He did not know exactly, what he could do. But he-did have knowledge that his friend who was noted for his talent, in crime-solving… He was an Indian from the West, he had met him on the up the coast at Washington during a nature-conference. He was very astute and renowned, for his-abilities. If he wanted him, he was in town for an Indian nature-conference staying at a nearby beachside hotel. Don agreed to have him aid, in any-way possible…
He was a truly endowed, individual who had a good-head on his-shoulders. He would at least lend a hand… They went to the desk where the large reception-area was emaculate, and well-decorated. “Mr.Littlehorse, please…” The receptionist saw that his key was in, so she made a over head call inside the hotel. Within moments he’d appeared wearing a vacation brown and tan sun-shirt and light-green shorts with sandal-shoes. As his friend introduced them, they were asked by Bo to have a cocktail at poolside. As they conversed, Don explained what had happened and to what extent the seriousness-of the crime. Bo showed inquisitive, perspective in the case. After 15-minutes, Bo said he’d begin a preliminary to guising a ’formulaic’ to the vestment in the case… What intervened, was the time-at how long spent to under-take it. Bo, their mutual-friend, and Don agreed, the situation was confirmed-between them…
Out on the open-seas, there was danger where the ship had went-down. Bo was not one of the seafaring kind. Yet he did like interesting-cases, as well as wanting to help a friend. He’d taken on the case, despite it being in his free-time. He knew his friend would have not asked him, if he didn’t think he wasn’t one to need him. A keen-sense of wisdom, was what his friend respected in his ability to crime-solve. The two came to ask of his-assistance. …He no-’less’, need of his skills than need-of a crime that was worthy of solving. The chartered cruise-liner, arrived at the point. Bo had his equipment with him which was to be paid by ordinate Coast-Guard aide. It was mid-day, and the sky was clear. It was a calm-sea but rougher-waters were coming as the waters had a soft-roll. It had taken 6-minutes to reach the exact spot. He peered-off on the horizons, there were no signs of boat-ships, Bo Jon had been told it was a place the vacationers could enjoyed while not overly, populated. Donald’s friend had to pick the spot with discretion. It was also where one could fish, dive and ride along currents, oblivious…
Trying-out tracks and actions, about a wanted-assailant. The warm-waters of off-shore were inviting, full of water-sports’ enjoyableness and seemingly, forgiving… But like all attractive unknowns full of innate-peril. This was the greatest-paradox, perhaps the least-’redeeming’. Bo had traveled open-waters of 5-seas, sailed among exotic and foreign sea-staves having to learn and be expecting of the indigenous dangers… As in the value-of its treasures, there lay dangers both ‘human’ and ‘natural’. This was now a-threat, of lay-dangers. Now a threat of human-carnage and social ominousness. Jon knew he was the guardian of this now, present ‘extol’. People had lost their lives and ever dubiously, men were at the core of it. As he concentrated adherently, Jon initiated re-assigning precepts to the factors, delineating the pensive-context, aligning the positional, convincing. His re-examining preliminary, that if not-”confirmed”, of essence. This, was the presentational job-at-hand. Definitively, to somehow draw-in and place a prefacing, materialization… Bo Jon had a platitude, of effacing-facts…
Originating, his impacting-skill to evince men to unveil vicive-’acts’. Ponder the speculative to reveal precise-venture… As the Atlantic-seas, seemed shuttered-in its assuring, the warm green-liquid would eventually, move the final-’destiny’, that would flow into oblivion… But Bo had started counter-evading an aspect deferring the languid-erasure immersed in an uncaring, “Pseidon’s Liar”. Grabbed-from her-resisting regimen-vividly, striking a tacit-accord traversing by what the deceptive inquisitives balancing-forth, and reanimates itself… Finding its mark “clearly”…and now he heralded release, repose and sector.
By seven p.m., Bo Jon returned-to his hotel and called Donald to give him encouragement that he was on the right path. He settled-in on re-assembled-variables, that had been ‘over-looked’… It entailed rationale contention and imply done-by concise considerations… He alone edged closer, having become personally, lead in a deceptive act-of-morbidity… For Don, it spelled a solemn-turn in his-’life’. He’d seen a friend-die and others who could not be assisted… As in life-guarding, they had a chance, but this was an act devastating and without-resolve…
Bo having began an operation in his own unexposed, deliberation. Not wanting his mission to be unmediated. …He wanted to explore different-areas on his-own, as well. He-wanted ‘privileged’-access those not easily, foreseen… On a warm-August morning the ship “Benedictine” went-out on calm sleepy-waters. About twelve-miles Southeast from the beach. The silent-waters were ebbing quietly, as the tour-captain and crew began to wander as to the seemingly, purposeless-flight. That’s when Bo Jon went to work. He was silent, which didn’t excite the crew. But they-began to realize he was doing serious-work. He broke the quiet by asking questions, “Do you know how far from shore we are?” The two crew-men looked at each-other and answered:”12-miles”, this was Bo’s thought toward credited crime… The ‘weak’-exposing of factualities started coming, building a loose trimetric, known as the sea marauders-crime… Out to sea, ships entered a silent-zone, where comforting-solitude, left one-to oblivious peril. The stoking was, as shooting ‘fish in a barrel‘. Men in a high-powered vessel had taken forms of “lethal”-recreation. Donald alive, was witness to such dubiousness. So it was with Donald’s closeness, he listened to his statement. Within forty-eight hours he told the tale of an enigma that which would possibly, ‘invade’ the “opportune-event”-by aggression.
It was Donny, with solemn-words of solidarity, that he especially attuned. Though from his-friend, he long-knew had been surprised, yet un-resolve… Who just as importantly, inserted some objective to his young-friend and his-confidante in whose help he knew would be exceptionally, able. Good-help is hard to find, but with the devotion of three in-cohesion. They all desired, and in potential conjured-up a ‘unique-primer’ to a formative facet that heeded-to energy of impact against a ‘wrong’…
Bo-called Donald at 5 a.m. where he could be reached. The rank and number-waiting. He’d be leaving for duty in September and leaving-for the seas, for good. It was important as Bo Jon enlisted his-expertise of which key-information had been identified, recognized and given foundation. It was three-days of calm seas, a full-crowd of ships, boats, and pleasure-vessels were seen out among the now burgeoned, day-break…
The gross information was in several remittals. He enterprise to reprise-in what occurred… In all his-skills of scheme and scale, he captured “strands” of evidence, the causeway to redemption. For there-are edges to the pinnacle of perdition-that, under human-vision can exist as the fortunate-bonds of reality… Those who had died were not surmised, but allowed the last pretense, for prediction. If Bo-could piece-together the, as now, broad-spectrum of pre-allotment-of perusing, that extant, reaches in the ‘not’ preconceiving-way. Ways of the Indian, the Ways of life, the Ways of all-Spirits denoted to challenges of tantamount in definite-venting so alms, or reverently, pro-factored, donning the duly, condition ‘coring’-pensiveness. In this opportunity event, owing to pictorial of once present souls. Bo Jon now, peered-into the greenish-blue outbound waters as someone who could understand the ‘not-there’ and divulge the un-precariousness the improvised, the prosecutable. This inventiveness, was perfecting. He objectively, inquired. Sky, was turning red and rust, that un-err in consultation.
Bo Jon had details to what to look-for, examine and analyze, he was set-on ‘decreasing’ what was certain after questioning the two-clients, a run-down of Coast Guard recording-of the event, and as well what kind of activity went on in the vicinity… It was, as they said, ‘perfectly, respectable’ and a docile-region. He began to begi
n evidence-finding, with his instruments, GPS, area-mapping devices and compass-directions. The captain was familiar with all the area. So any inquiries, were helpful. It was in almost still and tranquil-seas, rupturing guidance-points helping-to register basing and correspondence… Each reference could be easily, reactivated… Then he-continued on with examinational, deductions;he had to be very exact though highly, skilled on in-land, crime-solving, He was as it were, a ship a-sea. The details upon-the-waters where flowing ebb washed-away all human-matter;those that lost their lives on open-waters ”would be” forever extinguished, to Mother Earth’s capturing-arms. As the sea’s deep brack strewn-out flowed undenied, and evenly, interned and dematerializing-its frail substances living-compost once sailing-for Her enjoyment now, set in coring-solitude… Unmatched, and unduly regardless, its intents put what-ever trace of humanity, beyond-signage. What happen ‘that’ day was only existence in a set-of-events, terminal though they were…”implaca” with many-differing effects and aspects. Being able to draw them all-together, factors at-hand, had to be deal-with… This, being the stance for theory of which, he decided to effectuate.
He collecting parameters, specifics, the incisions and acumen the tacits to an importing, prefix in articulates, he asked question of ordering, by opening of opportunity, of aberrations all of effectuals… Duly, objectivity in representation a detailed-arduousness of authenticity, he could find ethical…
He then, promoted-agility to the terms he had the proven-nature to put-into expending, wherein justification would be carried-out. Deliberation from careful-perception to cunning acuity, facilitation for perfunctural-ship. Wherewithal reliance, rector and finally, recovery-propitiation actuated had to come full-circle:elan, as elaborated… This, was what would presonerate an ‘idea-worthiness’. Proportional as precedent, from re-rationalized as divulging-relegation. “Receptacle”, he was putting-in the last-resolution, that reciprocated and re-constituted…
Don had been going-through the last proportions of what would become his final-duty. Preparing the equipment, methodizing his tasks and helping the new-trainees familiarize with the job. He had taken time to look-out over the beach when he-heard a quiet-buzz come-over the radio. He was growing-tired. He’d been hoping to find reasons for finding the killers-of his friends when a strange sensation came-over him. He-grabbed the receiver and spoke. “Guard-patrol HQ, come-in, over.” He said it twice more, then he heard it… “Patrol, mayday… s.o.s. s.o.s. going, through enemy attack. Position 35o,68o-over, send help.” “Registry ship Unison HT024, respond, over”… “Come-in”. Donald spoke quickly, he gave procedural-method. Afterward, he ran down the beach after informing the emergency Shore Guard and instructing those, there to what direction-to take.
Bo also, heard the call and looked-out over the ocean, there he saw-it. He told them to, do it… When Bo drew-closer he could-see there was a fast-moving speed-boat barraging a simple vacation-liner. He said if the captain could mover any faster, now was the time. Then, as he moved closer he saw an almost as fast, moving speed-boat. He knew who it was, the marauder was named the “Cuban Pirate”, as Bo watch as the two speed-boats clashed. Donald had the more maneuverable-boat which kept them-out of gunfire range. The marauder ran, with Don in high-pursuit.
The Coast Guard arrived by ship and copter with live ammo. They spoke-by loud speaker. The two-men, gave-up.
***
On September 18,2001 Donald Christopher Sherfield went to sea-aboard the USS Southport at Essex Navy shipyard. He’d made one last look-out then dressed in his dressed-down whites left and didn’t look-back. He had done all he could do in his last-days. He’d lived a life full of different-things, and now he-left gratified with giving-back in some way for all that he’d gained…
The end
Flaming Arrow
[Eleven]
Two-horses rode into back-country in Indian-land, where they were in solitude. A boy, and his ‘medicine-man’-teacher, there for a special reason. The boy, 10-years old had begun his test of native-bravery… Going through a regiment with other boys of his age, several-months earlier. It was the ‘Cherokee’-way, proving that the next-generation could take-up after their-forefathers… Each to espouse the custom, hopes and beliefs with honor, and strength. Each-would then be given respect, as their-father, as a member of the tribe. They being established, as a gift and beholder of tribal-”rites”-to manhood... Barthelemew Jonathan Littlehorse of the Big Valley was Chieftain’s sire, his father, being a leader-of the tribe.
…As such he was expected to bare the breadth of the higher-line… On a very warm-day, Warren “Flaming-Arrow” Joseph Greengrass, 54 in years, was the teacher of most of the tribe. He had his-concerns about his-people. That some of their-land, their-ways, would be lost to the ways of the white-man, that their-land-territory was shrinking to development, and government-expansion… As, in his youth Warren was told the stories of having great-regions untouched by white-men… He’d always been devoted-to the tribe...
They didn’t speak-till the elder chose-to speak. It was a sign of disrespect and dishonor to be “un-frugal”. “…Young-Littlehorse, have we rode a long-way?” “If far was not-close, how have we gone far?” Greengrass accepted Barthelemew’s logical-assound. They rode-on for three-days, across rough-land. Until the old-teacher, proved the boy could survive, understanding ‘the-ways’ of the land, and how his people relates-to it.
***
Bo Jon awakened, one day to a call-from his native kinsmen… He had been phoned at Secato S, the call was a request for help, and a sad-pronouncement… His mentor, from so many years ago had been killed by a white-man. And that a legal-factor had seen the release-of the culprit. He, one of their brethren was asked to help investigate. The indicted-individual, was brought before court, and then freed. …It was thought his wealthy range-holder father, who’d owned part of the area-land, and was a member of the Chambers of Commerce, influenced the judge. He’d be free-on his-own recognizance within 120-hours, the native-law had allowed them a 10-day grace-period… In which, their-case had to be-proven. …David Tree-father, Daniel Little-fowl and Reginald Paint-horse were attorneys for the case. Appointed-by Indian-counsel, they said they had everything but the “smoking-gun”…
Jonathan was moved by his being informed, and the honor-of seeing a friend’s killer come to justice… He was requested by the attorneys, as by ’bestowal’ in such condoning to take-up the case. He was explained the situation by events. It seemed that the incident, was an act of hatred of an innocent medicine-man by a racist-acquaintance. He knew his assailant-by the crime-scene evidence… He was shot-in the back of the head at point-blank range. When the authorities found him he was face-down in the sand lying-up, in the reservation high-country. He was alone when the crime occurred, due-to his being found several-days later…
He was a highly, private medicine-man who’d retired-to his own area of the holy-land of Indian lore. He rarely, saw anyone. A prized and esteemed-man, he’d many devoted young-peers who saw him as proud-teacher. He looked-at what they had learned. Bo completed the conversation. He made arrangements, what his investigation would begin as, and initiating the precepts-of the new-contentions of bringing this man to legal-decision. He was now, one of its main-constituents… Bo Jon had not seen his old-tribal leader in over twenty-years. His-friends who grown-up alongside Bo, and resided now on the reservation, had kept ties with their old-sage. That’s why it was both a solemn and serious-reuniting. They had come-together in an important-cause. As they talked-over intercom-at the Indian Council-Center for Legal-Affairs, they each admired, the deceased… And now, they performed service-in differing walks-of life, summoning them coordinately. It had taken an hour just to go over preliminaries, expounding on the ‘one’ who-wore a hat-of-honor. And had to not let emotions get involved in the ‘graveness’ of his demise. Surmise, substantiation and the earn-supposition concerte
d and congregated-in technical-circumstances… He and they, knew an accordance of uncertainty, judgment and criticality in future court-decision.
Of utmost deduction was whether a defendant, whose-father yielded sway-in the community, could possibly influence-in a self-preservation manner could make a contending that racism could give means to a culpable propriety... This could mean “complexity” or compliment to things of confessionary-prospective. All consequences, considerations and conventions had to be taken, in-person of mind and personages… Bo Jon, was given exchange-to convene, in a configurative, upon arriving and integrity. He was main evidentiary-agent, established by court-docent and accountable, abase… It was the design-of the Indian governing body to ensue-with a more plausible habeas-corpus, yet it was still insecure. Whether they could proceed and make the necessary-headway without the necessary gains of fruitful-proof. And that was Bo Jon’s long-suit every since the days of his reservation-agency. He’d been recognized as a ‘gainful’ and “honorable” official in Indian-authority. In his-workings of services from community-improvement to benefiting the law duties ennobled in-policing. He was indeed, a suitable duty-man.
Bo was aboard the airbus-into the Reno airport. He arrived in less than an hour. Where he was met by his assistant at the Nevada-reservation. They rode south-into Case-county range-land. Bo had not seen this particular dry and rustic bush, in a number of years. He was being informed of the many new goings-on at the Southwestern Indian region-reservation municipality. Many things had begun, ended and changed though he lived northeast nearly 375-miles in the bountiful and wild-country terrain. Bo Jon had made a success of his life… He had a right to be ’proud’. He never turned his back on his people, nor let them down. He was the honored, bloodline of his-people, as well as his proud native-tribe. He was the now, called-on to share-in bringing further-aid respectfully, given in bond and ‘rite’.
The Continuing tales of Bo Jon Littlehorse, P.I. Page 12