Only by Blood and Suffering: Regaining Lost Freedom

by LaVoy Finicum

  I turned the bowl over and on the inside it had black designs painted. The designs were of lines that turned at right angles, forming different sizes of squares. I sat this bowl on the ground next to the grave, opposite of where I was piling the dirt.

  Back at the bottom of the grave I found another bowl. Smaller, it too was upside down and had been sheltered beneath the first bowl. This was a very fine bowl of red clay. The black designs were both on the in and outside of the bowl. They were flowing lines that crested like waves.

  When I picked up this bowl, the skull bones of a small child were revealed. Clearly, with love, some parent had buried their child here in a time gone past.

  As I remained kneeling in the bottom of the grave, I wondered about the child and the short life it had lived. Had it been a boy or a girl? Had the child brought joy to its father as HayLee had done for me? Had that father felt as I did when he dug this grave? I thought of the Indian bowls that had been laid here over the child. An act of love. I could not help but believe he had loved his child as I did mine. In a strange way, it gave me some comfort. This pain and loss I felt inside were the common lot of man. I knew that there was a God and, somehow, in all this pain were lessons He wanted us to learn.

  I would dig no more. I would not disturb the bones of the child. Placing the shovel across the top of the grave, I used it to swing myself out of the hole. It was time to lay my daughter to rest and I would lay her next to this child.

  KayLee-K and I returned to the house, and while she went to put on her Sunday dress, Dan and I finished the last of the preparations. We placed the wrapped body of HayLee on a blanket that had cords tied to each corner and in the middle.

  KayLee-K was now dressed in her Sunday clothes as was all of the family, including Sandy. It would have felt unnatural not to have her there. They all filed into my room and stood around the bed with the body of HayLee lying upon it.

  I looked around at my family. There were holes. Mom was gone. Little Jamie was gone, and now HayLee was gone. These were holes that could never be filled. But there were new faces too. There was Vondell, the baby that Cat had rescued. The baby had brought comfort to Jill, a grieving mother. Then there was Sandy, she being older than my children had brought a motherly feel to the family.

  All, except for Jill who held the baby and family Bible, grasped the edges of the blanket that was under HayLee. Picking her up, we carried HayLee from the house to the grave with her loyal dog following us.

  Using the cords attached to the blanket, we lowered her body in the earth. Again, I laid the shovel across the opening of the grave and swung down. Cat handed me the Indian pots and I placed them next to HayLee and the bones of the child.

  Climbing back out of the grave, I dusted off my pants, straightened my string tie and took off my hat. Jill handed me the Bible and it opened easily to the familiar spot.

  “John 11: 25, Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”

  My daughters, Jill, Cathy and KayLee-K, sang “Amazing Grace.”

  I tried to sing along but at the third verse I was unable sing and keep my emotions in control.

  Through many dangers toils and snares

  I have already come;

  ’Tis Grace hath brought me safe thus far,

  And Grace shall lead me home.

  Home. I had tried to gather all my loved ones home, here at the ranch, but they were not all here. There was another home and another Father who was trying to gather his children home and now He had one of mine.

  The singing ended. KayLee-K and I took turns with the spade, covering the grave. With the grave covered and mounded the family returned to the house leaving me and KayLee-K at the graveside.

  KayLee-K stood at the foot of the grave fighting back tears. She trembled and her knees buckled as she collapsed on the mound. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees, trying to regain control. The eyes that did not cry could no longer hold back the tears. They coursed down her cheeks and dropped upon the fresh earth.

  “Dad, what is to become of me? The half of me is gone and I shall never be whole.”

  Worried and sensing the pain, HayLee’s dog crawled up and put her muzzle on KayLee-K’s thigh.

  KayLee-K struggled but could not stop the tears. How could my heart bear this the sorrow of my child?

  All control failed and KayLee-K sprang to her feet and cast herself into my arms. I held my daughter as the sobs, trembling, and tears came, unchecked.

  I did not know how long I held her, but I did know that there was a price for freedom and that price was a very dear price.

  Chapter 32

  ANN RAFFERTY

  March 18th

  My six large calves bawled as they called for their mothers. There were another twelve hefty yearlings with them in the Bishop’s corrals along with three cull cows.1 These had been brought by the other ranchers and farmers of the valley.

  We sat upon our horses with the pole corrals to our left. Behind us, the old wood barn stood tall, giving us both shade and a wall to our backs. Here we waited, but not all of us. Dan was fifty yards up the hill, shaded from the morning sun by several pinion trees. With his rifle, he covered the location below, giving us some protection. All of us on horses were well armed. Before us stood 28 men from the valley and twice that many women.

  They were waiting too. We were all waiting for Ted Robinson and Ann Rafferty. The people had come, pulling wagons, pushing wheelbarrows, carrying bags and backpacks. Some carried guns and most all carried butcher knives. The word had spread that there would again be beef for the butchering this morning at the Bishop’s barn.

  Health wise, some looked good but most were showing the effects of not having enough food. None looked happy. That was understandable. Some had lines of bitterness on their face, while others showed grief and sorrow. There were a few, I could tell, who had an air of gratitude about them. Even in these trying times, their faces were more peaceful.

  While we waited I studied their faces. There were women who looked at me with hate, blaming me for the loss of their loved ones. As long as that spirit of hate prevailed there would be more blood and suffering. That suffering would continue until we as a people, as a country, were once again humbled. Till we once again were willing to respect a man’s God-given rights—the right to his life, the right to his freedom, the right to own and control property.

  It was the women that did not have the angry looks upon their faces that gave me hope that this land could one day heal. I wanted them to live, to raise their children, to teach their children to be a moral people. Our country had progressed so far down tyranny’s path that most people did not even consider that a government forcing from one man and giving it to another to be immoral.

  These were indeed trying times for all. If this peaceful little valley could experience such conflict and internal strife, so much bloodshed, I trembled to think of what was happening in the large cities of this country.

  How, as Americans, had we come to this? I knew. I had been taught, I had studied and I had watched. I was not surprised, but all these people standing before us had been surprised. To them, this day had been inconceivable. I had heard the words—words of denial, words of self-deception, words to ease consciences that had been pricked by the truth of what was coming. “It can never happen here.” “It won’t get that bad.” “This is America.”

  Such foolish words. Such blind people. When the country had long passed the point of no return, they still believed that with the next election cycle things would turn around. Moral character and moral fiber were no longer requirements for those who ran for public office, but such ideas were openly mocked.

  They refused to see, that regardless of which party was in power, the government never ceased its enslaving march of tax, spend, borrow, spend, print, spend. They thought that the tin can of debt could forever be kicked down the road, that the party would never end.


  Now the tin can had hit the wall and the party was over. The payment had come due and it was paid by blood and suffering.

  An hour passed by with nothing being said between the two groups and little being said within the groups. I looked to the highway and saw three men coming. They turned off the paved road and onto the dirt road of Alamo Lane. Two men were walking beside Ted Richards as he pushed a wheelbarrow. In the wheelbarrow sat a women with hands tied in front. It was Ann Rafferty.

  Ted pushed the wheelbarrow forward and stopped it on the ground between the two groups. Keeping the wheelbarrow steady, he allowed Ann to climb out. With her hands tied, she was not graceful.

  There she stood, not at all looking like the old Ann Rafferty—the cute Ann in the tight skirt, the Ann with the smiling face, the Ann of honey words and fair promises. She had on a dress shirt and slacks that, not long ago, were beautiful and costly, now they were stained and smelly. She reeked and her short hair had not been brushed.

  “Here she is Jake. Now what?” Ted asked.

  I nudged my horse with my spurs and he stepped out from among the other riders, reining to a stop in front of Ann.

  Ann, it’s time. Today is the day I hold at least one politician accountable. Blood has been spilled from one end of the Glendale Bench to the other. Wives are without husbands, and mothers are without sons.” I paused, then continued, “And a father without a daughter. Ann, you are like so many other politicians throughout so many countries. For your own glory, your own power, and your own survival, you stir up, you divide, you fan the flames of hate, then you step out of the way and let others fight and die.”

  Ann Rafferty, you may not have pulled a trigger on a gun but blood is on your hands nevertheless. I’m leveling a capital charge of murder against you.”

  “Murder?” Ann shot back. “You’re the murderer, Jake. You’re the one who broke the law and withheld food. If you had not led the ranchers in rebellion against this government, none of this would have happened!”

  She spoke with venom and hate as she spit the words out. “You broke federal law, you broke the laws that this community passed by democratic vote. You Jake, you’re the criminal!”

  “Tell me Ann,” I replied, “Suppose two friends of mine and I wanted your car and we could all vote, you included. If the vote came out against you, three to one, then would your car belong to us?”

  “That’s foolish, Jake. A car is not food.”

  “What if we needed the car to go get food? Could we take it then?”

  Ann did not answer so fast this time. A good politician was quick to sense exposure to truth from a simple argument.

  “You’re twisting things, Jake.”

  I continued:

  No, Ann, it’s pretty simple. If a man cannot own and control his own property, he does not have freedom. Just because you need it, you have no right to take it, even if a majority agrees with you. Generations ago people in this country took care of one another without the government in the middle. When the big flood came through here in my grandfather’s day, when homes and crops were wiped out, they all pulled together. They did it willingly and freely. They were not forced or threatened by a government. It drew us together as friends and neighbors. What you have done has divided us and caused bloodshed.

  Right now, Ann, if everyone here voted to see if you should be executed for what you have done, you would get a majority who would be willing to set you free. The laws have become corrupt. And when a people supports plunder through a majority vote and then enforces that vote by bloodshed, they have become a corrupt people too.

  Looking at the people standing before me, I continued, “Where can one find justice now? Where is the honorable judge? Where is the jury that will render a just verdict? Just days ago you were killing us to take what was not yours.”

  I turned back to Ann, “For what I am about to do, Ann, I must give an accounting to God. May He have mercy on both our souls.”

  I unbuckled the leather strap that held my lariat to my saddle and shook out a loop. Fear was evident in the eyes of Ann Rafferty. With a quick spin of the rope and deft flip of my wrist, the loop sailed out and settled over her head. She tried to duck but was too slow. I snatched the slack out of the rope and it tightened around her neck. I pulled her up till she stood next to my horse.

  Her hands pulled at the loop as she desperately tried to put her fingers between the rope and her neck. No one in the crowd moved. Again, I touched the sides of my horse with my spurs, walking Ann and my horse into the opening of the barn. With my right hand, I held the rope around Ann’s neck. With my left hand I tossed the coils of the rope over an open rafter. The end of the rope fell, dangling in front of me. I dallied it around the horn of my saddle. With a quick jab of my spurs, my horse jumped forward and the rope zipped over the rafter, pulling Ann’s body off the ground. It was not pretty and it was not quick. My horse stood, holding the rope tight. Hanging there between earth and sky, the tortured soul of Ann Rafferty was released from its mortal frame to face the tribunal of a just and merciful God. The same justice I would face in a coming day and the same mercy for which I would plead.

  I let go of the rope and her lifeless body landed in a heap upon the ground. I walked my horse forward until, once again, I stood over Ann Rafferty. I swung from the saddle and took my rope off her neck. Swinging back onto my horse, I coiled my rope and buckled it to the saddle.

  The message was brutally clear, but facing the crowd, I spoke anyway.

  “It’s simple. You leave me alone. I’ll leave you alone. Leave my family alone. I’ll leave your family alone. Leave my home and property alone and I’ll leave your home and property alone. If you need help, ask me. If I need help, I’ll ask you.”

  With that, I rode away.

  _____________________

  1. A cull cow is a cow that a rancher is removing from his herd to be replaced by a better producing cow.

  Chapter 33

  THE SOCIETY

  March 19th

  The Bonham ranch that lay above the mouth of Long Valley atop the sheer sandstone ledges was like a medieval castle poised on a critical trade route. Just as those castles controlled the flow of essential goods on those routes, so did the Bonham ranch. Zackary ’s lieutenant had been unsuccessful in eliminating that bastion. The resistance was contagious and it was spreading to the town of Kanab.

  So much of the Society’s success to seize great power in this world rested upon the control of food and power. With the great destruction that had come upon the earth and was still being wreaked, the dam was a critical piece for jump-starting this new consolidation of power. To gain that control the Society needed armies. Armies needed food, fuel and arms. Energy was essential to produce those things in the needed quantity.

  The Society’s grand vision was to rule this world as they believed it to be their right. They were wise in their own eyes and knew that if they could gain control they could impose their will and raise this world to a lofty state of utopia.

  For the ignorant masses, they held great contempt. The unwashed were foolish, ignorant, and in need of so much guidance. They were incapable of governing themselves. Every aspect of their lives should conform and bend to the will of the Society. For more than a hundred years they had been building and preparing for the implementation of this grand scheme. It had taken many hundreds of small steps over a century to move this forward.

  Always, the enemy was the common man who held fast to the idea that he should be free. The idea was too strong, and held by too many, for them to attack it openly in the beginning. Slowly, they started with the implementation of such things as Social Security. To get men to give up self-reliance, or freedom, it had to be sold as an effort to care for the unfortunate. The simple mathematical facts that a program such as social security could not be financially sustained, were always dismissed. Step by step they had been able to change the culture of America until Americans willingly gave up bucket loads of freedom and swallowed such th
ings as nationalized health care. Promising Americans help, handouts, a hand up, or to make things fair, required the spending of vast amounts of money, money that did not exist. It was obtained by taking the country off the gold standard and printing money out of thin air. By printing money and borrowing money they bought the freedom of the American people.

  Zackary Williams thought it ironic that a small ranch stood in the way of this century old effort. A simple cowboy had hindered the flow of the needed food out of Long Valley. That food was necessary to sustain this small community. This small community was necessary to bring the power plants on-line.

  It was time to take this man out—a man that he had known from his youth, a man who had been a friend to his father. That this small thing could potentially derail this world-transforming plan was indeed ironic.

  Zackary’s life’s effort, his life’s ambition, had made a full circle. His journey from this place out to the far reaches of the world, with all his obscure associations and actions, now came back to the place of his birth. Two men of similar birth and upbringing had become the opposite of each other. Zackary knew that neither he nor Jake Bonham could co-exist. The principles that Jake Bonham lived by could not be tolerated by the models that consumed his life.

  The history of the world always broke down to the most basic of ideas. The idea that the weak bowed to the rule of the strong, was on his side. The idea that Jake Bonham held, that even the smallest of men should be free to choose their course and reap their own reward, was largely on the losing side of history. It would be again. Zackary Williams would make sure of it.