frequently as they walked under a large boulder that hung over the side of the canyon walls.

  “That boulder is Hanging Eagle Rock, and it’s marked the trail to the Tongue River for many years,” Richard told Johnny. “The side that sticks out over the edge points south, so we are heading east toward the agency.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” Johnny asked. “I never heard of Hanging Eagle Rock.”

  “Besides the dances, Gray Man and the Ancient Ones teach us many things that you never learned at St. Andrew,” Richard answered. “We’ve been taught to read trails, follow tracks, and hunt with bows and arrows. We even sing the old songs of our people.”

  Johnny shook his head. “It’s amazing that all this secret dancing and teaching has been going on and I never heard of it.”

  “It’s because of your father. He’d never let you come to our meetings, so Gray Man just decided to keep you in the dark. Sorry about that.”

  The two Cheyenne boys reached the end of the plateau. The land, covered in a blanket of snow, fell away from them toward the Tongue Valley and the clinic. Although they were in a blanket of snow, and they couldn’t see far through the blowing precipitation, Richard pointed ahead. His straight white teeth showed in a smile, in spite of the snow.

  “The road’s about a half mile ahead, and then we just follow it home. We should be there within an hour.”

 
“Good,” Johnny said. “I’m frozen stiff. My hands feel like a million pins are sticking them.” He stuffed his pink fingers inside the pockets of his jeans. “Let’s get going. I’m worried about Goodheart back there in the bus.”

  “He’ll be okay,” Richard said. “He’s a tough Cheyenne. Besides, I’m more worried about my ears freezing off than I am about Goodheart.” He capped his gloved hands over his ears.

  Richard started walking again and Johnny trailed behind, stepping in his friend’s footprints. They left the sheltered walls of the canyon and slowly descended into the valley. When the snow eased, they could see the dark form of the valley’s trees across from them.

  “When we make those trees,” Richard shouted over the wind, “we’ll soon find the road.”

  Johnny shook his fist in triumph, when Richard disappeared into the snow.

  Johnny dropped to his knees and crawled forward, the cold quickly piercing his jeans. It was as if a hole had suddenly opened in the snow and swallowed Richard without a sound. Johnny reached the edge of a gulley.

  The snow had blown a false shelf over the culvert’s side, causing Richard to misjudge the edge. The thin, icy sheet had given away under Richard’s weight. Below him, Johnny saw Richard lying twenty feet down in the culvert, his arms spread above him like a child making angels in the snow. Richard Amos did not move.

  RICHARD! RICHARD! ARE you hurt?” Johnny called, cupping his hands over his mouth. He watched, his heart full of dread, until Richard’s arm slowly moved. “Hang on. I’m coming.” Sliding over the edge on his backside, he slowly worked down the steep ravine toward his friend. When he was ten feet above him, Johnny’s feet slipped and he skidded the rest of the way down. He came to rest next to Richard.

  Richard’s eyes were closed, and there was a cut on his forehead. Johnny scooped up a little snow in his hands and gently rubbed it on his buddy’s face.

  “Richard, can you hear me? Come on, this is no time to die on me. I need your help to get us out of here.”

  Richard slowly turned his head until he was facing Johnny. He blinked and opened his puffy eyes. “Ah, it’s you, again. I thought maybe I had died this time, but good old Johnny Hunter saves me twice in one day.”