Betrayal at the Buffalo Ranch

by Sara Sue Hoklotubbe

  Sadie hung up and called Beanie and relayed Lance’s request. “Let

  me know if she calls again.”

  “I will, boss. I’m going home.”

  Doc Cody walked in and Sonny rose onto his front feet and growled.

  Sadie quickly put her arm around his neck. “It’s okay, boy.”

  “Boy, that’s a fine how- do- you- do for the doc that just fixed your

  leg.” The veterinarian smiled. “Just for that, I’m sending you home.”

  Eli walked in and stood behind the doctor. Sonny relaxed.

  “Let’s go home, Sonny,” Eli said.

  “I’ll second that,” Sadie said.

  ★

  Lead lab technician Robby Summerfield slumped into one of the chairs

  facing Lance’s desk and dropped a manila envelope in front of him.

  “I just came from the ME’s office and he asked me to drop this off.

  Said you weren’t going to be very happy.”

  Lance left the envelope where it landed. “You want to cut to the

  chase? I’m tired.”

  209

  “Yeah, so am I.” Robby ran his fingers through his thick black hair.

  “In a nutshell? Nothing. You got nothing.”

  Lance let out a long sigh. “Want to elaborate?”

  “The bullet that killed Clyborn hit his backbone and fragmented.

  It was a six- millimeter jacketed, soft- nosed bullet, and they disintegrate every time. So, there is no way to know what specific kind of a bullet it was, or even run a ballistics test. And, it’ll take a month of Sundays to piece that bullet back together well enough to do any kind of a test on

  it. It would probably take an expert from the FBI to do that, and if they could, then maybe, and I emphasize the word ‘maybe,’ we could match

  it to a weapon. The entry wound was made by a six- millimeter bullet,

  but that’s all we can say with any certainty. The Remington 243 could

  have made that entry wound, but why would the murder weapon be in

  the dead man’s house?”

  Lance rubbed his face with both hands. “What about fingerprints on

  the Remington 243 and the crossbow?”

  “Two sets of fingerprints— Clyborn’s and Hawk’s.” Then he ex-

  plained. “The ME took Clyborn’s prints, and Hawk’s prints were on file

  when he was bonded as an officer of the court. Of course, you said you

  took the bow from him anyway, didn’t you? However, the prints on the

  arrow that killed Sanders— all Clyborn’s.”

  “Get any prints off the arrow with the white feather?”

  “Clean as a whistle. Purposely, I’d say. But you should know, even

  though that arrow looked similar to the one that killed Sanders, some-

  one else made it. Making arrows is a fine art, and that arrow, the one

  with the white feather, was made by an excellent craftsman. The one

  that killed Sanders, not so much.”

  “Hm.” Lance pushed out his lower lip. “That’s interesting.”

  Lance’s office phone rang and Robby rose.

  “Okay. Thanks for the info,” Lance said, as he picked up the receiver

  and answered. “Smith here,” he said. After listening for a minute, he re-

  plied to the caller. “Yes, sir, Chief Greenleaf, I understand,” he said into the phone. “Oh, really . . . yes, sir . . . I’ll let you know.”

  Lance hung up and shook his head, retrieved Hawk from his cell,

  and led him into an interrogation room.

  Hawk sat down and stared at Lance. “I’m a lawyer and I know my

  rights.”

  210

  Lance pulled up a chair and sat across the table from Hawk. “Yes, I know. You said that this morning. You also said you’d have my badge,

  but so far it’s still pinned to my chest and you’ve got some explaining to do.”

  “Bring me a phone. I have a right to make a call.”

  Lance nodded. “Yes, you do. But before you make that all- important

  phone call, I thought I’d give you a chance to come clean. You being a

  lawyer and all, I’m sure you recognize the fact that a little good will

  could go a long way in a court of law.”

  “I’m not only a lawyer; I’m a Cherokee Nation tribal councilor.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. I just spoke with Chief Greenleaf on the

  phone a few moments ago and he wanted to make sure I knew that

  the Cherokee Nation attorney general is filing charges against you for

  embezzling buffalo from the Cherokee Nation.” Lance chuckled. “You

  know, I think the correct term is something more like ‘buffalo rustling in plain sight.’ What do you think, Esquire?”

  Hawk narrowed his eyes. “That bastard.”

  “Now,” Lance continued, “I’ve heard there’s honor among thieves,

  but we all know that’s not really the case. Is that what happened to Kenny Wayne Sanders? He knew too much? You killed Sanders, didn’t you? It’s

  just a matter of time until we match the arrow that killed Sanders to the crossbow you tried to escape with this morning. Isn’t that right?”

  Hawk’s nostrils flared. “You cannot pin that murder on me. Angus

  was a hot- headed yonega. Sanders threatened to expose our plan to take extra bison from the tribe’s shipments and sell them for profit. I told

  Angus not to involve Sanders, but he had to do everything his way.

  Angus killed Sanders.”

  “So, why were you trying to take the crossbow?”

  “Because it belongs to me, jackass. I knew this whole thing was go-

  ing to come back and bite me on the ass.”

  “Is that why you killed Angus?”

  Hawk looked terrified. “I did not kill Angus. I don’t know who did,

  but I’m not surprised.”

  “Perhaps someone you helped steal land from for Angus’s empire?

  How much was he paying you to file forged deeds and quiet titles?”

  Hawk looked at the bandage on his hand. “I need to make that call

  now.”

  211

  Lance took Hawk back to his cell and locked the door. He started to walk away, and then turned and said, “Oh, yeah. There’s a little matter

  of the attempted murder of a wolfdog. I talked to the owner and she

  agreed to settle out of court. Her representative will be Eli Walela, and he said he’d iron things out with you as soon as you’re released.”

  Fear crossed Hawk’s face. “That Indian is crazy, and I’m going to

  file charges against him for assault and battery.”

  “Oh, yeah? You let me know when you come up with some wit-

  nesses to that.”

  Lance walked away as Hawk screamed at him. “Bring me a phone!”

  212

  Chapter 35

  Two weeks later, Sadie stood at her kitchen sink and sipped coffee while

  Sonny lay sleeping on the floor next to the back door. She stared at the

  hill behind her house where Kenny Wayne Sanders had been killed. His

  murder had put into motion the events that led to the eventual deaths of

  both Angus and Camilla Clyborn, and the indictment of tribal councilor

  Eugene Hawk for embezzlement from a federally recognized tribe.

  Hawk was facing charges not only for stealing buffalo, but also for

  aiding in the unlawful taking of Indian land through forgeries and other

  unethical means. Whether he’d ever spend a day in jail was yet to be

  seen. The same held true for the women in his office who had helped

  create and forge the documents.

  The day after her and Sonny’s encounter with Hawk, Sadie had

  placed a call to Kate, th
e woman at Travers Bison Ranch in Buffalo,

  Wyoming, to assure her that Sandy and her calf, both healthy, were on

  their way back home. After Rowdy had showed the tattoo on Sandy’s

  upper lip to Lance, he’d helped load the buffalo cow and calf in Rowdy’s

  trailer and sent them on their way, happy to have the problem of the

  white buffalo calf resolved.

  Sadie had painfully confessed to Kate that the Cherokee Nation

  travel office did not really exist, and then admitted she’d had absolutely nothing to do with the transfer of buffalo from Wyoming to Oklahoma.

  She’d lied, pure and simple, and apologized.

  But when Sadie relayed the story of how she and Sonny, along with

  her Uncle Eli, had averted the death of Sandy and her calf, Kate thanked

  God for those lies because they had saved her precious Sandy, and then

  she broke down in tears. After promising to stay in touch, Sadie, too,

  closed the chapter on the white buffalo calf that wasn’t a white buffalo

  at all.

  213

  Lance came into the kitchen from the bedroom, poured himself a cup of coffee, joined Sadie at the window, and put his arm around her.

  “You know,” he said. “You’re still in trouble for taking off on your

  own and almost getting yourself killed. I’m going to owe Eli for years to come for watching out for you.” He kissed her. “I don’t know what I’d

  do if something happened to you, Sadie.”

  Sadie smiled. “Now you know how I feel while you’re out chasing

  crazy crooks.”

  “Point made,” he said.

  She kissed him, and they sat at the table.

  “What’s going to happen now?” she said.

  Lance cupped his coffee mug with his hands. “We’re still waiting for

  the FBI to piece together the bullet they took out of Angus, but the agent told me yesterday not to hold my breath. It doesn’t look promising.”

  “So, how are you ever going to prove who killed Angus if you can’t

  find the murder weapon?”

  Lance sipped and thought. Then he smiled. “Divine intervention,

  I guess.”

  “What about Roy Carter?”

  “I think Roy was angry and wanted to take his pain out on some-

  body, namely Angus, but Roy doesn’t have it in him to murder someone

  in cold blood. Besides that, he’s got a solid alibi at the bar. Rosy has no reason to lie.”

  “Maybe his son did it for him.”

  “If he did he’s quite a time traveler.” Lance leaned back in his chair.

  “The entire crew he’s working with swears he was slinging bales of hay

  onto the back of a truck in south Texas the day Angus was killed.”

  “What about Camilla? Maybe she killed him and then freaked out

  and ran?”

  “I don’t think so. None of the rifles we took from the house had her

  fingerprints on them, and we didn’t find any weapons in the car she was

  driving when she died.”

  “You think her wreck was just an accident, then?”

  “I think so. The skid marks on the road indicate she may have

  swerved to miss an animal. She just couldn’t control the car before she

  hit the bridge.”

  214

  “She must have lived a terrible existence with Angus. It’s too bad she had to die. She could have had a new life without him.” Sadie shrugged

  her shoulders. “Who else then?”

  “I guess I’m still working on that. The group from COWA had a pro-

  test rally in Oklahoma City that day. Besides that, I don’t really think they would go that far, do you?” Lance downed the rest of his coffee. “You

  don’t think your Uncle Eli took out his frustrations on Angus, do you?”

  “Lance!” Sadie pushed away from the table. “I can’t believe you said

  that.”

  “I’ve got to check all the possibilities.”

  “I can tell you one thing. If Uncle Eli had wanted to do Angus in,

  he wouldn’t have done it from afar. He would have marched up to him

  and strangled him with his own hands.”

  Lance grimaced. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  The phone rang and Sadie answered. It was Becky.

  “Oh, Becky, are you sure? I’m so sorry. Yes, of course, we’re on our

  way.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she hung up and looked at Lance. “Grover’s

  dying.”

  ★

  Together, Lance and Sadie drove straight to Grover Chuculate’s small

  trailer, where Becky had been taking care of him for the last few weeks.

  Two Indian men and their wives sat in lawn chairs under Grover’s shade

  tree, quietly singing Cherokee hymns.

  Becky came to the door and hugged Sadie. “Thank you for coming.

  He said he wanted to talk to you and your lawman friend.” She smiled

  through tears. “He described Lance as ‘the one who ate wild onions with

  him.’”

  Lance removed his hat as they entered the small trailer and stood at

  the foot of the bed, where Grover’s brown skin stood out in stark con-

  trast to the crisp white pillows propped under his head. Sadie thought

  he looked frailer than he had the last time she’d been there with Becky.

  It was hard to believe he was dying. She hated cancer and she hated the

  Agent Orange that caused it.

  215

  Sadie’s eyes moved to a walking stick leaning in the corner near Grover’s bed. It was adorned with several white feathers, and she immediately thought of the mysterious arrow that had struck her tree.

  Grover’s eyes followed Sadie’s, and he grinned. Then he pointed a

  shaking finger at Lance, and Sadie quickly retreated, closing the bed-

  room door behind her, leaving the two men alone.

  ★

  Grover motioned for Lance to come closer and pointed at an open Bible.

  “Do you read the Bible?” he asked.

  Lance shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid. Do you want me to

  read to you?”

  “No.” Grover rocked his head back and forth on the pillow. “There’s

  a part in there where a woman was raped. Her brothers came in from the

  fields and took revenge, killed everyone.”

  Grover’s remarks seemed confusing to Lance, but he immediately

  wondered if Grover had somehow found out about Becky’s rape. He

  remained quiet and let Grover talk.

  “God punished them for taking revenge. It’s right there in the Old

  Testament.”

  Lance nodded, unsure of what to say.

  Grover pointed toward the closet. “What you’re looking for is

  there.”

  Lance walked to the closet and pulled out an old Savage 243 with an

  attached scope and held it up for Grover to see.

  Grover raised his head and nodded. “That’s the one.” He showed no

  emotion. “He shouldn’t have done it. I wasn’t there to protect her,” he

  said with sadness in his voice.

  “How did you know?” Lance asked.

  “He’s a loudmouth. I heard him brag about it in Rosy’s bar. He

  didn’t say her name, but with Becky in the hospital, it didn’t take me

  long to figure out what happened. And when I saw her, I could see the

  pain in her face.” After a few minutes of silence, he continued. “Among

  Indians,” he said, “there has always been blood law. You take from me,

  I take from you. You kill me, then you or someone from your clan dies.

&nbs
p; It restores balance. But, no one does that anymore. We have a different

  216

  kind of law now, like you,” he nodded at Lance again, “to make things right.” Grover looked toward the window.

  Lance remained quiet, allowing Grover to speak in his own time.

  “I warned him about the land,” he said. “He was sitting in his truck

  at Old Eucha one night. I stuck my rifle in his face and told him to stop stealing land,” he said. “But he was so damned drunk, I doubt he even

  heard what I said. It was pitch dark. He never knew it was me.” Grover

  frowned. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all I knew about the dead man by

  the fence. I knew you would figure it out.” He gazed toward Lance. “I

  was there; I watched Angus kill him with a crossbow. Angus was evil.”

  Lance remained quiet.

  “He didn’t know I was there,” Grover said. “He got on his four-

  wheeler and took off. From a distance, I saw the wolfdog come and sit

  down by the body. I left when I saw Eli coming.”

  “How did you get on the ridge to kill him, Grover?”

  “The way all good Indians get anywhere.” He grinned. “On my

  horse.” Then his tone changed. “I don’t want Becky to know what I did.”

  Melodious voices filtered through the open window. The singers had

  switched to English and were singing “How Beautiful Heaven Must Be.”

  Lance stood quietly, still holding the rifle.

  “God punished the men in the Bible,” Grover said. “But it says God

  is a forgiving God. Do you think He will forgive me for killing a man?”

  Lance searched for the right words. “I think so.”

  “Osda.” Grover nodded. “It’s good now.” Then he closed his eyes.

  Lance took the rifle, left the room, and motioned for Becky. “He

  needs you,” he said. Then he carried Grover’s rifle to his truck and

  locked it inside.

  ★

  When Sadie left Lance and Grover to talk, she walked straight to the

  horses that were lined up against the fence staring toward the trailer.

  They knew he was dying, and the thought shook her to the core.

  As she moved toward them, she noticed the black- and- white paint

  stallion favoring one foot. She climbed over the fence and approached

  the lame horse. She talked to him in soft tones, stroked his forehead, and then slid her hand down his neck and shoulder to his front leg. Careful