Ancient Blood

by R. Allen Chappell

  The graduate student from Colombia raised her hand and said, “At home my work is centered around the lowlands, where lack of water was never a problem and those sites were sometimes occupied for centuries.”

  “Yes,” the professor agreed, “that is true, but here finding unsettled areas with fresh resources was much more problematic, and it became more and more difficult to satisfy the Anasazi’s increasing numbers.

  “Every few decades, regional dry periods of indeterminate length caused entire populations to change location, sometimes involving long distances. Of course, a band of people might only move to an area that had been previously occupied but had lain fallow for many years. Over time these abandoned areas often regenerated and once again were capable of sustaining a new population.”

  Custer stopped to gauge his audience’s interest and finding it sufficient to continue, had a sip of water from his canteen and went on. “Between 700 and 1130 a particularly benign weather pattern set in over the Four Corners area, allowing the growing Anasazi population to flourish as never before. Precipitation increased and crop yields became more generous. Snowmelt kept streams flowing beyond anything previously known, and additional ground water allowed the expansion of dry-land farming on the mesa tops.

  “This period later became the “Golden Age” of the Anasazi—the very peak of their civilization.” Here the professor’s voice became bleak. “Unfortunately, this more stable interlude was followed by the gradual advancement of one of the great droughts of the preceding thousand years. Finally, such a severe and generalized dry period ensued as to inflict great suffering upon these hardy people. Water diversion and cofferdams, even irrigation canals, were built throughout the region but, in the end, even that didn’t help.”

  At this point, a rather sad look crossed Dr. Custer’s face and he lowered his eyes in thought. “Eventually, dry-land fields began to disappear, forcing people to move to the deeper canyons for a more dependable source of water and to escape a more urgent threat, internecine warfare—groups of their own or very similar people turning against one another in this time of starvation. A culture of coexistence had flourished among the Anasazi of the Colorado plateau for a very long time. But, as in every age and land, desperate people tend to engage in desperate practices—one of these is war; the other is religion.”

  Harley Ponyboy surprised everyone by holding up his hand and, when called on asked, “Dr. Custer, did we Navajo have anything to do with these Indians disappearing? I’ve heard some people say that we may have run them off.”

  George smiled and said, “Harley, some early authorities used to think that, but later research has pretty much proven the Anasazi were already gone by the time the Athabaskan people moved down from the North.”

  The professor nodded approvingly in Harley’s direction and continued his talk. “As the years of famine continued and prayers to the rain-gods went unanswered, we suspect the people began casting about for a new and more powerful conduit to their deities. Strong influences from Mexico were filtering into the Chaco Canyon complex and spreading North like wildfire. One of these was the Kachina phenomenon. It was probably during this time that there developed a growing separation between the have and have-nots—those with food, and those without. It may have started with the outliers, the small bands in the hinterlands, who maintained only sporadic contact with the large villages. The drought would have hit them especially hard. And as these people became bolder, more desperate, they may have become more determined in their depredations on their more fortunate brethren, people who might still have had food for their children.”

  The veteran members of the crew, already familiar with Dr. Custer’s theories, had begun drifting back to work, when a shout arose from the main kiva excavation.

  Charlie Yazzie, who was first to arrive, was already down in the kiva when Professor Custer hurried up and ordered several others back from the partially collapsed west wall. Dust rose in a haze nearly obscuring Tanya Griggs, who lay covered in rock and dirt.

  “Is she all right?” Professor Custer called to Charlie who was now bending over the young woman.

  “I can’t tell, doc. Looks like she’s out.” Charlie was of a mind to pull her out from under the fallen rock when someone bumped into him from behind.

  One of the team slid down the embankment despite the professor’s warning and carefully began to clear debris from the girl.

  It was the Cherokee undergrad from Oklahoma, Ted Altman. “I’m an EMT,” he said quietly and took over. “Let’s not lift her until we have a better idea of her injuries.”

  That made sense to Charlie, who could see this was clearly someone who knew what he was doing. “Whatever you say. How can I help?”

  “Just give me a minute to do a quick check and then maybe we can get her out of here.”

  It was an unusually large kiva, not as large as the Great Kiva at Aztec, but certainly one of the larger ones Charlie had seen. The room had been rebuilt from an older burned- out structure, and the refurbishment had been shoddily done, a fact pointed out by Professor Custer at the beginning of the excavation.

  “Her pulse is good and her pupils look okay, too,” the EMT turned archaeologist announced. “Arms and legs seem alright as well. I think we can move her out of here if we are careful.”

  The professor now signaled two more of the onlookers into the pit, and the four people supported the stricken woman and passed her up above their heads to others anxious to help. Among these were Harley Ponyboy and Thomas Begay. Charlie and Thomas exchanged glances as the girl was passed up, and Thomas could see more than concern for the girl in his expression and made a mental note to find out later what that was about.

  Tanya Griggs was conscious by the time she was taken to her tent, where she was closely attended by the expeditions other two female members. After a more thorough examination, EMT Ted Altman, pronounced her very lucky indeed. He could find no major contusion or injury, remarkable considering the amount of material they had cleared off of her.

  When Professor Custer came to visit the injured girl that afternoon, he was not surprised to find Ted Altman by her bedside. The young undergrad quickly excused himself, and the professor, after inquiring how Tanya felt, made some small comment regarding how lucky they were to have Ted in the group and saw the girl attempt a smile.

  The Professor cleared his throat and asked, not unkindly, “Tanya, what were you doing in the kiva? I’ve made it quite clear the kiva was only to be entered during work hours and with the assigned group.” Before the girl could answer, his tone became slightly stern. “This might be a good time to ask why you applied for this program in the first place?”

  Tanya half raised from her pillows and protested. “Dr. Custer….”

  The professor, however, did not let her finish before saying, “Tanya, I’m well aware there are people who do not want this project to move forward—people that are very close to you. You are a talented young woman with a true passion for your work and a promising career ahead of you. I would hate to see misplaced trust, someone else’s vendetta, for lack of a better word, impact that future.” The professor sat back and watched closely as Tanya Griggs considered what he had said. Her eyes never left his and there was something there, something the professor had not noticed in the girl before. Not defiance; more like a force of independent spirit, and one not easily quelled.

  The girl sat straight up, though the effort caused a catch in her breath and a fleeting grimace of pain. “I am not my mother, or my father!” As she twisted the sheet in her hands, she hoarsely whispered, “I have seen my parents torn apart by this since I was young. They are scientists, tortured by the need to do what’s right in regard to their profession and, at the same time, for the Hopi people.” She paused a moment. “My father has gone along with my mother’s concept of what’s right for the Hopi. I sometimes have the impression that concept is not grounded in truth.” She looked away and seemed to lose her train of thought.

 
Professor Custer regarded the girl carefully before asking, and more gently, “Have you had any contact with your parents while you were here?”

  Tanya looked him straight in the eye and said, “No, I have not.”

  George Custer gave her a long, searching look and reached in his shirt pocket for the small beaded amulet Thomas had found when tracking the first intruders. “Do you recognize this?”

  Tanya took the beadwork and turned it over, examining both the leather backing and beadwork front. “Yes, I recognize it. I made it. My mother and I beaded these moccasin pulls for one another last Christmas.” She looked to her corner of the tent where her tall knee-length moccasins stood.

  The professor followed her gaze. “I noticed the Zia Sun emblem pulls on your moccasins the first night you were here.” George Custer was suddenly struck by the fact that mother and daughter had made exactly contradictory designs for each other’s moccasin-pulls—one the Sun symbol and the other the Hopi Rain symbol. One did not have to be a psychologist to read meaning into this.

  George Custer stood to go. “Tanya, ordinarily I would send you packing but, in this case, the logistics of the thing would only further detract from our work here. You think it over, and if you do want to go home, the boys are going in for supplies tomorrow and can put you on a bus in Cortez.”

  As he turned to leave, a soft voice behind him said, “There is an old Hopi saying; ‘All dreams fall from the same sky.’”

  Charlie was waiting outside the tent for the professor and fell in with him as they headed back up to the dig. “I couldn’t help but hear most of that. What do you think?”

  “She seemed sincere, like she intended coming to her own conclusions about our work here. Maybe that’s what she was doing in the kiva. The same thing we are all doing, really—trying to get at the truth.” Then after a bit of thought he went on, “I actually don’t know quite what to think.” The professor sounded tired. “I wish I had a drink.”

  “Why don’t you have one then? I suspected you might have a bottle hid out.” Charlie grinned when he said this but was serious at the same time.

  “I did have a bottle—in that hollow log by my tent. I smashed it the second night we were here.” He chuckled. “I figured you boys were on to me.”

  Charlie laughed and gave the professor a pat on the back. “Harley stuck up for you but did allow you might keep a bottle for snakebite and such. He said you might have trouble finding enough snakes, though.”

  The Professor nodded, smiled, and changed the subject. “When you and the boys go into town tomorrow there’s something I’d like for you to do for me.”

  9

  The Snake

  On the drive out the next morning, the Chevy Suburban had nearly reached the highway when they came upon a band of sheep being herded by an old man on a horse, helped by two scruffy dogs. The dogs flanked the sheep, and the man brought up the drag. He neither acknowledged the vehicle nor slowed his pace. When just abreast of him, Charlie let the truck idle alongside.

  Thomas hailed him in the usual fashion, “Yaa’ eh t’eeh,” and then asked in Navajo, “Where to, Uncle?”

  The man had his neckerchief across his face leaving only his eyes exposed to the dust. He didn’t answer immediately but persuaded his horse to pick a way through the sheep and even closer to the truck. Once alongside, Thomas could see he was much older than he first thought. The old man returned the greeting and added, “That is a fine car you have there, Grandson… you didn’t steal it, I hope.”

  Thomas indicated the two white people in the back seat with his chin. “Oh no, Grandfather,” he said, switching to the more respectful term Acheii. “We have only just kidnapped these white people and are taking their car for a little ride.”

  The old man smiled and nodded “Well, you picked a nice day for it, if no one catches you.”

  The two bantered back and forth in the old way of the Dinè, when people made time for such things. Charlie kept his eyes on his driving and the sheep. He let on like he didn’t understand the conversation between Thomas and the old man, which was partially true.

  “What will you trade me for this car, Grandfather?” Thomas demanded of the old man. “That is a fine horse you are riding. What would you have to have for him?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t part with this horse, Grandson, I have had him since I was a little boy, and it makes me sad to think of selling him.” He reached down and rubbed the horse on the neck. “You are the second person in two days who has wanted this horse.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know old horses were in such demand these days. Anyway, you would have to be a pretty good cowboy to ride him. He is not the kind of horse just anyone can ride.”

  This made Thomas smile—he liked this old man.

  The two white people in the back seat of the Suburban didn’t understand Navajo. The anthropologist from WNMU would like to have known what the two were saying, but she thought it best not to ask. Her young undergrad companion silently agreed and looked away when the old man fell back a few feet and peered into the side window at them. When he caught back up, the old man said. “Those white people do not look too happy Grandson. Have you treated them badly?”

  “Nothing beyond what they deserved Grandfather.”

  Usually, only the old people still joked like this, and the old man was pleased to hear it from someone younger. He looked more closely at Thomas and speculated. “Those white people must have put up a pretty good fight to give you such a lump on the jaw.”

  Thomas touched his jaw and with a frown said, “Oh, no, Grandfather, these whites have been no trouble at all. They are frightened of wild Indians and leave us to our business.” He stuck his jaw out, so the old man might better grasp the gravity of the protuberance on his face. “I got this lump from a giant Ute down in the canyons.” Thomas eyed the old man. “Have you seen such a person in your travels, Grandfather?”

  The old man shot Thomas a sharp glance and jerked his horse closer to the truck. “Did that Ute have a bad hand?” He held up one hand and let it dangle from his wrist. “If that is the same Ute, you did well to get away with only a broken jaw.”

  Thomas glanced across at Charlie and raised an eyebrow, then, turning back to the old man said quietly, “Yes, that is the one. He gave me this jaw, and I repaid him with that useless hand. I expect I will get over this jaw before he gets over the hand. I always try to repay what I owe, Grandfather—good or bad.”

  The old man nodded and replied, “That is good. That is the way it used to be with men in this country.”

  Thomas waited patiently for the old man to continue.

  “Yes, I have seen him, just the other night in the big canyon they call ‘Splits In Two.’ He came by my camp just as I was having my dinner. I didn’t like the look of him, but I invited him to eat, as any person with manners might do. It was only a rabbit roasted on a stick, but he seemed satisfied to eat a good bit of it.” The old man reined his horse so close it almost touched the truck and lowered his voice. “When the rabbit was gone, he asked if he could borrow my horse, as he needed to get to town and see a doctor.” And here the old fellow paused, as though remembering exactly how the thing had happened. “I told him I was sorry to say it, but I needed this horse to get my sheep home and I could not let him have it.” The old man cocked his head “That is when he grew angry and said he might just take the horse anyway. He did not see that I had my 30-30 just under my blanket. When I let it show, he could see I meant business. He cursed then and went straight away down the canyon. When he was well out of sight I moved my blankets back into the trees, behind some rocks. I did not sleep well that night, Grandson. I waited for him, but he did not come back.”

  “It was good you had that gun with you Grandfather. That was a bad man you shared rabbit with that night.”

  The old fellow only nodded, and having told all he knew, abruptly turned his horse away and only waved in parting.

  Thomas called after him, “If you should see that Ute ag
ain, Acheii we would take it as a favor if you would let us know,” and then shouted as the old man drew farther away, “We are at the Anasazi ruin up Left Hand Canyon.”

  The old man again waved an arm and called to his dogs that had been resting in the shade.

  The sheep gave way for the big Suburban as an ocean gives way to a ship—filling in behind like a foaming white sea of wool.

  ~~~~~~

  In downtown Cortez, Charlie dropped off the two crewmembers and their supply list, saying he should be back by three o’clock and would pick them up in front of the supermarket. He cautioned them to have the store people throw some wrapped dry ice in with the fresh meat and to pack everything to survive a rough trip back in.

  Harley pointed out a bar they should stay clear of. “Those people in there don’t take ta strangers very well. I expect you would be better off not going in there.” The little man noticed Thomas eyeing the bar and recalled when his friend had once become involved in an altercation with a Jicarilla Apache. At the time, Thomas had not thought himself drunk enough to make a good fight of it, and proceeded to just talk the Apache into submission. The Jicarilla, not able to get a word in edgewise, finally threw up his hands in frustration. “You could talk a turkey down from his tree,” he said, and walked away in disgust. Thomas often talked himself out of bad situations, something Harley had never been very good at. This was Thomas’s great charm; Harley thought, he could talk a fencepost into line, should he take a notion.