Nana picked up a twig and poked at the fire a little while, and then stared up the ridge from where I’d come. He said, “Every man must do what his medicine says is best for him. Delgadito has no woman and comes to get good things for his future bride. You already have an enemy to kill and a woman and child to care for. I have a band of warriors who want to take what they can from the Indah and wipe out many. This we’ll do in a moon or two after we’ve rested. I ask my friend Yellow Boy to let us stay here as long as we need and leave without a fight.”
I stared at him a moment, and then said, “Leave no trail from the reservation. Let the Mescaleros live in peace. Do nothing to bring the Blue Coats back. I won’t stop you or tell others of your presence here. May the great Power of Ussen be with you.”
Nana shook his fist and said, “Ussen will give us Power to kill our enemies.”
CHAPTER 16
TATA CROOKED NOSE
Nana and his warriors kept their peace while they hid in the Rinconada. If other Mescaleros knew he hid there, they said nothing, and I saw him no more after we smoked. A moon passed, and then one cold morning as dawn faded into bright light, I saw Delgadito ride over the ridge toward the Rinconada where I had counted twenty-five Mescalero warriors ride in twos and threes during the past five days. I knew many of them would never return. I had smoked with Delgadito several times, discussing whether he should stay or leave, and he often turned his eyes to the tipi of Sleepy and Falling Water as he considered my words. But the anger in his blood against the Nakai-yes and Indah led him to follow Nana and give up a good woman.
The day Delgadito left, word came from Blazer that it was a good time to see the new agent, Llewellyn. The Mescaleros in the other camps had begun to call him “Tata Crooked Nose” because he had a big crooked nose and, standing, towered above them. But he showed us he was a wise man, hard, just, and fair, a man we could trust to keep his word.
I found Juanita under the pines bathing Kicking Wren in the little burbling water that ran by our campsite.
“Ish-tia-neh (Woman), I go to the agency to meet the new agent, the one the other Mescaleros call Tata Crooked Nose. Do you want to ride with me?”
She looked at Kicking Wren happily splashing the water with her feet, then lifted her brows toward me and smiled.
“Our supplies are good. I saw Tata Crooked Nose on my last trip with the women for supplies. It’s a good name. He has a quiet spirit. I think you’ll like him. Your evening meal will be ready when you return. Kicking Wren and her mother will wait for you.”
“Hmmph. Enjuh.”
I left my rifle and pistol in the tipi before riding over the ridges to Blazer’s house. After Blazer and I had a little talk about what he thought of Tata Crooked Nose, we walked to the agency building to meet him.
The agency house had a place inside with tables and chairs where a woman sold hot food to Indah travelers. Tata Crooked Nose and a shorter, darker man, a little older than he, with a big bush of hair under his nose and eyes that stared through you, ate there when the sun was at the time of shortest shadows. Blazer and I walked up to their table, and they both stood, smiling and looking over every detail about me as they stuck out their hands for a shake. Tata Crooked Nose’s height reminded me of Sangre del Diablo, both very tall, but unlike bald Sangre del Diablo, he had a big, ugly hair bush growing under his hooked nose, which hung off his face like a bird’s beak. The words and the sound of his voice were respectful.
The custom in those days was to address the agents as “Major,” as if they were army chiefs, and to address the chiefs of their police staff as “Captain.” Blazer said, “Major Llewellyn, Captain Branigan, this is my friend Yellow Boy, the marksman I mentioned to you who so impressed Al Sieber with his shooting and good sense.”
I took their offered hands and gave each one two solid pumps of their arms as Rufus Pike had taught me to do when shaking hands with an Indah. He told me this was an old Indah custom from the days when they carried long knives and offered their hands for peace instead of their knives for a fight. I said, “I am called Yellow Boy. Our band’s tipis stand beyond the ridges west of this place.”
Llewellyn nodded and said, “Please, Yellow Boy, you and Dr. Blazer sit down. Speak with us while we eat. Will you have something to eat with us?”
Blazer nodded, and I said, “I always eat when food given.”
Tata Crooked Nose waved at the serving woman in the kitchen to bring two more plates and then began his meal again. While we ate, he asked me many questions, and I saw Branigan frown at some of my answers, especially about how Rufus Pike had taught me to shoot. I heard him say under his breath, “Traitor.”
After we finished eating and drank an extra cup of coffee, Tata Crooked Nose said, “Captain Branigan is in charge of the tribal police. Since you decided you want to stay here rather than follow Al Sieber to the reservations over in Arizona, he wants to speak with you about being a tribal policeman. Are you interested?”
I looked at Branigan and said, “A tribal policeman must cut his hair?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, my men don’t have to cut their hair.”
“Hmmph. I keep my rifle and carry it where I go?”
He nodded. “You keep your rifle and carry it, if you like. I’ll give you a bandolier of ammunition for it and a pistol, horse, saddle, and bridle, and you’ll make the same money as the troopers at Fort Stanton. You must wear at least the vest from the policeman clothes I give you so the other Mescaleros know that you stand for me and do what I ask to keep the peace on the reservation.”
“This I can do.”
“But, you cannot be a policeman to Indah who come on the reservation unless I tell you directly to do that. If an Indah makes trouble, you find me. I’ll handle it. Do you understand this?”
“Hmmph. I understand. When am I policeman?”
“You give your word you’ll do what I say as long as you’re a policeman?”
“It is so. This I will do as long as I am policeman.”
“Good. Come to this building at sunrise tomorrow. I’ll give you your equipment, let you pick out a horse, and tell you what to do for your first policeman work.”
We talked some about problems on the reservation, mainly theft of our horses in Nogal Canyon and men who made whiskey and sold it to the Mescaleros.
After we finished eating, Tata Crooked Nose and Branigan stood and held out their hands to leave us and go back to their places in the agency building. I nodded that I understood and again pumped hands with Branigan and Tata Crooked Nose as a sign that I would keep my word.
After they were gone, Blazer stood taking this all in with a big smile. “Those are good men. I think you’ll like being a policeman for Captain Branigan, and you can keep your rifle without worrying the army might try to take it from you.”
“This we will learn, Blazer. Now I go back to Juanita’s tipi and eat what she makes for me.”
“Good. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”
The shadows through the pines from the sun falling behind the western ridges painted the sky soft purple with orange and red patches and streaks across distant clouds, making the bright, yellow, tipi cooking fires easy to see up the canyon. As Juanita promised, my evening meal of mescal, venison, acorn bread, and juniper berries was ready.
We watched Kicking Wren play with the beaded strings on her cradleboard while we ate, saying little. At last, Juanita asked, “Did you speak with Tata Crooked Nose?”
“Hmmph.”
“Is he a good agent?”
I shrugged. “We have to wait and see. Perhaps he won’t steal our supplies like the other agents or give us over to the cavalry as Russell did. Blazer thinks he’ll do good.”
She was quiet for a while as the darkness grew deeper under the trees and the night crickets and frogs by the stream grew louder. Kicking Wren yawned and began to chew on her fist. A cool breeze rolled off the ridges, and in her nearby tipi, I heard Sons-ee-ah-ray give an old woman’s c
ackle at something Lucky Star said.
Juanita’s eyes followed my face as she said, “When will you start work for Captain Branigan and become a tribal policeman? You liked him I know.”
My lower jaw dropped. How did she know these things?
“Are you a di-yen, seeing what happens far away?”
She giggled and said, “I’m no di-yen. I listen and watch. Branigan and Tata Crooked Nose speak straight. I heard them say they need policemen, and I heard Blazer tell them how you impressed Al Sieber that day you shot for him and how you have light behind your eyes. I know this is Indah work you want to do. When will you begin?”
I stared in the fire for a moment and said, “Tomorrow at sunrise.”
“Enjuh. I will be out of the blankets early to give you something to eat from my fire. See Kicking Wren sleeps and the night is full of good sounds. Husband, come to my blankets. Kicking Wren will soon need a baby brother.”
I thought, I should get a policeman’s job more often.
CHAPTER 17
TRIBAL POLICEMAN
Captain Branigan was a good police chief. For the first ten suns I was a policeman, he had me ride with an old warrior, Chawnclizzay (the Goat), who had worked with Agent Russell, and was now Branigan’s sergeant, to keep order before the soldiers came to disarm and unhorse the Mescaleros. He asked Chawnclizzay to teach me the best ways to handle tribal disturbances that ranged from disputes over women to arguments over card games to controlling and preventing tiswin or Indah whiskey drunks. I learned much from the old man and knew I had much more to learn when Branigan sent word for me to come speak to him.
I came to Branigan’s door just as the sun poured golden light through his back window, and the night water that collected on the glass rolled down in tiny rivers to form little puddles on the sill. He was already working. He saw me standing at the door, nodded, got his old floppy trooper’s hat, and led me out on the porch. Blazer’s sawmill was just beginning to cut planks off logs, and the air was cool and comfortable, a fine bright morning from Ussen.
Branigan nodded toward the western ridges. “You live over beyond that ridgeline, don’t you?”
“Hmmph. Just before the Rinconada, there I live with our little band.”
“Soldiers tell me they see young warriors disappearing over the western mountains and not coming back. Some soldiers believe they are leaving to join Nana. Peso and Choneska, maybe you know them, two of Chief Nautzile’s best warriors, have been leading soldiers looking for Nana’s camp, but they haven’t found it.”
“Peso and Choneska I know. Strong warriors.”
He paused to pack his pipe and light it with a yellow flame from a big sulfur match while he studied me with a squint from under his big, dark, bushy brows. A good, orange-glowing coal started in his pipe’s bowl. After taking a few good puffs and deliberately tamping the ashes with the butt end of his knife, he said, “You live on the side of the reservation where Nana’s said to be hiding, and those young bucks disappear. You got any idea where he hides? That old man must be past seventy. I heard he limps badly when he walks. His warrior days must be long gone. I’m thinkin’ the young men go see him for advice and then take off for fun and blood. If you can find him, we might be able to keep more young men from running off and getting themselves killed. You want to move around on the western range for a while and see what you can find?”
“I will look for Nana.”
“Good. If you see his camp, come back and tell me.” He took a long draw from his pipe and grinned. “The soldiers will convince him to stay and advise the young men not to go out.”
The tone of Branigan’s voice told me he was Coyote, the trickster, waiting, but I knew how to play Coyote’s game, too.
“I will look for Nana and tell you when I find him.”
Branigan nodded. “Good. Show you’re a better tracker than Peso or Choneska. You might save the lives of some young men who ride over that last ridge into the Rinconada. Go now.”
“Hmmph. I go.” I thought, What you really mean, Indah chief, is I save Indah lives if I find Nana.
For three suns I rode over the western range of the reservation and out into the Rinconada. I looked in all the right places where the Blue Coats thought he might hide, and I left a good trail in case Branigan sent someone to follow me, but I never went to Nana’s camp. I rode by the canyon where his wickiups stood looking like part of the natural brush, and I even saw two of his warriors look out from behind piñons to watch me. On the morning of the seventh sun, I saw his wickiups empty, and he and his band gone. I rode through the camp, counted wickiups, and looked in the horse corral to learn how well they rode and judged by their tracks and the dryness of the horse apples that they had left early the night before. It was time to tell Branigan I had found Nana’s camp.
I rode hard over the ridges back to the agency, letting brush rub my clothes and pony, making us both look like we rode in a hurry. I tied my lathered pony to the hitching post in front of the big building and ran inside to stop before the open door of Branigan’s place. He spoke to Peso and Choneska and waved for me to come in when he saw how hard I had been riding. He raised his big, bushy eyebrows in question.
I said, “Nana’s camp on edge of Rinconada. All gone. Leave last sundown. Women and children go, too. Maybe twenty-five Mescaleros with Nana’s fifteen warriors.”
Branigan clenched his teeth and slammed his fist against his table. His anger made Peso and Choneska jump and look at me with wide eyes. He said, “Damn! I hate to hear that. Blood’s gonna flow until we can bridle that old man. I’ve got to send a telegram to Fort Stanton. They’ll want to be after him as fast as they can.” He wrote out a note with big flourishing letters and then said, as he ran out the door in long, swinging strides, “Back in a minute, boys. Got to get this on the wire.”
Peso looked at me and said, “You found Nana’s camp back in that little canyon on the Rinconada?”
I looked him in the eye and said, “I did, and he was there twenty suns ago.”
Peso and Choneska looked at each other and laughed. Peso said, “For a young man, you’re a pretty good scout. Come see me sometime, and we’ll talk over a smoke.”
I nodded just as Branigan returned to sit in his chair and begin filling his pipe.
In seven suns, stories filled the reservation about the power of Nana’s raid and how a soldier chief named Teniente (Lieutenant) Guilfoyle chased him hard, but never caught him in the wide trail of death and destruction he and his warriors left. Even Tata Crooked Nose’s woman, called by our People “Miss Ida,” who came to the agency house nearly a moon after him, passed a Nakai-yi covered wagon that was stopped close to the White Sands, horses gone, and the hand of a dead man hanging out from under the cover. When her driver stopped to check, he found another Nakai-yi and a woman piled up dead inside. Miss Ida, she’s one lucky woman. If she had come earlier, she would have been in that wagon, too.
Nana’s raid lasted about a moon. The story we heard about the last fight in his raid came from a trooper at Fort Stanton who told it to Branigan. He said Teniente Smith and some Blue Coat buffalo soldiers had the last fight with Nana close to the land of the Nakai-yes and that Smith and half his troopers went to the Happy Land.
All during Nana’s long raid, I kept a tally of what Nana and his warriors did, and it made every warrior on the reservation proud they were Apaches. Nana killed at least fifty Indah, some said three hundred, but I didn’t believe it, and drove off nearly two hundred horses and mules before he disappeared into the land of the Nakai-yes.
Not long before the Season of Earth is Reddish Brown, Branigan sent for me again. I went to the agency the same day I heard him call for me. On the agency porch, he waved for me to sit on a bench next to him and said, “Yellow Boy, your brothers, the other policemen, tell me you have eyes like Cougar and see well in the night. Do they speak the truth?”
“Hmmph. My eyes good when night comes and a little moonlight shows the way. Not so goo
d when no moon.”
“I’ve seen you shoot, and I know you can hit anything you can see. If you can see at night and can shoot half as good as you do durin’ the day, then I have a special job for a man with your talents. What say you?”
“You say go, I go. What you want?”
“Remember I said when you started work as a policeman that you stay away from the Indah as a policeman unless I specifically said so?”
“I know your words.”
“Well, sir, I’m now specifically tellin’ you I want an Indah policeman and a tribal policeman in the same body for this work.”
“You say I can shoot Indah, if they not do as I say?”
“I say I want you to shoot whoever steals Mescalero horses. I ain’t supposed to let you boys shoot the White Eyes. But in this case, I will. Some bad White Eye gangs over in Lincoln County come here over the ridges, and maybe some Texas gangs out of the White Sands around La Luz. Under a full moon, they steal horses wherever they find ’em. Mostly they raid Nogal Canyon. It’s gonna stop. Major Llewellyn and me ain’t gonna tolerate it. If I use just one shooter, the sheriff won’t believe the tribal police shot them boys. If a few of them gang members gets their tails shot off, they’ll run to the sheriff and claim the Mescaleros shot ’em when they just rode through. Sheriff from Lincoln will come nose around and ask us a few questions, but Llewellyn and me will claim we know the location of all the tribal policemen and other warriors on them nights. The sheriff will go away, tell them boys there ain’t nothin’ happenin’ on the reservation, and they’re gonna think twice about stealin’ your horses.
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