Charlie had covered no more than a hundred yards when Thomas saw his horse slow, come to a stop, and finally turn around. He looked over at Harley and raised an eyebrow.
When the three tied their horses and went on foot to where the girl was killed, Harley gave his version of what the sign revealed. He moved slowly, carefully, and addressed each point in a low voice, as though reassessing the information for his own benefit. “This person came up on the far edge of the band, from behind that oak brush,” he said and pointed to a few scraggly young scrub oaks. “The sheep were spread out, and this lamb maybe strayed apart from the others. This was someone who knew how to move around stock, and he clubbed it before it knew what hit it. He didn’t bother to gut it, and by the time the dog discovered him, he was cutting up meat.” Harley carefully considered the next part. In his mind’s eye he could almost see it happen and nodded to himself before going on. “The dog probably started barking and raising hell to attract the girl, who could not have been far behind. By its tracks it was not a big dog and did not confront the man close up—until the girl showed up and most likely urged it on. That gave the dog courage, and it was then it must have rushed him.” Harley knew a lot about dogs, and sheep, and herders. “I expect this fellow knew how to handle a knife. I doubt the dog did much damage before going down. The girl didn’t stop to think, just jumped in to help the dog. She probably had a stick or a quirt but had no idea what she was dealing with… and that was the end of her.” Harley rubbed his chin and looked into the distance… “The bastard knew she was done and watched her crawl away. Just finished his meat cutting, with the same knife, like nothing happened. The girl headed for those rocks over there—maybe trying to get away and hide. She didn’t make it.” And this was the part that bothered Harley Ponyboy most: “Only after he finished cutting what he wanted off the lamb did he go over and stab the girl a couple more times. The medic thought she was pretty much dead by the time she was stabbed.” Harley hesitated. “She was a strong girl and had a lot of heart, I guess. She crawled quite a ways.”
Thomas nodded and finished the scenario for him; “He dragged her on over to that outcropping and walled her up in that big crack over there. The dog must have got away cause we didn’t see any sign of him—went off and died somewhere is my guess. We found little patches of black and white hair cut off short, but no dog.” Thomas looked Charlie straight in the eye (something the Navajo try to avoid) and pointed to tracks in the sand near the rock outcropping. “Those are the same hiking boot prints we found above R. J. Tyler’s campsite. This is a bad man by anyone’s standards. And I don’t think we’ve heard the last of him neither.”
Harley moved closer and touched Charlie Yazzie on the shoulder. “If someone don’ get this guy soon… this is gonna happen again.”
No one spoke on the way back to She Has Horses’ camp. As they came in sight of the hogan, two tribal police vehicles were pulling out. The lead SUV stopped and rolled down the window.
Samuel Shorthair leaned out and flagged Charlie over. “We’d a been here sooner, but we ran into a few problems.” He cut his eyes at the man in the suit next to him. “Agent Mayfield, here, said we needed to wait on the forensic guys out of Farmington. They’re in the other truck with Billy Red Clay. The S&R boys radioed we would have to go around the head of the canyon and said it would be rough going. I expect we’ll be out here most of the day.” He smiled at Charlie and indicated the horses. “Looks like you boys came prepared.” He looked past Charlie, recognized Thomas, and lifted a finger at him. “Yaa’ eh t’eeh, Begay… long time since government school.”
Thomas nodded but didn’t smile.
Harley lagged back, pretended to be busy with his saddle strings, and didn’t look up. He didn’t like police in general and had heard questionable stories about Samuel Shorthair from Thomas.
Samuel Shorthair studied Harley a moment, then turned his attention back to Charlie. “Dispatch said you told them you would stay till we got up here, and we appreciate that.” He was already rolling up the window as he spoke… and then remembered something else and rolled it back down. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there was a van went off the road a couple of days ago down on 491 between Newcomb and the Sanostee turn off. Illegals, apparently, rollover, no survivors as far as we know, but we may have to rethink that in view of recent happenings. The time frame was right and so was the general area… just something to keep in mind.”
FBI Agent Eldon Mayfield looked across Sam and directly at Charlie. “We’d appreciate it if you boys didn’t mix in on this one. There’s a full contingent of federal people on the way up here along with more tribal police and a tracker with fresh dogs. They are due at Teec Nos Pos any minute, according to the radio, and headed this way. Another bunch from Kayenta are coming in from the Dinnehotso side and yet others from Chinle will come in from Tesaile to the south. We think we’ve got things pretty well covered.”
Sam Shorthair gave Charlie a secret wink. “Yep, the FBI ought to have him boxed in shortly. Me and Billy Red Clay were going to borrow the S&R boy’s four-wheelers and get after him from here, but now they’re saying they don’t think we’ll get very far if he heads back into the Carizzos.” He put the truck in gear and started to pull out.
Charlie motioned for him to wait. “One other thing, Sam. The girl’s grandmother is worried she will have to identify the body. Apparently, one of the rescue team told her it might be required… You know how that is… These old people are afraid. The girl’s cousin from Mexican Water should be here to help the old lady before long. He’d probably be better for that job.”
Sam thought about it and looked over at Agent Mayfield, who first shook his head, but then sighed and grunted okay. As he pulled away, the tribal policeman looked again at Harley Ponyboy and nodded as though he finally recognized him and might say something… but then didn’t. He just gunned the engine and was gone.
Harley urged his mule up between the two horses. “So, does this mean he expects us ta go home now?”
Thomas watched the two trucks jounce their way up the rocky track and smiled. “What he expects, and what he gets, might be two different things.”
6
The FBI
The vehicle was barely out of sight of the three mounted Navajos when FBI Agent Eldon Mayfield turned to Sam Shorthair. “So, that’s Charlie Yazzie?” He gazed out the window with the look of one displeased but without grounds for being so. So that’s the person responsible for me being posted to this god-forsaken jurisdiction.
“That’s him alright. I guess you could say he’s the one that brought down your predecessor.” Sam said this as though he knew what the agent was thinking, and paused to gauge his reaction.”
“I’ve read the files. Agent Davis made his own bed. There are always a few rotten apples… He was worse than most, I guess.” Agent Mayfield had suffered a considerable lack of cooperation in his new job due mostly to the previous agent’s indiscretions… murder being only one of them.
“Charlie’s been in on several other high-profile cases since then and has become a pretty big man at Legal Services.” Sam said this with only a hint of envy. “Pretty much writes his own ticket, from what I hear.” A thoughtful expression was on the policeman’s face when he added, “The funny thing is, he never actually seems to solve a case… but he’s always there when it solves itself—kind of like Clark Kent after Superman leaves.”
The FBI man frowned. “That’s what I hear, too.” And this time it was plain he wasn’t pleased.
“Oh, he has a law degree and all,” Sam went on, “but there’s more to it than that. Charlie truly has the wellbeing of the Navajo people at heart, really cares about what happens to them. He could have gone anywhere and done well, but apparently thought he could do the most good here on the reservation.” He smiled. “There’s not enough of us that think that way anymore.” Sam paused. “There’s even talk of him running for council, though I’m not sure he’s geared that way. I kn
ow one thing. It would throw a monkey wrench in the ‘good old boy pass-along-system’ out here. Charlie don’t knuckle under like some; I suspect he would face some strong opposition from the old guard.”
“So you know him pretty well then?”
“I guess so, as well as anyone out here can know another, I suppose.” Sam turned to the agent. “He and I, and Thomas, all went to boarding school together. I was a couple of years ahead of them.” He turned his attention back to the road in time to avoid a water-cut deep enough to wreck the truck’s front end, and was lucky to stop in time. “Charlie’s all right… I’ve always liked him.” He put the vehicle in four-wheel drive, dropped into low gear, and eased across the hazard all in one smooth motion. “Thomas is something else again. Heavy drinker for several years, ran with the wrong people, and generally made a mess of a life that could have turned out a lot differently. He’s smart and people like him.” He shifted the suv up a gear. “Looks like he’s turned himself around now… We’ll see.”
“What about the little fat guy?”
“Harley?” Sam chuckled looking side-eyed at the agent’s girth. “Harley’s something. He went to a different boarding school than we did… that is, when they could catch him and make him go at all. He’s from old-time, hardcore traditional Navajo, up in Monument Valley. His people kept him out of school as much as they could—said they needed him to help with the sheep. He’s probably the last of that generation who follow the old path. He and Thomas were the original drinking buddies… in and out of jail a lot… He’s clean now, for the most part. There’s more to him than meets the eye. He and Thomas are a lot alike.”
~~~~~~
At the hogan of She Has Horses, Harley fed Shorty and the two horses what hay was left in the trailer, and threw down another two bales off the top rack for the old woman’s sheep. They hadn’t been fed since the previous night and were now noisily milling around the corral, certain they had been forgotten.
At the old lady’s insistence, the men again drank coffee and ate hot fry-bread from a tin platter. She hovered around them as though in a daze, asking again and again if she could get them something more to eat. “I’m thanking you for feeding those sheep, grandsons. They were sure getting hungry, I guess.” She gestured across at the corrals. “Those lambs were already dragging the ewes down. When ewes don’t eat, they use up their fat pretty quick and have nothing left to make milk.” The old lady reminded Charlie of his own grandmother— spoke in the same broken way old people talked when he was a boy. She kept talking, wouldn’t stop, afraid the men might leave her there alone before the “laws” returned and asked her to identify her dead granddaughter. She couldn’t bear to see the child. No matter how close one was to the deceased, or how good a person they had been, there still was the belief the person’s chindi might do them some harm. Already she avoided saying her granddaughter’s name— even though some Navajo make allowance for a four-day mourning period. The old woman, like many traditionalists, thought it best to put the dead out of her mind as quickly as possible.
The three men watched… and knew. In olden times it was thought the dead had a journey to make, one they had to make alone, and the living should no longer dwell on them lest it attract their chindi and cause other evils, even cast shadows over everyone’s hozoji. They thought it best to concentrate on the living. These were beliefs passed down from the old wandering times in the far north when people, living and dead, had to be left behind for the good of the many. Some early anthropologists thought the belief in what some call the “chindi phenomena” came about to alleviate the guilt involved in abandoning the dead. Others ventured the guess that it was engendered by the need to avoid the spreading of disease in times of pestilence. There were other theories as well, but these seemed chief among those at academic conferences.
The Navajo tribe is said to be the most studied group of Indians in America, and the running joke among anthropologists was that the typical Navajo family consists of a mother, a father, children, and an anthropologist. Indian families were sometimes talked into allowing professional observers into their homes for cultural studies and were generally paid for the privilege of doing so. After a while of this easy money some families became tied to the stipend and would do almost anything to avoid giving it up… including making up things they thought researchers would like to hear. Several early papers on the subject have been discredited for this very reason.
Thomas was always a little leery of his Uncle John Nez’s white anthropologist wife, Marissa, and what she might be writing down of his or Lucy Tallwoman’s comments about traditional Navajo life. Many of those things were secret traditions or ceremonies, and not for just any outsider to interpret. Marissa had been fond of catching old Paul T’Sosi when he was alone, and trying to extract certain information she thought pertinent to her studies. She knew he had studied to be a singer but figured he might be induced to impart some knowledge of the ceremonies he had learned as a boy. Since he was never really a singer, she told him it might be all right to let her in on a few traditions, at least in regard to the women’s part in those things. She soon found Paul T’Sosi no easy mark, and later turned her attention to Lucy Tallwoman, who seemed more inclined to be cooperative when properly approached. Lucy thought it important that a woman’s view should be made known for future generations to figure into the mix. It was not often women were given that chance, she thought.
Harley Ponyboy and Thomas Begay were of the opinion the person responsible for the girl’s horrendous death should be pursued immediately, before he could do more harm or get clear out of the country. They discussed the matter with Charlie and were a little surprised when he agreed.
“I thought it over,” Charlie admitted, “there in the truck last night, and had dispatch notify Sue. She’ll call Lucy Tallwoman and get in touch with Anita. I told her we might not be back for a couple of days.” Charlie looked from one to the other of them. “Anyone who wants to go home can take the truck and trailer and just pick me up when this is over.” Charlie always carried a blanket and something to eat behind the back seat of the truck, just in case. It was big country and, should the unexpected happen, could be a treacherous one as well.
The old woman, who had again been listening from the doorway, stepped outside. “It is only right, my grandsons, that you should try to catch this person who has come through here killing and hurting our hearts like this. I can help you with blankets and food, you are welcome to them, and I sure will thank you to take what you need.” She turned back into the hogan and soon they heard a banging of pans and the clunk of cans thrown into a burlap bag.
The old woman later told them she would go to live with her sister now, and the two of them would help each other forget her granddaughter, if they could. She had a school picture of the girl somewhere. She must remember to find it and burn it along with those pitiful few things the girl had left behind. She held a great rage in her heart for the person who had caused this evil, and while she knew it was wrong and might affect her hozo, she hoped there would be a reckoning while she still lived to see it.
Charlie kept an eye on the weather as they gathered such gear as they had. There were signs of a front moving in. The high and wispy “mares’ tails” sketched across the turquoise of the summer sky told him they had best be moving along; these were one of the most reliable signs of an impending frontal system, ordinarily within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, and generally sooner rather than later.
The other agencies would be out in force within hours, and everyone in the country would soon be alerted. To Charlie’s way of thinking, a few hours head start might make all the difference. He had a feeling this person had been on the run before and catching him would not be easy. They had only the one gun, the .38 snub-nose Smith & Wesson he kept handy in the glove box of his pickup, or in his shoulder holster, should he be horseback. Hopefully, the fugitive had no weapon beyond a knife, and if that was the case, they should be ahead with just the revolve
r.
~~~~~~
Luca Tarango, for that was his name, moved easily under the weight of the pack. He had plenty of freeze-dried food, and while he didn’t know that’s what it was, he quickly learned how to fix it into some semblance of a meal, even though he could barely read or write, and certainly not in English, which he spoke poorly.
What he really craved was fresh meat. There had been precious little of it these long months. Once he was farther down the trail, he intended to have his fill. He had kept only two or three pounds of back-strap stripped from the lamb carcass, and the added burden was hardly noticeable for a man used to the labor of carrying large stones. He remembered entire mornings carrying the heavy rocks to a certain spot, only to be told in the afternoon that they must be returned to where they were previously. He had been in that place a long time and this, though not easy, was infinitely more to his liking. His uncles had spent a lot of time and money arranging his “escape,” not so much because they were his uncles, but because they were afraid not to. They had sold nearly everything they owned to furnish the bribes and the cost of the coyotero. Luca was not one to be ignored, and when he asked their help, they knew to refuse him would prove a serious mistake when he did get out… and Luca always got out. And when he did, there was a reckoning.
His recently acquired shoes were too large and would have quickly blistered less callused and hardened feet, but for him they were a blessing, and he was satisfied to have them. It was the same with the other clothing, a bit large, slightly faded and worn, but certainly of a higher caliber than he was accustomed to. He had seen from the start this would be an easy land to get along in, and that one of his abilities might do very well here—with a only a little effort. When he was back with Tressa, he would show what could be accomplished with a little foresight and determination—things so little appreciated where he came from. Tressa might not be too pleased to see him at first, but when her new man was out of the picture it would be different. She had been in the U.S. almost a year now, and while he knew her way had been long, and suspected she had been hard used from time to time, it apparently had proven worth it, judging from her one letter… just as his own journey would eventually be worth it.
Mojado Page 5
