Twilight of the Coyote

by Ron Schwab

  The girl stood up and nodded, her dark eyes wide, like a spooky deer. She was a tiny thing with a boyish figure, perhaps reaching five feet on her tiptoes, and she was strikingly pretty, even in the tattered, faded jeans and cotton shirt she wore. I noticed that she wore her moccasins.

  They sat down, and Sage continued, “I have told Cleo that she may call our meeting to a halt whenever she chooses. That’s one of the ground rules before we start.”

  “Agreed. You imply there are more rules.”

  “You must protect her.”

  “I have thought about this, and I have spoken to the Secret Service. She may return with us to the State Game Lodge, where she will be protected. In a few days she will be escorted by train to Lockwood, Wyoming, where she will stay with my grandparents on their ranch. There are many Brule Sioux in the area. As you know, they are of your Lakota family. An Oglala girl would be welcome there. My grandfather, Ethan Ramsey, and my grandmother, Skye Ramsey, will protect her as their own. She will love my grandmother. She is half-blood Brule. And Gram is thrilled to have her come. I have spoken with them over a secure telephone about this.”

  Sage looked at Cleo. “Will you do this?”

  Again, she nodded her assent.

  “Trey, go ahead with your questions,” Sage said.

  “Cleo. I have been told you were captured by some men and taken to Chicago and somehow escaped and found your way back. I want to hear your story from the beginning. I hope I may learn something that will help me find and arrest these men and stop this from happening to others. I am a Bureau of Investigation agent. Do you understand what that is?”

  Cleo spoke so softly, I had to lean forward to hear her reply.

  “I have heard of the BI. You are hated and feared by the gangsters in Chicago. I think that is a good thing.”

  “How old are you, Cleo?”

  “Fourteen. In May.”

  “Are you still in school?”

  “I attended Miss Rainmaker’s school until I was taken in March. I contacted her when I returned, and she gave me books and helped me when she could. I was afraid to go back to the school. I hoped to go to high school in the fall, but that will not be possible now.”

  “We’ll see about that. The Lame Buffalo Foundation operates a private high school near Lockwood. If you qualify, you might attend there. Otherwise, Lockwood also has a public high school. Do you live with your parents?”

  “My parents are dead. The alcohol killed my father, and my mother died from tuberculosis. I live with my grandmother, but she is frightened that I will be found there by the evil men and that we will both be killed . . . or worse.”

  “Let’s start at the beginning. How were you taken by these men?”

  “I was a fool. I was told by my friend, Rosa, she is two years older, that a truck full of free clothing was coming to the reservation and that poor girls who had lost their mothers could go to this truck and pick out blouses and skirts, and even undergarments, to take home. I am wearing my best clothes today, so you can see this was very enticing. We were told to go to the truck on the sixth of March at noon. It was to be parked near Lakota Pond.”

  “Where is that located?”

  “Southeast of Rapid City. Just a few miles inside the reservation.”

  “So, you and Rosa went to meet the truck?”

  “Yes. There were five of us there. There were two tables. A pretty, blonde lady was showing the items. She seemed nice, but I found out later she was not. There were two men with her. One was Sioux, but I did not know him. They called the white man ‘Bull.’ He was strong and very big . . . not fat, just big.”

  Cleo was speaking noticeably louder now, and her timidity seemed to abate as her anger rose. “Tell me about the truck. What did it look like?”

  “It was a Ford. I know that because I saw the name on it, but I do not know much about models. It was covered and painted white. It looked like some of the milk delivery trucks I have seen in Rapid City. There was no sign painted on it, though.”

  The girl was very well-spoken, I observed. The Lame Buffalo school imposed rigid standards and accepted students without regard to race tuition-free if they could score high enough on admission tests. I hoped Cleo might qualify. “I assume you saw the inside of the truck.”

  “Yes, but not willingly. When we were sorting through the skirts and blouses, a car drove up and parked near the truck. Two dirty, scroungy-looking men got out. They were friendly with the others, and it made me very nervous. Rosa and I were the youngest. I whispered to Rosa that we should leave, but she refused. She was picking out things she liked. A few minutes later the four men were pointing rifles at us. I started to run, but one of the men fired a rifle in the air and yelled that the next shot would be in my back if I didn’t stop. I obeyed, and the woman ran up to me and started slapping my face. She called me a ‘red bitch’ and worse things.”

  “After that, you did what they said?”

  “Yes, there is no doubt they would have killed us. They herded us like cattle into the back of the truck. It stunk, like it had been used as a toilet. I found out later that had probably been the case. We were ordered to sit down on one of the benches that were bolted to each side wall. After that the doors closed, and we sat in pitch blackness. The other girls started to cry. I did not. I cried later, but at that moment I was just mad. At myself for being so stupid. At those people for taking us away.”

  “Where did they take you?”

  “They took us to a place I later learned they called the chick coop.”

  “You mean chicken coop?”

  “No. They called it a chick coop. I suppose they were trying to be funny. We were cooped up so to speak, and we were all young females.”

  “Tell me about the coop.”

  “It was a hole dug out in the rock on the mountainside. Sort of a cave that went thirty or forty feet into the stone and then stopped and branched off two different directions for a short distance. It made kind of a ‘T’ shape. It could have been natural, but it looked like somebody started digging a mine and just gave up on it. The opening was blocked by a steel gate with bars that had sharp points at the top. The tips of the bars were probably more than ten feet from the ground.”

  “You said this cave was in the mountainside. How did they get you there? Do you have any sense of where this coop would be located from here?”

  “We were locked in the truck most of the way, and we couldn’t see out, but could tell when we entered Rapid City from the noise and the stops and the speed. We even pounded on the doors, hoping someone would hear us. After we got through the city, the truck turned left and stayed on what I am certain was a paved road. It seemed like a long time before we turned again, and this time we went onto a rocky road. The ride became rough, and we climbed higher. The road was steep because the climb pushed us toward the rear of the truck. Sometimes, when sharp turns were made, we tumbled over onto each other, and, finally, we just huddled on the truck floor.”

  “But you cannot estimate the distance?”

  “No. It seemed like a long time because we were all afraid. We did not know what they planned to do with us. When the truck stopped and parked, I assumed they were going to rape and kill us. The woman opened the truck doors to let us out in a clearing surrounded by pine. We had only a few minutes before Bull and the two other white men tied black hoods over our heads and made us form a line and each place a hand on the shoulder of the girl in front of us. Bull and the two others led us up a trail. It must have been wide because we did not have to hug the mountainside or be cautioned to watch our step. It was still scary because I couldn’t see anything.”

  “You said there were two other men. Where were the Lakota and the woman?”

  “I guess they remained behind and left with the truck. I did not hear another car, so I do not think these were the men who came to help capture us. They must have been waiting for us to arrive.”

  The girl appeared focused on her story now and spoke in
a matter-of-fact tone, as if reciting events that happened to someone else. I noticed that her eyes were fixed toward the back of the church, like the scene was unfolding there. “How long do you think you walked on this trail?” I asked.

  “It is hard to say. We moved very slowly. One of the girls stumbled and fell, and the man . . . I think it was this Bull . . . said terrible things to her, called her a whore. It was more than an hour. The climb was very steep because the men were complaining and breathing heavily and were forced to stop and rest. I know Bull wore cowboy boots, and I suspect the others did, also. I would not choose to wear those boots for walking. Anyway, when we arrived at the coop, we were stripped of all our clothing and then our hoods removed. We were shoved in the cave and the gate swung closed and was padlocked.”

  “Were there other young woman there when you arrived?”

  “No, but others were brought there over the next five days until there were ten of us. That seemed to be an important number.”

  I hesitated to ask the next question. “Were you harmed during this time?”

  “I was not. Three of the girls were chosen to be toys for the men. It seemed that the rest of us were to be saved. The three . . . one was my friend, Rosa . . . were taken from the coop daily and raped repeatedly by the men. They gambled, I think, to determine who got first choice. I can still hear my friends’ screams from the first day the men ravaged them. I was terrified for them but, also, because I feared my turn would come soon. Rosa would not speak after that first time. She just sobbed. I never heard her speak again, not even on the journey to Chicago.”

  “Can you think of anything that might help us find this place they call the chick coop?”

  “I have only seen it from behind the steel gate. There is a wide ledge in front, at least twenty-five feet, and the ledge on at least one side must taper off to a gentler slope because I could smell smoke from a fire, and the men did not camp on the ledge in front of the coop. One of the girls who was used by the men said the guards slept in grassy area below. I do know the opening was to the east because the rising sun brightened the cave early in the morning and somehow gave me hope. And many miles to the southeast, if I moved to the north end of the gate, I could see Steeple Rock.”

  Kate spoke for the first time. “That’s a rock formation deep in the hills that tourists can’t see from any road. Hikers and horseback riders can view it from some of the trails that crisscross the Black Hills. Very tall, but well hidden. It’s a spire that looks almost like a giant fang erupting from the earth. It’s about four miles due west of our home place on the Shamrock.”

  “So, the chick coop would be unknown miles northwest of this Steeple Rock. Well, it’s a start,” I said. I turned back to Cleo Yellow Bird. “Now, I would like to hear about how you escaped.”

  Chapter 26

  TREY

  Cleo continued her story, telling us in detail about how the ten girls were permitted to retrieve their clothing, which had been stacked in a pile. Then they had been hooded again and herded down the trail like goats and loaded into the same truck that had delivered them to the coop. Three one-gallon jugs of water were placed in the rear of the truck for sharing by the occupants, and they were provided with two empty buckets. Bull had warned they should “shit only in one bucket and save the other just for piss.” More than once the buckets tipped at a sudden turn or stop and spilled the contents on the wooden, truck-bed floor, filling the hauling compartment with disgusting stench and covering their sleeping places with slime.

  Water jugs were refilled at fueling stops. Waste buckets were dumped from time to time by Bull or the driver. The woman, whom they called Ruby, also somehow squeezed into the truck cab and occasionally tried unsuccessfully to pacify the prisoners and assure the Sioux girls they were on the road to opportunity and that all would be just fine. Twice daily, she rationed out the bread and cold smoked sausage that comprised the menu for the entire three-day trip.

  At nights, the girls remained locked in the truck, but the door was kept open and guarded for several hours in the early morning to air out the enclosed back end and to replenish air supply that was all but sucked out between stops. Cleo had quickly figured out that, however mistreated, the girls were valuable cargo at their destination and they were to be kept alive.

  I asked, “So, what happened when you arrived in Chicago?”

  “That night, we were taken to place that looked like a hotel, but I do not think it was. Then we were escorted to a big room, where we were told to strip off our clothes and bathe in the five tubs scattered about the room. I hurried to claim a tub that was unused, so I would not have to bathe in someone else’s dirty water. After that, we were given clean clothing and led to a small dining room, where we received a nice meal, including chicken and small steaks. Later, we were assigned bedrooms, two of us sharing a room. Rosa shared mine, but she still refused to talk. It was very nice. Some of the girls thought this was a wonderful place and were glad to be there. I wanted to go home. But it had been many nights since I slept as well as I did that night.”

  “In the morning we were summoned to breakfast, and, as soon as that was finished, we were instructed to return to our rooms, where someone would help us get dressed. When Rosa and I got back to our room, an older Chinese woman with a sharp tongue looked us over like a pair of ponies, left for fifteen minutes and returned with an armful of dresses and other things. She decided what we should wear and demanded we surrender our moccasins for painful heeled shoes. We were told to wait in our rooms, and, while we waited, Rosa admired herself in the mirror, and I saw her smile. But she still would not speak.”

  “But you were being treated well?”

  “Of course, but I still wanted to leave. I sensed that no good would come of any of this in the end. If so, why were we forced to come to that place?”

  I could see why Cleo escaped. Gramps had always said there are people who thrive in this world despite any hardship that comes their way, seemingly unaffected by the dismal life that surrounds them. Adversity does not break them. It makes them stronger. I suspected Cleo Yellow Bird was such a person. “Go on,” I prodded.

  “Soon, Ruby came to our rooms and gathered us all up. We followed her like little puppies down a dusky hallway to a big room where five or six men and two women were seated on one side of three tables that were all in a single row. We were instructed to walk in front of the tables very slowly and to gather at the other end of the room. Smile, we were told. I did not. We did this, and then Ruby directed us to walk out one at a time. She sent Mary Hawk Eyes first. She was one of the girls who had been raped by the men at the chick coop. She stood in front of the tables, and a man came and stood beside her and made her turn around. He lifted her dress, so the people at the table could see her legs and rear-end. Then he made her face the spectators, and he pulled down the front of her blouse so they could view her breasts. He announced she was experienced at the art of pleasure and asked for bids. I had attended a horse auction on the reservation and realized, at that moment, what was taking place.”

  “You were being auctioned?”

  “Yes, to operators of bordellos . . . whorehouses. The three girls who had been used were sold first. The rest of us were sold as virgins and brought higher prices. I am ashamed to say I sold for the highest price . . . five thousand dollars. I gather this was because I was both a virgin and the youngest.” She lowered her eyes. “My body is more child’s than woman’s. It was humiliating. Ruby was even asked to probe our sacred areas in the presence of these vermin to confirm our virginity.”

  I was seething with rage, almost embarrassed to be a male. Slavery still existed in America, and I was determined to strike a blow for abolition. I asked, “So you were sold to one of the bidders. Did they take you away that night?”

  “The others. But not me. Autos were waiting outside the building to take us to the bordellos. Anyway, I assumed that. Mary and I were purchased by the same man and were ordered to sit in the back sea
t of a Model T. The car doors did not seem to be locked, so I unfastened my shoes and took them off and waited. The ugly toad who purchased us was the driver, and he did not seem to be concerned about escape. Where could we go? When he drove the car away, I looked for my chance. It came soon. He stopped at a street corner, and I tumbled out the door and ran. Cars honked, and lights nearly blinded me as I raced down the street. I made it to the sidewalk and kept on moving. I looked back, and I saw that the man had stopped chasing me after running a short distance. He was probably worried that Mary would get away also. More likely, he was winded. He looked more turtle than rabbit.”

  I smiled at her humor. Cleo had a way with words and a succinct manner of storytelling that intrigued me. “Somehow you made it from Chicago to the reservation. Please, tell us what happened.”

  “I turned down a dark, scary alley, but I didn’t stop running. When I came out the other end, I almost ran into an elderly Negro lady. I stopped to apologize, and she took my hand and asked if I was running from someone. I said I was. She didn’t ask any questions, and she said her apartment was across the street and I should come with her. She promised I would be safe there. Her eyes said I could trust her, and what choice did I have anyway? I had no idea how to get out of the city or how I might find my way back to the reservation. I had no money and only the floozy clothes I was wearing.”

  “And this lady helped you?”

  “Yes, I owe her my life . . . and thirty dollars, as soon as I have it. When we went to her apartment on the second floor of a very tall building, I could see that her furniture was old and worn, but the kitchen and other room . . . I didn’t see her bedroom . . . were very clean, and, for some reason, I felt safe. I told her what had happened to me, and she got an atlas book she had. I learned she was a fourth-grade school teacher. We sat down at her kitchen table, and she showed me where I had to go to get to the reservation. I only needed to get to the east border. Once I was on reservation land, I could hitch rides to get home.”