Johnny Hunter

by Richard L. DuMont

  “Yeah, I found you, but what happens now? I don’t know how to get back by myself. Can you walk?”

  “Maybe, but you’re still going to have to lead us out. My head hurts me something awful, and I can hardly see. Besides, my arm feels like it’s broken. You’ve got to take over as chief scout.”

  “Okay,” Johnny said. “But you got us into this mess and you have to help me!”

  Johnny slowly pulled Richard up to a sitting position. He rolled his head and groaned. “Oh, every bone in my body aches,” he said. “I think I broke all the bones that I missed when the bus crashed.”

  “Can you stand?” Johnny asked him. He put his arm around him. “Come on, old timer. Let’s see if you can walk.”

  Leaning heavily on Johnny, Richard tried a few steps. “I guess I’ll be okay, but you got to walk slow and don’t bump my arm. It’s killing me.”

  “Sure, I won’t leave you behind to freeze to death in this hole. Hang on to me and we’ll climb out of here.”

  Johnny slowly crawled up the other wall, which was only ten feet high, dragging Richard with him until they were back on top of the mesa.

  Richard wrapped his good arm around him. “Can you get us both out of here?”

  “Well, I’m a Cheyenne too, you know. I think I can get us home.”

  Richard smiled through his swollen eyes. “Let’s go, then.”

  The wind picked up, blowing the snow sideways, which made the trip down the hill treacherous. Johnny walked slowly, trying to keep his friend from falling. He looked for the trees, knowing that they had to be close. It seemed they had been walking for hours. The dark clouds and whipping snow made it impossible to guess the hour of night, but it was growing darker all the time.

  “Do you see the trees?” Richard asked.

  “I can’t tell,” Johnny answered. “It’s dark and there’s so much snow. I can’t see very far.”

  “Keep looking. We’ve got to be close. When we get there, I want you to leave me and take off for the agency. You can send help for me and Coach.”

  “We’ll see,” Johnny said. “Right now I just want to find those trees and rest for a while.”

  He squinted into the blinding snow. He thought he saw a dark form ahead, but the snow blew in his eyes and he couldn’t be sure. He blinked and the form moved.

  “What’s wrong?” Richard asked. “Why did you stop?”

  “Something just moved in the snow,” Johnny whispered. His voice trembled.

  “Who’s there?” Richard shouted.

  “Be quiet,” Johnny hissed. “It might be a bear.”

  “It’s no bear. I think it’s a spirit come to help us find our way back.”

  “How can you know that? You can’t even see.”

  “I don’t have to see,” Richard said. “It’s here to guide us. Just follow the spirit and we’ll be safe.”

  Johnny hesitated. He wasn’t even sure he had seen anything, and he wasn’t about to wander off after some dark form because Richard said it was a friendly spirit. The snow continued to fall.

  “It’s gone, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t see anything right now.”

  “It’s because of me,” Richard said. “It’s your spirit, and it doesn’t want me around. I can feel it. Just leave me here and follow the spirit and it will lead you to the clinic.”

  “Man, are you nuts? I’m not going off in the woods after some bear and leave you here to freeze to death. We’re in this together. Anyway, I thought we were going to find the trees first. We don’t even know where we are.”

  Richard sat down on the frozen ground. “I’m staying here. You might as well take off because I ain’t moving.” He wrapped his arms together for warmth.

  Johnny stood silently and looked up at the snow clouds. He had seen this stubborn side of Richard before. No one was ever able to make him change his mind once it was set.

  “Okay, I’ll go. It will give me a chance to be the hero all by myself. Besides, when I see that bear up close, I’ll move that much quicker.”

  “That was no bear,” Richard said, his face stern. “You’ll see soon enough. Now, get going; it’s cold on this snow. If I get frostbite, I don’t want them to have to remove any of my excess padding.”

  Stepping through the drifting snow, Johnny walked slowly away from Richard. He headed toward the horizon, hoping that it was the right direction. If he was lucky, the road to the agency would be just ahead. He turned to see Richard, but the driving snow already hid his friend. He struggled on, the snow whipping his eyes shut. The trees, once so close, were now completely out of sight. “Maheo, help me,” he prayed. “I am alone and lost.”

  The dark form suddenly appeared before him, waving her arms to him to follow her. The shadow looked like his grandmother—the same spirit he had seen on the mule deer hunt. Johnny squinted, trying harder to make out the strange form that beckoned him. He tried running after her, but she would quickly vanish from sight. Finally, he slowed his pace and let the strange wispy shadow lead him over the frozen Montana prairie. While Johnny struggled in the deep snow, the figure glided over the ice and snow like she was on ice skates.

  “Grandmother, is that you?” he called out.

  The dark form stopped for a few seconds at the sound of his voice before continuing on. Johnny thought she might have actually waved at him. He shook his head. I must be going snow-blind, he thought. Still, he didn’t hesitate to follow the shadowy form as it led him across the reservation.

  He looked for her tracks in the snow, but the blowing and drifting made it impossible to find any signs. Besides, he wasn’t sure if ghosts left footprints in the snow. Since he was hopelessly lost, he had little choice but to follow his mysterious guide. Time seemed to stand still as he trudged up a steeply sloped ridge. He was no longer sure how long he had been walking. The whole world was a dark white blanket, covering everything as far as he could see in an endless sea of white.

  He began to feel very tired. His legs were as heavy as lead, and they sank deeper into the soft snow. It grew harder and harder to keep his eyes open. Johnny gradually sank to the ground and curled up in a ball. Though he was cold, delicious warmth crept into his body. He lifted his head, waved toward the dark figure, and fell asleep.

  A strong female voice interrupted his sleep. “Johnny Hunter, why do you rest when your friends need you? Get up and go for help.”

  Johnny slowly opened his eyes. “Who’s there?” he called out. “Grandmother?” Looking around, there was nothing but snow for as far as he could see. But the storm had subsided, and very few light flakes were still falling. He sat up and brushed the ice from his hair and eyebrows.

  Had he been dreaming or had someone really called to him? Was it his grandmother’s voice? He stood and squinted into the snow-covered hillside. There was no one in sight, and it was quiet; the howling wind had disappeared with the heavy snow.

  “Maybe I’m going crazy,” he said out loud. “But maybe I’m not. This could be a spirit sent by Maheo to help me find my way out of this blizzard. Richard sure seemed to think it was a ghost sent to help us.”

  Johnny saw the form flash in front of him and stepped into the snow after it. “Help me, Grandmother’s spirit—like spirits have always helped the Cheyenne. Gray Man told me that each Cheyenne has a spirit, and I sure hope you are mine.”

  It seemed to Johnny that the storm lessened and he could see the sky starting to get lighter, like the moon was trying to break through the thick clouds. He stood up straight and continued to struggle up the side of the hill. When he reached the peak of the hill, his heart started racing. Below him lay the familiar shapes of the agency buildings. The yellow light from the clinic door glimmered brightly across the snow, glowing brighter than any star he had ever seen.

  “Unbelievable!” he shouted. “I made it. Thank you, Grandmother!”

  He ran down the hill through the heavy snow, kicking a path as he went. He felt like a powerful snow plow, blasting his way ac
ross the smooth white hillside.

  THE OVERHEAD LIGHT flashed to life, burning its way into his deep slumber. Summer fun filled his dreams—he was swimming in the creek behind the Badgers’ house. The sun felt warm and bright. The light of the sun slowly changed to the light bulb in the agency clinic, and Johnny woke up. He kept his eyes closed for an extra minute.

  “Johnny, are you awake?” The voice sounded familiar.

  “Sure, Father. I’m awake.” He opened his eyes to see Father McGlothlin bent over him, his dark eyes smiling. The priest was thirty with brown hair and a straight nose. A thin man, he stood well over six feet tall and had been a good basketball player in his high school days. Father McGlothlin had spent many hours working with Johnny on his jump shot.

  “What time is it?” he asked, pulling himself up on the pillows. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping for a week.”

  “Not quite that long, but you’ve been sleeping for about twelve hours or so. You really needed it after all you’ve been through. You’re a regular hero, you know.”

  “Ah, Father, I didn’t do anything. Richard got us most of the way back.”

  “Don’t be so humble. Richard and Coach Goodheart are both lying safely in bed in this clinic because of you. Thanks to you and the grace of God, they’re going to be okay.”

  A big smile crossed Johnny’s face. “You know, I did do pretty good.”

  Father McGlothlin patted his hand. “I’m very proud of you.”

  Johnny shrugged his shoulders and scratched his ear. “How is Coach doing?”

  “The ambulance from Miles City is driving him to the hospital today. After about six weeks in a walking cast, his broken leg should be as good as new. It’s a good thing you boys didn’t try to move him or it could’ve been a lot worse.”

  “They’re not going to send Richard to the hospital, are they?”

  “No, I don’t think so. His arm has already been set, and unless something new develops, he’ll be out of here in a couple of days.”

  Johnny rested his head on the pillow and pulled the blue sheet around his shoulders. He yawned. “Oh, I’m sorry Father. I guess I’m still sleepy.”

  “Not too tired to see your folks, I hope.”

  Johnny’s eyes lit up. “Are they here?”

  “They are. Should I get them?”

  “Yes, Father, please do. There were a few moments last night when I thought I’d never see them again.” He brushed the black hair out of his eyes and buttoned the top button of his pajamas.

  When Father McGlothlin walked out of the room and disappeared down the hall, Johnny looked around the clinic. He had been in it many times for shots and checkups but had never paid any attention to it before. The walls were a faded blue, and a brown chair and the single bed were all the furniture in it. A heart monitor and some other medical equipment filled the rest of the room. Through the sheer curtains on the window, the glare of white from the sun reflected off the snow. If he had been outside today, he would be with his friends sledding down the long hill behind the school. They had not returned to Dead Man’s Hill since finding Moody’s body.

  He heard voices coming; the door flew open and his parents and Gray Man rushed into the room, followed by Father McGlothlin. His mother ran to the bed and hugged him. “Johnny. Johnny are you all right?” she asked, her eyes wet with tears.

  “Sure, Mom. I’m fine.” He hugged her to him, enjoying the warmth and smell of her.

  “You did real good, Johnny,” his father said. “You’ve made the Hunter name something to be proud of on this reservation.”

  Johnny reached out and squeezed his father’s calloused hand. “Thanks, Dad. It’s nice to hear that. I’m glad you’re proud of me.”

  His father withdrew his hand after a minute.

  “Gray Man’s here too,” his mother said. She sat down in the only chair and clung to Johnny’s hand. Tears ran down her full cheeks from her dark eyes.

  Gray Man stepped up to the bed as Billy Hunter walked back into the corner of the room. The old man had the look of power and magic on his face that Johnny had seen before at the first dance in Spirit Canyon.

  “You are a man today, Hunter,” Gray Man said, his deep voice filling the room.

  He put his hand on Johnny’s head. “In my youth, every Cheyenne boy had to prove himself by an act of bravery, and you have performed your deed exactly as our fathers would have. You have made my heart so full of pride that it pounds like a young stallion in this old chest. The snows will fall many times over before the bravery of your act fades from the memory of the Cheyenne.”

  Johnny felt his face grow warm at his grandfather’s words. It embarrassed him, yet he clung to every word, savoring them. Gray Man could raise him to such heights, much higher than his father ever could.

  No one spoke. It was as if Gray Man’s words had made time reverse itself and they were all an ancient people.

  Father McGlothlin coughed nervously. “Tell us about it, Johnny. You haven’t done anything but sleep since you stumbled in here last night and tried to tell your story to the agent. The agency police said you fell asleep a couple of times in the Jeep when you led them back to Richard and Coach Goodheart. Even the noise of the snowmobiles couldn’t keep you awake long enough for the whole story. Why did you boys leave the bus after the crash?” Father McGlothlin asked.

  “Well,” Johnny said after thinking for a minute, “it was mostly Richard’s idea to head out on our own to find the clinic. Coach was knocked out and the bus had slid way off the road. We didn’t know if anyone would find us before morning, so Richard led us off across the high plateau to the clinic.”

  “Oh, that was so dangerous,” Mrs. Hunter said. She squeezed Johnny’s hand even harder.

  “It was, but we might have frozen to death in the bus. Besides, Richard said any Cheyenne could find his way through a little snow storm.”

  “True,” Gray Man said. “Richard Amos speaks wisely for being so young.”

  Billy Hunter walked over to the foot of the bed and leaned against the mattress. He gave Johnny’s foot an awkward pat. “Go on, son. Finish your story.”

  Johnny started talking again. “We were moving along pretty good when we passed Hanging Eagle Rock. Richard knew we were getting close then, but it started snowing even harder. That’s when Richard fell into a giant hole and disappeared. I thought he was dead. I think that’s when he broke his arm, but all I knew was he couldn’t see too good. I figured he had a concussion or something and it scared me.”

  “Did you pray?” Father asked.

  “I sure did. After a while Richard felt good enough to start again, but we hadn’t gone too far when we saw it.”

  “What did you see?” Gray Man asked, his face alive with excitement.

  Right then Johnny realized that Gray Man knew about his vision. “It’s kinda…hard to describe,” Johnny said softly. He wondered if there was a way to get out of telling at all. “I’m getting kind of tired and I’d like to rest now.” He dropped his head back into his pillow.

  “Sure, baby,” his mother said, pulling his sheets up to his chest.

  “No, Johnny Hunter,” Gray Man said. “You must tell what you saw on the hill in the snowstorm.”

  Johnny looked into Gray Man’s eyes. A thousand fires seemed to be burning brightly inside those black coals.

  “This is kind of weird,” he said, staring at the gray ceiling. “Maybe I was snow-blind or crazy, but I swear I saw Grandma’s ghost waving to me to follow her. Every time I would get lost or feel like quitting, this dark form would appear and call me to her. Once, when I fell asleep, she woke me up to keep me from freezing to death. It was like she was really there.”

  “That’s crazy talk!” Billy Hunter shouted loudly. “There ain’t no such thing as ghosts. You must have been outta your head from the crash and the snow and ice.”

  “No, you are wrong, Billy,” Gray Man said. “I felt my wife’s spirit myself last night. She was here to help Johnny Hunter li
ke the spirits have always helped the Cheyenne.”

  “That’s bullcrap,” Billy said, his chest heaving. “Excuse me for saying that, Father, but this old man’s trying to twist my boy’s mind around to his Indian way of thinking. Tell Johnny there ain’t no ghosts.”

  Father McGlothlin curled his lip between his thumb and forefinger for a minute. He put his hand on Billy Hunter’s shoulder. “It’s very difficult to answer that question, Billy. Many people of all walks of life have reported talking to ghosts and spirits. I’ve never seen them, but I can’t swear there aren’t any.”

  “Aw, Father, you’re just avoiding the answer so you don’t hurt Gray Man’s feelings. Anybody with the least bit of sense knows that there’s no ghosts.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Johnny said. He felt the tension growing in the room. “Besides, it’s not worth fighting over. I’m here and Richard and Coach are safe; that’s all that really matters.”

  “Good thought,” Father McGlothlin said.

  Johnny sank back in his pillow, closing his eyes. He sighed a deep breath, hoping the impending argument would pass. The room was silent until Gray Man walked over to the window and stared out at the snow.

  “Everyone is safe,” he finally said, his voice rising. “But all three would be dead if this boy’s special spirit had not come to guide him through the snow and ice. You can deny it all you want, Billy, but Johnny knows what he saw.”

  “Please, Gray Man. Let it go.” It was Johnny’s mother. She always surprised him when she spoke back to the men.

  “Did you see your grandmother?” Gray Man asked Johnny.

  The old man’s eyes cut deep into his heart. He swallowed hard. “Yes, Grandpa. I’m sure that I did. She was out there with me from the time Richard got hurt.”

  “She is your special spirit. Every Cheyenne who believes in the old ways has one to help him through this life.” The old man stood next to the bed, smiling. His face, though full of wrinkles and lines, looked youthful.