Finally, Bob looked over at Harley and asked, “How’s that tooth doing, Harley? Does it feel like its taking root?”
“Maybe it’s still too soon to tell, doc. It still wiggles a little, but it feels okay. I try ta be careful when I eat.”
Bob nodded back and said he thought it might take as much as two or three weeks before it took root. Everyone had heard the story of how Harley had his tooth knocked out and the curious still occasionally asked to see it.
Ted Altman looked down the table at Charlie and said, “Looks like you’re the only one to come out of that little scrape with no damage.”
Charlie mumbled something about being lucky and concentrated on his food.
Thomas’s jaw had gone down considerably since the incident, but he tried to show it to its best advantage in light of the discussion. “Charlie’s always been lucky that way. When we played high school ball he always wound up on top of the pile.” Everyone else chuckled at this, but Ted Altman didn’t.
When all but a few left the supper table and the dishes were cleared away, George Custer moved down the table to sit with the three Dinè. They refilled their coffee cups and relaxed.
The professor spoke first, “There seems to be a bit of animosity in the tribal ranks this evening.”
Charlie agreed. “Yep, that pretty much came out of nowhere, too. Tanya and Ted were fine this morning. She seemed grateful for his attention after the cave-in.” Charlie took a drink of his coffee. “I was finally able to get out on the truck radio this morning. I had to go almost to the top of the mesa before I was high enough to get a signal—still some static, but I could hear all right.” He studied what he was about to say for a moment and then, “I think I may have learned something that could shed some light on Tanya’s relationship with Ted Altman”
George Custer looked up from his cup. “And what might that be?”
“Ira Buck is a member of that militant Indian rights movement. His priors show two arrests for ‘failure to disperse’ in two different rallies here in the Four Corners. Both rallies were sponsored by the movement.”
Thomas spoke up, “The Bucks never struck me as the kind to join any political demonstrations.”
Charlie held up a hand. “Wait, it gets better. Those rally arrest records show Myra and Steven Griggs as participants as well. They are all members of the militant splinter group known as American Indians for Political Change, or AFPAC, among themselves.”
“What about Ted Altman? Was he on the arrest list?” the Professor asked.
“No,” Charlie said, “he wasn’t on the list, but he is a longtime member of AFPAC. Those rallies were both here in our area, one of them at the dedication of a dam, and the other outside Mesa Verde Park. Altman was not a part of them as far as anyone knows. If Altman is in this, he’s a recent addition, possibly called in for just this occasion.”
Thomas lifted his head. “What about our little run-in with Ira Buck? Did you get ahold of Ute tribal police?”
“I did.” Charlie stirred his coffee without looking at it. “There is now a warrant out for him as well. Apparently, the old sheepherder we met on our way into town later called in and reported him, too. They said this isn’t the first time they’ve tried to apprehend Ira Buck. But this time they’ve turned it over to the FBI—these incidents all took place on reservations.”
The professor stood up. “I think it’s about time I had another talk with Tanya Griggs.”
Harley, already standing at the tent flap, said, “She’s just outside. I heard her talking a minute ago. They are putting together a little campfire out there.”
Charlie stood to leave as well, “I don’t think it would hurt to have a word with Ted Altman, either. I think the professor might be right about him.”
Thomas grinned as he rose from his chair. “You’re not letting that Altman guy get to you, are you, college boy?”
Charlie grinned back, “Not yet, I’m not.”
When the four men filed outside, they saw Tanya Griggs heading over to her tent, and George Custer followed after her, while the other three joined the group at the fire.
Looking around, Charlie turned to Thomas and said, “I don’t see Altman, do you?”
Thomas scanned the crew and said, “He’s not here, as far as I can see, but he could have gone to the latrine, or maybe he turned in early.”
“Latrine, maybe, but I don’t believe he turned in. He’s usually one of the last to leave these little get-togethers.” Just as Charlie was about to ask Harley to check the latrine, there came a bloodcurdling scream from the women’s tent. When Harley and Thomas reached the tent, Professor Custer was coming out with Tanya Griggs in tow.
“There’s a rattlesnake in there! It’s on her cot. Better get a shovel.” The professor moved past them and held onto Tanya’s arm as he helped her back to the fire.
Charlie Yazzie, who was not quite to the tent, heard George Custer’s order, turned back, picked up a shovel from beside the mess tent, and returned to the group, which had thinned considerably at the mention of a snake. Charlie pushed his way in past Thomas and was back out in only a minute with the nearly decapitated snake on the end of the shovel.
“Hopi are usually not afraid of snakes,” he declared as he passed.
Thomas, who jumped aside with remarkable agility, called after him, “She’s only half Hopi, Charlie. It must have been that other half that screamed.” Thomas had seen very few rattlesnakes on the reservation and certainly not one like this.
At the fire, Professor Custer pronounced it a “Pink Hopi Rattler,” a localized subspecies often associated with the Hopi Snake Dance Ceremony. He had never heard of one this far north, though they were not uncommon on the Hopi Reservation.
A strange calm fell over Tanya Griggs as she sat by the fire surrounded by her fellow team members. “The boys of our village play with snakes from the time they are little and are taught not to be afraid of them.” She seemed mesmerized by the rattler, which still gave an occasional twitch as it lay in the firelight. “The priests keep a few snakes year-round to teach the boys, but they only keep each snake a short while. Girls are not a part of this.”
Tanya gazed vacantly around the group. Her voice seemed measured and distant. “My people employ all sorts of snakes in the snake dance in August, mostly harmless ones these days. Only a few of these Hopi rattlesnakes are used now, and then only by priests.” She again glanced at the snake and a tremor ran through her. “The Hopi believe snakes are messengers from the underworld and try never to harm one.” She looked reproachfully at Charlie Yazzie as she said this.
Harley, too, was distressed at the killing of the snake. He also had been taught the snake is a creature to be protected, and he would not knowingly have harmed one. Anthropologists maintain this is a belief passed on to the Navajo from the Hopi themselves, as has been the case with a good many other Navajo beliefs. When the Navajo first came into the country, it was with only a basic hunter-gatherer culture. They perceived the ultra-religious Hopi and their more complicated ceremonies to be powerful medicine and adopted as much of it as they were able to integrate with their own beliefs. Even the traditional stories of Spider Woman and the Hero Twins apparently originated with the Hopi. Some think the Zuni had a hand in some of this, as well.
The professor kneeled down, almost next to Tanya’s ear and whispered, “Tanya, you don’t think this snake is a chance encounter, do you?” Then he said in a quiet but firm voice, “Charlie said the snake might have been placed on your cot as a warning. What sort of message do you think this snake was bringing you, Tanya?”
Staring vaguely past the professor, the young woman seemed to have trouble forming her words. “The message was not just for me… the message was for all of us.” As she said this, she tugged at her sleeve, pulling it back—to expose two purple puncture wounds on her upper arm.
By the time Charlie and Professor Custer had a “soft” tourniquet above the bite marks, Tanya’s forehead had already
broken out in beads of perspiration, and the arm, a mottled grey-blue, began to swell noticeably. The young woman moaned softly to herself as the professor mobilized his people. At the Suburban, the rear seats were let down and a makeshift bed was quickly arranged in the back.
An improvised litter, carried by a relay of the strongest crewmembers, was loaded, and she was on her way out of the canyon in a matter of minutes. Dental student Bob Mills had taken charge of the evacuation and rode with Tanya in the back of the vehicle.
Charlie and Thomas jumped in Charlie’s truck and made for the point of the mesa. Charlie hoped he could radio the rescue unit in Cortez to intercept the Suburban—a vial of anti-venom delivered en route might save precious time. Professor Custer thought it useless to try for any of the smaller towns; the probability of them having the serum would be chancy at best.
At camp, Harley Ponyboy and George Custer were looking for Ted Altman, but Altman was nowhere to be found.
About midnight Charlie and Thomas returned with the news that a helicopter from Cortez had met the Suburban at the highway and airlifted Tanya Griggs back to a waiting hospital team in Cortez.
“The doctor is guarded in his assessment of Tanya’s chances.” Charlie Yazzie’s voice was strained as he made the announcement to the anxious group. “He told me a bite on the ankle or lower leg is one thing, but the upper arm is much more complicated and dangerous.”
At daylight the following morning, the sound of sheep bells roused Thomas from a light and troubled sleep. As he pulled on his clothes, he nudged Harley awake in the next bunk and said softly, “I think we got company.”
The tiny tinkle of sheep bells is a shepherd’s early warning system and discloses not only the location, but also the temperament of the flock. Thomas, like most rural Navajo growing up, was well versed in the language of the bells.
George Custer, the camp’s earliest riser, had already left his tent and was putting together a pot of coffee in the mess tent. Charlie was up as well and washing at the tin basin outside when he heard the bells.
Thomas and Charlie arrived at the edge of the clearing just as the flock broke over the ridge. It was the old man they met on their recent trip to town, and when he saw the two of them approaching he waved and caused his horse to wade towards them through the sheep. With a movement of his arm and a whistle, he directed the dogs to hold the flock at the edge of the clearing.
Thomas raised a hand and called above the noise of the sheep, “Ho, Grandfather, you must have camped nearby to get here before the sun.”
When the old man pulled his horse up in front of them, they could see it was lathered in sweat. “No, Grandson, I pushed these sheep most of the night to get out of ‘Splits In Two.’ It is too crowded down there in the big canyon. I thought I had best come back up here on top. The feed’s not so good here, but the company is better, I think.”
“Crowded?” Thomas gave the old man a quizzical smile, “How so, Grandfather?”
The old man considered carefully before answering. “There are strange things going on in the canyon these last few nights. I have seen people down there who have no business in this country.” The old man paused as he regarded Thomas Begay. “I am not so old and scary as to be easily frightened in my own country, but these people’s coming and going were not natural and made me nervous.” The old man’s Navajo was spoken quickly and barely above a whisper. Charlie was having a hard time understanding all he said.
“Did you see the big man with the bad hand down there Grandfather?” Thomas was anxious to hear if he had again seen the Ute who had wreaked such havoc on them.”
“No, Grandson, I am glad to say I did not see that one. Maybe he died of his wound, or maybe he is off doing evil someplace else.” The old man pursed his lips. “But I did see a woman who spoke Hopi, and her man, who was white and yet understood what she was saying all right.” The old man slid stiffly off his horse, and they could hear his joints creak as he straightened and slowly moved his head from side to side to ease his neck.
Thomas introduced Charlie, who for the first time learned the old man’s name. It was Hastiin Bahzhoni—loosely translated it meant, “Mr. Pleasant One. It seemed a curious name, even for a Dinè and certainly not as common as some others. There is no accounting for Navajo names or how they come about. In the old days they were subject to change arbitrarily, sometimes due to a life circumstance, or more often, just on a whim. In the case of Hastiin Bahzohni the name seemed appropriate. He had grown up and lived most of his life within fifty miles of where he now stood and was well thought of.
“Last night in the canyon,” he said, carefully picking his words, “I watched those people from a high place in the rocks and in the fullness of the moon and light of their fire, saw more than I wanted to see.”
“What were they doing, Grandfather?” Thomas Begay felt a shiver go up his back, even as the sun’s first warm rays touched him. It was a dangerous business to spy on shape-shifters and witches in the dead of night. It is said the Yeenaaldiooshii never sleep.
“The woman was praying, Grandson, and singing. She made snake signs on the ground and called to beings from the underworld. We Navajo and Hopi share many things, but calling on the dead and their chindi is only for witches.”
Thomas Begay did not like hearing this kind of talk and asked, “Were there only the two people down there, Grandfather?” He was careful not to say the old man’s name—not to his face—especially when there was talk of witches that might have the power to listen in.”
“It is funny you should ask that, it must have been about midnight when another person appeared—an Indian as far as I could tell, but not like you and me. Maybe he had been asleep and I had not noticed him before. I could see he was not from around here. He talked English but not like you. He sounded more like those ‘bureau’ people that come poking around asking questions sometimes.”
The old man seemed to ponder for a moment. “Those Hopi must have gone for him at some point as there is no way he could have come into the canyon at night by himself. Or maybe they just conjured him up out of nothing. I have lived all my life in this country and from time to time, I still get turned around in ‘Splits In Two.’ There is no way he could have found his way there by himself. I don’t know why those people would be running back and forth, up and down the canyon in the night, unless they are Yeenaaldiooshii, or some other witches who do their work in the dark.” The old man concluded by saying, “Anyway, you said I should tell you of anything out of the ordinary, so here I am saying these things to you.” The old man shook himself free of the bad thoughts, “Do you have coffee, Grandson? My bones have taken a chill this morning.”
Thomas smiled, “Yes, Grandfather, there is coffee and more.” Then, ever the herder himself, he asked, “Are your sheep all right where they are?”
The old man watched his flock for a moment. “Yes, they are tired and hungry from that little trip up the canyon, but there is enough feed here to keep them occupied. The dogs should hold them awhile with no trouble.”
The old man tied his horse and followed along to the mess tent. George Custer saw them coming and had a speckled-blue coffee pot at the end of the table along with cups and all the fixings. The mess crew of the day was already at work on a huge breakfast, and the old man licked his lips at the smell of frying bacon.
Harley Ponyboy came in and reported there still was no sign of Ted Altman. His cot had not been slept in and it appeared some of his things were missing as well. Harley did, however, find something in Ted Altman’s tent, a small, covered wicker basket lying empty under his bunk. Harley put the basket on the table, and the Professor picked it up and examined it as only a scientist can.
“This is a very old ceremonial basket; the kind the Hopi keep their snakes in.” He held the open basket to his nose and sniffed, then wrinkled his nose, nodded, and passed it to Charlie. “You can still smell the musk in it.”
Thomas said, “Well, that pretty much explains where
the snake came from, I guess, but why would Ted Altman want to put a rattlesnake in Tanya’s bed?”
Dr. Custer spoke again, “Tanya said that snake was a warning meant for all of us. This wouldn’t be the first time a Hopi priest has sent a snake as a warning. They may not have meant for it to bite her, maybe only rattle a warning, something Tanya would have been well acquainted with.” The professor paused. “Not many know it, but Hopi priests who handle the rattlesnakes ‘milk’ them of their venom just before they are used in the ceremonies. This limits the effects of a bite should one happen. It takes a few days for the snake to replenish the venom, and they are usually quite tranquil in the interim. They seem to know intuitively that their major defense has been compromised.” The professor turned grim, “Rattlesnakes don’t always rattle, though, and also, Ted Altman may have had a different agenda.”
Charlie, who had remained quiet, now weighed in, “If that is the case, someone may have misjudged the time factor. It’s hard to believe Tanya’s parents would have a hand in something they thought might harm their own daughter, if indeed that is them down in the canyon. If they are involved with Ted Altman in this ‘militant group,’ it could be a warning of even worse things to come. It’s obvious they don’t give up easily.”
The old sheepherder, Hastiin Bahzhoni, had listened closely to all this talk of snakes and Hopi witches and, understanding more English than he let on, hurriedly finished his breakfast and was anxious to be on his way. He took his leave, saying he would keep his sheep up on the mesa for the time being and would keep an eye out for strangers.
Midmorning, a BLM officer came by and reported Tanya’s condition was improved. She was lucid and alert though certainly not yet out of the woods. There was still some concern she might eventually lose her left arm. This threw a pall over the camp, and it was Dr. George Custer who seemed most affected. The Professor felt he was somehow to blame and berated himself over the incident. “I should have known someone other than myself would eventually get hurt.” He sighed, “I should have seen this coming.”
Ancient Blood Page 13
