Boy Made of Dawn

by R. Allen Chappell

  “These ought to help,” he said handing them the notes. “These people up here don’t talk to strangers a whole hell of a lot, especially ones carrying a badge.” He looked at the two men with a quizzical expression. “What do you want with these people, if you don’t mind me asking? The brand inspector down at Cortez asked me to keep an eye on Buck’s people…but I’m only one man.” He added, “These particular folks are not easy to keep track of. They move around a lot and there’s a lot of ‘under the table’ deals, if you get my drift.”

  Thomas thought he sounded exactly like John Wayne when he said this last and had to look twice to make sure he was serious. Thomas had always thought well of John Wayne regardless of the number of Indians he killed in his movies. Thomas had known many Navajos who had dressed up as other tribes and appeared in Wayne movies filmed on the reservation and thereabouts. They all liked him immensely, and many had their pictures taken with him. Those pictures made interesting conversation pieces at the local bars and were sometimes good for a free drink.

  As they took their leave, Tim Nordstrom had an afterthought. “There is one other place you might want to check: Tom’s Market just west of town. You passed it coming in. Tom Brawly has run that store twenty years; grew up here; caters mostly to Indians. He claims not to care for them…and they don’t trust him, but they damn sure do a lot of business together. No one knows more about the locals than him.” He paused, looking directly at Charlie. “These Ute up here are mostly good folks…just trying to get along like the rest of us. But there’s always a few,” he indicated the notes Charlie held in his hand, “who make all the rest look bad.”

  Charlie thought Tom Brawly’s store would be a good place to start. As they pulled up in front of the building, he took note of several older Indian men sitting on a bench beside the door. He remembered back to his childhood and the trading post near his grandmother’s place. Oftentimes, men would be found sitting on a bench outside due to being barred from the store for drunkenness or some other breach of decorum. Their wives would still be allowed in to shop, but the men would remain outside talking. Sometimes after a long while, a year maybe, a man might be allowed back in the store…but not always.

  The Utes outside the store saw the Navajo tribal emblem on the truck and, looking away, nudged one another. Thomas, who was munching a chocolate donut, looked down at the box and counted those that were left. There were five. He had eaten seven donuts since he’d bought them the previous day. He was pacing himself in case the stores up here didn’t carry this brand—the one with the little redheaded girl in pigtails on the box. Charlie wouldn’t eat them after Marissa told them these donuts had wax added to the chocolate coating to prevent melting in warm weather. Now, when Thomas took time to really savor these donuts, he thought he could detect that wax on the back of his tongue. He wished Marissa hadn’t mentioned the wax. Not that it really mattered; these were still his favorites.

  When Charlie and Thomas entered the store, they could see what attracted the local Ute. You could not have assembled a better range of stock for Indians, to their way of thinking. There were groceries of all kinds, including a large variety of snacks, canned goods, and dry foods that would last a long time without refrigeration. Piles of Levi’s and jackets were on a long table against the back wall. There was the hardware and ammunition section and another for saddles and tack, including a good selection of used saddles and even a few horse-related health products. Thomas naturally gravitated to that area of the store.

  Charlie made his way back to the meat counter where a small rotund man in a white apron was cutting up what appeared to be a mutton quarter. Since this was the only store person in evidence, other than the old woman at the checkout, he assumed this was Tom Brawly. Charlie could see he was quite familiar with the mechanics of his work and didn’t quit cutting as he looked up when Charlie approached the counter.

  “What can I do for you?” the man asked in a not unfriendly way. He gave Charlie a quick second look and knew immediately he was not from around there. He laid the knife down and, wiping his hands on his fresh apron, came around the cutting block to the counter.

  Charlie flashed his badge too quickly for the man to read and did not identify himself further. “Do you know any of these people,” he asked, passing the man the notepaper containing the names and addresses the brand inspector had given him.

  The store man gave the names a brief look. “Maybe,” he said. “What did they do now?”

  Obviously, their reputation preceded them. “I don’t know that they have done anything as yet,” Charlie answered. “I’m just running down some information we need to clear up an unrelated matter.” This was as ambiguous an answer as he could come up with on the spur of the moment.

  “Anything specific?”

  The man behind the counter grew cautious now but was obviously curious and inclined to help, if Charlie was any judge, though Charlie had proven on several occasions he was not.

  Thomas watched from across the room as he felt the fender leather on a beautifully kept antique Heiser saddle. The old woman at the checkout counter kept a close eye on him as he moved from saddle to saddle, though he seriously doubted he could smuggle one of these saddles out under his shirt. He could see Charlie and the meat man were having quite a conversation. Finally, he observed Charlie taking back his address notes and raising a hand to the man in farewell.

  Thomas met him halfway to the front of the store.

  “Could you help me steal one of those saddles over there?” he grinned. “That old woman at the register is sure I can do it, and I would just like to see if she’s right.”

  Charlie smiled and shook his head, and they made for the door just as a group of younger men in baseball caps turned backwards jostled through the opening. They silently looked Thomas and Charlie over. They knew from the pickup outside they were Navajos.

  The tallest of them came forward and pushed his face close to Thomas. “You boys are a little out of your hood, aren’t you?”

  Thomas grinned. “What makes you think so?”

  Charlie smiled as well. Thomas might not look it, but he could fight. He avoided it whenever he could talk his way out, and he usually could, but when he saw he couldn’t, he didn’t hesitate to engage. When he did engage, it was with a fury. Charlie saw him fight several times in high school and was impressed. He knew Thomas had later learned a great deal more about fighting in the back alley bars of Farmington and Gallup. He had made somewhat of a reputation for himself among the town Indians. He might be afraid of Yeenaaldiooshii but he wasn’t afraid of this kind of trash. Charlie could tell Thomas was gearing up, and it wouldn’t take much to set him off. That would not be a good thing.

  Charlie stepped toward the boys and flashed the magic badge. The leader barely glanced at it before stepping back and making way for them. Thomas smiled at the young tough as he passed but said nothing.

  Back in the truck Charlie laughed. “You were ready to rock, huh, hastiin?”

  Thomas grinned, rubbing his knuckles. “They were just punks. Out of the four of them, only one had any fight, and it wasn’t the one doing the talking either. It never is.”

  Charlie laughed again. He could see the four Utes watching them from the window. Those boys just narrowly missed getting tutored.

  The first name on Hiram Buck’s short list of relatives proved to be an old woman living by herself, it seemed. Charlie doubted, however, the cinder block, government-housing unit would have been given out to a single old woman.

  When she answered the door, she immediately pulled back and looked at them as though they might be from another planet. “Who are you?” she asked, noting the tribal pickup behind them.

  Charlie didn’t bother with the badge as he thought her already intimidated by the truck.

  “We’re looking for a young girl who disappeared down south of here.” He could see her hesitate.

  “I don’t know nothing about no girl,” she offered in a low, rasp
y voice.

  “Thomas stepped forward. “She’s my daughter we’re looking for. Her name is Ida. She is related to Hiram Buck from down by Cortez. She’s only seven years old. We have good reason to believe she’s up here on the Uinta.”

  Charlie noticed a glimmer of something cross the woman’s face at the mention of Hiram Buck, and he quickly pressed the point.

  “Someone is going to be in a lot of trouble if we don’t find that girl!” And then he said, “Federal kidnapping charges may be filed if we don’t find her first.” And finally in a more friendly tone, “You don’t want the FBI up here poking around, do you?”

  The old woman was clearly alarmed at the mention of kidnapping charges. “Well, my boys didn’t have nothing to do with it!” She looked fearfully from one to the other. “My boys wouldn’t have nothing to do with anything like that.”

  “Who are your boys?”

  The woman tried to shut the door, but Thomas was too quick for her and stuck his foot in the opening.

  “We just need to ask them a few questions is all,” Charlie insisted. “We have a list here of Hiram Buck’s relatives. One of them is going to talk to us, and the one that does might get off lightly in case of charges!”

  “My boys didn’t do nothing. They’re not that kind of boys.” The old woman was clearly worried now. “My Billy and Jim don’t live here right now. They are at cow camp up on Sarvis Creek. My boys have chil’ren of their own, They wouldn’t take no little girl. They already got plenty girls.”

  In the end, the old woman had given them some rather vague directions to the cow camp, and after hearing how isolated it was, Charlie thought they might be on to something. The old woman stood at the crack in the door, watching the two Navajos drive back out to the highway. “Those two better hope they don’t find my boys out there on the mountain,” she said to herself with a grim smile of satisfaction.

  Thomas was getting excited now too, and as they headed back into the high country, he watched the side roads for the National Forest sign the old woman mentioned.

  “I wish we had brought those horses; they might come in real handy up in this country.”

  “Well, I doubt they’d stay in the back of this truck without a stock-rack or a trailer to put them in.”

  “Aida has an old oak stock rack in the back of her barn,” Thomas remembered.

  “I saw that. I figured on asking if it were for sale before we left. I hate to have to rent a trailer to take those ponies home. Surely, we know someone with a trailer. I could check one out from one of the tribal agencies, but I hate to do that without a pretty good explanation.” Charlie had clearly given this a lot of thought.

  It hadn’t even crossed Thomas’s mind how they would get their new horses home. That was the difference between him and Charlie, he guessed—Charlie was a thinker, and he was a doer.

  A Forest Service truck was parked at the turnoff to the creek. When they found it, a middle-aged man in a green shirt sat in the cab eating his lunch. He rolled down the window as they pulled alongside and said, “Howdy! You boys doing all right today?” He glanced at the logo on the truck and grinned. “You lost?”

  Charlie smiled back. “Probably! We got some directions, but we’re not sure how accurate they might be.” He pointed up the road beside the creek. “Is there a cow camp up at the head of this creek?”

  “Yes, yes there is. It’s a good bit up the mountain, though, and gets pretty rough too. Are you sure you want to beat up that new Chevy?”

  “We’re looking for the Klee brothers. Is that their camp back in there?”

  “It is for a fact,” the man affirmed, “but unless you know ‘em pretty well, they can be a bit ouchy. I wouldn’t recommend just busting in on ‘em, if you know what I mean.”

  “That’s what we hear.” Charlie agreed, grinning.

  “I don’t get back in there much anymore myself. Got tired of fighting with them,” the worker admitted. “There’s lots of people interested in ‘em of late, but not many have the cojones to deal with ‘em direct. Nearly the whole clan lives back up there for the summer—just like the old days.” He thought for a bit. “I doubt they’d even come out in winter if the game didn’t come down and leave ‘em to starve.” He chuckled. “I guess just about everybody wants a piece of those boys: brand inspector, game warden, and now you. I don’t have any put-in with what goes on up there…and don’t want any. As long as they get their cows off Forest Service lands in the fall when they’re supposed to, I have no quarrel with them.” He started to roll up his window but said in parting, “There’s a fire trail up the other side of the creek about a quarter-mile that veers off to the left. If a person wanted to look the situation over, before jumping in, he could follow that track on around the top of a little knob across from their camp. Sorta’ get the lay of the land, should he be of a mind.”

  Charlie thanked him for the information and on past the creek eased the truck up the steep and rocky service road, trying to avoid the worst of the chokecherry bushes reaching out to snag the paint.

  Thomas frowned. “Maybe we should have checked out a couple of the other people on the list first.”

  Charlie reminded Thomas that there were only two other people on the list with the Klee name, and that was Billy and Jim Klee, and they all shared the old woman’s address.

  The butcher back in Roosevelt who looked at their list mentioned the Klee boys as likely candidates for chancy livestock dealings. “Those two work off a tribal grazing permit from the Forest Service in the summer and have been selling butchered beef for years.” It was hurting his trade, he confided. Not to mention their fellow tribesmen who were short cattle at the end of every season. It was about time something was done about it.

  A number of Ute who ran cows up there knew about the Klee’s but figured it was just the cost of doing business. They knew those people could and would cost them much more should they make trouble for them.

  Utes do not have an elaborate system of clans and ceremonies. In bygone days, Hozo did not enter into their more visceral culture. The Ute had their Bear Dance. It was their major ceremony. The grizzly bear was signal to that culture and was much venerated by all the bands of the tribe. The grizzly was gone now from those mountains but still lived on in the minds of the Ute.

  As the truck began its torturous climb up the backside of the knob, Charlie glanced over at Thomas and ventured, “You don’t look too happy, hastiin. Something on your mind?”

  Thomas squinted one eye, looked off into the distance, then brushing his hair from his eyes, said softly, “Kinda odd that forest guy, sitting right there where we needed to turn off…and being so helpful and all. Probably nothing, I know, but still…”

  Charlie let the pickup gear itself to a stop in the middle of the brushy track. He was learning to listen a little more closely now to his old friend. He sat there a moment drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He himself was used to dealing with white people. The class of whites he had contact with were generally trustworthy. Thomas’s street-smart life had left him with a somewhat more jaundiced view of the white world. For him, it had been a world that didn’t include helpful officials.

  Charlie frowned. “As long as we’re being paranoid, I suppose Tom Brawly might well have tipped them off. He could have sent one of those young toughs from the store to warn them or maybe just made a phone call.” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and stared hard at Thomas. “Or maybe the brand inspector is in on it and is setting us up!”

  Thomas was grinning now. “Okay, so I was thinking a little crazy. I’ll try to concentrate on the facts. Now, what were those facts again?”

  Charlie grinned back. “What we need to concentrate on is Hiram Buck and whoever he’s working for.” He nodded to himself thoughtfully. “The three major prosecution witnesses in the upcoming Greyhorse trial are you, me, and Sally. I believe they tried for me first, hoping to later buy you and Sally off through intimidation and money.”


  “Uh…what made them think they could buy me off…in your professional opinion, of course?” Thomas had straightened up in his seat and was clearly incensed at the implication. He looked sideways out the window. “How much money do you think we’re talking anyway?”

  Charlie almost smiled. “Well, no offense my man, but there is your track record to consider. There are rich and powerful people behind this. Their lives are at stake here, and they are desperate. The Patsy Greyhorse murders proved they will stop at nothing!” He paused with a contemplative glance at Thomas. “They will do things the easy way if they can, but if not, they will do whatever they have to do.” He went on, “They have only one major witness accounted for if they still have Sally Klee, though I’m beginning to wonder if that’s the case.”

  Thomas shrugged. “Sally will run if she gets a chance. No doubt in my mind about that. But she does care for those kids, and she is smart in her own way. If I know her, she’s doing some hard thinking right now.”

  Charlie looked up the rutted track before them and chewed his lip for a moment.

  “Let’s ease on up there and scope the place out.” He pointed to the binoculars in the rack over the dash and went on, “I doubt we can sneak up on that camp in daylight. They know every rock and bush up here.”

  Thomas doubted they could sneak up on those people in the dark either but held his tongue.