"Something's always happening. Freak storms, drunk drivers, you name it. It is absolutely impossible to live a life completely without danger. We'll just do what we normally do: keep our eyes open."
He kissed her and she hugged him tightly. He thought for a moment she wasn't going to let go (not an unpleasant possibility), but she finally did. She returned his kiss and nodded, "Be careful."
"I will. You, too."
It had been almost a week since the scream and life had seemed completely normal in La Plata Canyon afterward. No more funeral processions, tracks in the yard, or odd occurrences. Both Heather and Garison had continued to wonder what had happened—had even discussed it a couple times—but the subject had moved to the back of their mental burners. In fact, it was all, for practical purposes, forgotten.
Garison looked out the front window and smiled at the vista before him. While his house was still in shade, the morning sun had broken over the eastern crest of the canyon and bathed the western slope in bright sunlight. He started to sit down in his easy chair and watch the morning news, but decided instead to step out onto the porch to watch the valley as the sun rose behind him. There had been a faint whiff of autumn on the air the previous morning and he wanted to see if it had just been his imagination.
His first Dr Pepper of the day in his right hand, he opened the front door with his left. His eyes opened wide, a loud gasp escaped his mouth, and he dropped the DP on the floor. Heather heard the crash of glass from the kitchen and stuck her head around the corner. "What—" she started to ask, then saw the startled look on Garison's face, where he stood frozen.
She followed his gaze and gasped herself. "What—" she repeated, but could get no further.
Garison reached up and pulled the arrow out of the front door. The shaft was made of willow, the tip of real flint, and actual bird feathers made up the fletch. On the shaft were a few painted markings, intricate but simple work obviously done with care.
Heather finally managed, "Where did that come from?"
"You got me," he replied, studying the arrow.
"What was it doing in our door?"
"Again, you got me." Looking at it, he said, "Someone put a lot of work into this arrow just to shoot it into our door. This is some fine work."
She came over and cautiously took the arrow from him. After a bit of study, she asked, "I'll grant you that it's good work, but I'm more concerned with why it was stuck in our front door. You think maybe it's a signal? Someone wanting us off the land?"
"What? Like in the old westerns? More likely it's someone's idea of a practical joke. You know Parmalee. He'll probably show up later saying injuns attacked the homestead and he hid the wife and young'uns in the root cellar."
"What about an out of season bow hunter? Remember those the sheriff caught back up the canyon last year?"
"Could be, I guess." He shook his head and added, "But they wouldn't be using arrows like this. They'd be shooting those fiberglass shaft, steel tipped jobs. You know, the ones with the nylon fletch. There aren't that many people around today who could fire these with any sort of accuracy."
"Maybe that's why they hit our house. Maybe they were really shooting at a dear and this one got away. We see deer in the yard pretty often, you know."
"An arrow like this one's just too hard to come by to let it get away. I mean, you'd go find it if you didn't hit what you were aiming at."
"So why was it stuck in our front door?"
Garison looked at the door, and the nick in it where the arrow had been. Touching the spot absently, he mumbled, "I've probably already smudged any fingerprints that might have been on it. Tell you what, give me that back and I'll take it down to Charlie. Maybe he can tell me something about it."
"I thought he was lecturing in Tempe?"
Garison reminded her, "He got in last Friday. Remember, we saw him heading for church at the same time as us."
"You don't think it actually came from an Indian, do you?" Heather queried skeptically. "A real Indian?"
"I don't think an Indian fired it, no," Garison replied. "I am thinking someone might have bought it from some Indian curio shop down in New Mexico. Charlie might could tell me where it came from. I mean, if it's as real as it looks."
"Then maybe we could figure out how it made its way up here," Heather nodded.
"I hate to say it, but we could use your nutty friend Bat Garrett on this."
"He's not a nut," Heather defended, "But why do you say that?" Garison had never liked Bat Garrett, but Heather figured that was just because she had once been in love with Bat. She was one hundred percent in love with Garison now, but she always thought there might have been just a little jealousy there. While she didn't like the fact that there was animosity between her husband and one of her best friends, she did rather like Garison's jealousy (though she wouldn't have admitted it to anyone). So it seemed weird to hear Garison actually wishing for Bat.
"As weird and annoying as he is," Garison complimented backhandedly, "He is a good private detective. He's good at figuring out this kind of stuff. Remember when he traced that unregistered gun back to a pawn shop in Big Spring?"
Heather chided playfully, "If you want, I can call him and ask him to come up—"
"No," he hastily replied. More calmly, he added, "I'll just go see Charlie. We'll see what he can tell me about this."
Charlie Begay looked up from his flower garden and smiled when he saw it was Garison Fitch pulling into his driveway. He thought the belegana a little more eccentric than most, yet oddly likable. He liked the fact that Garison treated him not like an Indian, but just like a person. In fact, that had been a hallmark of Garison's tenure as Justice of the Peace. Ever since, Garison was about the only white lawyer some of Charlie's fellow Navajos would trust.
Garison's demeanor reminded Charlie more than once that he seemed to meet people of one extreme or another. They either patronized him to no end because he was a Native American—"suck ups" he liked to think of them; or, they went out of their way to treat him like a white man. Either way, they cam across as disingenuous. Garison, however, just treated him like a person.
Garison got out of his beat up old truck and came over and shook Charlie's hand. Charlie could always tell when Garison was entering or leaving the canyon by the sound of that truck's motor. Needed a new muffler, or something. Glancing over at it, Charlie thought that maybe the muffler needed a new truck. They exchanged small talk before Charlie, sensing Garison had come for a reason, asked, "What brings you down my way?"
Garison shrugged, as if a little embarrassed, but finally held out the arrow and explained, "When I woke up this morning I found this stuck in my front door. I know you're an authority on Native American culture and I was hoping you could tell me something about it."
The truth was, Charlie Begay was one of the nation's foremost experts on Native American culture—especially as it applied to the western tribes. While only in his late fifties, he had already been able to leave his resident teaching position at the University of New Mexico and make a far better living as a consultant and guest lecturer. He had moved to the La Plata Canyon with his wife and three kids the previous year, but had known Garison for much longer. While La Plata was a bit north of the traditional land of the Navajos, it was near enough to relatives to make visiting an easy proposition. The truth was that, like Garison, Charlie had just fallen in love with La Plata Canyon as a boy and had always dreamed of living there.
Charlie took the arrow and gave it a cursory glance. When Garison first held it out, Charlie had assumed it would be some cheap reproduction of an Indian arrow. He saw those all the time—some even passed off as authentic by men who should know better. As he looked at it, though, he quickly asked, "You say this was just stuck in your door?"
At the obvious surprise and interest in Charlie's voice, Garison replied, "Yeah. Why?"
Charlie looked at the arrow and said, "The make and the markings indicate that this arrow is Cheyenne."
"You mean like bought in some curio shop run by a Cheyenne, right?"
Charlie shook his head and explained, "I don't think so. Garison, this looks to me like the work of an actual Cheyenne warrior—circa, say, mid eighteen hundreds."
"You can tell that?"
"Styles and fashion change over the years. Just like you can probably tell the year of an old car."
"I can't, but Heather can," Garison quipped wryly. "Why would someone go to all the trouble to make an arrow look over a hundred years old, then shoot it into my door?"
"No, I'm not saying this arrow looks like it's a hundred years old. This arrow is made exactly like they were made back then." At Garison's questioning look, Charlie explained further, "It's almost like a painting. If I were a good artist, I might could imitate the 'Mona Lisa', right? I might could even do a fair job imitating Da Vinci's brush strokes. Some things, though, are bound to be different—unless I have incredible resources. The pigments used now are different from what he used way back then. How canvases are made—even the brushes we use—those things change over the years. Though maybe not exactly, arrows and other artifacts are the same. Many tribes had one or two artisans who made all the arrowheads for the tribe. Or, one man who taught everyone how to make their tips. We can sometimes identify that a skeleton we find was most likely killed by such and such a tribe because an arrowhead found in the body was manufactured by a certain artisan—or the student of a certain artisan. It's like a study of ballistics. Anyway, this arrow—the head, especially—is manufactured just like the arrows of the Summerset tribe of Cheyennes in the eighteen hundreds."
"You can tell that just by looking?" Garison asked skeptically, again. He still had trouble believing his wife was an old car buff and this went beyond that level of expertise.
"I know arrowheads. I've made it a point to study the arrows and their makes of the New Mexico and Colorado Indians especially. I have quite a collection, in fact. Not just the arrowheads, but many complete arrows." He motioned to the house and said, "Come in here for a minute."
Charlie led Garison into his study, saying hello to his wife Mari as they passed. Mari asked how Heather and Sarah were and Garison told her they were doing well; and that Mari ought to go up and visit them sometime. She said she would. Mari was a pretty woman whose natural expression often looked angry or upset, but she was actually a very friendly person. After having thought she was out of sorts a time or two Garison had finally realized her mouth just had a natural frown.
Charlie flipped on a light in the most immaculate study Garison had ever seen. He went directly to a specific book and pulled it off the shelf. Opening it on his desk, he flipped through the book, holding the arrow as a sort of pointer. When he had found the page he was looking for, he showed Garison, "See, here's your arrow, and here's one from the Summerset tribe, circa 1830s. Told you I recognized it," he added proudly.
Garison looked, but had to admit, "I really can't tell any difference between that arrow and the one across the page."
Charlie glanced at the other page, but said, "Believe me, there's a big difference." Then Charlie looked at the page he had first pointed at closer as if in surprise. "My goodness!" he mumbled.
"What?" Garison asked quickly, looking closer to see what had drawn Charlie's attention.
Charlie pointed at the arrow in the picture, then lined up Garison's arrow right underneath it. Charlie told him, "Look at this. The markings on your arrow are the same as the markings on the one in the book!"
"So?"
"So the arrow in the book is a picture of an authentic arrow from Sun Chaser!" At Garison's non comprehending look, Charlie elaborated, "Sun Chaser was a well known wise man and leader among the Cheyenne during their first dealings with the white man. When he was presented with gifts from the Great White Father, Sun Chaser gave the whites this arrow. It was like, um, like if you met a great football player and he gave you his jersey—not a replica but the one he'd worn in the Super Bowl. A big deal, right? I've seen this arrow myself in the Smithsonian. You know, if all the Cheyennes had listened to Sun Chaser—and the whites as well—life could have been much better for both sides. He was a wise man."
"So you're thinking someone copied Sun Chaser's arrow and stuck it in my front door?"
"No. I'm saying I think this is actually one of Sun Chaser's arrows! I mean, if it's not, it's the best forgery I've ever seen! The expense to produce an arrow this authentic would be—enormous."
"But it's too new to be one of Sun Chaser's arrows," Garison objected. "That willow looks like it was cut recently, not a hundred . . . " Garison's voice tailed off and his eyes got wide.
Charlie didn't notice at first, then looked at his friend and said, "You look like someone who's seen a skinwalker."
Garison shook himself, then asked, "You believe in skinwalkers, Charlie?"
Charlie shrugged and replied, "Maybe. I believe some people believe in them, if that makes sense. I don't really believe in ghosts, but I know some people who do. Maybe you could say I believe skinwalkers exist in some people's imaginations. So, on some level, they do exist. Philosophical, I guess. What's this got to do with the arrow?"
"Maybe nothing," Garison shrugged. "It's just that skinwalkers might be an easier explanation for this than, well," he suddenly changed expressions and asked, "You believe in time travel, Charlie?"
"Like H.G. Wells and stuff? Not as much as I believe in ghosts, why?"
Garison hesitated, then offered, "What if I told you I knew a guy—a scientist—who claimed to have traveled through time? Would you believe me?"
"Believe you when you say you know a guy who says he traveled through time? Sure, I'd believe that. We all know a crazy person or two. I know a fellow over in Cortez that claims he gets abducted by aliens every Friday night then gets left drunk in the city park the next morning."
"No. I'm saying," Garison hesitated, "As a scientist myself I truly believe this guy has traveled through time. What would you say to that?"
It was Charlie's turn to hesitate, but he finally said, "If it was anyone but you, Fitch, I'd say they were crazy. But let's say I'm not saying that. What does that mean you're saying?"
Garison picked the arrow up off the book and looked at it for a moment. After a few moments, he said, "What about this arrow? What if it really is an authentic Sun Chaser arrow? How would you explain the fact that I found it stuck in my door this very morning? And that it's obviously new?"
"Best forgery I've ever seen? At least, that would probably be my official response were this for a consulting job."
Garison smiled and said, "You're probably right. Still, why would someone go to that much trouble for a fake then shoot it into my front door?"
"Kids? Some punk stole it from where his dad made it?"
"Could be." Garison nodded and agreed, "Yeah, that's probably it." Quickly, maybe a little too quickly, he smiled and said, "Well, I don't want to take any more of your time."
Charlie asked, "Could I keep that arrow for a while? I've got a friend over in Pueblo I'd like to show it to. He knows a lot about Sun Chaser, did some serious study on the man. Maybe he could figure out who your forger is."
"Sure," Garison replied, handing him the arrow. He thanked Charlie again for his help and left, saying good bye to Mari on the way out.
Charlie followed him out to his car and stopped Garison just before he got in. Charlie asked, "You're thinking that maybe this arrow traveled through time to get here? You're thinking it's authentic?"
Garison smiled, "Sounds crazy, huh?"
"Without a doubt. Dumbest thing I ever heard."
Charlie stopped, but looked like he was going to say something else. Finally, Garison asked, "What? What are you thinking."
"Sun Chaser came west just before taking over the leadership of the Sommerset tribe. From the descriptions given, some folks think he came here, to La Plata Canyon. Wherever it was he went, he claimed to have a had a powerful vision—from the Christian G
od."
"What kind of vision, Charlie?"
"He never would say exactly. But he saw something that made him think the Cheyenne and the white man could live in peace."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Charlie shrugged and said, "I'm not sure. I think this is a grade-a forgery, Garison. But Sun Chaser was here. And he claimed to have seen something."
"Think he saw the future?"
"He saw something." Charlie slapped the side of Garison's truck and watched it drive away. He took another puzzled look at the arrow, then walked inside.
"What did he say?" Heather asked with only marginal interest. In her own mind, she had already written it off as some sort of practical joke. At least, that's what she told her mind to keep herself from thinking of other, more sinister possibilities.
Garison came over to her and said seriously, "He said it's an incredible forgery of a century old Cheyenne arrow. He said it was made to look like the arrow of a Cheyenne wise man known as Sun Chaser who lived in the early 1800s." A little ominously, Garison added, "He said it was the best forgery he had ever seen."
Heather looked up at the tone in his voice and asked with trepidation, "What do you mean by that tone?"
"What if it weren't a forgery? He said it's such a good job of craftsmanship he almost didn't think it was forgery. What if Sun Chaser really did make that arrow?"
"A hundred years ago?"
"Closer to two hundred."
"It didn't look that old," she objected.
"Exactly."
Her eyes got wide as she realized what he was hinting at. She asked nervously, "You mean what if Sun Chaser made that arrow and fired it close to two hundred years ago and it stuck in our door last night?"
"That's what I mean."
Grasping at straws, she said, "But I thought the Cheyenne stayed pretty much on the other side of the Rockies. This was Ute and Navajo country over here."
"Vision quest," Garison proposed. "Trip deep into the mountains after game during an especially bad year. Who knows? The Indians were nomads. While they mostly stayed in a large, general area, they often went far afield. The Cherokee were known from Florida to Texas—at one time or another. They covered a lot of ground that we know of—maybe even more that we don't."
The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 2): Saving Time Page 7
