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They had been three days on the trail with very little to eat; as the boy watched the old man he could see he was growing weak and tired and they were forced to rest and forage for food. But pickings were lean and both were hungry. The old man shook the branches of the piñon tree, gleaning the few nuts left in the pinecones. The first freeze had already come and gone in these high places and most of the cones had released their seeds. The ground squirrels and packrats made short work of them. If they had more time, the old man thought, they might seek out the nests of those creatures and take their caches. The hoard of a busy packrat could half-fill a storage bin and such windfalls were eagerly sought by the women and children of the village. Nothing they were aware of provided more nourishment for its size than the piñon nut.
The old man cast furtive glances at his son, noting how he continuously swept the horizons for movement, pausing only to study the trail ascending the ridge before them. He thought, my son has the makings of a warrior…but it is farmers we need. He knew the boy’s mind was made up and could see he was determined to press on. The boy had always been of a stubborn nature. When once he set his mind to a thing he probably couldn’t be argued out of it.
Twice they had seen scattered tracks, not the tracks of yucca fiber sandals such as their own, but of footwear made of animal hide. Nor were these the prints of just one or two people, but rather a group of seven or eight men––large men by the size of the tracks. They were heading in the same direction… toward the western village.
The old man bent close, and narrowed his eyes at the prints before finally admitting the obvious. “These are those wild people who live on meat and roam that country to the north. They will kill us if they can.”
The boy nodded, knew it was true, but still was not swayed and asked, “How long ago?”
His father bent again and lifted the edges of the curly-grass, tested its resiliency where a moccasin had tread on it. “Two days I think, maybe more…it’s been dry…so maybe more.”
A chill ran down the boy’s back and he viewed the ridge ahead in a different light. They had not counted on this, but had from the start it was possible, and prepared as best they could. He carried a bow and a badger skin quiver of arrows. It had taken days to fashion the bow, then straighten and finish the arrows. The obsidian points cost him another three days work in his uncle’s parched fields. Obsidian was not easy to come by his uncle said. This piece had come in trade from the old town. The uncle was a master worker of flint and obsidian; each point was razor sharp and designed to penetrate deep and true. The uncle had also knapped a fine obsidian blade and hafted it with deer bone for a handle. This he gave the boy as a gift, saying he felt it his duty to provide something more suited for close quarters. It was that same uncle’s wife who now looked after the boy’s sister until they returned.
Already the time away was weighing on his father, who could only hope his son would accept the next suitable girl. In the previous village they were told of another settlement to the west, hit hard by raiders, and probably with little food left. Those people might be willing to let a girl go should they still have one––better that than have her stolen away by marauders…or die of starvation.
The boy interrupted the old man’s silent musings, “It is time to go. It is still a long way to that village and the sun moves more quickly these days.”
The boy’s house had been finished for many weeks and needed only a woman to make it complete; one boy could not live in a house all by himself. His father’s first thought had been they should go back to the old town to the south and try bartering for one of the girls his son had known as a child. But a passing traveler reported the town no longer friendly to those who had cast aspersions on its leaders… There would be consequences he said. Still that might have been a better way to go if the old man had known how hard this journey would be.
His father gauged the sun, nodded, and put the handful of piñon nuts in a small woven pouch at his belt, then took up his atlatl and long darts––nearly spears––that went with it. This was an ancient weapon but powerful and deadly in the right hands. Both travelers carried obsidian knives and a length of hand woven cordage, which weighed little and was good for all manner of things. Under his woven rabbit fur cloak the old man felt for the bag of turquoise beads and effigies. It was the wealth of their entire clan and in better times would have been more than enough to secure a wife. Now, such frivolous goods were not so valuable and in some places a bag of shelled corn or beans might bring more. No one had corn or beans to spare however. With winter coming on girls would not be needed in the fields, possibly even considered a drain on what little resources were left. This was not the way things of this sort were conducted in normal times, but things had not been normal for a very long time. Desperate people were now forced into desperate ways.
The boy’s clan was poor, too, with few young people left. The elders grew determined in their efforts to bring in new blood before it was too late. Though he had only sixteen winters he was the oldest and most favored of the few young men left to the clan. It was true his sister’s prophecies had something to do with his selection. She had long hinted to the elders that her brother would one day be a leader among them. He thought that might also be the reason he was chosen to have the new house. He was indeed the last best hope of the clan. He had not taken a war trail, but was already a good hunter and strong and fleet of foot.
When finally they reached the edge of the village the boy and his father stayed a good distance out but remained in plain view and waited for someone to come to them, that was the custom among their people. The dwellings sat on a promontory among the ravaged fields and the boy thought their houses pitiful and unprotected. He knew he and his father were being watched and evaluated by those behind the stone walls, but still no one came to greet them. Surely it was obvious what kind of people they were. They should be welcomed as friends, possibly even be mistaken for visiting relatives, as had been the case in the last community.
These later immigrants had chosen to occupy an earlier site from a time when there was little need for security. The boy thought them vulnerable there in the open and was glad his own elders had decided on a more protected place and then built with security foremost in their minds.
Finally, two older men cautiously appeared at the edge of a window and peeked out, still apprehensive and unsure. They were next seen covertly watching from a doorway; at last one moved into full view, held up a hand, and made the sign that acknowledged them as their own kind and welcome. Slowly, the pair moved out into the open and came closer. One man had something wrapped about his leg and was limping. Still somewhat leery, the two elders paused and took another careful look, then became satisfied these travelers were indeed of their own kind, and not enemies.
The boy’s father, nearly as old as the other two, guessed them to be clan elders and soon convinced them of his mission––to find a suitable wife for his son. He said, “This boy will make one of your girls a fine and caring husband. He can hunt and is a good farmer… He will provide for her and defend her to the death.”
The elders looked the boy up and down for what seemed a long space of time, then spoke quietly to one another; beckoned to them and led the way to their kiva and down the ladder.
After they had smoked their conical pipes and offered their guests cool water from an olla, one elder looked suddenly distraught, saying, “Until yesterday I had such a girl…my own daughter,” he gritted his teeth. “She was snatched away with the others.”
“No one followed to get her back?” The boy knew this was a rude thing to ask but time was short and he didn’t look away as his father shot him a warning glance.
The older man had the scars of a warrior, and held up a hand to halt further talk from the boy. “I can see you are a plain talker but you are young, and not from around here, so I will let that pass.” The man straightened and held his head higher. “We are not cowards. The first time a
girl was taken we did follow and chased those people for a long distance. She was only a poor orphan girl too, but we thought it our duty to go after her and we did.” The man’s eyes grew bright with the thought of it. “Always it seemed her captors were just ahead of us. There were only two of them…but large men and swift. They had a noose around the girl’s neck and forced her to keep up. We were five, all older as with myself, but still we thought once we caught up, we would make short work of them.” Here the man paused, guilt plain upon his face. He hung his head and his voice sank to a whisper. “They were waiting for us beyond a small rise…along with three others. We fought them, but we are farmers and war is not our livelihood. Two of us were soon killed and two wounded, one seriously. There was nothing else for us to do but turn and run for our lives. Our worst wounded man made it back, only to die the next day.” He choked and went silent and it fell to his companion to finish the tale.
“I was there in the front and first wounded,” This taller man pointed to his calf, swollen and obviously painful. The black hole of an arrow wound oozed corruption despite the poultice around it. The man counted himself lucky, as it had only passed through the muscle. “We were able to break off the head and pull the shaft back out.” He related this without emotion and continued in the same tone. “Though the girl was lost to us, we who escaped with our lives reconciled ourselves to that loss, thinking at least our people at home were safe. We had left our best fighters here to defend the village.” Here neither man could speak and the boy and his father became uncomfortable, guessing what was to come.
The first man again took up the story, though his grief-stricken voice was still sometimes difficult to understand. “When we arrived here we saw several of the young men left behind to guard our families strewn about the ground as they had fallen. The raiders had been beaten back, two of them killed and two others so badly wounded they probably won’t make it back north, but all at a terrible cost. Several women, wives of the dead men, were taken. Each had a child they fought to protect, but those were taken too.” The man looked away and shook his head. “That may be just as well, their men are gone now and there is no one to provide for them. Even our dogs are dead, leaving none to warn us of another attack. Our hearts are broken.” The man’s shoulders slumped and shook, and though he continued to mumble on, no one could understand.
His companion touched the grieving man’s shoulder and once again began to speak for him. “All of our young people are gone now and we old ones who are left do not have the will to hold this place.” The old man leaned forward and addressed the boy. “So you see, when these last women were taken yesterday we knew it useless to seek revenge on the worthless dogs who took them. Now all we can do is keep ourselves barricaded within these stone walls. The raiders took everything in our storage bins and probably think they have everything worth taking now. They most likely will leave us alone for the time being. Probably they will be making their way north with their plunder.”
“You will starve here this winter,” The boy said simply and without thinking, but no one took exception this time. What was true, was true, and saying otherwise would serve no purpose.
The boy looked at his father and then at the two elders. “What is the clan of the girl that was taken?”
The girl’s father looked up and scowled. “What does that matter now?” But there had been the fleeting hint of something in the boy’s eyes and the old man was taken aback.
“What is the clan?” the boy asked again, but this time more gently.
Looking directly at him the girl’s father whispered the clan name, peering hard at the boy through a veil of smoke.
The boy’s father listened too, but had not heard of that clan in a long time, and it took a moment to remember who they were. He was afraid now of what his son might be intending…
The boy glanced at his father and saw him lower his head and then nod to the other old man. The boy persisted, “I do not know that clan, what does it mean?”
The old man raised his head and there were tears in his eyes. “It is their name for an ancient clan of the people. I thought them all gone now…the clan of the Swallow Keepers. The girl is the last of the Swallow Keepers.”
The boy said no more, only gathered his few belongings and prepared to leave, motioning for his father to follow.
“Wait,” The taller of the two elders stood and moved toward them. “If you intend to go after that girl we can help you with food…and there is an older boy left here, he can go with you. Some think he is not right in the head, but he is big and strong beyond his years…and he can fight.”
The second elder, the girl’s father, rose and came face to face with the boy. “I can see you have it in your head to find my daughter. I do not know you, but I can see now there might be more to you than I first thought.” He put out a hand to touch the boy’s shoulder. “Let your father stay with us and take the young man my friend has spoken of. It is his son and the one who killed two of those thieving dogs that cause us this heartache.” He glanced sideways at his guest saying, “Your father is old and tired like us and will only slow you down. Leave him here. We have a buried cache of corn and dried squash and beans hidden not far from here. This is a good place to grow crops and is the reason we came so far from our old country. I see now that was a mistake and we have paid the price.”
The old man looked from one to the other of his guests and then went on, “Our women have just this morning prepared food for our own journey. You can take what you need. Those marauders will think we are done and will not expect anyone from here to follow after them. They are heavily laden, and burdened with women and children. If the worthless dogs have not killed them already there will be two young women, each with a child, and the girl we spoke of. If you are spotted they will kill the children first.” The old man’s breath caught in his throat, “You can not save them all…or maybe none…and then it would all be for nothing. You are warriors now, you and that other boy, not farmers, and should it come down to it you must sell yourselves dearly, for there is greatness in that too.”
The boy hesitated, looked to his father and saw the anguish in his eyes and knew the man had spoken the truth. “Wait here two days,” he told his father, “And if I am not back, go south with these people. If I live I will find you.”
The father gazed at his son as one already fading from his sight, “I doubt we will see each other again, but I will tell your sister you are now a man. Whether you live or whether you die, you will make us proud, just as she has always predicted you would.”
5
The Fallen
Charlie Yazzie kept one eye on the clock as he shuffled through the folder prepared for Police Captain John Beyale. He hoped it would be enough to sway the captain’s decision in the matter of Billy Red Clay’s impending suspension. There were personal references from prominent tribal leaders, and included several law enforcement officers Billy had worked with. Charlie even hinted to FBI Agent Eldon Mayfield, that he might put in a good word. Billy had, after all been his choice for Liaison Officer. Eldon declined, saying the homicide investigation would fall to his agency and propriety would not allow it. Charlie had already figured as much, but thought the agent might yet offer some less obvious support for the young officer.
What Charlie had so far should, to his mind, be enough to stave off suspension. Chief among the documents was the deposition concerning the confrontation between Karl Hoffman and Billy Red Clay––that would be key. Archaeology Professor George Custer’s signature on that one should carry considerable weight. Charlie was, however, nearly certain Billy would remain a “person of interest,” no matter what. That designation carried a weight of its own, sometimes making it hard for investigators to move past it.
The informal inquiry was scheduled for ten o’clock and Billy Red Clay asked that Legal Services Investigator Charlie Yazzie be allowed to present in his behalf. In view of the preliminary nature of the hearing, the captain was amenable saying
the entire purpose of the meeting was to decide if further inquiry was warranted. Charlie Yazzie had acquired a certain status on the reservation and had friends in both high and low places. No one at tribal police had been able to figure him out, therefore most thought it better to figure him in.
On the way over to the Federal Building Charlie wondered what the FBI might have come up with in the way of forensics in the murder and if they would see fit to share any of it with Tribal.
The autopsy report on Danny Hat was due in this morning as well. But that death now seemed almost forgotten in the excitement of the shooting. A connection between the two cases seemed likely to his way of thinking, and it would be interesting to hear what the FBI made of it.
The meeting lasted nearly an hour, at the end of which it was decided the young police officer, Billy Red Clay, would not be suspended, pending a more formal investigation. That Charlie Yazzie’s input was a deciding factor in the decision was clear to Billy, and on the way out of the building he thanked the tribal investigator, several times. Both men were somewhat surprised to see Thomas Begay’s truck in the parking lot and with both he and Harley Ponyboy sitting on the tailgate in what appeared to be a heated discussion.
“Harley, no one was stopping you from going back up to that kiva. You’re the one who wanted to wait till the owl left.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’ go with me neither.”
“It was not my deal Harley! You’re the one who thought you had something up there. I didn’t know the prof was going to shut things down for the weekend.”
Charlie and Billy interrupted the pair, Charlie asking, “What are you two doing in town? I thought you were on a tight schedule because of the road crew.”
Wolves of Winter: A Navajo Nation Mystery Page 5