Black Ghost Runner

by M. Garnet

  Still, the income from the Casinos helped with education and provided medical treatment for the entire reservation. She heard it said that the schools were top of the line. That they even allowed the teaching of Indian Heritage as well as American History.

  One day, she looked up as Jim came into the office in a hurry.

  “Hey, Sally, you said you wanted to help in the field. School has started on the rez and I’ve lost one of my helpers. I have six hunters. I need help with the food service. It’s pretty cold up there, so make sure you bring proper clothes. You got an hour to get your stuff together.”

  He was gone, leaving her sitting there in shock, knowing she was wasting time. Sally shut everything down, cleared her desk, emptied the wastebasket so she could set it under the mail drop, then ran to her room.

  Getting her clothes together was easy. First, she dressed for the occasion. Her walking boots, socks, extra pair in her duffle, long-pocket khakis, long johns, extra undies, all into the duffle. She then put on the vest and loaded the pockets with little things, grabbed her leather gloves and jacket, finally satisfied that she had everything.

  Sally was back at the large Four by Four before Jim and that brought a smile to his deeply tanned face.

  The work wasn’t that bad. The worst part was the guys after the sun set. The fire was nice as they passed around the whiskey. They felt it was necessary to make a pass at her.

  Jim and Nino, the guy from the rez, protected her, making sure one of them was with her at all times, even when she had to go out to use the sanitary hole. Fortunately, they were gone the rest of the day, so she just cleaned up the campsite and filled in the sanitary hole, then dug another. Sally then prepared supper since they took box lunches. She did prepare the box lunches for the next day that she put into the ice chest that ran on the generator.

  The last day, with two kills, Nino stayed in the camp to prepare the two elk for transport back to the reservation. It seemed the reservation had a set-up to butcher, freeze, then ship the meat to the men who had met their quota.

  “Stupid hunters are more interested in their photos than what they kill. We eat what we kill. We keep the old ways, still.”

  Sally looked over at him as he was hanging the elk for the photo shoots. “I’m told that the schools on the reservation teach your history. That’s so important, because we lose so much of what is important. I worked for a company that helped animal clinics. I did a lot of research on animals, the history of how they became pets to humans. It’s really interesting.”

  He chuckled. “Yep, they learned to survive. Dogs and cats attach to man, and man feeds them. Hawks build nests on towers. Snakes live in the bushes, and flowers in every one’s gardens.”

  “Nino, I have a strange question to ask you. Do any of the Shoshone believe in the ancient myth of shifters?”

  Nino hunched down on his heels and turned the elk he was tying. He petted the soft muzzle of the dead animal.

  Sally heard him say a couple of words in a language she thought must be his Shoshone tongue.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get politically incorrect. You have been great keeping these creeps in their place.” She turned around and continued to work on the baked potatoes that were wrapped in foil on the edge of the fire.

  At last, she heard his voice behind her. “Sally, why the interest in shifters?”

  Sally looked over at him as he was still just hunching down in front of the Elk. “Believe it or not, a friend of mine actually thought that he knew a shifter. Being around animals all my life, I love them. I couldn’t believe that any animal was just meant to be a killer. That is the story about shifters. I think that is what my friend believes.”

  Nino stood up to look at her. “Don’t apologize, Sally. You didn’t insult me. Those idiots out there insult us, but I understand. If you are really interested in our history, there are a couple of elders that would love to talk your ears off. The next time you have some free time, come into the southern rez. Oh, and bring a gift. It is okay to bring alcohol. That’s a myth also, about Indians and firewater. Of course we have alcoholics, just like you pale faces. It is not everyone.” He smiled, his white teeth gleaming in his dark face.

  Sally enjoyed this trip out. The nights had turned cold. The last one was cold enough to make the city folks ready to head for home.

  Nino took the carcasses to the slaughterhouse and Sally loaded the last of the camping items into the Hummer. She got one last pass from one of the guys, then they were on the road with the men in their fancy rentals, heading in the other direction towards the small airport where they would fly home with lots of tales.

  Winter came in fast so, that meant there wasn’t much to do. There was heavy snow in the mountains, but still none in the lowlands. Where this small town was located there was just cold-biting wind blowing on the short days. She spent the time on the computer, updating Jim’s website. She was pleased when it started getting more hits.

  Jim didn’t seem so pleased. He wanted only enough business to pay the bills, just enough work to let him take days off to go fly-fishing.

  One Wednesday, he was leaving for lunch as a dry cold wind pushed a few snowflakes down the street.

  “Sally, let’s close up for the rest of the week. I know it will make a short pay check for you, but I’ll pay your groceries to make up for it. I need to go out to the ranch and check on my horses and I just feel like being lazy.”

  “Hey Jim, I don’t mind, but I need to borrow a car. I want to go out to the reservation so I can talk to some of the older people about their history. Got any suggestions?”

  He smiled as he went back in his office. He came out with a set of keys. “It ain’t fancy, but it runs good, an old pick-up truck behind the office out back. You will find four old chiefs among the Shoshone who love to talk. When a new one gets elected, the old ones just sit around giving advice whether it is needed or not. They love to have powwows. Look for one called Chief George. He loves chocolates. If you stay, take your own bedroll. Have fun.” He was gone and, since he hadn’t given her any warnings, it seemed to be fairly safe.

  Sally went first to the local general store. She walked around, but didn’t like the choice of candy. Next, she went to the small grocery store. There, she did find small packages of cheap chocolates along with some expensive ones, so she picked up two different bags. Any chocoholic should find something to like there. She was also able to buy a bottle of whiskey. She loved western grocery stores.

  Sally went to her apartment, dressed for the cold, picked up her bedroll, braided her long hair so that she could tuck it in, and found a wool scarf to tie over her ears. She took everything with her behind the office. She stopped as she grinned at the truck. She couldn’t guess the original color, but still it had bush guards in front and smaller ones in back, plus overhead lights.

  It started up immediately and had a full tank of gas. She would remember to fill it up when she returned. Sally headed out of town towards the southern edge of the reservation. It took about fifteen minutes before the heater kicked on. As it warmed up, she could take off her gloves and remove her scarf.

  It was a forty-five minute drive to get to the small community. It brought pain to her heart. Even with the money from the casinos, there was poverty here. Small homes with random repairs, lots of abandoned old vehicles, most rusted beyond recognition. Out in the cold, kids were playing on some of the cars, or on old piles of junk.

  Sally could tell that when summer came, there would be no grass on the lawns. Some of the homes were old trailers, rusted, with some lean-tos built against them. She was driving slowly, not really seeing any type of town or group of buildings.

  Finally, she found a grouping of newer homes. They were not the type you would find in a modern neighborhood, yet they were suitable for Wyoming. They were stucco over cement block with heavy wooden, steeply sloped roofs. They were all the same size, some painted, some left in their natural stat
e. A few had small porches at the front doors that were in the center of the home facing the road.

  There were no garages, but there were already rough buildings haphazardly put up on the properties behind the homes. Warm in winter, cool in summer and solid in storms. This was where some of the casino money went. She slowed down as a group of kids immediately surrounded her truck, white teeth showing through their dark grins, another sign of dental care from the casinos.

  One brave little ten year-old stepped up to the window. “This is Jim Whistle’s truck.”

  “Sure is. I work for him. My name is Sally.” This seemed to be the magic words as the rest crowded up close.

  “Is Jim looking for more help? We can do a lot. We know the rivers really good.”

  This brought a lot of agreement along with a couple of high fives.

  “No.” She smiled at their enthusiasm. “I am looking for Chief George. Can anyone help me?”

  All the kids looked at each other, then the bravest one moved up against the door. “I can take you to him if I can ride in the truck.”

  Sally had to laugh. She knew he was making points with his little tribe. “Sure, get in.”

  The joke was on her, because once the boy was in the passenger seat she put the truck in drive, they only went two houses down. He pointed to a house with a large front porch sporting a couple of run down wooden chairs. It also was the home of several dogs. She looked over at him, laughing out loud, as his gang was around the truck waiting for them to get out.

  “You are quite a good scout. I will have to recommend you to Jim.”

  He gave a whoop as he jumped from the truck.

  Sally started up the trampled dirt path leading to the steps. One of the boys yelled at her to stop as a couple of the dogs rose up, growling with a protection stance.

  “Wait for someone to come out. The dogs are dangerous.”

  She looked over her shoulder at the boys, as she went on up the path. The dogs had their hackles raised with their teeth bared. She noticed one was a female with teats hanging full, meaning she must have just given birth to a litter.

  “Hey, momma, where do you keep your babies?” She spoke in a low voice as she continued to approach slowly, going directly to the female. The bitch would be the leader, needing to make a show to keep her litter safe. The male backed up, continuing to growl low. He was also lowering his head. When she got to the steps, she just turned around and sat down with her back to the dogs, looking out at the amazed boys who were totally silent.

  Finally, the female had to smell Sally. The bitch had to determine if she was safe for the puppies. She made sure she didn’t flinch or move when she heard the sniffs near her ears then around her back. The female moved beside her, looking at the boys. Sally had a feeling that the boys had made a mistake. They tried too hard to approach the dogs, trying not to show their fear. She didn’t think the boys had mistreated the dogs. The female sat down on her rear end. Then both of them just sat there for a few minutes watching. The female finally got up to move away.

  Sally decided to sit still for a moment before getting up to knock on the door, but suddenly the female was back with a pup in her mouth that she set down on the wood. The pup whined so she pulled it against her leg. Immediately, the puppy was happy to find warmth. Seconds later, she had a lap full of furry wet noses.

  The boys tried to move closer, especially the brave one, but she heard the growls behind her. The boys stopped to sit back down on the cold ground to watch her.

  “Hey, Sally, how do you do that, you know, with the dogs?” The brave boy yelled.

  “She is one with the animals.”

  She held onto the puppies as she turned to look at a robust man in his late years of life with long grey braids. She had an idea she had found Chief George. He reached down picked up one of the pups to nuzzle it to his chin, smiling.

  Sally got up, careful with the dogs so that she could look at him. “Sorry, I’m Sally Denison. Are you Chief George?”

  She was aware that he looked at her for a long moment then set the pup down.

  “Why don’t you come in where it is warmer?” He indicated the half-opened door behind him.

  “Great. Wait, I have something for you.” Sally ran out, skipping around the sitting boys to grab her package from the truck seat. She came back up took only a moment to watch the mother herd her litter to the edge of the porch.

  Chief George held the door open for her and she went into a comfortable room. It was warm in the room, so she looked around as she handed him the grocery bag. She began to take off her jacket to hang it on the wooden hooks inside the door. The room was great, paneled in natural pine, waxed to a soft polish. The wood floor was covered with various handmade braided rugs thrown around wherever they were needed. The furniture was old, solid clean leather that bodies had worn to make an invitation. A beautiful pot-bellied stove sat in one corner. An antique collector would probably pay a lot for on the Internet. It had a stoked fire visible through the open door. She saw stacked cordwood behind it against the wall.

  Sally took in native baskets along with dream catchers on the walls as well as some hangings that she knew were native, but didn’t know the proper identification. Everything was cozy and spotless.

  Chief George sat on one couch. He pulled out the chocolate and begin to eat, letting his eyes go to the ceiling. “Jim gave you good advice.”

  Sally chose to sit down in one of the leather chairs. She immediately relaxed into the ambience of the room. With the sun blocked by the soft curtains made from thin Indian blankets on each window, the room was comfortable to the eye.

  “Well, what do you think this chocolate buys you, dog lover?”

  She would have been put off by the question, but his voice was gentle. There was a smile in his eyes.

  A woman entered. “Hello, I am Gloria.” She had a tray that she sat down. “George said company was coming, so I made coffee. If I had known it was a lady I would have made tea.”

  “Hi, thanks, but coffee is great. Lots of milk and sugar and the caffeine get me through the day.” She slid forward in the chair, taking the cup Gloria held out. Gloria poured real cream, then put three teaspoons of sugar, leaving the spoon in her cup. She sat back, stirred and took a sip. It was perfect.

  “Chief George, you knew I was coming? How does that work?”

  Gloria was starting to leave the room, but she stopped laughing. “Hon, you don’t want to believe half the crap he will tell you. It is just old Indian bull, yet it keeps him happy and out of my kitchen. Let me know if you need anything.” She was gone. The Chief looked insulted, but opened another package of the chocolates.

  “So, little lady, whose name is not Sally, what do you wish to learn.”

  Sally looked at him. He didn’t look like Indian medicine men you saw in movies a lot, looking like a modern day Chief. He was healthy, tanned deeper than the dark natural skin tone, and had large rough hands that probably helped split the wood by the fire stove. His hands had done other outside work.

  Besides that, his dark eyes were expressive, showing his intelligence. There was a lot of information including experience behind that face with the creases of weather or age, but there was no threat.

  “Why do you think my name is not Sally?” She asked because she was interested to hear his answer, not because she wanted to argue with him.

  “Why did she bring you her puppies?” He sat back munching on the chocolates.

  Okay, this was not going to be dull. “Chief George, I am interested in some of your history. I was wondering if you would be willing to tell me some of the old stories.” Sally decided that she wasn’t going to go in circles with him, so she sipped her coffee, avoiding the winding road he wanted to take.

  He leaned forward to pour himself a cup of coffee, then reached into the bag and pulled out the whiskey. He looked at the kitchen for a long moment, then opened the bottle and poured a heavy dose into the c
offee. He held the bottle towards her. She shook her head in a negative way. He smiled, capping it as he put it back in the bag. He sat back, took long drink and sighed.

  “Where would you like me to start?”

  “Well, have the Shoshone always been in this area, or where did you come from originally?”

  The best part was his old rugged voice was made to tell tales. “That is interesting. Each of the tribes within the Northern Continent believed they were the first original ones. I suppose that would mean that we all might have originally been one and the same, still in more recent history, meaning in the last five hundred years, we stayed in the mountains until we were driven down for lack of food.”

  Sally nodded. “As naturalists, your people lived off the land and would have been able to continue without someone interfering. When did your history tell you that your people first had pets, dogs especially?”

  He looked at her for a long time before he started talking, this time looking at the fire in the open door of the stove. “The belief is that the wolf adopted the Shoshone before we had the name of Shoshone. It was a symbiotic relationship. The smaller wolves that couldn’t keep up with the packs would stay with the tribes. They would alert the families when anything came around and the families fed them leftovers. They would have been killed or died because of their size if they stayed with their packs. They changed as they became domesticated, but the roles were important. Before the white man came into the area, some of the hunters even took the wolves out with them, and the teams had success.”

  He ate candy as he continued. “There are the stories of the children raised by wolves. These stories have been around all over the world, about children raised by animals. I remember as a child of the tribe finding a boy in the wild, and he had been missing for three years. He had a couple of wild wolves near him and everyone agreed that there was no way he could have lived through the winters without the help of the wild pack. Who is to argue?”