Magpie Speaks

by R. Allen Chappell

  Professor George Armstrong Custer sat at the table with a grin on his face and one of Thomas’s children on either side. He’d been showing them his new book, published only the week before. It had a picture on the back cover of George and his friend Harley Ponyboy, shown kneeling in front of an archaeological site––George’s arm across Harley’s shoulder, and Thomas and Charlie standing behind them. He held the book up for Thomas to see and chuckled at the expression on his face. The children laughed along with the professor, pointed at the book, and then raced to give their father a hug.

  Thomas had never seen a picture of himself in print before, other than those in the high-school annual back at boarding school. His family could not afford to buy an annual, and he didn’t know many Indian students that could. This, of course, was a more mature and, one might even say, flattering likeness than those school pictures, and he well remembered the day it was taken. The four of them had been working a dig up north, under the auspices of the university. Only a day later, a rogue Indian-rights movement had targeted the site, and many still thought it a miracle the explosion hadn’t killed them all. He reached across the table and shook hands with the professor, who then flipped open the flyleaf of the book, and Thomas could see it was a signed copy just for him. He hadn’t read a book since his school days, but he intended to read this one, no matter how long it took. He held the book up so Lucy Tallwoman could see.

  “I know… that’s quite something, huh?” Lucy was very proud of Thomas––no one she knew had ever had his picture on a book before. As the children busied themselves with their homework, Lucy brought Thomas a cup of coffee, then stood back with a hand on his shoulder. He and Dr. Custer were immediately caught up in conversation, and Lucy listened and marveled at how easily the two renewed their relationship. They had a lot to catch up on––George had to be brought up to date on the murder of Harley Ponyboy’s wife, Anita, and the two other killings as well. Again the professor expressed his regret that Harley had to suffer through such a thing, and wondered out loud what the world was coming to.

  Custer reached in his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he handed to his old employee with a flourish. It was a work contract stating the duties Thomas might be called on to perform and the pay he could expect for doing it, should he decide to take the position. Thomas thought the wages more than adequate but noticed the job might involve a good bit of camp work, possibly requiring up to two weeks or more away from home. Lucy Tallwoman was looking over his shoulder as he lifted the paper for her to see. Her brow furrowed at the part requiring him to be away, but after a moment, reluctantly nodded approval. She had known all along the new house they wanted would not come without sacrifice. Should Thomas have a full time job it might go a long way toward advancing the timeline for that dream. This job might at last be the break they needed to get ahead.

  Professor Custer told them he expected to start within the month and already had two contracts in hand. He had only to gather a bit more equipment and hire a few more people to get things underway.

  “Speaking of equipment…” Thomas was reminded of the university vehicle parked outside the hogan. “How did you manage to come away with your old car, George?” He grinned as he said, “Paul T’Sosi thinks you might have stolen it.”

  The professor burst into laughter. “In a sense I guess I did. I got it pretty cheap. The university was phasing out the old fleet and offered employees a chance to bid on their old vehicles before sending them off to public auction. Apparently a lot of companies are doing that these days. They think the employees might take better care of a vehicle if they think they might someday wind up with it.” The professor, still chuckling, told how he had offered a very low bid on the unit and was surprised when it was accepted. “Maybe the board was feeling guilty, considering their meager severance pay.” George didn’t smile when he said this, and Thomas took that to mean he wasn’t too happy at being forced out of his long-held position.

  After the professor left and Thomas stood peeking out the curtains at the taillights of the vehicle now receding into the darkness, he spoke over his shoulder, “Professor Custer says he has a job offer for Harley, too, when he sees him. He thinks it might be just the thing to take his mind off all this other business… maybe help get him straightened out.”

  “I know,” Lucy replied, “I heard him… but I didn’t hear him say anything about my father? I thought Charlie was supposed to talk to him about that.”

  “Yes, I expect he’s probably already talked to Charlie about it… maybe doesn’t think the old man can handle it, and he could be right, too. Paul seems to be getting a little weaker each day, and not just physically either. I’m not so sure he’s up to a camp job anymore.” Thomas turned from the window and reflected on his father-in-law’s recent attitude; the old man almost seemed another person. “There’s also the question of who will look after the sheep if Paul’s gone on a camp job. The kids are only able to do that on the weekends.” He saw Lucy start to protest, but she caught herself and after thinking about it, she again nodded and agreed.

  “I can stay home from school.” Caleb Begay piped up from the corner. “I don’t mind herding sheep.” The boy became even more enthusiastic. “Uncle Harley herded when he was young… said he didn’t even go to school half the time… and look at him.” Harley wasn’t really Caleb’s uncle or even of the same clan, but the boy thought of him in that way just as he thought of Paul T’Sosi as his grandfather.

  Thomas and his wife threw guarded looks at one another at the remark––leading Caleb to think they might be considering his proposition, but when they turned to him, he immediately saw by their faces that wasn’t the case.

  Thomas frowned at the boy and said, “I hoped you might turn out better than me or your Uncle Harley, and if you keep after those books, you just might do it, too.” Then Thomas turned back to his wife and continued their conversation. “I’ll go ahead and talk to George later on and see if there’s some small thing the old man might still be able to do; maybe when we are working close by, or on weekends. Your father says he will absolutely not accept a job offer from the professor… but I think he would… if it’s put right.” Then Thomas said, “Harley and Paul both need to put this witch thing behind them and not let it eat at their insides.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, this job with the professor might be just the thing for Harley.”

  ~~~~~~

  The next morning Charlie woke his friend, who had slept on the Yazzie couch, and as Harley washed up, Charlie decided he’d better try to catch Liaison Officer Billy Red Clay and see if they were still on to meet with the FBI and discuss where Harley Ponyboy might figure in their investigation. By the time Harley came in to breakfast, Charlie Yazzie already had his answer.

  Harley pulled out his chair. “I could’a helped you with cooking those eggs, you know.” He looked a little put out as he said this, knowing full well Charlie was prone to fry eggs too hard.

  Charlie pretended not to notice. “How about you set out some plates and utensils?”

  Harley shook his head and frowned when he reached for the toaster––then abruptly pulled back his hand as Sue came in with the baby. She set the boy up in his highchair before glancing suspiciously at the toaster. “You didn’t mess with that toaster, did you Harley?” Sue was particular about who operated the new toaster. She had finally got it set to her liking, and a lot of bread and time had been used up in getting it exactly right. This was the second new toaster she’d bought, and her husband was becoming a little concerned the situation was getting out of hand. She had already given up on the first appliance and just gave it to Thomas and Lucy. Sue hadn’t been able to keep it from burning the toast. Thomas said he didn’t care––he liked burned toast to dip in his coffee.

  It was early. Sue hadn’t slept well and it showed. She was grumpy and her lack of confidence in anyone else using her new toaster was apparent. She softened slightly as she glanced around the kitchen. “Everyone want t
oast this morning?” She had become a bit frugal herself and didn’t want to make more toast than would be eaten… she had a lot of ruined toast to make up for.

  Charlie came to the table, tousled his son’s hair, then put a hand on Harley’s shoulder and announced, “We don’t have to go in this morning. Billy Red Clay says the FBI has put the meeting off pending further investigation. That means they still don’t have a damn thing to warrant charges. I knew they weren’t serious when they didn’t come for you that night up at Thomas’s––then allowed me custody. They just wanted to keep tabs on you, and without the bother and paperwork involved in bringing you in. They figure I’m your lawyer now.” He beamed. “These are all good signs… better than I expected.”

  Charlie squinted one eye at the now smiling Harley before saying, “The two of us might still be able to start repairs on the horse shed this morning––if you don’t have any pressing business to attend. Thomas will be over later… the three of us might actually accomplish something today.” He was well aware that all Thomas’s skill would be needed if the horses were to gain any confidence in the structure.

  “I could do that all right.” Harley agreed, “I guess I don’t have nothin’ else goin’ on right now.” He turned his attention back to the breakfast table and thought the day looked a little brighter. He smiled and put two slices of bread in the toaster and, looking right at Sue, gently pushed down the lever.

  ~~~~~~

  Later that morning, when the two Navajo tried to heave the little building back upright, even they could see there was no hope of an easy fix. Harley suggested they take it back down before one or the other of them got hurt trying to patch it back together.

  It was almost noon before Thomas pulled into the yard, and by then the horse shelter had been taken completely apart, and Harley was hard at work stacking lumber while Charlie pulled nails. As Thomas sauntered up to the corral, he was pleased to see Charlie had come to his senses and was not just trying to jury-rig the thing back together. It was obvious Thomas derived a certain satisfaction from this. Charlie took care not to look his way.

  Harley grinned to himself and gave Thomas a hidden thumbs-up. “Did you bring any nails? Charlie wants ta straighten out these old ones… try ta use ’em again.” The little man whispered under his breath, “Tightwad.”

  Charlie shook his head. “I only meant they might come in handy if we couldn’t find those we bought last week.” This was embarrassing; even Sue had noticed his cost-cutting measures of late. Everything was about saving money now. The renovation on their little house had gotten completely out of hand in his view, and some corners would have to be cut should they want to retain any thought of their modest budget. He was well aware there were better ways to save than straightening nails.

  Once again, Thomas saved the moment. “The nails we bought last week are in my truck. They’re under the front seat––we forgot to take ’em out.” He headed back to the truck.

  Harley, set mentally adrift at the interruption, stood looking across the highway at the river. He decided the water was coming back up a little. Those white farmers upcountry must be easing up on their irrigation calls, and rightly so, he thought; only the hard, red winter wheat was left wanting a final water before being put to bed.

  There was less and less river to go around each year now, and if bigger snows didn’t come to the headwaters above the San Juan this winter, next season could be tough on those who depended on the runoff… farmers mostly. Anita’s parents were old and their place at Kirtland had a few acres of irrigated with it. It hadn’t been easy for the old couple, wriggling their way in amongst the whites on the river––not back in that time. Harley had always thought someday, after her parents were gone, he and Anita might be able to buy that place. She had only the two sisters, and neither seemed interested in the property, though he was sure they would expect something from it. Anita had been the oldest; she would have had first shot at it. Harley stopped and shook his head to clear that line of thought. He knew none of this mattered anymore––Anita was gone, and a lot of things would be different now. A tear rolled down one cheek and Harley was suddenly afraid nothing would ever again be the same.

  The Law

  FBI Agent Eldon Mayfield was in a quandary, and clearly disappointed. He had quickly seen that bureau resources alone would not be enough. Three murders in a matter of days would have been a light load at his previous duty assignment, but the reservation was not New York, and much of his previous experience was proving irrelevant in this new environment. True he had been able to rush certain items of evidence through the lab at Quantico––a thing the average operative might not have been able to do. The results, however, had been considered less than conclusive. The experts in Virginia cautioned there were certain critical aspects that needed further study should there be any hope of them holding up in a court of law.

  In consequence of this disheartening news from headquarters, Agent Mayfield at last decided he’d allow local agencies a little more involvement and to that end, called an interagency meeting in Farmington. The meeting was to include Navajo Tribal Police, in conjunction with the San Juan County Sheriff’s Department and the New Mexico State Police. At the last moment, and at the prodding of Agent Fred Smith of the Albuquerque FBI office––at the behest of tribal Liaison Officer Billy Red Clay––it was decided Legal Services Investigator Charlie Yazzie was to be invited, but strictly in the capacity of an observer. When Billy Red Clay informed Charlie of this, he made it clear that it was to be a silent involvement and more on the order of a perfunctory gesture.

  No one was more surprised at this turn of events than Charlie Yazzie himself. He told his wife he would go, but only in the hope it might help reconcile past differences. His previous involvement in what the FBI considered federal jurisdiction had not set well with the agency––even though he had several times been lauded as a key player in the final resolution of a case or two.

  Charlie readily admitted he was not popular with the Sheriff’s office either––this was especially true of newly appointed Undersheriff Dudd Schott, with whom Charlie and Thomas had previous dealings. Some thought Dudd had advanced well beyond his abilities in the department and thought it due mostly to his wife’s family connections in Albuquerque and the state capital.

  The early morning meeting was to convene at seven o’clock sharp at the Federal building in Farmington, and while this might inconvenience certain participants, it was thought less disruptive to the various agencies workday. The FBI was one of only two agencies present at the appointed time. Agent Mayfield had come to expect this. The people of New Mexico seemed to have an entirely different concept of time than those of New York.

  Putting that theory at risk, Captain Craig Butcher of the New Mexico State Police was on time, early in fact, and now chatted amiably with Mayfield. He, several times, apologized for his tardy associates, saying there had been nearly an inch of snow over ice on the roads that morning and that could have affected travel. The State Police officer held the FBI in high regard, having at one time applied for admittance to Quantico himself, not successfully, unfortunately, but still there was that aura about the agency he still admired. He turned toward the door as Charlie Yazzie preceded tribal policeman Billy Red Clay into the room and gave the pair a rather stern look.

  Mayfield took his seat at the head of the table and motioned Captain Butcher to take the one at his left. “Glad you people could make it,” he called. “Did you see any sign of the Sheriff’s Department out there?” The agent attempted a smile, which came across more of a grimace.

  Billy Red Clay grinned outright in return. “It snowed last night, 64 was icy, slick as goose shi… uh, grease. I nearly went off the road a time or two myself.” He opened his notepad and touched a pencil to the tip of his tongue before looking up at the federal agent. He was ready. Charlie Yazzie leaned over and whispered something in his ear and the tribal officer looked surprised.

  Mayfield only raised an
eyebrow and nodded again at the two without attempting another smile. He glanced at the clock, saw it was nearly eight-thirty, and cleared his throat. “We’ll just get started––apparently Under Sheriff Schott and Agent Smith have been detained due to road conditions.” He gazed thoughtfully at the two Navajo and especially at Charlie––who returned the agent’s look with a more or less conciliatory visage.

  Senior Agent Mayfield was just on the verge of speaking when the door burst open and Under Sheriff Dudd Schott blustered in, followed by FBI agent Fred Smith, who’d had a hard time starting his car that morning. Agent Smith rolled his eyes at Mayfield, regarded the Under Sheriff with a wry smile, and shook his head. He had watched as Dudd twice tried to back his patrol car into an uphill parking space. He’d finally given up, leaving the unit askew on the ice, where it blocked a garbage truck just coming down the ally. The truck driver frowned after the officer and cursed under his breath, but didn’t really know what to do about it––other than back the unwieldy truck almost a block through the narrow alley, which he finally did.

  “Those roads are a caution out there!” Dudd slammed his Stetson down on the far end of the table, “I was lucky to make it at all. Turrible… just turrible. There’s gonna be some wrecks out there this morning.” He glanced up-table. “We better get this show on the road.” He stopped and narrowed his eyes at the two Navajo. “I’m short ’a deputies as it is.”

  Indians and Dudd Schott didn’t get along––not ever. Even as just a deputy the man had taken delight in harassing and targeting any Indian he thought he could intimidate. There had been numerous documented complaints filed against him over the years, and the Sheriff himself had warned him on more than one occasion.