The boy slid off, and Charlie dismounted and loosened the girth, lowering the reins so the horse might drink his fill; it might be his last drink that day. The boy moved downstream to a little patch of oak brush to relieve himself, and Charlie smiled at this bit of backcountry etiquette from one so young. He pulled the empty water bottles from the saddlebags, intending to fill them from the clear pool beside the horse. As he went down on one knee and leaned over to fill the bottles, the horse suddenly tossed his head and whinnied, jerking back on the reins, causing Charlie to lose his balance and sprawl backwards in the tall grass. It was at that instant a rifle shot exploded—a geyser of water erupting just where Charlie had knelt the moment before. Instinctively, he rolled sideways into the cover of the willows and called for the boy to get down. As the shot echoed down the canyon, he momentarily lost track of the boy. The horse had jerked loose and now, confused, stepped forward into the water; he did not bolt but stood transfixed, staring across the narrow canyon. He was blocking Charlie’s view but offered enough cover to crawl toward the boy. They met behind a large boulder that lay half in the stream. Charlie pulled the boy to him, shielding him with his own body. His pistol was out of the shoulder holster, and he held it out away from the boy, who was shivering now. Charlie himself was trembling and placed the boy beside him, back against the rock, his arm still around him. That shot had come from a good distance, and he knew his .38 would not have the range to confront this person, who was obviously a very good shot. That horse had saved his life, to his way of thinking. After a few minutes of numbing silence, Charlie could hear the faint, far-off metallic clatter of a shod horse’s hooves on slick rock.
Maybe the shooter thought Charlie had been hit when he was thrown backwards; or maybe he just figured he had missed his chance and best get away while he could; or maybe the shooter’s horse had run off without him, and he was up there waiting for another shot. He looked over at the boy, who gave a little half-grin and shrugged his shoulders. This made Charlie smile. This boy would do well someday, given half a chance.
Charlie waited as long as he could stand it and then indicated to the boy that he should stay put. He rolled sideways into the oak brush for a view of the rim without being seen. He studied the area he thought the shot had come from and noted, directly across from them, an old, fallen spruce log well out on the otherwise bare sandstone point. It was only about two hundred yards as the crow flies—the canyon narrowed that much at this point. Perfect place for an ambush for someone who knew how to shoot, he thought. After a few more minutes, he cautiously stood up, ready to hit the dirt at the first sign of movement. Keeping an eye on the rim, he eased over and picked up the reins to the horse. It had lowered its head and was now calmly cropping grass. Charlie thought this was the kind of horse a man might be able to shoot off of—should the need arise. His grandfather had often cautioned him there was never any justification for shooting off a horse; there were very few that would stand for it. He tightened the cinch and, after another careful look around, called to the boy, who rose up and came over, ready to clamber back aboard.
Back on the trail, Charlie’s mind raced as he searched every tree and boulder ahead. He couldn’t help but notice a number of horse tracks coming and going on this trail, both shod and unshod. He studied the tracks with the skill earned following run-off stock as a boy. The sign was clear to him once he had let his mind return to that time when being a tracker was something of value. Again, it struck him as odd that there were no fresh cow tracks, and he pondered the possibilities. A shadow of trepidation made for a much slower return, though the horse was now champing at the bit, anxious to be fed, and possibly looking forward to a little equine company. No matter the training, a horse is a herd animal, a trait any real horseman keeps always in the front of his mind. As they neared the trailhead, Charlie scanned the path ahead, halting occasionally to survey the terrain.
He could sense the boy grow nervous again, felt him flinch and hold tight as the horse nickered and shook himself at the sight of the corrals. Something bad had happened here, and it was running through the boys mind. He still had not spoken a word. There would be plenty of time for that later; now, he needed to get this boy back to town.
He also needed to call Sue Hanagarni, who he had promised to meet for breakfast this morning. Shiprock and the Dinè Bikeyah Cafe were still some hours down the road.
He saw Hiram had left a couple of flakes of hay for the horse. The Ute would probably be back for it after he finished at the sale-barn in Cortez. Hiram Buck had gone to a lot of trouble for this boy. Charlie intended to let him know later how it all turned out.
The boy slid off the horse and immediately went to open the corral gate for Charlie—he had obviously spent time around stock and was anxious to pitch in and help. Charlie liked this boy. He could see a lot of himself in him when he was young. They stashed the tack out of sight behind the corral and sat in the pickup truck for a few minutes while Charlie once again tried, unsuccessfully, to reach someone on the radio. He noticed the boy, out of the corner of his eye, entranced by the truck’s multi-lighted instrument panel and radio controls. The boy was enumerating each of them with a tentative forefinger as though trying to understand their function. Most Indian boys love pickup trucks as their forefathers loved horses. They are the path to being a man, they think.
Charlie took the cutoff. When he hit the flats out of Aneth, he radioed the switchboard and had the operator forward a message to Sue Hanagarni: they had best meet for lunch instead of breakfast. They had known one another since boarding school and had worked together in Legal Services for two years now. Sue was an easygoing girl, but he knew he would have some explaining to do. He thought he would ask Sue to marry him at some point.
Charlie turned on 160 to Teec Nos Pos then dropped down on 64 toward Shiprock. As the miles slipped by, he once or twice tried to engage the boy in conversation, first in English and then Navajo, but could get no more than a nod or shake of his head in return. There was something hauntingly familiar about this boy he could not get out of his head. Maybe it was because he had been much the same himself as a youngster.
They had to pass right by his place on the way into town. He thought they had time to clean up a bit and maybe give the boy’s clothes a quick wash on half cycle. The clothes were still a bit damp when they left, but it was warm out, and there was no help for it. Sue would be waiting at the Dinè Bikeyah—and she wouldn’t wait long.
When they pulled up to the restaurant, her old Datsun pickup was in the parking lot right next to the entrance, which meant she had arrived early before the Saturday lunch crowd. The boy looked better cleaned up—his hair slicked down with a little Wildroot Cream Oil that Charlie kept for his cowlick when it acted up. The boy was not used to being all spruced up. He kept looking at his image in the truck’s side mirror; he gave no sign he liked what he saw.
They spotted Sue at a far table by a window and came up on her while she studied the menu. When she looked up, she at first did not see the child standing slightly behind Charlie.
“Well, it’s about ti…” Her greeting trailed off as she saw the boy peeking out from behind him. The boy shrugged his shoulders at the surprised look on her face.
“This is…well, I don’t know who he is,” Charlie offered, nudging the boy forward.
Sue smiled. “What! Did he follow you home?” She turned the smile on the boy. “What’s your name, fella?” The boy dropped his head and did not answer. “Oh, a shy guy, huh? Well, that’s all right. I like the strong, silent type…so unlike some people I know,” she said casting Charlie a sideways glance, but still smiling.
“What? I’m strong!” Charlie flexed his biceps. He eased the boy into the booth ahead of him and moved one of the silverware packets over in front of him. “I’ll bet you’re hungry again, huh?”
Sue thought the boy awfully thin. “When did he eat last?”
“Well, he had a scrambled apple pie for breakfast about daylight, but
that’s about it. I don’t think he’s had a whole lot to eat lately.”
Sue raised her eyebrows. “Whole apple pie, huh? That ought to put some meat on his bones.”
Charlie laughed. “I helped him with the pie…but you’d be surprised.”
“I’ll bet,” Sue grinned back. She had already selected lunch so passed him the menu. She was glad to see Charlie and wanted him to know it. She touched his hand across the table. “Does he talk at all?” she asked.
“No, but he can sing a blue streak…when he wants too.” He turned to the boy. “What’s it going to be, guy?” The boy said nothing. “How about a big cheese burger and some fries with ketchup?” The boy looked down at the table, but a hint of a smile crossed his lips.
After the waitress took their orders, Charlie launched into the story of how he had come by the boy, who stared out the window rather than see the sad look on Sue’s face as she listened. Charlie left out the part about the shooting. The food came, and the boy tucked away his with a will. Charlie unwrapped the silverware for him, but the boy—engrossed in the food—paid no attention. “I was surprised he came to me.” Charlie said around a mouthful of burger. “Him not knowing me and all.”
The boy turned and looked at Charlie. “I know you,” he said softly. “You are Thomas Begay’s friend!”
Charlie spluttered and almost dropped his fork. He cocked his head at the boy. “How do you know Thomas Begay?” he said forgetting to speak Navajo. And then it hit him. “And I know who you are too now, atsili!” He put his fork down and looked across the table at Sue, who was staring open-mouthed at them. “This is Sally Klee’s boy from over by Farmington. You remember, Thomas Begay’s “friend” from the Greyhorse case last fall!”
Sue raised her eyebrows, staring at the boy, and then nodded. “I remember.”
“Well, let’s finish lunch,” he said with a quick glance at Sue, who nodded.
Charlie thought it best to let the thing lie; this would be something best left alone until Thomas Begay was present. The bright spot was, the boy would not now have to be turned over to Social Services—not just yet anyway.
In the parking lot Charlie had the boy stay in the truck while he and Sue stepped away to talk.
“Busy this afternoon?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Good. Want to take a ride out to Thomas’s? I think we need to have a little chat. I’m wondering now where Sally and this boy’s sister are.”
Sue was up for it, and the boy scooted right over when she got in the truck.
Thomas and Lucy Tallwoman had become good friends since the Greyhorse affair. The four of them now occasionally met in town for dinner at Denny’s or sometimes had cookouts at Lucy’s place. Sue and Charlie had both known Thomas since boarding school in Aztec and had been close; then Charlie went away to law school, and Thomas’s drinking took control of his life. Thomas did not drink now. Lucy Tallwoman had become a friend of Sue’s, and on the way out to her camp, Sue caught Charlie’s eye. Looking over the boy’s head, she silently mouthed the question, “Does Lucy know about this boy?”
Charlie mirrored her quizzical expression and shrugged his shoulders. He had never discussed the matter with Thomas beyond the time Thomas had admitted the boy and his sister were his. It had happened long before he had known Lucy Tallwoman; he did not think Thomas would have told her.
Charlie’s mind ranged back to that autumn afternoon when he and Thomas had gone out to Sally Klee’s hogan under the bluffs outside Farmington. They had been looking for her half-brother Freddy Chee but wound up with more than they bargained for, including a briefcase full of evidence that proved instrumental in bringing down a number of very important people—people who would be coming to trial soon. He remembered Sally as a small, thin young woman who spoke English like his grandmother. She was probably no more than twenty-five years old at the time. He recalled her half-brother Freddy Chee had earlier given her a beating to insure her silence. Still, she had risked telling Thomas what she knew of Freddie’s part in the matter. She had also told him she was leaving that place and going to live with her cousins. Charlie doubted she ever moved back to that old hogan. Freddie had died a violent and lonely death there. His chindi would still be trapped in that Hogan—and the chindi of a yeenaaldiooshii is not to be trifled with. Neither she nor any other Navajo would ever live in that hogan again.
~~~~~~
Lucy Tallwoman’s old father Paul T’Sosi was just bringing the sheep down from the cedar hills behind the hogan when they pulled up in the yard. The boy perked up immediately and watched intently through the windshield as the dog worked the sheep into the corrals. He glanced at Charlie and smiled. It seemed plain the boy had the primal instinct to follow the herds—it was part of who he was.
The old man waved but finished with the sheep before coming over. “Ya’ eh t’eeh,” he called even before reaching the truck. Charlie heard the old man had not been well these last few weeks, but he looked fine now. He was smiling as he patted the hood of the new Chevy. “This is more like it,” he grinned. “Legal Services is finally stepping up, huh.”
Charlie laughed and pointed to the blue Dodge truck next to the hogan. “I see you finally got another truck too!” He knew it was really Lucy’s truck, but the polite thing was to acknowledge the old man’s part in the thing.
“Oh, Thomas Begay got tired of hay-wiring that old one back together, I guess. He picked it out. He just had to have a diesel. I don’t know where he plans to plug it in this winter; we can’t run the generator all night just so this truck will start.” He had slipped in the part about their having a new generator as an indicator of how well they were doing. Paul had come up to the window now, and Charlie could see he truly wasn’t pleased with Thomas’s choice of a truck.
“The salesman told us it would pull a hogan off its foundation…going uphill…into the wind!” He spit in the dust. “I don’t know why anyone would want to pull their hogan off its foundation,” and then as an afterthought, “anyways, hogans don’t even have foundations.” They both laughed at this, and the old man shook his head. “That Thomas,” he grinned. “At least he’s not drinking anymore, and he’s making a little money right along, too.”
Charlie nodded. “That’s good!” There really wasn’t much more he could say about that.
Sue peeked around Charlie and waved at the old man. “Hi there! The sheep are looking good! Is Lucy still working on the Ye’i blanket?”
Paul liked Sue and couldn’t understand why she and Charlie hadn’t gotten married yet; they were together all the time, and he liked to tease them about it whenever he got the chance. “She’s still working on it. I expect that’s what she’s doing right now. At least she was when I left with the sheep this morning.” Paul turned his attention to the boy between them. “Who’s that little guy?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out, I hope. Is Thomas around?”
“Should be up by now. He had to work most of last night for the road crew on a washout up the road.”
The boy perked up at the mention of Thomas’s name. “Thomas,” he whispered to himself, but no one heard.
Charlie and Sue got out of the truck, leaving the boy in the front seat watching them, and with the old man trailing behind, slowly made their way up to the hogan. They figured Lucy Tallwoman already knew they were there but wanted to give her a few minutes. Spur-of-the-moment visits were the norm in this country, but Sue knew Lucy would appreciate at least a few minutes.
Thomas Begay appeared at the open door, bleary-eyed and tired looking, to welcome them. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and flipped his long hair out of his eyes with the other. Charlie moved forward. “Sorry to spring this on you, hastiin, but we didn’t know what else to do.” Charlie indicated the Chevy with a twist of his head.
“Spring what?” Thomas looked from one to the other of them. “What are you talking about?”
The boy, arms folded on the dashboard, stared sile
ntly out the windshield at Thomas. When Thomas glanced over at the truck, he calmly placed his coffee cup down on the water barrel by the door and moved past them to the Chevy. The others fell silent and looked away as he opened the door and lifted the little boy out, standing him on the ground and straightening his shirt. Together, the two of them walked toward the corrals, Thomas speaking softly in Navajo and the boy nodding his head from time to time.
Lucy came to the door smiling at her unexpected guests. “This is a nice surprise…” She stopped in midsentence as she saw Thomas and the boy watching the sheep together. Her face clouded for an instant, but she immediately regained her composure, motioning everyone into the hogan.
Sue instantly took up the slack by exclaiming loudly over the weaving loom set up inside the door, “Oh, Lucy! It’s nearly done. How do you do it? I thought it would take forever!” As Lucy and Sue examined the blanket in its final stages of weaving, Lucy showed her the tiny imperfection purposely woven into the warp of one corner. Sue knew this almost imperceptible thread at the lower corner of the blanket was done to allow the weavers spirit to escape the piece, insuring she could detach her spirit from it and let it go. It was thought the weaver became part of the piece during the creation. It was a tradition common in most Navajo art.
The two men seated themselves at the table. “Is that Thomas’s boy?” the old man asked Charlie in a low voice. “I’ve heard the rumors before, but there are so many about Thomas I never know which ones to believe anymore.”
Charlie shifted uncomfortably in his chair and did not meet the old man’s gaze. “I guess so,” he managed finally.
Boy Made of Dawn Page 2
