“But what about Anita losing those two babies?”
“Who knows? Sometimes things just happen and no one knows why. Anita was always a sickly girl. Her own mother said she should not try to have children. Her clan did pay for a cleansing ceremony after she lost that first baby, and from a very well-known singer, too. It didn’t change anything. To me, that means it probably wasn’t magic that caused the problem to start with.”
Sue thought about this. “That is about what Charlie said too.”
“I wouldn’t worry yourself about it, daughter.” The old man reached over and patted her hand. “That baby will come when he is ready, and he will be fine.”
“He? So you think it’s a boy too?”
“Yes,” Paul chuckled. “I am the one who told Lucy it would be a boy.”
“But how…”
“It came to me the day I sprinkled pollen on you and Charlie at your wedding. Something told me your first child would be a boy. That night it came to me again in a dream and I knew then it was true.” Paul shifted in his bed and Sue moved to adjust his pillow. “You know, my uncle, whose name I will not mention, as he is dead now, often said he could tell whether a baby would be a boy or girl by how low or high the woman carried it in her belly.” The old man showed just a hint of a smile. “My uncle was a famous singer in those days and made a good bit of money making such predictions.” Paul chuckled. “And he was usually right too—about fifty percent of the time!”
Sue laughed along with him and breathed an audible sigh of relief. “This is a great weight off my shoulders,” she said and Paul could see in her eyes it was so and was glad he had not told her everything about the Witch of Ganado.
~~~~~~
When Sue arrived back home, she found Charlie and Thomas preparing to take George Custer’s car to him at Aida Winter’s place north of Cortez. They would be gone only for the day, and Lucy Tallwoman had agreed to come stay with Sue until they returned.
Harley Ponyboy was busily putting the final touches on the painted trim in the baby’s room when she peeked in on him.
“I’m using a new kind of paint that has no smell to it,” he announced. “It’s not good for babies to smell that regular kind of paint.” He seemed quite proud of this knowledge, and Sue didn’t have the heart to tell him latex paint had been around for a while. She was looking at Harley Ponyboy in a different light now and suddenly felt somewhat sorry for him but didn’t know exactly why. She wanted to tell him there was no curse and Anita losing those babies was due to something else entirely. She couldn’t find the words for that though and finally just nodded at him and went out to the kitchen.
Thomas was finishing off the last of Sue’s experimental burned toast, dipping it in his coffee, which was heavily laced with canned milk and sugar. “Good toast, Sue! I always liked my toast a little crispy. Makes it just right for dipping.”
Sue pursed her lips and smiled. “Glad you like it. I think Charlie was getting a little tired of it.” Secretly, she was beginning to think the new toaster was defective. She might have to take it back to K-Mart and get her money back.
“Charlie don’t know what’s good,” Thomas said. “Lucy and I may get us one of these toasters, now that I see how this is.”
“You don’t have any electricity to run a toaster.”
“Sure we do! We have the new generator now. I wouldn’t mind firing that thing up in the mornings for a little toast now and then.”
Charlie came in just in time to hear the end of the conversation. “Maybe Sue will let you have our toaster. I don’t like toast that much, anymore.”
Sue turned to Thomas and laughed, “There may be something wrong with that toaster, but you can have it if you want it.”
Thomas squinted one eye at the shiny new toaster sitting on the counter. “Seems okay to me.” He moved to the counter and appraised the toaster in more detail, “I’ll take it!” he decided. Thomas Begay was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
When Thomas finally went to see how Harley was getting along with the trim painting, Charlie and Sue were alone. He put his arm around her and whispered, “Hey, I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to be so short with you.”
“Aww,” Sue said softly and squeezed his arm. “It was mainly me. I’ve been a little on edge these last few days.” Yet, she was not quite ready to tell Charlie about her visit to the old singer.
“Well, everything will be better once the baby gets here,” Charlie replied, and hoped he was right.
Just then Sue abruptly pulled away, winced in pain, and looked surprised, first at her belly, and then at the spreading puddle at her feet. “Uh-oh,” she gasped between clenched teeth. “I think I know what this means!”
Charlie knew what it meant, too, and hurriedly called out to Thomas and Harley who came running—Harley still holding his paint brush which left a trail of light-blue droplets on the new linoleum floor. Both stood with their mouths open at the sight of Sue clutching her stomach in distress. She was clearly concerned, yet in complete control.
Charlie looked momentarily bewildered, but he, too, appeared calm when he said, “You two will have to return George Custer’s truck without me. His crew from Albuquerque will be in tomorrow, and he has to be ready to go back up to the dig.” He looked from one to the other of them. “It looks like I might be tied up awhile down here.” He glanced at Sue in dismay and asked, “How long do you think this might take?” He immediately realized how foolish the question was and threw up his hands. Obviously, Charlie Yazzie, was more excited than he cared to let on.
Harley Ponyboy took a step back when he realized what was happening. He held the paintbrush like a shield, eyes wide with panic.
Thomas Begay, on the other hand, came forward and took Sue’s arm. “Do you have a ditch bag, or whatever they call it?” he asked calmly. Sue pointed to the broom closet. Navajo women are not known for lengthy labor and generally have their babies quickly.
Now, it was Thomas who took charge and ushered Sue and Charlie out the door to the truck. Charlie, clinging desperately to Sue with one hand and to her little blue suitcase with the other, still appeared dazed. Thomas, waving them goodbye, assured them he would take care of everything. “Don’t worry about a thing!” he called after them, “I’ve got this covered!”
Charlie did not find this comforting in the least, and before he pulled up onto the highway, he paused to take a long look back in his rearview mirror—Sue could clearly see doubt etched across his brow.
Harley Ponyboy stood silently on the porch, also watching them go and wringing his hands, as was his wont when overwhelmed by a situation he thought might be construed as his fault.
4
The Expedition
Aida Marie Winters watched intently as George Custer marshaled his troops—a spectacle of near epic proportions. The new recruits scurried around the vans, rearranging supplies and filling small water barrels from Aida’s spring-fed pump-house. Harley Ponyboy and Thomas Begay were introduced to all and encouraged to pitch in and help. They soon became swept up in the general melee.
The children found it all highly entertaining and hung on the porch rail watching with obvious excitement. Their previously perceived notion that George Custer was a person of some importance was reinforced by the deference shown him by the entire assemblage. He was clearly held in high regard by these people. Thomas took time to speak with his children and pointed out various interesting things about the group… things they would someday recall in fond remembrance of the day.
Aida took a package of the professor’s freshly laundered clothes out to the vehicle and asked Harley to stow them away. It had been fortunate that the bulk of George’s clothing had been left forgotten in his truck when he and Harley had started drinking. Aida paused a moment when her attention was attracted by one of the crew, a slender young woman with Indian features and a serious expression—a pretty girl, most would think. There was something vaguely familiar about her, and
Aida pondered what it might be. It was almost as though she had known her sometime in the past.
Finally all was in readiness, and Thomas said goodbye to Aida and the children, followed by George Custer, who came and stood before her, hat in hand. “Aida, I want you to know how much I appreciate what you have done for me these last few days.” he lowered his eyes, examining the brim of his hat. “Especially in view of what has gone before.” He looked her directly in the eye and said, “I would like to make it up to you someday, if that might be possible.”
Aida gave George Custer a searching look, then simply turned and walked to the house. The professor did notice a slight slump to her shoulders as she climbed the front steps. And at the top step she paused, looked back over her shoulder, and gave a little half-wave. George Custer thought he perceived the tiniest glint of a tear at the corner of one eye, though the distance was such that he could not be sure.
As the entourage pulled down the lane, children still waving them goodbye, it finally came to Aida why the Indian girl had seemed so familiar. She wondered if George Custer had any idea who she was.
It had not taken much to convince Thomas Begay and Harley Ponyboy to sign on with the second phase of George Custer’s project. The pay was good and the job would last through most of the summer. They were sure George Custer would, of necessity, be on his best behavior. The number of university witnesses alone should insure some semblance of professional conduct. The professor had apologized profusely to Harley Ponyboy for his previous behavior and for dragging Harley down with him. George Armstrong Custer was not one to shirk responsibility for his shortcomings.
Upon arriving at the site, the entourage of grad students in their shiny, new four-wheel-drive vans began unpacking the vehicles while the professor and his two Dinè helpers headed up the trail to the campsite.
When they topped out of the wash and could see the camp, Harley Ponyboy, immediately clapped a hand to his mouth and said, “Uh-oh!”
The tent had been slashed to pieces and lay on the ground. Broken camp chairs were strewn about and cooking gear was smashed and scattered to the far edges of the camp. Supplies and food were everywhere, opened and thrown about. When they were closer, it became apparent how thorough the sacking of the camp had been. The papers and grid maps Thomas had so carefully gathered and left in the tent were now a pile of ashes in the fire pit. The two Navajo stood silently surveying the damage and looking to Dr. Custer, who closed his eyes for a moment as though to gather himself. Finally, he gingerly touched his still-bandaged head and said quietly, “Well, it looks like my friends weren’t quite through with us after all.”
“Could have been a bear.” Harley ventured hopefully, knowing for certain that was not the case.
“I doubt a bear would have left those Beanee Weenees,” Thomas said, indicating the contents of a number of smashed cans on the ground. “And he might have had a little trouble setting those papers afire, too.” Thomas’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the mess. “Like the doc says, it was the same people that were here before. They must have been scared off the first time when they heard our truck coming, or they might have finished the job right then and there.”
George Custer nodded and said, “The good news is that the crew brought plenty of extra gear and supplies from Albuquerque.” George Custer assumed a grim little smile. “This will be a temporary setback, at most.” He walked over to the fire pit and sifted through the ashes with one hand. “The worst of it is we lost several days paperwork, and I rather expect the grid markers up at the dig are gone as well.” This seemed only momentarily depressing for the professor, and he went on, “Luckily, I’ve got you boys to fill in. I can put two of the grad students on the paperwork and Harley and I know where a lot of the grid stakes were placed.” It was true, Harley had a remarkable memory for minutia, and his sense of place was unerring. This talk left Thomas suspicious that he might be the one to take up the slack in the digging department.
The professor turned to Thomas, “While we are waiting for the others to bring up the gear maybe you and Harley could circle around and see what sort of sign you can turn up before the others get here to muddle things up.”
This suited Thomas just fine, and he motioned Harley off to the north as he ambled away in the opposite direction.
“Don’t get lost now, Harley,” he threw back over his shoulder with a grin.
Harley Ponyboy was an excellent tracker. He’d had plenty of practice when he was off in the canyons as a boy—there wasn’t much else to do when you didn’t have to go to school. If there was sign to be found, Harley Ponyboy would likely find it.
~~~~~~
Harley was only about a half mile beyond the camp and well to the northeast of the dig site when he chanced upon a single set of boot prints—large boot prints with squared toes and an aggressive tread pattern. Harley could just make out the Caterpillar brand insignia. Those were some expensive boots. Harley had always wanted such a pair of boots but could never seem to afford them. Boots like these were generally only seen on construction workers, or oil-field hands.
The tracks were heading away from camp. Harley intended to backtrack later, but right now he was more interested in where they were going. He was pretty sure he knew where they had been. It was no more than a mile when two other sets of tracks joined the first. These tracks were different. One set was made by cowboy boots, but with more of a rounded toe, much like the ones Harley himself wore. These were a common style of boot on the reservation and in the surrounding country as a whole. But it was the second set of prints that was most interesting. They appeared to be made by hard-soled moccasins, something you didn’t see very much these days outside of the pow-wows and ceremonial gatherings. These days men who didn’t wear boots usually wore sneakers. The other thing about the moccasin tracks, they were small, from a youngster, maybe—or a woman. All three sets now led up a draw thick with cedars and oak brush. These people meant to keep out of sight. When the draw eventually topped out, the tracks turned sharply east toward the Ute reservation, and Harley saw the space between the tracks diminish, indicating the people had slowed their pace, perhaps feeling safer at this distance from the destroyed camp. He at last came to a place where the trio had stopped and rested. Two of the people took a seat on a downed log; the third and larger of the three had remained standing and well apart from the others. His prints indicated he had spent his time watching the back trail.
As Harley lingered there in the shade of the cedars the silence cloaked him, enveloped him, until it set up a thin buzzing in his ears. The wind had died, as often happens in the canyons at mid-day—like an ocean tide that comes to slack water and then reverses flow. Harley had nearly transitioned to a state of mental disconnect when the slightest of noises brought him back. He did not quite register what the sound was, only that it didn’t belong.
When Thomas finally appeared, he was out of breath and sweating from the steep climb. “I saw you top out and figured you had cut the same two sets of tracks I had seen down below. They were heading this way.” He wheezed and bent to catch his breath. “I figured to take a shortcut up the side.” He leaned over and, with hands on knees, blew his nose on the ground. “That was a mistake.”
Harley smiled, “You are getting old Hastiin. There was ta time when you woulda’ run up that draw and not been breathing hard like that.”
“Yeah, well, then was then—now is now,” Thomas wheezed.
Harley looked across the little clearing. “There are three people now. One big fella. This is his track over here. I have to backtrack him to be sure, but I don’ know if he ever went down ta the camp. Maybe like he was more of a lookout, or guide, maybe.”
Thomas examined the impressions and whistled, “He is a big boy, size 12 …14 maybe.” Thomas set his size nine boot in the print, and Harley could easily see he was right. Thomas moved on over to the log and peered at the other sets of tracks. “Are these moccasins?”
Harley nodded. “If it ha
dn’t been raining the last few days they would be a lot harder to see.” He looked off into the past. “My gran’mother wore moccasins. When her mind finally started ta go she would wander away from ta camp sometimes. If the ground was hard and dry, we had a hell of a time finding her; she only weighed about ninety pounds.” Harley pushed his chin at the tracks, “I’m thinking this is a woman too; don’ weigh much, neither.”
The two started off again and after only half a mile came to the end of the ridge which had slowly angled down and ended at the edge of a patch of sage—an old gas well location by the looks of it. There was still a capped-off standpipe in the center of the circular plot. The “location” was probably one of the first in the Aneth field, now long abandoned and overgrown with sage and cheat grass. What had once been the road leading to it lay washed out and more of a gully than anything. That notwithstanding there was a clear set of vehicle tracks at the far edge. Upon closer inspection it was obvious the tracks were made by a set of oversize mud tires, and it had been at least a day, maybe two, since it was there.
“Someone went to a lot of trouble getting to Dr. Custer’s camp without using the main road.” Thomas shook his head, “No wonder we never saw any other tire tracks coming in except ours.”
Harley stood gazing off into the canyon beyond the well site, studying what was left of the rutted trail coming up out of the bottom. “They din’ drive no regular truck in here, neither. It would take one a them Moab rock crawlers to get in here.”
Ancient Blood Page 5