CHAPTER 30
AL SIEBER
* * *
Juanita worked hard with Maria and the other women to collect and save food for the hard, hungry times coming in the Ghost Face Season. For reasons only Ussen knew, she had not conceived with me, though we joined our bodies with unbridled desire through the moons of the seasons of Large Leaves and Large Fruit.
As the seasons changed, I worried over what I needed to support my wife independently of what the reservation agent gave us and tried different jobs in the sawmill, worked as a drover of Fort Stanton cattle used to feed the reservation, helped cut timber in the high mountain forests and drag it to the mill, and took a wagon on two trips to Tularosa loaded with lumber and returned with supplies for Blazer’s mercantile store. I liked none of this work enough to stay on any job more than a few weeks.
The work I wanted was that of tribal policeman, but I didn’t like the Indah in charge who made the officers wear pants, and there was even talk the officers might have to cut their hair short. Caballo Negro once told me that foolish leaders killed more warriors than all the bullets the Indah ever shot or might shoot, and I never asked to be considered for tribal policeman. I thought the business of wearing pants and the possibility of cutting my hair for a job to settle quarrels and catch thieves was foolish, and it showed the tribal policeman Indah chief a fool.
One day early in the Season of Earth is Reddish Brown (late fall), Juanita and I rode the trail from our camp across the high ridges and through the tall pines and junipers sprinkled with bits of color from oaks and aspens in crisp, brilliant air to Blazer’s store. We planned to buy winter supplies with the few dollars I had earned trying different jobs.
I waited outside the store with the horses and sat on the porch edge listening to the whirring, chuffing sounds of the sawmill next door while Juanita decided on a new cooking pot, chose an ax, and selected a few yards of cloth to make shirts for me and shifts for her mother, sister, and herself.
Behind me, the sound of boots clomping out the store doorway stopped, and then I heard them moving in my direction. Ever vigilant, I pulled the hammer back on the rifle and waited. Fingers touched my shoulder, and Joe Blazer said, “Yellow Boy, there’s a feller here wants to meet you. Name’s Al Sieber.”
I let the hammer down on the rifle before I stood and the movement along with the associated metallic clicks didn’t appear to be lost on Al Sieber, whose eyes and ears seemed to collect every detail around him. I faced them, the rifle resting easy in the crook of my left arm.
Al Sieber, at six foot, three inches, and 175 pounds of trail-tough muscle, was five inches taller than me and thirty pounds heavier. His big, soft, gray hat tilted back on his head, and a heavy black moustache covered his upper lip. Sieber smiled, stuck out his hand, and said words I had not heard an Indah say before, “Dánt’e, Yellow Boy.”
I took his hand, felt the power in its strong, callused fingers, pumped it twice, and said, “Nish’ii’ (I see you), Al Sieber. Why you speak to me?”
Before Sieber could reply, Blazer said, “Al was Chief of Scouts for General Crook over in Arizona. He’s always looking for Apaches who have nerve, can shoot and track, and are willing to end Apache raiding for the good of the People in Arizona and New Mexico. I told him I thought you were probably a good shot, even if I haven’t seen you shoot, that you’re plenty smart, and you might be interested in being a scout to keep the Blue Coats from attacking peaceful people, so he wanted to meet you.”
Sieber nodded at the rifle resting in the crook of my left arm. “Can yah hit anything with that ol’ Henry? Where’d yah get it anyway?”
“My father gave it to me. Rufus Pike showed me how to shoot. My Power is in this rifle. I always carry it. You know Rufus Pike?”
He sounded like he was jerking air back in his chest when he said, “Yah. Rufus Pike I know. We’re friends a long time. I asked ’im to come back to th’ Army and help lead scouts. He said no. Said he had a personal treaty with the Apaches—they leave him alone, and he don’t bother them. If ol’ Rufus taught yah to shoot, then yah must be a good shot. Let’s walk over across th’ road to the doc’s corral. Show me ya shoot good, and maybe we talk about scouting sometime for th’ Blue Coats. Yah?”
I nodded and followed Sieber and Blazer across the road to the barn and corral behind Blazer’s house. No livestock were in the corral, and junipers and pines growing up the side of a ridge in front of us formed a dark green wall. Sieber leaned against the corral rails, studied the trees at the edge of the ridge, and pointed toward a pine about two hand spans in diameter and about a hundred and fifty yards away. “See that tree yonder? Think maybe yah can hit that tree with your ol’ Henry rifle?”
I smiled. “Where do you want the tree shot?”
Sieber shook his head and smiled. “Yah got the smart pants. They on, eh? Okay. We’ll see. Shoot where the stub of a limb that’s been cut off sticks out about a man’s height on the right side. I can see where it is with my binoculars, and just barely with my eye. Yah see it?”
I lifted the rifle, flipped up the rear sight, raised the sight bar a notch, and then butted the stock to my shoulder. I sighted the tree for the space of a long breath and fired. As the thin smoke cleared and the echoes from the old rifle’s thunder died away, we could see a piece of white against the dark brown bark where the bullet hit just under the limb stub.
The sound of gunfire brought folks in the store and agency out on their porches. Blazer raised his arms and yelled, “Just a little target shooting! Nothing to worry about!” The Indah nodded and most went back inside.
Sieber squinted in his binoculars and mumbled, “Damn! I don’t think I could have hit that. Maybe it was a lucky shot. Shoot again.”
I smiled, again raised the rifle to my shoulder, and effortlessly put three more rounds within the size of my palm around the first shot.
Sieber shook his head. “I’m a good shot, but I ain’t sure I coulda done that. Best shooting I’ve seen in many moons. Can yah hit movin’ targets?”
I squatted down by a corral post, swept my hand across the sandy soil, and picked up three rocks the size of small green apples. I held them out to Sieber, who took them and said, “How many at once, and how far you want ’em?”
I shrugged. “You throw. I shoot.”
The rocks all fit easily in Sieber’s big hand. He cocked his arm and threw them hard. I shouldered the rifle in a smooth motion, tracking the three rocks flying a few feet apart and falling together like a flock of birds. My first shot turned the middle rock into a puff of dust. I levered a second round, the rifle never leaving my shoulder, and fired with virtually no pause to sight on the other two rocks. The Henry thundered, and the second rock exploded. The third rock was just a few feet off the ground when my third bullet blew it to pieces.
Sieber turned to Blazer, who was grinning and scratching his beard. “Blazer, why ain’t yah told me ’bout this man before?”
Laughing, Blazer said, “Because this is the first time I’ve seen him shoot. He told me that rifle was part of his Power. I didn’t doubt it then, and I sure don’t doubt it now.”
Sieber, shaking his head, shook my hand again. “You’re best shooter I’ve ever seen. You’re better’n me. Let’s go over to th’ store and drink some of Blazer’s coffee and talk about yah scouting for the Blue Coats one of these days if there’s a need for it. Ain’t much goin’ on right now, to tell the truth. Hell, I was gonna run for sheriff over to Arizona and decided I’d be better off ramblin’ an’ lookin’ for places to mine.”
I nodded and followed the two Indah back to Blazer’s store.
That night, Juanita served me a fine meal of beef and corn, fry bread made with acorn flour, and piñon nut coffee. I grunted in satisfaction as I ate it and nodded, “Good, good,” when she looked at me and raised her brows to ask. When I sat my cooking pan plate down, she filled a plate for Maria and left to carry it to her. Soon she returned, served her plate, and sat down by the fi
re, her feet folded under her. I finished my coffee, lit one of my thin, black cigars, and blew smoke to the four directions. I nodded at her, grinned, and said, “Ask, and I will answer.”
“What said the Indah Sieber?”
“Sieber said I’m the best with a rifle he’s seen. Better even than him. He thinks I’d make a good scout for the Blue Coats, but things are quiet now. When the time comes, he wants me to scout for him.”
“Will you do this?”
“Maybe so. The Blue Coats give their scouts bullets, clothes, food, and as much money as Blue Coat soldiers to help the Blue Coats catch those who leave the reservation and raid the Indah stores and ranches. He says when trouble comes and I scout for the Blue Coats, I probably must stay at San Carlos Reservation or one of the forts on the Tonto Rim. I saw San Carlos during Cha’s last long raid across the great river. Not a fit place to live. It’s a land of snakes, spiders, and centipedes. Many people get sick. Many die. Bands that hate each other are forced to live together. Many fights among the People. Not much food. The agent steals and sells like Godfroy at this place. It’s like Bosque Redondo when we were little. I won’t live there. Maybe it will change someday, but it’s no good now.”
“When you go, I’ll go.”
“No. You’ll stay here. Your mother lives here. She’ll help you with our children. We’ll live good with money the Blue Coats give me. I’ll come plenty of times. But I don’t go now even though Sieber said if I wanted to start soon he would ask the Blue Coats to take me. That is all I have to say.”
Juanita bowed her head acknowledging she understood.
CHAPTER 31
NANA
* * *
Deep in the night, my guardian spirit woke me up. I listened but heard nothing except the rainwater gently dripping off the pine tree needles onto our tipi from the middle night rain. The dim skylight I saw against dark, lumpy clouds through the tree limbs above the smoke vent showed dawn was close. Juanita, deep in sleep, her warm, naked body beside me, made me smile. She was a good woman. Already an expert in husbandry, she knew well how to please me. The thought came to me that perhaps she might please me again at the edge of the morning light as she had earlier in the night before we collapsed safe and peaceful in lovers’ sleep.
As the thought filled my mind and body, I heard a horse snort, a horse far too close to be ours. I sat up, my fingers closing around the cold, steel barrel of my rifle. The sudden change from warm blanket to cold air woke Juanita, and she instinctively reached for her shift. I touched my fingers to my lips for silence, and she nodded. Then I slid on my moccasins and listened for other sounds, but there were none. By the time Juanita reached for her moccasins, I was under the edge of the tipi and moving silently through the trees.
I stayed low in the shadows to keep from being outlined in the soft dawn light. Soon, I saw a horse tied at the edge of the trees but no shadowy outlines that shouldn’t be there. I waited for more light, unmoving, barely breathing.
Behind me, an old man’s thin, whispery voice said, “Nish’ii’ (I see you), my son. My horse and I mean you no harm.”
Only through years of disciplined training was I able to control my reflexes and not jerk in surprise. “Idiits’ag (I hear you), Grandfather. Who are you, and why are you in our camp?”
“I am Nana, leader of a band of Mimbreños who no longer camp with Victorio. I bring my people to find shelter in the Ghost Face Season with the Mescaleros. The women and children and old warriors wait down the wagon road near the village (Tularosa) on the Rio Tularosa; my young men have already crossed the high western ridge and wait in the Rinconada. I come to talk with Yellow Boy, learn what to expect on this reservation from a warrior not long here who sees with his head and is wise.”
“What you ask I will answer, but how do you know me to come to our camp?”
“I will tell you, but first, can we get out of the rain and sit by your fire? I carry many years, and the cold and rain make my bones ache. They make me move slowly in rain times.”
“My woman makes her fire as we speak. Come.”
The old man said the fire was a gift from Ussen and nodded his thanks when Juanita poured him coffee and then filled my cup. Nana took a long swallow, smacked his lips in satisfaction, and said, “Enjuh! It makes my belly warm and helps me move my arms and legs. Daughter, you do good for this old man.” Juanita smiled, nodded, and continued preparing a meal. Through the steam rising off his coffee, Nana looked across his cup at me and said, “You are the warrior called Yellow Boy?”
I nodded and waited.
“Chief of Scouts, the Indah, Sieber, told his chief he saw you shoot. He said you’re the best shot he ever sees, and the man who runs the mill at the agency here, Blazer, whom the Mescaleros call friend, said you carry bright light in your head. He said Sieber wanted you for his scouts.” I frowned, wondering, How does the old man know this?
Nana grinned and nodded.
“One of the scouts who heard this is married to a Mimbreño woman whose cousin is in my band. Ha! Apache news travels faster than that on the Indah telegraph . . . Sorry, I talk too much. I come to the Mescaleros because the Indah cannot decide what to do with my people. First, they sent us to Ojo Caliente where we wanted to stay. Then they changed their minds and said, ‘No, the Mimbreños must go to San Carlos.’ Victorio is my chief. He knows San Carlos is a place of death, and he won’t go, won’t let his people go. He and warriors go to Mexico. I’m too old and have too many women and children to go to Mexico in the Ghost Face Season. We ask to come here and live with the Mescaleros after Victorio refused San Carlos. The Indah chief said, ‘Enjuh,’ and the Mescalero Chiefs, San Juan and Roman Chiquito, agreed to share the Mescalero Reservation with us, but said we must promise not to do anything on the reservation that would bring trouble, bringing the Blue Coats down on the Mescaleros. I have given my word, and it will be so.
“I came to you because I believed you would speak straight about the way of things on this reservation. I don’t trust this Agent Godfroy. I don’t trust any agent. My young men, I will not bring in. They will be free to come and go as they please, and as I send them, but they will do nothing to bring the Blue Coats down on the Mescaleros.”
He drained his cup and sat it down. Juanita poured him more coffee and said, “Grandfather, I have sugar. Do you want some for your coffee?”
“Daughter, you’re generous to an old man. Sugar in the coffee brings a good taste to the morning and strength to my bones.”
I blew across the top of my steaming hot cup and smiled as I watched Juanita charm the old man. After we finished our second cup of coffee, I spoke.
“It’s very cold in the mountains in the Ghost Face Season. In the canyons, out of the wind, a good tipi or covered wickiup with a fire will keep you from suffering. As you see, here there is plenty of wood for fires. The Rinconada touches good canyons. Camp there to stay away from prying eyes. Yes, Godfroy is a thief, but I can’t prove it. He keeps part of our rations and only gives us enough to go three or four days. We can draw more every seven days. But, there’s plenty of game to fill the empty days, and no one goes hungry.”
When he heard this, Nana grinned and said, “We must stop this thief.”
I nodded. “Blazer speaks straight and is a friend to the Apaches. He offers them work for the same pay he gives the Indah. When he gives advice, the listener does well to follow it. Beware his temper. He does not suffer fools with a smiling face.”
Juanita finished her preparations and gave us a morning meal of slices of baked mescal, roasted venison, and acorn bread. When we finished eating, Nana smoked with me, thanked me for my hospitality, and promised to visit again when his band was settled.
The next day Nana brought sixty-three women, children, and old men to the agency. Godfroy registered them, gave them their brass identification tags, an initial offering of meat, flour, sugar, corn, and green coffee beans, and left them alone to find a place to camp. Later, Nana told me that Godfroy
assumed what he saw was what he got. He didn’t ask about the whereabouts of the young men, and Nana didn’t tell him.
The Ghost Face Season fell on us with a fury and filled the canyons and passes with deep snow, making travel to the agency for supplies long and hard and visits between camps few. Many of the Mescaleros moved their tipis closer to the agency to avoid the long weekly walks to the agency, but others, including my little band and Nana’s band, chose to stay in our canyons and supplement what little we managed to take from the agency by hunting.
Soon, a moon had passed since Nana visited me in the early light, and clear weather came, bringing crackling cold that split pines, air brilliantly clear, and snow cover frozen deep and solid, just right for hunting elk. Juanita and I decided it was a good time to visit the Rinconada.
We found the Mimbreño wickiups set deeply back in the trees of a little box canyon, many covered with fresh deer hides and other animal skins to keep the lodges warm and hard to see, looking to untrained eyes like piles of snow. Most times the Mimbreños lived in the desert below the snow line and rarely went east as far as the prairie, and so had not adopted the tipi like the Mescaleros, who had often rubbed shoulders with and fought bloody wars with the Comanche and Kiowa. Wickiups were colder in winter than tipis, but could be made warm enough by covering the tops and sides with hides or canvas and keeping a hot fire in the middle.
We found Nana’s wickiup, and the old man bade us share his fire with him, his young grandson, a fine looking boy he called Torres, and his old wife, who sat in her part of the wickiup preparing a meal, a ragged robe around her shoulders, sharing the latest camp gossip with Juanita.
Killer of Witches: The Life and Times of Yellow Boy Mescalero Apache Page 19
