by Alan S Evans
Shane was even more pumped about his first chance to finally see the wild mustangs this weekend. He was a little concerned about getting along with the two guys who were guiding him. However, he felt pretty certain the two Shoshone men would show him respect because they were taking him at Tigee’s request.
Tory was already tired from the unexpected workout at the ranch. Even though the horse was still tough at sixteen years old, Shane knew he needed to be careful about overriding him.
They headed down a trail just off the main road across from the ranch entrance. Shane had only ridden about a mile when he spotted a nice place to stop and rest his horse. He dismounted and sat down on the top of a high hill where he could see for a long distance. This country was still just as raw and untouched as God had made it eons ago. Here there were no buildings, roads, or power lines to ruin the view. He was sorry he couldn’t show his kids this land and began to feel regretful that he hadn’t done much traveling with them. He and Jen had always planned to, but it never happened.
Tory exhaled a relaxing snort before lowering his head to graze lazily on the rich summer grass that carpeted the surrounding area.
Shane twisted the cup off a thermos he’d brought along, then poured it full to the rim with strong, black coffee as he began to think about what his life had become over the last couple of years. Being in this tranquil place made him yearn to try harder to finally make his peace with God, and, somehow, accept His will for what had happened.
He took a sip of the steaming brew and spoke to his family as he often did when he was alone. “Damn, I miss you guys. No matter what, you’ll always be a big part of who I am.” He filled his lungs with fresh mountain air and gazed out across the wild, open landscape then continued. “I wish with all my soul that it was me in that car instead of the three of you.” He paused for another second and swallowed hard before he finished what he had to say. “I have to
believe that we’ll all be together again someday. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that really keeps me going.”
Shane had made a decision before he left for Wyoming that he would only allow himself a short time each day to dwell on his family. He hoped this would help him maintain some peace of mind. So, after a few minutes, he dumped out what was left in his cup and began the ride back to the ranch.
As he rode into the complex, Sloppy, who was grazing in one of the turnout pens, raised her head and greeted them with a soft whinny. Shane unsaddled Tory and put him out with the mare to graze.
It was now approaching noon, which meant he had about an hour to get cleaned up before he was supposed to meet Tara so she could show him around the reservation.
As he walked back toward his temporary quarters, he looked across the yards and noticed Tigee sitting on his front porch steps. The old Indian was holding out some meat, trying to get two young dogs to eat out of his hand. The dogs were being very cautious, and even though they wanted the food, they kept their distance. As Shane walked closer, the dogs trotted away with their tails between their legs.
Tigee smiled at Shane and waved him on over.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare them off.”
Tigee explained, “I leave food out for the two pups every morning, but they still won’t let me touch them.”
Shane had grown accustomed to Tigee’s heavy native accent, and he appreciated that the reserved old guy was now talking to him more.
“Are they wild dogs?”
“They have grown up at the ranch. Their mother is one of our cow dogs. She was lost during a roundup last year. About three months later, they found her with a couple of half-wolf pups at her tit. Now the two get a lot of their meals by hunting as a team in the woods around the ranch.” Tigee grabbed hold of the railing so he could stand up from his seat on the porch steps, then continued. “The two are good watch dogs so we don’t mind them staying here. I’ve been trying to get them to come up to me for the last several weeks, but so far with no luck.”
Shane visited a moment longer and then ambled toward his cabin. During his short walk, he noticed the two half-wolves were shadowing him from a distance. This bothered Shane somewhat, but before he reached his porch steps, he lost sight of the two and promptly put them out of his mind.
After showering, he still had some time to kill before meeting Tara so he walked around the compound to introduce himself to several of the Indians working there. They were neither friendly nor unfriendly toward him; they seemed courteous, but in a cold sort of way. Shane figured they would loosen up after they realized they could trust him.
He estimated that there were about one thousand brood cows on the ranch and about twenty to twenty-five Indians working here. There were several families living on the ranch, so he assumed that the rest of the crew must have places nearby. Shane had noticed about eight kids who lived on the compound with their folks. He thought them to be between five and thirteen years old. The oldest was Tommy, whom Shane had helped with the bronc earlier. All of the children seemed well mannered and playful.
Later that day, as promised, Tara came by the cabin for the afternoon they had planned. He was beginning to feel a connection with the Shoshone woman and hoped they could become friends.
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing the rest of the reservation this afternoon. Thanks for your time.”
She raised her eyebrows as she smiled and looked at him, “Since it’s over two point two million acres. I doubt we’ll have time to see it all today.”
Shane shrugged his shoulders, “Ma’am, I really don’t have a clue about this reservation. I have heard that there is a lot of history wrapped up in this land, your people, and the mustangs.
Tara nodded her head. “The Wind River Reservation is home to both the Shoshone and the Arapaho tribes, although the two tribes live separately for the most part.
“I think the best place for us to start is at our Shoshone cultural center in the town of Fort Washakie. This community has been in existence since the mid-eighteen hundreds. There are some of the original buildings from the old fort still standing. The whole area is set up to educate people about Shoshone history, which goes back long before the white man came to America.”
“Do you have a lot of tourists?”
“We do have some. My people have tried to promote and build tourism on the reservation to some extent. Without the advertising dollars to put behind it, there just doesn’t seem to be much interest. Since our land is not far from Yellowstone and Grand Teton
National parks, we have even tried to bus tourists from those parks to visit here. We have our powwows, museums, white water rafting, and our incredible scenery in our ads and brochures.”
“I suppose it’s hard to compete with the famous national parks nearby.”
“Yes, it is, but the truth is, as much as we would like to build tourism, it conflicts with one of our most important responsibilities, that of keeping our land wild and untrampled. We feel strongly about preserving this land just as it was when we first arrived hundreds of years ago. I wish we knew how to bring in the tourist money without jeopardizing our ancestral land. I guess you can’t have the best of both worlds, can you?”
“No, ma’am, I reckon not. Too much of America has been sacrificed in the name of progress and profit.” Shane took a deep breath as a serious look came over his face. “There used to be so much open land around my farm in Tennessee. Now most of it is being developed for housing and strip malls. Soon, it seems, there won’t be any wilderness left unless people like yours, who have control over large tracts of land, care enough to stop it.”
“You don’t think much like a white man,” Tara stated laughingly.
“There are a lot of people who think like I do. Unfortunately, big money seems to speak louder than we do in our society. A few years ago, I turned down a pretty good offer from a builder for my farm. I refused his offer because of my love for the land. I felt good about what I had done, but the truth of the matter is, I was just putting off the in
evitable. I envy you and your people having all this open territory to live on.”
A short drive later, the two arrived at the old fort. As they stepped out of the truck Shane immediately grasped a sense of the history which surrounded them.
Tara gestured for him to follow. “This place was originally built in eighteen seventy-one, and at that time was the only fort established to protect, rather than to fight, the Indians.”
Shane was surprised to see there were no walls surrounding the compound. “This actually looks more like a small town than a fort.”
“It was more like a military outpost,” Tara replied. “See, over there are the old officer quarters and the soldiers’ barracks.” They took time to walk through the remaining one-hundred-thirty-year-old structures, many of which were still in good condition. Tara pointed to the middle of the parade yard. There, standing guard, were a couple of old cavalry-style cannons still mounted on their original wooden wagon wheels. Shane paused to get a closer look at these relics before they made their way across the street to the museum. He politely opened the door, then followed her inside.
“Here, you will be able to see for yourself how my tribe’s history is so connected to our mustangs.”
As he stepped through the entrance, he felt as though he’d walked straight into the Shoshone’s past. He slowly scanned the large room and marveled at the many well-produced exhibits showing everything from a miniature ancient village to a life-sized wax figure of Chief Washakie. The door gradually closed itself behind him, shutting out the afternoon’s bright glare. He knew the dark, tinted glass was necessary to shield the interior of the building from any harmful ultraviolet rays, which could accelerate the deterioration of the abundance of ancient artifacts and photographs within its confines.
Tara continued, “Unlike other reservations in the United States, the Wind River Reservation was chosen by the Shoshone themselves. In fact, long before the whites came to the area, this valley had served as my tribe’s winter home and ancestral hunting grounds.”
The room suddenly filled with sunlight again as the door was held wide open by a young, smiling woman. She sternly reminded a group of elementary-age children as they filed excitedly through the museum’s foyer, “Okay, kids! You know the rules. Let’s all stay together and keep your voices down.”
The last person inside looked to be a middle-aged Indian man with a long gray pony tail. He was dressed in a pair of neatly pressed jeans and a bright western-style shirt. Tara moved close to Shane’s ear and whispered, “The man in back is James Bearclaw. He’s the curator of the museum, so he often gives tours to schools from neighboring towns.”
James winked at Tara as he motioned for her and Shane to join his group. “Come on, we’ll follow them through an exhibit or two,” she whispered.
The kids were all well behaved and eagerly listened to Mr. Bearclaw. “As I already told you, my tribe has lived here since way before it was part of the United States of America. This valley is very unique for many reasons. It’s location between two mountain ranges allows it to have mild winters and comfortable summers. It has plenty of water with an abundance of wildlife, which many years ago we hunted for our food. Because of all this the other tribes would sometimes try to take our valley from us.”
A little boy piped up from the middle of the group. “Did your tribe ever have to fight to keep your land?”
“Yes, we did,” James answered. Then he led the group over to an exhibit that displayed many of the old weapons including spears, knifes, and tomahawks that the Shoshone used to defend their
valley.
“Wow!” another boy blurted out. “Can I hold that bow and arrow?”
Mr. Bearclaw smiled, “No, I’m sorry, all of these weapons are very old and priceless to my people. No one is allowed to handle them.” Then he pointed to a specific spear and shield that hung nearby. “I’ll tell you a story about these,” he said.
“A long time ago the very fierce Crow tribe decided to try to defeat my people and take our homeland for their own. A violent battle raged for several days, with each side losing many warriors. In order to stop any more braves from being killed, it was finally decided that Chief Washakie of the Shoshones and the chief of the Crows would fight each other to determine the winner.”
Shane leaned over and said quietly to Tara, “The leaders of our countries today would never have the guts to do this.”
Tara smiled as the curator continued, “These two brave warriors met to fight each other, knowing that the future of their tribes depended on the outcome of this contest to the death. Each of the chiefs showed up mounted on his favorite horse carrying a sharp lance and a shield.” He pointed to the exhibit on the wall, “These are the actual weapons Chief Washakie carried in that battle. When the bloody fight was over Chief Washakie had won, meaning the Shoshone were able to retain the home of our ancestors.”
Tara spoke softly to Shane as they listened, “The horses ridden by the two chiefs during this battle became some of the bloodlines that are now part of our wild herd.”
Tara and Shane quietly slipped away from the kids and walked over to the next exhibit. This one sparked a childhood memory for Shane. “I remember learning about this in junior high school. A Shoshone woman named Sacagawea had been the main guide for the Lewis and Clark Expedition, on their trip to reach the Pacific in the early 1800s.”
“Yes, every kid who has ever taken an American history class has heard of her. I think it will interest you to know how this event in history is so connected to our mustangs.”
Shane turned to face her, cocking his head a little to one side in curiosity as he listened.
“Lewis and Clark had struck up a relationship with the tribe, and ended up obtaining the horses used in their expedition from the Shoshone. When the explorers returned from their travels, they gave back all the surviving horses. Those also became part of the herd’s bloodlines. Sacagawea’s name means bird woman. Her importance in American history was recently honored last year when the U.S. Treasury put her image on the front of the silver dollar in the year two thousand.”
“Wow, I had no idea your herd was linked to anything famous like this.”
Tara held her hand up, “I’m not finished yet, there’s a lot more American history wrapped up in our mustangs.” She led him over to another exhibit. This one told of how the Arapaho tribe, long-time enemy of the Shoshone, was forced onto the Wind River Reservation after their conquest of General Custer at the battle of the Little Big Horn.
Tara gave him a few minutes to observe the display of the famous battle scene before talking. “When the Arapahos arrived in Wyoming, they were still riding the war horses they had ridden to
defeat Custer. Over time, the Shoshone took some of these horses during skirmishes between the tribes. The best of those captured horses were added to the herd and have also become a part of their lineage. Our tribes, of course, have learned in more recent years to get along.”
Shane raised his eyebrows in amazement, “Is there more?”
Tara laughed slightly, “Those were only some of the more recent bloodlines added to the herd. The first Shoshone war and hunting ponies were all from Spanish descent and originally obtained by my tribe from the Comanche. These horses quickly became a very important part of the tribe’s early survival and identity. Today we can actually trace the lines of our mustangs to specific events and battles important to the tribe’s history, dating back to at least the early seventeen seventies. All of the selected animals for our special herd were considered gifts to our ancestors’ spirits and are allowed to run free as an offering.”
Tara gestured for Shane to follow her over to a small room that was closed off to the public. She pulled out a key and unlocked the door. “Come in here, and I’ll show you something the general public never gets to see.” Inside, on a large shelf, were stacks of neatly stored file boxes. “This is where we keep the records of our spirit herd. The oldest breeding records were kept in great
detail verbally by our elders. They were handed down from generation to generation until the mid-eighteen hundreds, when everything was written on paper and translated into English. My brothers, from a very young age, have always been involved in guarding our herd and recognized your gray mare when they saw her. She disappeared along with another two-year-old filly in the spring of nineteen ninety-six. We weren’t sure if they’d been stolen or if something else happened to them.”
Shane remarked, “I guess that’s why they were so adamant about taking her from me that day at the Jensen’s farm.”
Tara nodded, “Once the young horses in the herd have survived their first six months, we brand them in the early fall, then they are added to these records.” Tara dug through some of the files and pulled out the l994 branding records. “See, here are your mare’s papers. She was the last foal born to her mother who died of old age recently. There are only a few grays in our herd, and most of them can be traced back to a specific line that came from the horse Sacagawea herself rode during the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Your mare is out of this special line.”
“I’ll be damned!” Shane whistled as he studied the papers.
Tara continued, “We have only been branding our horses for the last seventy-five years. But, believe me; the older records are just as accurate. The broken arrow brand represents all the battles that were fought to keep our valley, and it is also a symbol of honor for all the braves who have lost their lives during these battles.”
Shane handed Sloppy’s papers back to her. “I can’t help but be impressed with all of this. Now I’m even more excited about seeing the herd for the first time this weekend.”
They left the little room and walked back out to the main hall of the museum where there was a large map of the reservation on the wall. He could hardly believe the size of the place with it’s variety of terrains, including meadows, foothills, forests, and mountains.