“Not to say Agent Mayfield won’t be fair,” Charlie assured him, “but Mayfield doesn’t know you like we do.” The agent didn’t know Navajos at all in Charlie’s opinion. He had once heard Old Man Paul T’Sosi sum it up, “Them FBIs may be smart and all, but they don’t know everything.” Charlie was inclined to agree and felt they had best have some answers ready if and when the questions did come.
The others gathered around as Charlie got back in his truck and had the switchboard patch a call through to Billy Red Clay’s little cinderblock government house outside Shiprock. Billy, when he picked up the phone, was right in the middle of an episode of The Rifleman on TV and sounded a little put out when he answered.
“Billy, Harley Ponyboy just got back from a little excursion, of sorts, with your Uncle Thomas. I’ll explain later, but Harley didn’t know anything about his wife’s death. I’ll personally see that he’s in your office first thing in the morning.” He thought a moment, then said, “He hasn’t been charged with anything, has he?… no warrants issued or anything like that, is there?” Charlie, ever the lawyer, wanted to know where Harley stood before committing, and winked through the window at the others gathered around the truck. They listened intently to hear what turn the conversation might take. They couldn’t quite make out the muffled replies from the two-way speaker but could hear most of what Charlie was saying.
“Billy, I said I’ll have him there in the morning… yes, eight o’clock is fine… no, he’s not going anywhere tonight. I’ll stay with him.” The others could see Charlie was trying to avoid someone coming for Harley Ponyboy before morning. Charlie liked Billy Red Clay, a protégé of the late Police Lieutenant Samuel Shorthair, and for that reason alone Charlie went out of his way to appease the young officer. He had admired Sam… and thought Billy Red Clay had what it took to follow in his footsteps.
When Charlie at last hung up the mic he rolled down the window and spoke directly to Harley. “He says no charges have been filed as yet, and I suspect they don’t have anything to justify an arrest at this point, but they do want to talk to you as soon as possible. The FBI boys are trying to put something together; a lot might depend on the Forensics team and what they’ve turned up out there at Johnny Deboe’s.” He pursed his lips then said. “You better stay at my place tonight so we’ll be ready for them in the morning.”
Harley didn’t argue, only nodded and got in the truck.
The others stood watching the receding taillights in the encroaching dusk––each with their own doubts––and not one of them thought the thing would end well.
Coyote & Magpie
Edward Bitsinnii sat at his mother’s rickety table and watched through the front window as his cousins sorted their newly acquired sheep. Occasionally he could see one or the other cast a cautious glance at the trailer. The brothers hoped Edward had not come back to cause trouble over his mother’s decision to leave her nephews what little she had left.
A good portion of the woman’s money had already gone for healings and potions, all without the least improvement, as far as anyone could tell. No one expected her to last as long as she did. She’d had tuberculosis as a child, and years later it came back on her, as so often happens. Old people remain leery of doctors and hospitals on the reservation. She had not had an easy death, and her nephews were the only ones who showed any inclination to help. They were with her till the end, though it had not been pleasant when it came. The two brothers barely had time to move her out of the trailer and into the brush arbor before she left for the underworld. Had she died in the house, it would no longer have been tenable for anyone, to their way of thinking. Not for anyone of proper sensibilities anyway. Their first inclination had been to burn the old trailer, or sell it to the junkyard in Farmington, if the junkyard would even have it. Then cousin Edward had come back to make it his temporary headquarters while he pursued whatever nefarious business was on his agenda.
Neither of the two brothers cared to challenge their cousin Edward. They were well aware of his tendency toward violence… not to mention his reputation as a witch. Even as they had played together as boys, the brothers thought there was something sinister about their older cousin, and feared him for it.
As they loaded the last of the culled ewes into the stock rack, the eldest of them declared, “Well, he better not try anything funny with me. I won’t tolerate it… not by the likes of him I won’t… even if he is a witch.”
His brother considered the statement foolish. They had always been scared to death of Edward and there was no reason to deny it now. He knew his brother was prone to bravado when frightened, but should push come to shove, neither of them would stand up to Edward Bitsinnii. There were times, he thought, when his older brother would do better to keep his mouth shut, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t.
“I won’t be lending him my truck anymore either. He brought it back half-empty last night. It must have been midnight when he came in.” He spat on the ground. “No more truck for him!”
His brother frowned and turned away; it was half his truck and he was the one who had paid for that tank of gasoline.
~~~~~~
Edward smiled from the window as he watched the pair drive off in a cloud of dust. The sale barn was a good distance––an all-day trip should one factor in the hours they would spend examining every pen of sheep, and their insistence on witnessing every sale go through the ring.
Admittedly, their offering was culls––“Canners & Cutters” as they were called in the trade, and more than likely destined for the pet food industry. Still he knew the brothers were of a prudent nature and would get full value for his mother’s sheep.
Edward Bitsinnii didn’t want his mother’s decrepit old trailer house, or her sheep either, for that matter. Still, he thought it best to let his cousins go on thinking this was the reason for his return. The fact was, his needs were few, and while he had left his wife’s house in Ganado with only a bus ticket and the clothes on his back, he did have a little money put aside, plenty for the present, and he didn’t want to arouse suspicions as to the real reasons for his return. Only he and his Uncle Elmore Shining Horse knew what was buried there in the sheep corrals––even his mother hadn’t known.
Then too, there was Anita, or should he say, the great hurt Anita had caused him. That was a wound that had festered these many long years, and he thought it time it be set right. Letting such a thing pass without consequence was out of the question. She and her husband, Harley Ponyboy, had already tasted his wrath over the years; the curse had held strong and with many tentacles. Now, by all accounts, it had brought an end to their marriage. Yes, this was the time to exact his full revenge.
He rose and went to the window, tried to open it for a little ventilation, and then saw it was sealed on the outside with tape. No one had ever bothered to winterize the place before. His cousins must be quite the little handymen. Edward fleetingly thought how odd it was that neither of them ever married. Now, nearly all the relatives, other than themselves and one other, had died or moved from the reservation.
Elmore Shining Horse had chosen his sister’s place to bury the proceeds from all those years work and conniving. His two wives and their various get had known he had a secret cache somewhere and never ceased looking for it. Edward would not have known about it himself had he not secretly observed his uncle one night by the light of the moon, making a deposit. He himself had been on his way back from making a deposit of another sort when he heard the sound of the shovel down by the corrals, silently worked his way closer, and saw his uncle at work.
Now, he sometimes wondered who his uncle might otherwise have left all that money to, should he not have died so suddenly. Surely it wouldn’t have been these two slow witted cousins of his. No, the money and what was rumored to be a large lot of old pawn silver and turquoise was rightfully his. On the reservation that old pawn jewelry was as good as cash, and sometimes even more valuable in the nearby towns. Wasn’t it he, Edward Bit
sinnii, who had stepped up to follow his uncle and become a singer when his half-brother had left in his little fit of righteous indignation? He had not been so foolish as Paul, not when there was so much to gain. So what if his uncle later became upset with him––telling him he was twisting the songs and prayers to his own ends.
Finally, Elmore Shining Horse, thinking his understudy out of control and fearing his own reputation might suffer because of his nephew’s indiscretions, ordered him to leave, declaring their relationship at an end.
The last laugh would be on his uncle, Edward thought… and on Paul T’Sosi. Paul was the eldest and had been the one most dedicated to the shaman. The old man had always known Paul was the one to preserve the old songs and ceremonies in proper fashion. It was only later that Paul had realized the true nature of the old singer’s work and wanted no part of it. Probably, Paul would have been in line for this money himself had he lowered his standards a bit and stuck it out. Even now, Edward feared this “half-brother” might have some inkling of where their uncle’s money was hidden and be plotting to get it for himself. No matter, it was too late. Edward would beat him to it.
His two cousins didn’t know how lucky they were to decide on today’s trip to the sale barn. Edward thought he had already lingered there too long, planning the things that needed doing. He had, unfortunately, found his cousins to be homebodies who seldom left the place, and his patience had begun to wear thin. The money was only part of it––perhaps the money was the least part of it.
He stood there at the window, pensive, brooding, and it occurred to him there was no real hurry. If not for that other thing yet undone I might well stay on here a while and torture my silly cousins a bit longer––the sniveling little nobodies. When he thought about it, it was that other thing that bothered him most… even more than the money. Already Edward had taken some measure of revenge, though it had been meted out over a long period of time, and he could never be certain how effective it had actually been. He did, however, know that what he had done the night before had lifted a great weight from his shoulders and that in itself had brought satisfaction…not quite enough… but a good start.
Just as Edward was thinking these things he noticed a flash of brown beyond the corrals and then a quick glimpse of black and white against an azure sky. His mind was unclear about it, but that is what he thought he saw.
Coyote and Magpie were known to be more clever than other creatures, and that included more than just a few humans, too. Edward Bitsinnii had always been cautious when dealing with the pair. While disdainful of most, these two tricksters did sometimes join forces should they think the rewards justified the alliance. The pair had the annoying habit of slipping up on a person, spying… plotting. Even a shaman had to be on his guard. Their incessant trickery had caused him no end of anguish over the years, and he was now nearly certain it was they who were skulking around the corrals.
He didn’t like the look of it and picked up the rusty .22 rifle his mother had kept for such work. But before he could turn his mind to the deed, he felt dizzy and even a bit off-balance as he turned to the door. Maybe it was too warm in the little space.
“It is still not cold enough to fire up the wood stove,” one cousin had said that morning as he lit the propane oven and assured Edward it would be enough to break the morning chill.
At the door Edward fumbled with the latch but couldn’t seem to make it work, finally putting his shoulder to it and even that failed. He thought the effort weak, his strength seemed to be leaving him. He became dizzier, causing him to plop himself down right there on the floor. If only he could rest a moment he might think what to do. He stared across the room, tried to focus on the open oven door, and that was the last thing Edward Bitsinnii remembered doing.
~~~~~~
The two brothers sat on the hard benches above the sale ring and watched as bunch after bunch of sheep went under the auctioneer’s gavel. One of the two would occasionally turn, and with cunning smile nod knowingly at his brother, who would then look in the direction of the big clock over the auctioneer’s head, and wink in acknowledgment of the secret they shared.
While the brothers knew they were not so smart as their cousin Edward Bitsinnii, in this one instance, at least, they felt they had at last bested the “Witch of Ganado.”
When their own little band of flawed ewes came through the ring, they watched carefully that the quick-tongued auctioneer did not cheat them and let the ewes go too cheaply. At the sound of the gavel they were surprised at the good price the animals brought and the pair rose to leave––taking with them a sense of accomplishment. Things were finally beginning to go their way.
The Kicker
Harley Ponyboy played with the pearl snaps on the front of his shirt, nervously running his fingers up and down them like a keyboard. He was quite familiar with the Shiprock Police Department, had in fact been a guest there on several occasions. This was the first time sober, however, and he was surprised at how pleasant everyone seemed.
Charlie Yazzie sat quietly––appeared to be dozing––when in truth his mind seethed and whirled around Harley Ponyboy’s predicament and what might be done about it. It was not often these days he could put his legal training to its intended use, and he meant to offer his best effort in Harley’s behalf. Officer Billy Red Clay had yet to arrive, and Charlie had one of the office girls let them in, but only after he had flashed his badge through the little window. It was not quite so large a facility as the headquarters in Window Rock, and a bit more laid back too, not a bad thing in Charlie’s view.
Billy Red Clay had risen through the ranks quite rapidly. It seemed only yesterday he had been driving a patrol unit… and he still did occasionally, should someone fall ill and leave him with no choice. The budget squeeze had taken the shine off the new position in some respects. Nonetheless, the young officer was proud to have come so far and gave full credit to his late Lieutenant, Samuel Shorthair, who had mentored him along and written many glowing reports in his favor. When the officer did finally walk in, he didn’t appear surprised to see them. Charlie Yazzie’s official unit in the parking lot was hard to miss. Charlie had said he would have Harley Ponyboy there first thing in the morning, and he had.
Billy smiled at the pair and ushered them into his newly acquired office, cubical really. It was tiny and Billy seemed uncomfortable with what they might think. The policeman indicated two chairs scrunched together in front of his desk, then edged around them to take his own seat.
Charlie noticed how neat and orderly everything seemed. Either Billy was a neat freak or he hadn’t been given a full load yet. Charlie’s own desk was usually a mess, though he considered himself a fairly tidy person in most things.
Billy Red Clay grinned at him, “Are you here as Harley’s counselor… or just a friendly observer?”
Charlie chuckled and smiled back. “Both, I guess.”
Billy brought out a pad and began making notes, “Harley, I took the liberty of pulling your files, so I do already have some of your information.”
Harley shifted uncomfortably in his chair and nodded. There was no window to look out of, so he folded his hands in his lap and looked up at the ceiling.
Billy Red Clay spent over 45 minutes asking questions and taking notes. He was mostly interested in Harley’s whereabouts over the last three days and grimaced each time the little man said he couldn’t remember. He freely admitted he had been drunk most of that time and couldn’t really be sure where he had been, or what he had done.
Charlie remained silent through most of the interrogation, only rarely interjecting, or adding the occasional comment.
Finally Billy looked up from his notebook, shook his head, and wondered fleetingly if Charlie Yazzie had coached Harley in this direction. He couldn’t imagine why he would, but then lawyers often did things he didn’t understand. “Harley, this isn’t going to look good from the FBI’s perspective. Of course, I still haven’t seen their report with the crime
scene information… should be here by noon.” He looked over at Charlie with the hint of a frown. “Agent Mayfield wants to see Harley after lunch, and as the new liaison officer I’ll be there as well. I hope they’ve come up with something that might help you boys. It don’t look too good from what I have now.”
Charlie nodded and grudgingly agreed. “No… no it doesn’t, but at least they haven’t issued a warrant. Right?” He wanted to make certain of that.
“Not yet. But I would go into Mayfield’s office this afternoon prepared for the worst.”
This last statement had Harley looking at the door and thinking of all that wild country just across the highway. He returned his gaze to the floor and whispered, “Well, I don’t have nothing ta hide… at least I don’t think I do.”
Billy indicated Harley with a push of his chin. “Charlie, you’ll stay with him and be responsible until the meeting, won’t you?”
Charlie nodded and started to say something else… when there was a knock at the door and a tall soft-spoken girl wearing an apologetic expression squeezed into the room.
“Sorry, Billy, this bulletin just came in and the captain said to have you take a look at it right away.” She put the papers down on the desk, reached over Harley’s shoulder to hand over the report. “He said this was your old patrol area, and you might have some input.” She backed out of the office, as that was easiest, and closed the door behind her.
Billy Red Clay glanced at the top sheet and said, “Oh Hell.” The other two men had already stood and turned to the door, but glanced back at Billy, taken by the expression on his face.
Billy, shaking his head, passed Charlie the top sheet, while concentrating on the second page.
After reading only a few lines Charlie looked up at Harley Ponyboy. “Didn’t Thomas say Edward Bitsinnii might be headed to Gobernador?”
Magpie Speaks Page 8
