Wild Indigo (21 page)

The BLM kept horses and trailers at a small stable in the canyon to the northeast of town. When I worked as a Range Rider, before being assigned as liaison to the pueblo, this livery was my garage. Since they hadn't changed the combinations on the locks, it was easy to get horses for me, Kerry, and Diane.

As we loaded the trailer with tack and the horses, Kerry asked, “Don't you need to call Roy?”

“I'm gonna call him,” I said.

“Yeah, but when?”

“As soon as we're loaded.”

“You're taking what?” Roy barked into the phone.

“I've got three horses, a trailer, and the tack we need.”

“Jamaica, I suspended you! You can't take the BLM's horses anywhere.”

“I'm going up Sacred Mountain. You're going to get a call in about a half hour anyhow, from the state police. There'll be a search and rescue. I'm just getting a head start while the bureaucrats try to get mobilized and argue about jurisdictional authority.”

“What search and rescue? Who's up there?”

“It's the kid—Sam Dreams Eagle—the one who told me about the buffalo being out of the fence on Saturday.”

“Holy Christ! Let me get my britches on. Where you starting from?”

“I told Diane Langstrom I'd meet her at the buffalo pen. Kerry's with me, too. The trail to the falls goes right up from there.”

“Let me slug down a cup of joe and I'll be right there. We'll talk about it.”

“I can't wait, Boss.”

“I ought to fire you for this, you know.”

“I know.”

“They got most of the mountain closed down for two weeks now because of the Indigo Falls ceremony. Trails will be blocked up above, and probably they'll have 'em guarded.”

“I know. After the news breaks, will you let any Forest Service or BLM folks up there know?”

“I can try, but you know how it is up in high country—cell phones and regular radios won't work. Anyway, I doubt anyone's up there right now because of the closure.”

“Okay. We'll just have to take our chances.”

“Well, git on up there and find that kid. I'll see what kind of a story I can make up in case anyone finds out I let you have the horses.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

“You be careful.”

When Kerry and I pulled up on the BLM side of the buffalo pasture, we saw flashlights moving like fireflies in the field between the pueblo homes and the bison area. Before we could coax the horses out of the trailer, a cluster of figures came toward us, their lights making small, moving pools on the ground. Hunter, Serena, and two of the teenaged boys I'd seen at the feast came up to investigate us. “Oh, it's you, Jamaica. What are you doing here?” Serena asked.

I hesitated a moment.

Before I could think of a good answer, she explained, “We're out here looking for one of our children from the pueblo. He's a little boy who plays all the time with Angel, named Sam. Everybody's out looking everywhere for him.” She waved at the two youths, and they took off back across the field to resume their search.

“We're here to help,” I said. “We'll go up the trail a bit, look on this side of the reservation—on the
federal
land,” I emphasized.

“You can't go up to the falls,” Hunter warned.

“Yeah, I know. We're just going up a little ways—I mean, he's a seven-year-old kid, how far can he have gone?”

“You think he went up toward the falls?” Hunter asked.

Serena seemed incredulous. “We're not supposed to leave for two sunrises!”

“Oh, I don't know,” I said, giving Kerry a look. “I have no idea, really. We're just going to check in the foothills here bordering the reservation. I figure this is something we can do to help. By the way, this is Kerry Reed, with the Forest Service. Kerry, this is Momma Anna's sister, Serena, and her boyfriend, Hunter.”

The men shook hands, and Serena smiled, nodding as she said hello.

Kerry said, “Yeah, we thought we'd just ride around a little, see what we could see. If there's anything else we can do to help…”

“No,” Hunter said. “I better let my brother know you're here.”

“Okay, if you think you need to,” I said cheerily, starting to unload the tack. “Tell him we're staying on the BLM and Forest Service land. I don't think he'll be able to say much about that.”

Contreras didn't respond. I got my pack out of Kerry's truck. My CamelBak was less than half full. Mountain and I had drunk most of the water when we'd had our last run on the canyon rim. I shook my head. “Damn.”

Contreras noticed my concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I forgot to fill my water bladder last time I used it.”

“I'll get you some water,” he offered. “There's a pump over there across the field.” He held out his hand to take my pack.

I hesitated. “You're not going to run tell the tribal council that I'm here? Take my pack so I'll have to wait, then get me all balled up in a bunch of red tape?”

“I will need to tell my brother at some point, but as you say, there is nothing he can do so long as you stay on federal land. I just know he would want to be informed that you're here. But I can tell him after daybreak.”

“Right. Well, when you do, be sure to mention that we're staying on federal land.”

He gave a feeble smile. “I didn't mean I was going to try to make trouble for you, Jamaica. At least let me get you some water. You might need it. No one should be out without water in this country.”

I looked at Contreras. He had always been kind to me, kinder than most of the pueblo residents, many of whom treated me as if I were about to steal their children. “Okay,” I said, handing him the pack. “I appreciate it. Kerry, do you have enough water?”

Kerry held up his pack. “I could use topping off,” he said, patting the bladder in the back.

Hunter took the packs and jogged away to fill them.

“You got some jerky or bread or something?” Serena asked. “Something for food? I could get you some jerky.”

“I have some energy bars, maybe some nuts and trail mix in my pack. I'll stick them in my saddlebags,” I said.

“Yeah, me, too,” Kerry said. “And I always have jerky.” He went to the door of his truck and pulled out a plastic bag of dried meat. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“I'm going to get back to the search,” Serena said. “You let us know if you see anything, okay, Jamaica?”

“Hey, Serena,” I said, “before you go, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know Ismael Wolfskin?”

“That old man? He's real old. I don't think he can see too well anymore. He lives with his daughter on the other side of the pueblo, but he still walks down and bathes in the river every day, on the other side. He's Winter.”

“Winter?”

“Yeah, we're Summer, our family, south side. But like Hunter—he's Winter, north side. Why?”

“Oh, I just heard someone mention him at the feast, I think. I wondered who he was.”

“Yeah, they say he was once a very powerful medicine man. I heard talk that when he was a young man, he used to be one of the Blue-Legged People, the clown society—but we haven't had them for a long, long time, not since I've been alive—most of them have passed beyond the ridge, even those who can still remember them. They were a Winter kiva; they don't use that one anymore, it's a shrine. He doesn't take part in the dances these days, or drum or anything, but he still leads the Scalp ceremony. That is an honor until one dies. And he used to be one of the peyote chiefs. Grandpa Wolfskin is one of those elders, like my dad, who speaks a language even older than Tiwa—they would speak it in the kiva to one another when they were planning what they would do to the younger men, so none of the young guys could understand them.” She laughed a little at this. “I think that old man had to stop doing ceremony—they made him quit because he gave somebody too much…too many herbs one time, or something like that. They say he's gotten mean, and his mind isn't right. I don't know exactly how old he is, you know they didn't used to bother with birth certificates for Indians. But he's older than my dad, and Grandpa's about ninety-six. Well, I better get back now. Let us know if you find Sam, okay?”

While we had a moment alone, Kerry and I checked our arms and ammo. Each of us had a rifle and a pistol. I'd always carried both when I rode the open country in my former job. I remembered how in those days I used to bury extra ammo, water, gas, blankets, even canned food rations and double-bagged horse feed out in the remote places, and then mark them on a map in case I ever needed extra supplies. Those items had saved my butt a few times. In fact, I was pretty sure there was a cache of mine on the other side of the falls, on the northeast aspect of this same mountain—a place I'd ridden range about five years ago. I grabbed my BLM uniform belt with my knife, my pistol in its holster, and the extra ammunition clips. I thought I probably didn't need the collapsible nightstick and cuffs, but they were attached, so I left them there. I put the belt on, then pulled on my hooded sweatshirt to cover this, and because it was a little cool in the predawn—though still much warmer than usual for this time of day, and year. I put my headlamp on my ranger hat.

As we were bringing the horses out of the trailer, Diane pulled up. “You tell your boss what you're doing?” she asked.

“I did.” I worked a bit into the piebald mare's mouth. “You tell yours?”

“Yeah. What did Roy say?”

“He said he ought to fire me. Yours?”

“'Bout the same. Been awhile since I rode a horse. Hope I remember how.” She checked the clip in her own gun and holstered it on her belt.

“We'll be trail riding,” I said, checking the girth strap on the roan gelding. “Horses know what to do when there's a trail, you don't even have to drive 'em. We won't be doing any fast or fancy stuff.”

“Good deal.”

Kerry came up and hoisted a saddle on the other mare, a bay filly named Ruby, about three years old. “Hi,” he said.

“Kerry, this is Diane Langstrom. Diane, Kerry Reed. Diane, you ride this gelding—according to the sign that was on his stall, his name's Sonny. He'll be the easiest to ride, I bet. All mares are bitches, so they take some handling, and besides, you're definitely not ready for this filly—she'll give you a hard time.”

Hunter came loping across the field with a pack over each shoulder, his flashlight in his hand, bobbing light ahead of him. In spite of his size, he moved with amazing quickness and grace. It reminded me of the footraces they held every summer at the pueblo, an event where everyone—youths and elders—could run with others their age. The young and able showed impressive speed and stamina, and even the aged were surprisingly strong and spry. They ran the racetrack in the pueblo for ceremony twice a year, but they ran for miles and miles in preparation for the event. It was said that the men in the village used to run a hundred miles in those races in the old days.

As he drew close, the horses volted and jibbed. The gelding snorted, the mares whinnied. Kerry and I moved to quiet them. Hunter pulled up short and took note of Diane's presence. “You going, too?” he asked.

Behind the horse where Contreras couldn't see, I waved a hand to get Di's attention and widened my eyes, giving her a note of caution.

She played it cool. “Might as well,” she said. “I don't know what I'm doing, and I can barely ride a horse, but I guess I'll string along with these two.”

“You need any water?” Hunter asked. “I just filled their packs. I could get you some, too.”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I brought some bottled water. I'll toss a few of 'em in a backpack. All right, Jamaica, tell me what to do.”

I got the ropes of prayer ties out of the truck and tied them onto the strap on one side of my saddle. Then I took the sunflower Tecolote had given me and unwrapped the gooey stuff at the base of the stem. I tucked the bloom into my pack, just behind the water bladder. I put the pack on, fastened the waist and sternum straps, and clipped the bite valve onto the chest belt so that I could simply lower my head, grab the valve with my teeth, and take a drink of water without having to use my hands. I watched Kerry do the same. We mounted up. I noticed Contreras was still there watching us. “Serena went back to the search,” I said.

He stood at the exact place where I had called to Santana just days before, hoping to save his life. He held one hand high, palm up, feeling the air. “Wind's died down,” he said. “Sky's sinking, heavy. Could be rain. Or even snow.”

“Snow!” Diane said. “It's been so hot the past day and a half. I'd welcome snow.”

“Let's go,” Kerry said, turning his horse.

“Thanks for the help, Hunter,” I said.