Mojado

by R. Allen Chappell

  Charlie gritted his teeth as he was dragged along past Sam’s vehicle and the short distance to Hosteen Nez’s pickup. There was something wrong with his knee, and he favored it noticeably. He could see the old man’s boots sticking out of the bushes at the edge of the clearing. He couldn’t help but think of the anguish the old man must have felt as he talked to Sam Shorthair earlier that morning, knowing there was a gun pointed at his back and every word was being weighed. Charlie knew now that Sam’s premonition had been right when he thought something not quite right about the old man. Navajo cops like Sam Shorthair didn’t come along every day.

  Luca motioned for Charlie to go ahead of him to the body, where the two of them dragged the limp form further into the underbrush and out of sight. Once back at the old man’s truck, the mojado indicated Charlie was to take the wheel, but only when he was seated on the other side did he pass him the key. Charlie held the handcuffs out to him and questioned silently with his eyes. The fugitive shook his head no, and pointed to the shift lever. It was an automatic, and he indicated with a nod of his chin that Charlie could handle it.

  Charlie did not lower the cuffs, but made them jingle, and insisted, “What if we get stopped? These cuffs won’t look too good.”

  The fugitive grinned. “If we get stopped, Mr. Charlie, you gonna be dead anyway. They know who they look’n for.”

  Luca Tarango had been right in his assessment of the truck. It was slow, even slower up hill, and it did smoke a lot. It looked like they were purposely laying a trail of fog all the way down the mountain.

  18

  The Search

  Harley Ponyboy thought they had done well. Word had spread like a brush fire among his clan members, and their two missing horses were found only a few miles from where they had been turned loose. The saddles and gear had also been recovered, and the Natanii sheep company had been more than accommodating in their efforts to bring everything together and transport it down to the trailhead, where Clyde was to pick up the two of them later in the afternoon.

  Harley was told his clan mother, She Has Horses, was now with her sister and nephew, where she was trying to re-weave the threads of her life. She would, for the first time in many years, be a closer part of her maternal family, and while she would always have a place there, it would not be the same as when she’d had a family of her own. Harley told his clansmen he would try to get by to see the old woman and let her know how things were progressing in regard to catching the person responsible for her granddaughter’s death. He knew there was little he could say or do to ease her mind, but at the same time, felt any effort would be appreciated and might even contribute to the general effort to restore hozo to the clan.

  Thomas Begay, too, had held up well during a day that Harley expected might take a toll on his weakened condition. The two sat in the shade of a small copse of spruce trees near the trailhead corrals. Charlie and Thomas’s horses nibbled at the young cheat-grass battling its way through the clumps of manure left in the pens.

  Thomas played with the end of a rope, coiling it and tossing it toward a rock. “I’ll bet Charlie hooked up with Sam Shorthair and he’s talked him into looking in on that witch-woman up Little Water Canyon.” He said this in such a manner that Harley took it to mean Thomas himself, had he been in Charlie’s place, would have done things differently.

  “I guess you are probably right, considering neither one of them probably had any idea what else ta do.” Harley watched Thomas fling the rope out well beyond the target, then snake the loop over the rock with a little twist of the wrist as he retrieved it. Thomas could do some magical things with a rope, and Harley envied him that. “Charlie and Sam Shorthair better be careful up there. Neither one knows much about witches.” He sighed and fixed Thomas with a frown. “We shoulda’ waited ta get these horses. We coulda’ gone on with Charlie instead of foolin’ around here all day.” He didn’t exactly intimate that it was Thomas’s fault they hadn’t gone with Charlie, but still Thomas got that impression.

  “Well, I think he maybe didn’t want us there anyway… I think maybe he figured the FBI would be more likely to accept him if he didn’t drag us along.” Thomas chuckled. “Charlie probably thinks being with Sam Shorthair will make him part of the “official” investigation and not just out there poking around.” This hadn’t actually occurred to Harley, and he frowned as he considered the probability of the thing. It was about this time they saw Clyde’s new Dodge truck racing across the flats below the mountain and heading their way.

  The recent rains had laid the dust down, and there was no mistake who was coming. Still, Harley shaded his eyes with one hand and made positive identification. “It’s Clyde, all right, and he’s got Annie’s new horse trailer on behind.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less,” Thomas smiled. “Don’t kid yourself. That truck’s Annie’s too. Everything’s still in her name… from what I hear. Charlie’s Aunt Annie is smart, and she’s watched enough cop shows that she’s got a pretty good fix on where Clyde’s coming from.”

  Clyde started blowing the horn long before he pulled up, and the two men gathered their gear and readied the horses to load.

  Clyde’s first words on climbing down out of the pickup were, “Did you see any cows with our brand?”

  Thomas looked him up and down, started to say something harsh, but then allowed for the fact that the man was Annie Eagletree’s husband. “We did see a few with Annie’s brand on ’em but didn’t fool with ’em. They were headed back down country anyway.”

  Clyde let the insinuation regarding ownership of the cows go by without comment but made a mental note not to take Thomas on as a hired hand in the future. Had Thomas known Clyde’s decision in advance, he would have dealt with the “cattle baron” on a different level. These little banty roosters needed the occasional attitude adjustment, in his view. Everyone liked Annie Eagletree, and most thought this little man was taking advantage of her in some ways.

  After the horses were loaded and the three men were once again on their way out to the highway, Clyde hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the cooler on the back seat. “Annie made some more sandwiches, and I put a few beers underneath should you want something to drink.” He knew the two no longer drank and smiled when he made the offer. Harley cut his eyes at Clyde, reached back, and came up with two sandwiches, one of which he offered to Thomas.

  “Pass me one of those beers, Harley,” Clyde said, grinning.

  Harley knew what the man was doing, and while it rankled, he said nothing. He just reached back, pulled a beer from the cooler, and handed it to Clyde.

  Thomas looked around Harley and said, “I can drive if you want, Clyde. This time a day there’s going to be some cops out.”

  Clyde brushed it aside. “Don’t you worry, my man. I’ll do the driving. … And, I’ll let you know should I not feel up to it.” It was said that Clyde grew more eloquent of speech as he drank, and some attributed this to his mother, who was a high-school teacher and quite well thought of in Farmington’s white community. She belonged to several ladies groups, and this caused talk on the reservation, some going so far as to call her an “apple.”

  Thomas figured Clyde already had a few on his way up. They were going a little faster than he thought wise on this back road, and he was concerned about how the horses were riding in the trailer.

  After they swerved onto the highway and had probably gone no more than a mile, there came the chirp of a siren, and Thomas looked in the side mirror to see the flashing lights of a Navajo police unit.

  Harley stared straight ahead but couldn’t suppress a grin. “Looks like you got company back there, Clyde. Better find a place to pull over. I doubt you can outrun him with this horse trailer on.”

  Clyde checked his mirror, scowled, and handed Harley the beer, who passed it to Thomas, who looked at it only a moment before throwing the near empty can in the glove box and clicking the latch. He knew that probably wouldn’t help, but it was all he could do. H
e was glad now that he’d put Charlie’s revolver in a saddlebag back in the horse trailer’s tack compartment.

  By the time officer Billy Red Clay was at the door, Clyde had rolled down the window and was making shooing motions with his hands. He pointed to the air conditioner, and Harley turned it on.

  “How are you boys today?” Billy smiled. He knew each of them and their reputations to boot. He and Thomas were of the same clan and not so distantly related.

  “Oh, we’re fine,” Clyde mumbled, not looking directly at the officer.

  “Clyde, did you not see that stop sign, coming up onto the highway? It’s a big one.”

  Clyde scratched his chin and pretended to think about it. “I could have missed it—there was a bee got in the truck about that time, and I was trying to shoo him out.”

  Harley continued staring out the front window, but Thomas smiled across and lifted a finger to the officer. He’d known Billy since he was a baby and had been disappointed when he learned the young man had chosen this particular career path.

  “Clyde, could you step out of the vehicle, and bring some ID with you.” It wasn’t a question. Billy Red Clay was wearing his official face.

  “You know who I am, Billy. You just stopped me last week…” Clyde immediately wished he hadn’t said that part, and fumbled for his wallet.

  “I know Clyde… that’s what concerns me.” Billy leafed through his citation book. “I let you go with a warning last week, and now I’m afraid my generosity didn’t make much of an impression.”

  Harley elbowed Thomas, and both men were grinning when Officer Red Clay told Clyde to step out of the vehicle for the second time.

  Harley knew there were people who had never been stopped by an officer of the law and didn’t understand the protocol, but Clyde wasn’t in that group, and neither was he or Thomas. “Do you want us to get out, too, Billy?

  “No, you two boys just stay in the truck.” And then addressed Harley. “Me and Thomas are both ‘Bitter Water’ clan. I doubt he’ll shoot me… I doubt you will either, Harley.” He added this last part after a reflective pause, and mostly as a courtesy, Harley thought.

  Clyde sighed, took the clip-on insurance card off the sun visor, and exited the vehicle.

  Billy Red Clay got right up in Clyde’s face and said, “I believe I smell alcohol, Clyde. You haven’t been drinking, have you? I mean, right here on the reservation—you’d know better than that, wouldn’t you, Clyde?” He shook his head as he started a new form on his citation pad. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to blow a test for me, Clyde.”

  Clyde’s shoulders sagged, then straightened as he drew himself to his full height, and though he only came to Billy Red Clay’s shoulder, he affected a belligerent manner, which he was known to do when hard pressed. He said, “Now you look here, Billy Red Clay, I’m not blowing into a damn thing!”

  Inside the truck, Harley nudged Thomas again and chuckled.

  The tribal officer put Clyde up against the fender, patted him down, then had him put his hands behind his back to receive a zip tie.

  Billy looked into the truck. “Either one of you boys still have a driver’s license?”

  “I don’t,” Harley admitted, “but Thomas here does… He got it back almost a year ago.” Harley had always been good about volunteering Thomas’s information to the law. He had, several times in the past, helped police fill out Thomas’s arrest papers when Thomas was too drunk to do it himself.

  Billy Red Clay was looking at Thomas when he said, “Uncle, how about you and Harley taking Annie’s truck back to her. You can tell her, I’m going to run Clyde into Shiprock and put him in holding until I get the okay for his blood test.” He then addressed the prisoner one final time, “Clyde, you could save yourself a lot of trouble if you just blow in the machine for me.”

  “Nope, I’m not going to do it.” Clyde had set his jaw, and everyone could see there was no changing his mind.

  “Alrighty then, let’s go. But Clyde, don’t think stalling for time is going to help you. These new tests factor all those things in.” Billy Red Clay’s normally ruddy complexion was a shade darker by the time he got Clyde stuffed into the back seat of the cruiser.

  The policeman came back to the truck just as Thomas started the engine. “I was going to mention… I think I heard Charlie on the radio earlier. I was at the end of my run down to Dinnehotso and could only make out a few words. He sounded a little excited—something about a witch… or maybe he was in the ditch… something. Anyway, I didn’t hear any more after that so figured he had things sorted out.”

  Annie Eagletree, when she was told what happened, cussed for a full five minutes, and during that time, let it be known she wasn’t going to bail Clyde out. She’d wasted enough of her money, and her nephew’s time, on Clyde’s behalf. “Charlie has more important things to do,” she said, “than running around making bail for drunks and getting them out of jail.” But she was not through. “By hell, Clyde better just get his credit established down there at the police station, if that’s where he means to spend his time.”

  When they finally got Annie Eagletree settled down, it was drawing well onto evening. Thomas let her re-bandage his head and give him his third shot of Combiotic, and then, as he pulled up his pants, asked could he leave their horses in the corral… and borrow her truck to go see what had become of Charlie. He said her nephew should be back at the search outpost and waiting for them by now. He didn’t mention what Billy Red Clay had said regarding what he’d heard on the radio, but he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach each time he thought of it.

  “Sure,” Annie said, “you boys go on and take that truck. You can’t be any harder on it than Clyde is.”

  Before they left, Thomas asked if he could use the phone, and went into the other room and made sure no one heard.

  Once back on the road, Thomas winced when he tried to find a comfortable position in the driver’s seat.”

  Harley, ever solicitous, asked, “Where did she give you the shot this time?”

  Thomas frowned. “Right on top of the first one.”

  “Ouch! That must have hurt some, but you know, you only have two butt halves, so it had to go somewhere.” Harley was the master of the obvious; most had come to consider it just his way of making conversation. “How you feeling now?” Harley went on. “Those stitches starting to pull a little, are they?”

  “I’m okay. My head don’t hurt at all… only my butt.” Thomas’s mind was elsewhere—wondering what Charlie had been talking about on the two way, if it had even been him on the radio. Thomas was now convinced Harley was right, they should have forgotten about the horses that morning and just stuck with Charlie.

  At the highway department pull-off there was only Charlie’s truck and one other left in the parking lot; the other being a beat up brown Toyota with the hood up, obviously broken down.

  To the west of the Carrizos it was beginning to look like rain. The spiraling black thunderheads built to an anvil top, collided, then tumbled over one another—thin veins of lightning skittered about the edges and lit the red cliffs in a way one usually only sees in the movies. Thomas pulled up next to Charlie’s truck and Harley got out, cupped his hands to the window, and peered in. After a few seconds he looked back at Thomas and gave a lift of his shoulders. “Doesn’t look like he’s been back all day. The sandwich Annie packed him this morning is still on the seat and so is his thermos. He musta gone off with someone else.”

  Thomas pondered this for a moment and then climbed down from Annie’s truck and went over to see for himself. “I see the butt end of one of those rifles he borrowed from Annie. It’s sticking out from under the rear seat.” He seemed surprised. “It’s a wonder someone hasn’t broken in and stolen it.” And then he said, “Probably no one wants to mess with a official vehicle. But eventually someone will come along who will.” In that part of the country, leaving any sign of a gun in a vehicle was like leaving a stack of cash on the seat.
It hadn’t been like that when Thomas was young, but that was back when everyone already had a gun. People then seemed a lot more polite then and less likely to steal… for some reason.

  Harley went around to the front of the truck, got down on one knee, and felt around under the bumper for the little magnetic key box Charlie “hid” his emergency key in. “Him and Sam Shorthair musta’ gone off together. If he went with the rest of the searchers, he would have been back by now.” Harley came back and handed Thomas the key. “We might as well take those guns. They’re not doing anyone any good here. Might keep them from getting stole, too.”

  Thomas opened the door and pulled out the rifles, then handed Harley several boxes of the ammunition that was stacked behind them. “Charlie must have been expecting quite a little shootout,” he said, noting the rather generous amount of rifle fodder. “That’s usually not like him, but maybe he’s getting better sense in his old age.”

  Harley smiled to himself as they removed the armaments and put them in Annie’s truck. Thomas went back and got the sandwich and thermos. “There’s no use in letting this go to waste either,” he said tearing the sandwich in two and handing Harley half. “Do you think we’d better go ask that woodcutter kid, up the road, how to get to Little Water Canyon? Charlie’s got the topo map—I’ve no idea where the turnoff is.”

  Harley munched on his portion of the sandwich. “Lester Hoskinni?”

  “Yes, dammit Harley, Lester Hoskinni. How many woodcutters have we run across up here?” Thomas’s butt hurt, and it was making him irritable.

  Harley frowned. “There is no need ta get testy, Thomas. How’s your butt?”

  Thomas grimly shook his head, sighed, and said, “…Fine, Harley… just fine.” His mood was dark and he rubbed his chin and wondered out loud, “I’m thinking now we should hang around here a bit longer; Charlie could still show up…and it might be a good idea to check his two-way first; see what the word on the street is. There has to be some chatter out there. Besides, I know he’ll be back for his truck eventually… if he’s all right… and if not, there’s little we can do about it right now. We have no idea where he or Sam Shorthair really are, or how to go about finding them.” Thomas was right, of course, but surprised at how cold this sounded. Even Harley looked taken aback.