wait and see, but Hawk didn’t think Eli Walela was the type of man who
would fall for Angus’s smooth talking.
Hawk untied Pepper, stuck his cowboy boot into the stirrup, and
lifted himself atop the horse. He began to sing in a low and soothing
tone as he approached the trailer. He and Pepper waited by the truck for
a while, hoping the buffalo cow and her calf would relax. Finally, Hawk
reached over and pulled the lever on the back of the trailer, allowing
the gate to open. The cow and her calf burst out of the trailer and ran
exactly in the direction Hawk had hoped they would, toward the ravine,
toward the creek, toward the area he hoped they would settle into until
he could figure out what to do with them.
Hawk followed on Pepper, keeping his distance, as the cow found
the hay and grain he’d left for her the night before. With the nearby
creek, the animals should have what they needed, for now.
Hawk climbed off Pepper and kneeled near a large rock. He pulled
the leather pouch from his shirt pocket, took a pinch of tobacco, and laid it on the rock.
“Wado,” he said. “Thank you.”
Then he remounted Pepper and rode back to the truck and trailer;
he and Pepper would travel back home breathing a little easier.
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Chapter 16
Sadie had been out of touch with Lance all day. It had taken three calls
for her to detail how she’d witnessed the birth of the white buffalo calf, because his voice mail kept cutting her off. Then she’d been with a customer when he called back and left a message on her cell phone, telling
her to repeat her story about the buffalo calf to absolutely no one. He
was transporting a prisoner to Tulsa County and would call after he got
off work. Tell no one, he repeated.
She parked next to her mailbox, got out, and pulled several pieces
of mail out of the box and thumbed through the envelopes. Looking up,
she could see her uncle in the distance, digging with a posthole digger
where his mailbox should be. She got in her car and drove to where her
uncle worked, lowering her window and quietly watching while Eli fin-
ished off a hole about two feet deep and at least a foot in diameter.
Without explanation, Eli spoke to her as if she had been there from
the beginning of the project. “Come here and help me a minute, Sadie.”
Sadie immediately turned off the engine and got out to help.
Eli picked up a metal pipe with a mailbox welded to the top of it
and dropped it in the center of the hole. “Hold this steady for me, would you? And, keep it straight.”
Sadie did as her uncle requested and watched while he retrieved
two five- gallon buckets of water he had sitting on the ground near his
truck. He poured some of it in the hole and waited. After he seemed to
be satisfied that the water was holding, he took a sack of concrete mix
and what looked like a broomstick handle out of the bed of his truck.
He poured the contents of the sack and the water into the hole a little at a time and used the makeshift tool to mix it together until it came to the right consistency.
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“Aren’t you supposed to mix that together in a wheelbarrow or something?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
After a few minutes, she spoke again. “Uncle, why are you putting
up a new mailbox?”
“Other one broke.” He spoke with little emotion and pointed at the
ditch with his chin.
Sadie looked at Eli’s crumpled red mailbox that had obviously been
vandalized.
“Who in the world did that?” she asked.
Eli continued to smooth out the top of the concrete around the pipe
Sadie was holding. “Buffalo Man.”
“Buffalo Man?” Sadie frowned. “You mean Angus Clyborn? Why
would Angus vandalize your mailbox?” Then the conversation she’d
had with Angus two days before flashed through her mind. “Did he
approach you about selling your land? He’s just an old blowhard, you
know.”
“That’s okay,” Eli said, as he continued to make sure the pipe was
stable. “I don’t think he’ll try it again, but if he does, his swinging arm is going to hurt.” Eli backed up to admire his handiwork. “You can let
go, now.”
Sadie released her grip and studied her uncle’s face. “I think you’d
better tell me what happened.”
Eli retrieved the old mailbox and threw it into the back of his truck.
“Nothing to tell. He broke my mailbox; I broke the window in his truck.
Now, we’re even.”
“Oh, no.” Sadie rolled her head. “Tell me it isn’t so.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s done. The mailbox is fixed. Why don’t
you come over for dinner? Mary would love to see you. She’s got a pot
of beans on.”
“Okay, I’ll be over in a bit.”
Eli got in his truck and nosed it toward his house. Sadie got in her
car and sat quietly thinking for a few minutes. This sounded like nothing but trouble to her.
★
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When Sadie got home, she put away the groceries she’d bought and went through her mail. She changed into a pair of worn jeans and a tee shirt,
and after checking on Joe and Sir William, she invited Sonny to join her
on the trip to dinner. Sonny took his place of honor in the front seat of the truck Sadie had inherited from her late father, and sat there looking straight ahead through the windshield like a satisfied passenger while
the truck bumped through the pasture from Sadie’s house to her aunt
and uncle’s.
Sadie maneuvered the truck past the corral and the barn and then
hit the brake when she saw Lance’s truck sitting next to the gate. What
was he doing here? She hadn’t heard from him all day. Why would he be
here before stopping by her house? She got out and held the truck door
open for Sonny, who quickly jumped out and ran to the edge of the barn
to mark it.
When she walked through the kitchen door, she found Lance and
Eli sitting at the kitchen table in a serious discussion while her Aunt
Mary, apron strings trailing down her backside, bent to retrieve an iron
skillet full of cornbread from the antique oven. The aroma of beans
filled the homey kitchen.
“Come on, Eli. You can’t go around shooting at people just because
they piss you off,” Lance said, sounding irritated.
Eli spit out a string of Cherokee words and Lance looked at Sadie
with a please- help- me look on his face.
Sadie shrugged and smiled. “The gist of what he said was ‘bullshit.’”
Mary threw two thick potholders in the middle of the table and
deposited a plate of cornbread on one and a pot of beans on the other.
“Take a break, you two. Everything looks better over a good meal.”
Sadie gave Mary a hug, pushed curly silver hair out of her aunt’s
round face, and kissed her on the forehead. “You can solve all the prob-
lems in the world with food, can’t you, Auntie?”
“I wish I could, dear,” Mary said, her blue- gray eyes sparkling.
Sadie walked behind Lance and kissed him on the neck, and he
pulled out the chair next to him for her to sit. “I see you made it home
from Tulsa,” she said, sending the unspoken mess
age, Why didn’t you call me first?
Lance leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Technically, I’m
still working,” he said and grinned.
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Mary joined them at the table. “Hand me your bowls,” she said, and ladled beans out for everyone. Eli picked up a jar of jalapenos and used
his fork to drag several out, letting them fall in the middle of his beans.
Then he crumbled a piece of cornbread on top.
Sadie quietly buttered her cornbread, calculating what to say.
Finally, she decided to jump in with both feet. “What exactly is the problem, Lance?”
Lance took a bite of beans and spoke with his mouth full. “Angus
filed a complaint against Eli for shooting at him.”
“What?” Sadie’s butter knife clanked against her plate.
“If I’d been shooting at him,” Eli growled, “somebody would be
digging a grave in the Sycamore Springs cemetery . . . if anyone would
even allow the arrogant yonega to be buried there.”
“Eli,” Mary admonished her husband.
Sadie glanced sideways at Lance, who showed no response to Eli’s
statement. “I take it this has something to do with the new mailbox,”
she said.
Lance continued to eat. “Yes, and Angus failed to mention that
minu scule detail when he sold his story to the district attorney.”
“The DA?” Sadie said, alarmed.
“Angus made a visit to the DA before the ink was dry on the com-
plaint. I think Angus must have something on the DA, otherwise he
would have let us handle it first.”
“First?” Sadie asked.
“The DA issued an arrest warrant for Eli.”
“A warrant? Is that why you’re here?”
“What about arresting him for destroying our mailbox?” Mary
asked.
Sadie jumped in. “Yeah, isn’t vandalizing a mailbox a federal
offense?”
Eli put his spoon down. “He started this. I told him to leave my
property. He’s mean and I won’t put up with his nonsense. Sometimes
you have to get down on their level before they understand you mean
business. That’s all that happened. We’re even.”
Lance let out a long sigh. “I know, Eli, but most judges don’t take
lightly to someone shooting at another person. What if you’d missed the
truck and hit him? You’d be facing murder charges.”
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“I didn’t miss. I aimed at his taillight and hit it. Then I aimed at his window and I hit it. Hell, he wasn’t even in the truck.”
Sadie looked at Lance with concern. “What happens with the arrest
warrant, Lance? You don’t have to arrest him, do you?”
Lance pushed back from the table. “In light of the additional infor-
mation, that Angus provoked Eli, I think I’ll pay a visit to Mr. Clyborn
and see if we can’t come to some amicable understanding.”
“Can I go with you?” Sadie asked with excitement.
“No.” Lance’s answer was quick and definitive as he shot her a
glance that silently said, And, don’t be telling anyone about that calf.
Sadie sighed, indicating that she understood. “Okay,” she said.
Lance stood and nodded at Mary. “Thank you, ma’am, for the
meal.” Then he turned his attention to Eli. “And, you sir, could you lay
low until I get this straightened out?”
Eli put his spoon down and looked at Lance, grinned mischievously
with his eyes, and then made an affirmative grunt.
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Chapter 17
Lance drove through the entrance to the Buffalo Ranch and continued
up the hill toward the house. Sometimes he felt like half his job consisted of refereeing adults who acted like they were still teenagers. Angus was
nothing but a bully who had run up against someone with a backbone.
Lance thought this situation between Angus and Eli could easily ex-
plode out of control, and he planned to stop that from happening.
Lance pulled up next to Angus’s truck, near the barn where Angus
stood bent over the engine of a riding lawn mower. The ranch looked
deserted except for six buffalo cows and a calf, all the normal color of
buffalo brown, standing in the distance behind a tall fence.
Angus ignored Lance until he got out of his vehicle and approached.
Lance stood for a moment and surveyed the ranch before he finally
spoke.
“Evening, Angus. How’s the buffalo business?”
Angus gave Lance an inquisitive look. “Fine, Deputy. It’s going just
fine. Why do you ask?”
Lance scanned the landscape again. “Heard a rumor that you
might’ve had a special calf born— a white buffalo calf. Is that true?”
Angus frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but the
color of my buffalo is none of your business.”
Lance eyed Angus. “White buffalo are an anomaly, and they’re sa-
cred to American Indians, so if anything like that should ever happen,
I hope you’d give us a call. If people hear the same rumor I’ve heard,
they’re going to descend on this ranch faster than you can say ‘squat.’
Do you understand?”
“Is that why you’re here? You want to know about my buffalo? Why
aren’t you out arresting the man who tried to kill me?”
“Oh, yes. I wanted to talk to you about your complaint.”
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“What about it? Can’t you read? It ought to be pretty self-explanatory.” Angus pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and
wiped sweat from his face.
“I’m wondering if you might be able to shed some light on
Mr. Walela’s vandalized mailbox.”
Angus returned to the lawn mower, picked up a screwdriver, and
began tinkering with a clamp on the mower. “No, I don’t know any-
thing about any mailbox. All I know is that crazy Indian tried to kill
me.” Angus stopped working and stared at Lance as if only at that very
moment had he realized Lance was Cherokee. “No offense,” he added.
Lance leaned against Angus’s truck and glanced in the bed.
“Mr. Walela says you destroyed his mailbox, and I wanted to make sure
you knew that the U.S. postal inspector treats mailbox vandalism very
seriously. It’s a federal offense and carries a six- figure fine and possible prison time.”
Angus threw his screwdriver to the ground. “You can’t prove noth-
ing,” he snarled.
“That’s true,” Lance said. “Just like you can’t prove Mr. Walela tried
to kill you. Do you have any witnesses?”
“I don’t need any.” Angus picked up another screwdriver and
pointed with it. “Look at my truck. The DA believes me, and he’s more
important than you are, anyway.” Angus shoved his nose in the air. “You
don’t have any witnesses to any mailbox vandalism either, do you?”
Lance took a handkerchief out of his pocket, reached into the bed
of Angus’s truck, and retrieved a lug wrench with traces of red paint on
one end.
“This witness will do just fine,” Lance said. “When we match the
red paint on this tire iron to the red paint from Eli’s mailbox, why, I’d say that will suffice better than any eye witness.”
Anger flooded Angus’s face. “You can’t take that without a search
warrant.”
“Oh, yeah? Watch me.”
Angus shook his finger and pointed toward the road. “Get off my
property and don’t come back.”
Lance pulled an envelope and a pen out of his shirt pocket and
handed them to Angus. “I’ll be gone just as soon as you sign this re-
lease. It cancels your complaint against Mr. Walela. That’s what you
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want to do, isn’t it, so he doesn’t have to file a complaint with the postal inspector?”
“You damned Indians all stick together, don’t you?”
Careful to show no emotion, Lance nodded toward the paper.
Angus signed the release and threw it, and the pen, on the ground.
Lance picked them up, took his time folding the paper, and then
returned the pen and paper to his pocket. “Thank you, sir. It’s been nice doing business with you today.” Lance started to walk away with the
tire iron still in his hand, and then turned back and pointed to his chest.
“Oh, yes, just so we’re clear. This badge says I can come back anytime
I want.”
“What about my lug wrench? You can’t take it now. I signed the
paper.”
“Insurance, Angus. Insurance.”
Lance returned to his vehicle, threw the lug wrench on the floor, and
drove out of the Buffalo Ranch.
★
Angus seethed with anger while he watched the deputy sheriff exit the
Buffalo Ranch and disappear down the road toward town. This white
buffalo calf would be a fitting way to say good riddance to all the hicks in Delaware County. He’d been working at building up this hunting
ranch for a while now, and a prize trophy like a white buffalo could fetch as much as a quarter of a million dollars. Why, he knew rich oilmen
who would gladly pay that or more to hang the head of a white buffalo
in their den. It wouldn’t hurt to have more money in his pocket when he
finally left this place behind.
Angus dropped the wrench next to the lawn mower and entered
the barn. He came back lugging a square bale of hay and pitched it
into the bed of his truck, then returned to the barn and carried out two sacks of cube feed and dropped them next to the hay. He got into his
truck and drove toward the round pen that held the mother cow and
her precious calf.
As he bounced through the pasture and into the valley, Angus began
to envision where he might go once he was done with this place. Hawai‘i
Betrayal at the Buffalo Ranch Page 12