Neewa
the Wonder Dog and the Ghost Hunters
Volume
One: The Indian Medicine Woman’s Mystery is Revealed!
John
Cerutti
Dedicated
to Christina, and Jacqueline
ISBN-10
0615408540
ISBN-13
9780615408545 (2/10/10)
Amazon
Publisher
Code A1GN8FXYXCUYUS
Registered®
Trademark™ CRCR and CRCReations.Com group and
DesignsbyJohnInc.Com, All Rights Reserved ©Copy Right 1999 Designs By John,
Inc. ®Registered Trade Mark CRCreations.Com.
Prologue
Adventure and
mystery in the uncanny spirit world captivate the young lives of
fourteen-year-old Christina and her sister Jackie, eleven. When the family moves
1500 miles from their home in New Jersey to the desert of the American
Southwest, they encounter many spirits—some good, some evil.
Out West the
family seeks out the paranormal, hunting ghosts with the latest most
sophisticated devices. Their searches take them to several eerie places,
including a remote forest, a ghost town, and a sacred burial ground. They also
explore an isolated Native American stream and investigate an Indian Pow Wow.
Not long after
settling into their new home, Christina adopts Neewa, a half coyote female puppy
with a mysterious secret. But when the puppy becomes deathly ill, the girl is
determined to find a doctor to save her pet. When a shaman vet miraculously
turns up, he supplies a charm, a potion, and an incantation for Neewa to save
her spirit.
Danger lurks
around every corner but the sisters surprisingly find protection in most unusual
ways through a medicine woman, mythological animals, herbs and other mystical
means.
Throughout their
extraordinary experiences the young sisters face various dimensions of fear and
joy.
Chapter 1 - Neewa’s New Family
Still can’t
believe I moved 1500 miles away from our home and all my friends, this is a big
mistake. If it weren’t for Dad I would be home right now. I’d be hanging
with my friends and living in my house instead of this broken down place.
I can’t
understand why Mom moved to Canada either. It’s not fair that we are all so
far apart. I miss her so much. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t want us to leave
either. Everyone back home wanted us to stay.
Dad got this job
with the government, that’s why we came out West. Monday through Friday he
works calculating all kinds of stuff with very fancy instruments,
Electromagnetic field (EMF) meters, temperature sensors, static electricity
& ionization detectors, motion detectors, listening devices, radio frequency
detectors, even radiation monitors.
But on the
weekends we take or rather we borrow this same equipment and use it. It’s a
good thing the government doesn’t know what we do with their stuff. We
certainly can’t tell Dad’s boss that we hunt ghosts. That’s right! We hunt
ghosts, not imaginary ones, but ghosts and spirits that give off real natural
energy, paranormal phenomena.
Dad says, “As
long as I’m testing the equipment, the boss says it’s okay to take the stuff
home.”
When we go on a
ghost hunt, we also bring night vision goggles, a special infrared camera, and a
digital camera with sound recording capability to capture everything that
happens on an investigation. Dad thinks if it gives off energy, it can be
hunted.
The equipment is
the same kind of high-tech gear used to hunt tornadoes, thunderstorms, or even
criminals. I’m not exactly sure what Dad does during the day. He doesn’t
talk about it much. When we have all of the equipment with us, Dad worries that
someone might think we stole the stuff because of the labels that say, Property
of US Government. He says we have to keep a low profile.
My goal is to be
the world’s most famous ghost hunter that ever lived. I’m talking about
having my own TV show and everything, that’s what I want.
My name is
Christina, I’m fifteen years old and I hunt ghosts. Jacqueline my sister, we
call her Jackie is twelve years old.
We kind of look
alike but we are so different. She has straight auburn hair while mine is black
and curly. Dad says I look really great with my hair up. That’s how I hide all
the curls that annoy the heck out of me and make my hair frizz out all over the
place. I’m always straightening it.
I react to
everything. If Dad says something I don’t like, forget it. I fire right back
at him. Then he says stop it or he’ll punish or ground me. I blast him,
call him a name or tell him to shut up. By the time I think about what I’ve
said, it’s too late.
If he keeps his
cool and says stuff like, that’s no way to talk to your father. He makes me
feel guilty so I apologize.
But if he yells
or says I’m mean, then I say more bad stuff and really get him mad. We won’t
make up till the next day. Usually I feel bad all night and that sucks, but
that’s what happens.
Jackie on the
other hand is more of a trickster type. Oh yeah she’ll start trouble all right
and mostly for me. If she doesn’t get her way, she goes into a major screaming
tantrum until the roof is shaking and all Dad and me want to do is run away. But
we can’t because she just keeps coming at us until she gets what she wants.
Then she blames me, saying I did it! Or “What did I do?” Claiming her
innocence.
What I hate most
is when she says, “It’s your fault I’m late. I was supposed to be there a
half hour ago! You’re making me late!” she yells.
The argument goes
back and forth and gets pretty ugly, if you know what I mean. It ruins the rest
of the night, unless someone apologizes, which only happens if the one who gets
hurt stays calm and says things to make the other one feel guilty, but how often
does that happen?
Jackie and I
never dress alike although I borrow her stuff and she takes cloths from me when
I’m not looking. It makes me so mad. Give me jeans and a hoodie with a tight
top and I’m happy.
Jackie and her
friend Amanda are into designer cloths, sheik colored tops, and name brands.
She’s wearing pink today with her favorite sandals. She even paints her
fingernails different colors from one day to the next. My nails are always
natural never painted.
I’m taller than
Jackie by about five inches, but she can put me in a headlock and make me say
uncle, but I won’t. Dad is like a foot taller than me.
Some day I’m
going to be a writer. Jackie wants to be an actor. She likes dance and singing
classes too.
I tell her,
“You already are an actress.” She gets really mad.
My green eyes and
long lashes are gorgeous, that’s what everyone says.
Whenever someone
hears my last name they say, “Is your Dad John?”
“Yes,” I
always say smiling, then they say, “I know your Dad.” I just grin.
One thing though,
I’m very self-conscious about my nose. It has a bump on the bridge from a
couple of falls I took when I was little. Jackie’s nose is perfect but she
still has braces. I had mine off last month, now I wear a retainer every night.
I’m so excited,
I finally got my puppy, the one I’ve been waiting for. Dad has promised me I
could adopt a puppy for the last seven years. Now I finally have one, but she
has no name and I have to pick a really great name. I’ve been looking on the
web, and everywhere for the perfect name, but I can’t decide. Jackie thinks
she is going to name her but that is out of the question.
Everyone is
sitting in the TV room as I go through a box of stuff not yet unpacked from our
move. Boxes are still in closets, bedrooms, and everywhere. In the bottom of
this one is a book I’ve never seen before.
“Hey, look at
this Native American Language Book,” I thumb through the pages to a section on
names. They’re in columns with the English word next to the Indian word. I
read through name after name.
“Wow! I had no
idea there were so many Indian names, page after page of them,” I mumble
spellbound reading one after another.
Suddenly one name
jumps out at me, “Neewa is the word for snowberry, pronounced Knee-wa.
Snowberry would be a great name for my new puppy. She’s all white like a
snowberry. That’s it! I’m going to call her Neewa.”
There is silence
in the room. I think everyone likes the name.
Grinning, I look
around, “So that’s that, I’ve picked her name, it’ll be Neewa.”
“Wait a minute,
wait a minute, I have some names for her,” Jackie adds. “How come you get to
pick her name anyway? What about Snowball, Ghost, or Snowflake.”
She stares at me,
then Dad.
“Jackie you
can’t name my puppy. I’ve waited years to get her. You can walk her, feed
her, pet her, and love her. But she is my puppy, and I’m going to name her.”
I stomp out of
the room determined.
“What are we
having to eat? I’m hungry,” I Yell to Dad shutting myself behind the door of
my room.
Dad now darting
around the kitchen answers, “Grandma’s Florida chicken, mashed potatoes, and
string beans. And Christina it’s your turn to set the table.”
I act like I
didn’t hear him.
“Christina
Now!” Dad adds.
“In a minute,
Stop bugging me, I will,” I shout knowing he’ll do it if I wait long enough.
Through the
paper-thin walls, I listen to Jackie give a speech on why she should pick my
puppy’s name. She makes me so mad as she continues her appeal to Dad.
“It’s
Christina’s puppy so I should get to name her. This isn’t fair, she gets a
puppy and I get nothing. I can’t even name it, I want my own puppy,” She
complains.
After a good
amount of silence, we all sit down to eat. The conversation continues about
naming my puppy. Dad doesn’t really want to answer Jackie so he tells her the
puppy is for all of us to enjoy. Christina has always wanted one and this is the
way it turned out, blah, blah, blah, he goes on and on.
I’m really
getting mad, “She’s my puppy Jackie! I’m naming her so get over it!”
Hum let’s see,
what can I say to send her over the edge, make her lose her temper, and blow up?
Hum, so many choices let me pick one, “So Jackie what song are you rehearsing
for the talent show?”
Dad jumps in
immediately, “Christina stop it right now. I know where you’re going with
this. Jackie don’t listen to her, she is just trying to get you going.”
I glare at her
from across the table. By this time my stomach is in knots, I can hear rumbling,
gurgling, and I’m about ready to throw up.
“My mind is
made up and that’s that, why can’t you get it through your head,” I burst
out.
Jackie continues
to taunt me by suggesting silly names like Spot and White Fang. I ignore her.
Those names don’t have anything to do with my puppy. Jackie always has to get
her way, but not this time. She’s my puppy and I’m naming her, no one is
going to change that.
Neewa is playing
around the table trying to get my attention. Frolicking and jumping around, she
spins and then leaps up. Quickly she circles me, bumping into my shin to make
sure I reach down to pet her as she loses her balance and stumbles over her
oversized paws.
Neewa’s nose
starts sniffing the air, she smells dinner and sits perfectly straight at my
side. Her tail is curled around her legs, occasionally thumping the floor. Her
head is pointing at the food on my plate, eyes and nose focused, not even
blinking.
We can’t feed
you at the table. You have your own bowls for food and water. Its Dad’s rule
for now, we all agreed to it before picking her up at the pound. But I’ll have
that rule changed in no time.
“You made me
wait seven years to get my puppy,” I blurt out.
Dad answers in a
serious tone, “Christina, you were not ready for a puppy seven years ago.
I’m not sure you’re ready now.”
After dinner I
fake a kitchen clean up so Dad will jump in and get it over with. I just want to
slip into the living room and watch my TV shows.
Jackie is looking
for the book with the names but I hid it way in the back of the shelf where she
will never find it. I’m not telling her where it is. I know what she’s up
too. Oh crap, that’s it, she found it. She’s looking through the pages for
another name for my Neewa. I pretend to pay no attention to her.
Turning to Dad
she says, “Here’s the section on names.”
She pauses
studying and turning the pages, “What about the name White Cloud or White
Star? They are perfect names.”
“Those are not
Indian words you widget,” she makes me so mad.
Jackie ignores
me, usually she goes ballistic when I call her a name, kicking and screaming at
me.
She snickers,
“Hey look at this, they have a word for ghost. It’s —ha, and more
than one ghost is —nee.”
Jackie reads a
passage from the book, “Indians believe the Spirit lives forever. When the
body dies, the spirit is called a spirit being and may take the body of another
living creature such as a butterfly, a wolf, or even a bear. Or a spirit being
may live in the wind or earth not taking any form at all.”
Silence fills
the room, even Neewa is motionless listening as Jackie continues reading, and
“The spirit being seeks a resting place in the sacred burial ground of his
tribe among all the others who have died. This sacred ground is the doorway to
the spirit world, the final resting place where all the spirit beings gather and
celebrate eternal peace and happiness.”
“That’s
creepy?” Smiling I look at Dad and Jackie.
“Yeah
that’s really creepy,” Jackie adds, “Gives me the chills.”
“Do you
believe that Dad?” I look at him.
Dad walks back
into the kitchen to finish putting stuff away, “I’m not sure I believe it, I
wish it were true though. Most of the guys at work believe it.”
Jackie is so
spoiled, before Mom moved she would ask her, “Can my friend sleepover Mom?”
At first Mom
would say, no, no, and no.
Guess what?
Later she always got her way and had her friend sleeping over. Most of here
friends are odd, they love to sit around singing Broadway tunes and choreograph
dance routines to the music of online karaoke websites.
I hate it when
she sings off key, “You’re off key,” I yell from my room.
She gets so
mad, really crazy, and even throws stuff at me. Except for maybe Dad, she’s
got the worst temper of all of us.
At night I shut
my door to get away from everyone. I need time to myself to read books and do
things. My favorites authors are Stephenie Meyer and Dan Brown. But most of the
time I’m online talking or texting to my friends back home. One of my friends,
I met on line at FanFiction. It’s a web site where we
critique TV shows and movies. We all write stuff and
then comment and critique each other’s writings. I call my friend Ohio,
because she lives in Ohio. She’s home schooled.
Jackie loves to
read, mostly mysteries and action-adventure like Harry Potter books and lots of
others ones too.
“Good night
Dad love you,” Jackie says as she glides to her room.
Sleep, I need
sleep, “Good night Dad, love you.”
“Goodnight
Christina, night Jackie, love you.”
My new home is
beat, it’s an old one-story ranch in a neighborhood laid out in a perfect
grid. Of all the houses in this part of town, ours is the oldest and the
smallest. It’s the worst looking too, never been updated like the other ones
around us. I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not planning on staying here long.
I’m getting out of here.
The outside is
a mess. The driveway in front is full of potholes. We have to use a bumpy dirt
path around back in the alleyway. The only good thing about it is the back
pathway ends just a few feet from the side door. The only door we use to get in
and out of the place. But watch out when you turn of the alley, there’s a big
tree right there. Dad almost hit it a few times.
Beige stucco
covers the cinder block structure we call home. And burgundy red paint outlines
the windows, doors, and roof. The color of the house was white, but after years
of harsh sun and wind, it’s got a layer of encrusted dirt over the top. It’s
not white anymore.
An old wood
fence that’s falling apart goes around the front yard. It has double rails
made of 2 x 4’s that run along the border between the neighbor’s yards and
ours. Oh my god the railing colors alternate between burgundy and off-white,
with dirt caked on to match the house, Yuck!
The painter
must have run out of the burgundy and added white paint to make it go further to
finish the job. You can see where the shade of burgundy gets lighter, turning
into pink and fuchsia at the corner. His painting ladder still rests against the
house, where he stopped, splattered with paint drips.
Flowerbeds on
either side of the walkway haven’t been cared for in years. They still have
beautiful flowers blooming, attracting colorful hummingbirds at dusk. Iridescent
tiny green and blue birds hover, while using their long beaks to slurp the
nectar from the flowers. I’ve tried to take pictures of them but they get
scared off so easily and fly away in a flash.
The landlord
said we could rent the house for a few hundred dollars a month. That’s if we
take care of it until he gets out of the nursing home. Dad says he’ll never
get out.
My house back
home was twice the size of this one and brand new. Bedrooms, living room, every
room was bigger, and had lots more closets, and big wide windows with window
sills to stack stuff on. The kitchen had cherry wood cabinets, and bathrooms
with satin nickel faucets and fake marble counter tops on top of matching
vanities. The place was so cozy and the apartment downstairs was perfect for
Grandma and Grandpa, with gorgeous southwester motifs in the ceramic tile
covering the floor. Everyone was so mad when Dad said we were selling the house
and Grandma and Grandpa would have to move.
It was on a
dead-end street, the last house, and there were lots of kids. We played games,
went fishing in the pond, and had lots of fun. Jackie’s friend, Debbie who
lived on the block, had a swimming pool and we had a trampoline for everyone to
jump on.
Grandma and
Grandpa were always there on holidays and weekends to give us presents. I miss
my family and friends so much. Sometimes at night I look at their pictures and
cry myself to sleep.
Here, our new
neighbors won’t even talk to us. Worse than that one night when I was coming
home, I saw one neighbor turn away from me as I went in my door.
One exception,
the banker and his wife made an effort to be hospitable and welcoming. Hank and
Jane Burns are very nice people. From time to time they come over to the house,
talk to us, and even brought brownies. Meanwhile, they try to find out
everything they can about us. Dad says Mr. Burns wants us to take out a loan or
invest in cable TV or something.
Jackie started
babysitting for their daughter, Brice. That gives Hank and Jane time to go out
for dinner and a movie without having to worry. They trust Jackie and she’s
paid pretty well.
Besides Brice,
there are no other kids around here, it’s like they rounded them all up and
sent them away. The streets are deserted, no skateboards, scooters, or jump
rope. This place sucks.
Chapter 2 - Yesterday was the happiest day of my life.
It was early
morning when Dad woke us up. Usually, when he tries to get me up on a weekend
morning I tell him, “Leave me alone, go away, don’t bother me!”
Yesterday
morning was different, getting up and dressed and being ready was easy. Finally
we were going to the animal shelter to get the puppy I’ve been waiting for my
entire life.
Jackie on the
other hand was moving as slow as a snail. I stood at the door, tapping my shoe
on the floor. Annoyed, I waited while Jackie had to have her morning bowl of
cereal.
“Jackie
let’s go, we’re late,” I plead with her to hurry.
“Christina
shut up! I can’t hear the TV,” she replied.
“Dad Dad,
Jackie is having cereal, tell her to leave it, I wanna go now,” I begged Dad.
Finally after a
lot of yelling, we got in the van and left.
After we drove
a while into the desert from town I saw the sign, County Animal Shelter. The
arrow pointed up a long dirt road. At the end of the bumpy road was a dull gray
building.
Around back was
the kennel area. At this distance, the compound looked neat and tidy, with
animal pens in neat rows. I could see some of the area where the dogs were kept.
In the front were a few parked cars and a big front door with one window.
Loud sounds of
barking dogs came from behind the building. No wonder they put this place way
out in the middle of nowhere. But the closer we got, the noise got so loud it
sounded like a fox hunt was going on in the back. And the building seemed to
turn even grayer.
I was very
nervous as I lead everyone across the stone parking lot. Jackie and Dad followed
close behind me.
After knocking
on the steel door, a man in black coveralls, hair slicked back, and parted down
the middle, slowly opened the door. The barking got even louder and I was hit
with a wave of the pungent smell of a dog pound. The older man with a
kindhearted smile greeted us. My guess he’s the dogcatcher, his appearance and
pale face made him look like Dracula, lacking only the makeup and cape.
“Looking for
a pet?” he grinned.
“Yes,” I
answer back.
“Right this
way, you folks just look around,” Dracula said.
“Follow
me,” I ordered.
I whispered to
Jackie, “That guy looks like Dracula, look at his hair.”
We laughed as
we walk through the hallway into the inner chamber.
Dad reminds me,
“Christina remember we want a nice friendly, house-broken, and fully grown
dog.”
“Poppy,
Poppy, (I call Dad Poppy sometimes,) I heard what you said, now stop with the
pressure okay,” Trying to get him to back off and leave me alone.
I wandered from
side to side on the walkway between the large and small cages with big and small
cats and dogs of all colors inside. Creeping through the maze, I looked left
then right, checking each animal, yet pass one after another. Occasionally I
hesitated for a moment to take a closer look, but continued my journey down the
endless corridor of forlorn and cast-off pets. I was heartbroken looking at all
the cats and dogs with no homes. Surplus animals, once loyal and loving pets,
now no longer needed, discarded members of society wanting to be taken care of.
Dad whispered
in my ear as if the animals were listening to him, “After sixteen weeks in the
pound they will be put to sleep.”
“Put to
sleep? What does that mean?” I blurt out loudly. Is he saying that they are to
be killed or murdered?
“They have to
be euthanized, destroyed.” He finished his thinking.
Instantly I
became flush, my face red-hot. Each one of them needed a home, to be loved,
before it’s too late. Gasping for air, I was horrified at the thought that any
one of these animals would be destroyed.
Now my morning
at the pound was no longer joyous and full of promise. It was more like a slow
motion death walk in a horror movie. Frame after frame passing before me with
animals being led to the gas chamber where they were to be taken care of all
right.
The morning was
slipping away, there seemed to be more and more animals, and choosing just one
became more complicated. I wanted to save them all. Maybe even lead a jailbreak
and set them all free.
Jackie followed
me through the aisles of animals while Dad was left behind somewhere.
Nearing the end
of death row, I became full of fear and anxiety. Animals jumped toward me as I
passed their cages, wanting to be saved from their ultimate fate.
If I reached
out to one, it lunged to the side of the cage, crashing into the wire wall
trying to kiss my fingers. It was as if they knew their fate and knew that I was
their savior. But nothing could save all of these animals.
Unexpectedly, I
spied a little white puppy curled up in a ball with its littermates. It looked
up at me with pointed ears too big for its head and a shining black nose. It was
the cutest puppy I had ever seen. It jumped up on the side of the cage letting
out a yelp, calling me.
This puppy was
so pretty, a German shepherd looking girl. She had the deepest steal grey eyes
and a long snout on its big head. Her tail curled up over her hind legs like a
Husky as she stood on her back legs up against the cage, nibbling on my fingers
with her pointed white teeth. She was so beautiful, and had such soft ivory fur.
And those big floppy paws were too big for her body, just like her ears. I hope
she doesn’t grow into those paws.
Jackie,” I
shrieked, “here’s the one, here’s the one!” Feeling joy that I have not
felt for as long, long time.
Just then Dad
caught up to us. I petted her through the cage as she ran around my hand like it
was a toy to tease and chew on.
“Can we take
her home Dad?” I looked at him.
“Hey,” Dad
moaned, “I thought we agreed on a grown dog, one that’s already trained and
house broken.”
Jackie stooped
down next to me and the puppy licked both our faces through the metal mesh. It
was love at first sight for her too.
“Jackie you
want this one right? Say yes,” I pleaded with her.
“Dad let’s
get this one,” she agreed.
“Dad, I want
this puppy, she will be a good watch dog and protect Jackie and me. Grown up or
not, please Dad,” sounding like a beggar but not caring.
Dad was
reluctant to commit, something about it being too much work, or some other
reason. I didn’t know and didn’t care what he was thinking. A long pause
followed. He seemed to be weighing his options.
I didn’t see
it as a difficult choice. On the one hand he could disappoint us and spend the
rest of his days in hell, or take the puppy and win the Greatest Dad of The Day
Award.
“Okay,
Okay,” he says as he steps up to the podium for the Best Dad Prize.
Jackie and I
disagreed on almost everything. But not this, the puppy was coming home with us.
This was the first thing we had agreed on all week, maybe all month.
Dad was
surprised there was so little paper work to adopt our puppy. He only had to sign
a release and the puppy was free to go.
Holding her in
my arms, we headed for the exit when Dracula, the dogcatcher, came from his
coffin to wish us well.
I stopped and
looked at him, “Where did she come from?”
He replied as
if he knew the origin of every animal in the pound. “That one came from the
desert. Someone found the three of them roaming around and brought them in.
They had no mom
or dad with them. Not much chance they would have made it to sunrise out there
in the dessert. Something would have had them for dinner. I think your Shepard
pup is a coy dog.”
“A coy dog?
What’s a coy dog?” I inquired.
He answered,
“A coy dog is half coyote and half dog.”
Stunned by his
answer, I feel my face flush and my eyes blink rapidly. Did he say coyote? Did
Dad hear what he said?
“Thank
you,” I hastily turned heading for the door.
Running, I
cradled her in my arms and dropped my face into her soft fur hoping no one else
heard what the dogcatcher had said. They might want to take her away. I’ve
never heard of a coy dog before, never knew such a thing existed. But the
dogcatcher said it, so it must be true.
After that, I
don’t remember very much, just holding my puppy and running for the car.
“Hurry Dad,
drive, drive,” I shouted, “I don’t ever want to lose her.”
He answered,
“Don’t worry Christina, no ones going to take her away from you.”
A few minutes
later we were driving home. I keep thinking about the news of my puppy being
only half dog. Even our drive though more desert wasteland doesn’t distract me
from worrying about her. I’m so tired of this place, nothing but desert
everywhere.
The desert is a
dangerous place compared to the place we used to live. Back East there is little
risk of being killed by a scorpion, rattlesnake, or a pack of coyotes. Nor is it
likely you will die from starvation, thirst, or exposure if you get lost. But
out here in the desert you can die from any of these.
I can imagine
how Neewa got separated from her mother. She had to go hunting for something to
eat. Probably, all the puppies were running, playing, and wandering around
before they realized they were all alone.
Neewa isn’t a
regular dog. She didn’t grow up in a house with a picket fence, and kids
running around. Neewa may have a mom, dad, brothers and sisters, but she’s
part wild animal.
Wild animals
have to eat raw meat and whatever their mom brings them to survive. I’ve
watched programs on National Geographic and Nature channels about how animals
survive in the wilderness.
“Yuck,” I
say picturing Neewa eating raw meat, regurgitated from her mother’s stomach
onto the ground.
“Gross,”
comes out of my mouth as I try to shake off the disgusting thoughts I’m
having, but they continue.
“She’s a
wild animal,” I blurt out not thinking what I’m saying. Jackie and Dad look
at me startled by what I say.
My mind
continues to race. Maybe Neewa’s Mom was the alpha female in the pack. The
other female coyotes took care of the litter. Neewa’s Mom did what alpha
females do—whatever that is.
After a long
silence, “Will a half coyote and half dog be a good pet? Content to live with
us or will she run off into the desert to be with her own kind?”
Dad spoke to
reassure me, “Yes that may be true but her natural instinct is to be loyal to
man. I’ve read that coy dogs can be good pets. We’ll see how it goes.
Everything should work out fine. But if she’s too wild, we’ll bring her
back.”
Not another
word was spoken the rest of the trip home. Everyone was in deep thought about my
new puppy, our new family member.
***
That’s what
happened yesterday. Today Neewa is running and playing all around the house.
Already she is settling into her new home.
She must be
very confused from all the changes, too many for her to understand. I can relate
to that, all the changes I’ve been through lately. With Mom and Dad separating
and selling our house and even now moving way out here.
It was only a
few days ago she was on the wide-open desert, happy and playing with her
brothers and sisters. Then, wham! In the blink of an eye, she’s in a cage,
with no room to roll around and nowhere to explore.
“Dad look,
here is the definition of a coy dog,” my finger on the mouse.
Dad and Jackie
stop what they are doing. Everyone is silent and all eyes are focused on me. It
is so quiet, you can hear the birds chirping outside our windows.
I read, “A
coy dog is the hybrid offspring of a male coyote (Canis latrans) and a female
dog (Canis lupus familiaris).”
“Poppy can we
keep her? Coy dogs need to be adopted too,” I plead. “Dracula will destroy
her if we take her back.”
Dad shrugs,
“We’ll see how it goes.”
Neewa has
checked out everything in the house, all the bedrooms, living room, and the
barely functional toilet and tub in the one and only bathroom.
She has bowls
for food and water in our outdated kitchen. But her bed is in my room along with
her toy box full of the latest squeaking playthings for her favorite games,
fetch and tug of war. The squeaky toys that look like bones are her favorites,
but she will spend hours gnawing on the real soup bones that Dad cooks for her.
As she lies
under the kitchen table, I daydream of her fitting into our family. Her ears
perk up, and she looks at me.
“Good girl
Neewa,” I say to her.
I blink away
the tears in my eyes, praying she will never go back to the pound.
In my new
school, I walk into classrooms full of kids I don’t know and don’t know me.
Some of them look at me funny. One or two make comments, but I ignore them. If
one of them tries to bully me I tell them where to go. Honestly, I’m not going
to be here long enough to become friends with any of them anyway.
I’m always
online or on Skype with my best friends back East. Right now I’m telling them
about Neewa my new puppy. My friends and me back home are always messaging or
texting each other about everything in our lives. We talk about who’s dating,
who broke up, and who’s drinking and drugging.
Dad and Jackie
don’t know that I stay up so late. They have no idea. It’s three hours later
back East, so it’s already twelve o’clock there, when it’s only nine
o’clock here.
When I’m on
my laptop, don’t bother me. I’ll drop F-bombs on you till you have a stroke.
When I was younger, I’d have said I’d maul you like a lion.
I watch movies,
U-tube videos, and TV shows on my laptop. Most nights I stay up watching horror
movies.
What I really
want to do is hunt ghosts, spirits, angels, and demons. They do exist, no doubt
in my mind. They’re everywhere. In the wind, earth, fire, and even in other
living things. But they are not the only paranormal phenomena. There are orbs,
aberrations, and objects that move totally by themselves. While I’m out West,
I’m going to hunt them down, in haunted houses, deserted towns, everywhere.
The moon is
full tonight and the sky is clear as I gaze out my bedroom window. The light
reflects off everything in my yard, it’s so bright out it looks like daytime.
What’s that
running across my front yard in that shadow of the tree? It looks like a dog or
maybe a fox or coyote. Whichever it is, there it goes over the fence,
disappearing into the night.
Maybe it was a
spirit? An Indian worrier’s sole wondering in the night. He was a brave
worrier who died in a raid, a revenge attack of another tribe. His sole took
possession of that coyote. Now he returns to his tribe. The coyote has chosen
this path across my yard.
The Indians
around here hide their sacred burial ground. I’ve heard some Indian kids
whisper about it.
That would
really be something to find one of those graveyards and capture one of their
ghosts on film. I’d be rich and famous, move to Hollywood, and have my own TV
show.
Chapter 3 - Ghost at Donner Pass
Dad is reading
the newspaper at the kitchen table when he bursts out, “Hey a ghost was seen
at Donner Pass.”
Confused I ask,
“What and where is Donner Pass?”
Dad looks over
at me, “Donner Pass is in the mountains about three hours south of here and
the Donner Party disaster was a historic wagon train headed west that got caught
in a blizzard and most
of the pioneers died.
Dad
reads me the article. “Mrs. Eleanor Waldo of Phantom Hill, Texas told her
story. She said she and her husband were stopped at the overlook rest area,
sitting at a picnic table when she saw it.
It
was a ghost all right. It looked like a thick cloud of smoke with a head. But it
was a woman with a stone face and a broad smile. She hovered right in front of
me, staring at me.
The
ghost asked me, “Would you like to come to dinner?”
I
followed it up the mountain as it kept saying, “Come with me, I would love to
have you for dinner.”
Interrupting
Mrs. Waldo I asked, “Wait a minute, the ghost said I would love to have you
for dinner?”
Mrs.
Waldo looked surprised at the way I phrased my question as she replied, “Oh
you don’t think she meant I am the dinner do you? Oh my, maybe she did.”
Mrs.
Waldo squealed, and continued with her story, “I followed it up the mountain
and when we started down the other side, I saw an old rusted out car with a
skeleton sitting at the steering wheel, driving.
As
I got closer and closer to the car, a great gust of wind blew right through me
and kicked up so much sand, I had to close my eyes. When I opened my eyes I
gasped, the skeleton was gone.”
She
said she heard her husband calling her to come back. When he caught up to her
she told him about the ghost.
He
exclaimed with frustration in his voice, “That’s nonsense, its ten o’clock
at night and one hundred and nine degrees Elle, It’s the heat. You didn’t
see anything."
She
told her husband to hush up, then sat in the old nineteen thirty-five Buick for
a while. It’s a nineteen thirty-five Buick. My family had one of these when I
was a child.”
Mrs.
Waldo continued her story saying, “I checked out every nook and cranny of that
car. My husband and I checked the car from its headlights to the taillights.
Under one of the seats we found an old empty bottle of whiskey.”
She
said that she was feeling around under the dashboard and found that hidden
compartment she and her sister had stored stuff in when they were kids. In the
compartment were chips, poker chips, lots of poker chips.
Her
husband counted them up. There was twenty thousand dollars.
“Twenty
thousand dollars!” He said again and again.
Mrs.
Waldo cried out, “Can you believe it?”
The
newspaper reporter asked the casino manager how much the twenty thousand dollars
in poker chips are worth?
The
Casino spokesperson said, “The chips are worth twenty thousand dollars at our
casino.”
Dad puts down
the paper saying, “Mrs. Waldo was lucky her husband followed her over that
mountain and caught up to her. I don’t think it was a good ghost that appeared
in front of her and wanted to take her to dinner. It could have been an evil
ghost from the Donner Party. I’m sure Mrs. Waldo saw something, she could
never have made that story up.”
Spirits use
ghosts to trick humans and take possession of their body and soul. After the
body dies the spirit lives in the wind, or earth and seeks the body of a human.
That’s when it posses the body, returning from that supernatural world to the
natural world.
I have read
about people who imagine seeing ghosts. In fact they saw moonlight reflecting
off a rock or a broken piece of glass. What they saw may have looked like a
ghost to some people.
People high on
drugs or alcohol have vivid imaginations when it comes to seeing ghosts. There
are always stories in the newspapers about people seeing ghosts in the desert or
mountains. They see a shadow and think it’s a ghost. Their imagination causes
them to see things that are not there. They make mistakes, people always do.
Smiling I give
Dad a hug, “Dad can we go to Donner Pass and find that ghost. We have to go
right away while the trail is still fresh.”
Dad seems
distracted as he replies, “Oh, Yeah that sounds good, I’ve been working with
a brand new thermal scanner for the hurricane search planes. It’s going to be
installed in all of them if we can only get it to work right. It’ll read the
temperature inside the storm within a hundredth of a degree. I’ll bring it
home on Friday, we can use it for the weekend, but I have to return it by Monday
morning.”
Dad always
tells the boss the truth, he tells him, “I’m bringing this equipment home to
run some tests.” But he doesn’t tell him what tests we are running and he
especially won’t tell him we use it to hunt ghosts.
Later at dinner
we plan our up coming trip for this weekend. I’m so excited, this is going to
be so cool.
Oh no, I just
realized we’re gonna be in the van together for three hours.
Dad tells
Jackie and me, “Okay this is the plan, we’ll camp out Saturday night at the
Donner Memorial State Park. Before sunset we set up the equipment where Mrs.
Waldo’s saw the stone-faced lady. I think that is the most likely place to
catch that ghost. That is also where the Donner Party was trapped in the winter
of eighteen forty six.”
“Okay Dad,
Jackie and I will pack our stuff, you make a list of everything we need and we
can check it before we leave,” I add.
When we go on a
hunt we bring all kinds of equipment. Not all of it is ours. Some of it comes
from Dad’s work.
An absolute
must is the electromagnetic field meter and the infrared thermometer, which
detects infrared energy and converts it to a temperature reading. Two more
devices measure the electricity in the air, the electrostatic field meter and
the air ion counter. We also have a radio frequency (RF) field strength meter
that detects electrical fields like FM radio and microwave transmissions from .5
MHz to 3 GHz, and expresses the strength as power density (.001 to 2000
microwatts/cm2). It measures the electricity given off by stuff like
transformers, computer screens, telephones, and electric motors. For extra
safety we bring a Geiger counter or radiation monitor that detects dangerous
alpha, beta, and gamma rays.
I ask Jackie,
“Did you pack the motion detectors? We need them for the cameras we will set
up on the trail. If anything moves in front of one of them, the camera will
turn-on and we will catch that phantom.”
My new digital
video camera has audio capability, which allows me to record every sound. The
recordings are important because we can capture electronic voice phenomena (EVP’S),
or footsteps, knocks, and banging during the event.”
Temperature
changes like uncommon cold or hot spots can be detected with our infrared
thermal camera and the infrared thermometer. Both of them will detect variations
in temperature signaling the presence of a spirit.
Difficult to
document events like telepathic communications, odors, and scents like sulfur,
ammonia, perfume, and flowers are written down in my notepad. I take a writing
pad with me on every investigation.
If I’m
checking out a house haunting and someone is still living there or a past
resident is near-by? I like to interview them to find out if they’re having
nightmares, apparitions, seeing moving objects, or even just having simple
electrical problems. All the notes from my interviews have to be written down in
the notepad.
“Jackie, You
packed the anemometer? That’s the weathervane looking thingy with the four
cups. It spins and records wind speed.”
“I’ll get
the spectrometer which analysis light intensity and somehow figures out what an
object is.”
This weekend we
are bringing the cameras, motion detectors, EMF meters, digital thermometer,
night vision goggles, light meter, anemometer, radio frequency field strength
meter, and a spectrometer.
Of course we
always have flashlights, cell phones, a laptop to view the video we take, and
our camping stuff. We try to bring all our equipment, but it doesn’t all fit
in our backpacks. It makes no sense taking more then we can carry.
Hunting the
Donner Party ghost is going to be scary for two reasons. First, this ghost is
active. It’s trying to lure someone for some reason. Mrs. Waldo almost fell
into its spell. Who knows what would have happen to her if she had followed it
to “dinner?” Second, some on those people in the Donner Party died horrible,
agonizing deaths. I think this ghost is still in pain and is dangerous.
I learned about
the Donner Party in school. They were settlers headed to California in a wagon
train in eighteen forty-six. There were about ninety people of all ages. Winter
came early and heavy snow trapped them in the mountains. Not all of them lived
through it.
The wagon train
didn’t have enough food and blankets, and many of the settlers died of hunger,
exposure, and frostbite. Those few settlers that did live told stories of
terrible hardship, and horrible acts. They did things that people are not
supposed to do.
I’m pretty
sure this ghost we are going to hunt is not resting in peace, if you know what I
mean.
***
Finally it’s
Saturday morning. We are packed and ready to go. A three-hour ride will give me
plenty of time to do my homework. I have to finish writing a book report about
ghost hunting. I’ll do my math and chemistry after that.
Let’s see I
have Neewa’s bowls and a chain to keep her tied up. I’m sure Neewa will love
hiking the trails, camping, and ghost hunting. She loves to play with me-- this
trip will be fun for her too. I feel so much better, just having her around.
As I carry the
last of our gear out to the van Dad announces, “Okay we’re ready to go, all
aboard. Jackie you sit in front, Neewa and Christina in the back.”
“No Dad,
I’m sitting in the front I called it. Jackie, you get the front seat on the
way home.”
Jackie scoffs,
“You always say you called it, but I never hear you. That’s okay, I get to
sit next to Neewa, ha.”
We all get in
the van and drive off to Donner Pass on our ghost hunting adventure. Driving on
the interstate is fun because the speed limit is eighty miles an hour. This is
so cool. We will be driving over mountains, through deserts, and valleys. Small
towns about the size of swimming pools dot the highway.
When we get to
the Sierra Mountains it’s going to be just like back east, all green with lush
meadows and streams. Nothing like this boring desert where everything is flat
and faded beige with nothing but sand, sagebrush, and empty wasteland.
Driving along
the highway, I get to see a lot of places I want to visit. There are huge cattle
ranches, and casinos near every gas station rest stop. Located about half way
there is a gold mine where you can take trips into the mine and see just how it
was a hundred years ago. And near that is the military base where they
supposedly keep the bodies of the aliens that have crash-landed on Earth.
After driving
for hours and sleeping most of the trip, I realized we have traveled almost two
hundred miles through the desert. Ahead in the distance, I see the majestic
Sierra Nevada Mountains. Peaks the size of Mt. Everest jutting into the blue
sky. Donner Pass is right under one of those peaks.
As we near our
destination I see small meadows hidden here and there, fluorescing green, blue,
and yellow. Then amazingly we pass this huge marsh that goes on and on forever
to a distant mountain. The whole swamp is blooming purple at this moment. Deep
lavender flowers on pale green stems blanket the landscape. Endless color as far
as the eye can see. Miles and miles awash with heavenly violet flowers so thick
they look like a carpet extending into forever.
We’ve left
the desert and start our way up the lush mountainside entering a steep gorge on
the two-lane road. The route leading up to Donner Pass goes through a gorge so
narrow the road has no shoulders. It switches back and forth, meandering up,
rising steadily, an endless path disappearing before us into the forest.
Back on the
desert the colors are so dull, with beige sand and brown dirt all muddled
together with an occasional clump of pale olive sagebrush. Except for a rare
grove of green scrub pine, there isn’t any color to see all year round. We
have to travel twenty-five miles to a nearby canyon to get away from our drab
surroundings.
Only after it
rains does the desert come alive with budding flowers, grasses, and the
wonderful desert smells of wet sage and sand. Too bad it only rains a few times
a year.
Dad points out
the window, “That road is a runaway truck escape ramp for heavy
eighteen-wheelers that can’t stop. Sometimes they lose their brakes coming
down the mountain and they have to take that fork or they will crash.”
Shooting off of
this road and going in the opposite direction is a mile long ramp carved into a
rocky ledge. It starts upward slowly and then the grade rapidly rises above the
trees until it ends abruptly at a pile of sand and a railroad tie barrier.
“That ramp
saved a lot of lives,” Dad adds.
“What do they
need that for?” Jackie asks.
I add,
“Jackie, if a truck is coming down the mountain and loses its brakes, it can
turn onto that ramp which is so steep it slows the truck down, even if it has no
brakes.”
“Yeah, so
what does he do when he starts to roll backwards toward the road?” Jackie
counters.
“Yeah that
would be a big problem, hopefully he slows down enough that he is able to stop
his rig somewhere on that ramp,” Dad chimes in.
“Yeah
hopefully,” I comment.
Red cedar and
white pine trees reach up into the blue sky. I can see the sap leaching through
the bark, reflecting the sunlight. Little bubbles of the stuff drip down the
tree creating a stream of juice that eventually forms a droplet. The dribble
grows until it is a blob, and the blob to a glop of sap, so over sized it drops
to the ground. Plunk.
The steamy air
carries the fragrance of pine to my senses. The little needles float down to the
ground in the wind. Layer after layer fall, creating a soft bed of yellow and
rust.
The forest
begins to thin out, only small clusters of trees dot rocky terrain as the timber
line, above which little grows, comes into view. A huge peak with a waterfall
pouring over its rock face is revealed as we climb to still higher elevations.
Nearing the
crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, we are about to enter Donner Memorial
State Park. At the entrance stands a statue in memory of the settlers who lost
their lives on that fateful wagon train trip west to the promise land.
Dad pulls over
near a sign on the side of the road that reads Elevation 10,000 Ft. We get out
to stretch and have a look around. Neewa runs into the woods for a quick
sniffing adventure.
It’s ninety
degrees, unusually hot for this late in the afternoon. There is little breeze to
cool us down and an unusual amount of humidity in the air.
My face is
flush and red from the heat. I always turn red when I’m out in high
temperatures for a while, especially when I play tennis. It takes a lot of time
for the redness in my face to go away.
Dad gets all
paranoid, “Tina your face is red, do you have a fever?” he touches my cheek.
“Dad stop
it,” I tell him, “I’m fine.”
I look up at
fifteen-foot of statue depicting three pioneers: a man, a woman, and a child.
The embossed bronze plaque on the monument reads, The Donner Party Memorial.
I wonder if the
ghost that Mrs. Waldo saw is the woman in the bronze sculpture? Tonight we will
be looking for that one.
It’s peaceful
around the monument. Whispering breezes curve around the contours of the statue
as a trickling stream in the background is feed by the snowcaps still remaining
on the highest peaks. I hear a woodpecker tunneling in the hollow tree,
gathering bugs.
After exploring
around the monument, we drive to the camping area. The Donner State Park
campground is about a half-mile in the opposite direction from Donner
Pass--where we are setting up our equipment to catch that rogue spirit. Before
entering we pull up to the large wooden welcome sign at the entrance for a paper
copy of the layout with all the rules, regulations, and warnings to campers on
the back. The picture depicts a circular dirt road with forty campsites. In the
middle of all the numbered areas is the common bathhouse with showers.
Picking a
campsite is no easy matter. There is a lot to be considered. After parking in
one of the driveways, we walk around the circle assessing the pros and cons of
the various available camping locations. About three or four of them are taken
and have tents. There’s not that many people up here for some reason.
Each site has a
driveway that leads to a small flat picnic area with a table, barbeque, tent
platform, and a sunken campfire surrounded by rocks.
Jackie, Neewa,
and I pick out the site with a view of a small meadow and the most shade trees.
Dad begins unpacking and setting up the tents, while Jackie and I unload our
stuff.
It’s still
light out, time to go exploring for the best location to set our trap to catch
that phantom.
Next to our
picnic table is a sign with the word warning in big letters across the top.
Below that is a picture and description of the many possible visitors that might
be lurking around the park during the night. I’m least concerned about bears
because Neewa will bark at them and keep them away. Besides we’ll put our food
in the metal bear-resistant food locker provided at the campsite. But the
scorpions--they give me the creeps. Good thing our tents zip up tight. Funny
thing though, the sign doesn’t say anything about ghosts.
Chapter 4 - Fetch
Neewa loves to
play fetch and run like the wind to get whatever I throw. It doesn’t matter if I toss rocks, small logs, old rag
dolls, shoes, or anything.
She makes me
laugh so hard when I play with her. She scampers about and circles me whenever
we fool around. And if I’ve been away for a while she’s really glad to see
me, jumps up in the air ands spins around too. Even after I take out the garbage
and am gone for a few minutes, it’s as if I’ve been away forever. When she
first sees me or hears my voice she barks and growls playfully. It even seems
like she is talking to me, like she saying, play with me now, or I’m ready to
play, let’s go out and I’ll run around and you can watch me have all the
fun.
I hurl a stick
into the driveway of our campsite and she is quick to fetch it. Then she frolics
around me teasing me with the stick. She crouches down with her front paws
stretched out in front of her, and drops the stick between them, watching my
every move.
“Give it here
girl,” I request.
But she won’t
give it to me, it’s hers now. Instead she shakes it vigorously while staring
at me, begging me to chase her.
Standing about
ten feet away she barks while looking at me as if to say, I dare you.
The game is on,
if I make the slightest move or even just flinch, she will snatch it and run.
Contemplating
my next move to distract or divert her attention, I dive at the stick trying to
steal it from her.
Lunging
forward, she easily beats me to the stick, and runs off holding her head up
proudly, snarling in an affectionate way.
As usual Neewa
has decided not to give the stick to me and runs around challenging me to snatch
the prize from her.
She struts by
me like a matador circling a bull. I reach out to grab it. But she only lets me
put a fingertip on her trophy and quickly pulls it away, positioning herself
just out of reach.
Neewa is so
fast I can never catch her. If I’m lucky enough to get hold of her toy--she
pulls me down onto the ground, yanking it away and leaving me there tied up in a
knot. Playing fetch with Neewa is more like playing tug of war.
My only chance
to regain possession of her toy is to trick her. To do this I have to convince
her that the game is over. Make her believe I’m no longer interested, so she
doesn’t need to hold onto the prize.
To do this I
turn my back on her, walk away, and act as if I’m no longer interested. She
doesn’t want to miss anything so she drops the stick and runs after me.
This is the
crucial moment. Not a muscle in my body can flinch--I can’t change the gaze of
my eyes or alter my breathing for fear of alerting her to my deception. I must
be sure she has taken the bait and wait till the very last second before I
sprint back to regain possession of the trophy.
Suddenly, I
pivot and sprint for it. Ah ha, now she is onto me. She sees through my guise as
we both dash toward it. My body tightens as I extend my arm, diving through the
air. Dam, she gets there first, beating me again.
She looks at me
and with stick clinched tightly in her mouth she barks, as if to say, “Hooray
I won, throw it again.”
I reply,
“I’m tired girl, you win, I’m going to sit and rest.”
Or is it over?
Neewa watches me intently, on guard for more deception. Following me no matter
where I go, she makes sure I don’t double back and grab the stick.
It doesn’t
matter if I go for a hike or just lie down in the tent. She is there by my side.
“I love you
Neewa,” I sigh.
Jackie is
hanging out by the tent and throws a stick way out into the open desert. Neewa
scrambles toward it, running full gallop, down the hill, overshooting her target
she sprints into the valley with rocky peaks on all sides.
“Wow, look at
her run,” Jackie says in awe.
Neewa gallops
past large clusters of scrub brush and dessert flora dotting the landscape.
While passing a tiny lush upland meadow, she sniffs the grasses and flower
patches.
Jackie and I
watch her cross the valley at full gallop heading up the opposite ridge. I gaze
at the rocky crest above her as it disappears into the blue horizon. She darts
toward a summit covered in fractured rock and shale, peeled from the heights
above after frosts and blistering sun. At the tree line, she sprints through the
barren moon-like landscape.
We both call
her at the same time, “Neewa, Neewa.”
She continues,
eyes straight ahead, following the scent, tracking her prey. Her white
silhouette moves over a background of grey fractured rock.
I fear the
moment, Neewa running over that summit. My heart beats faster as she approaches
the apex. I can feel the blood pumping and the sweat on my brow.
“Neewa! Neewa!”
I strain my voice calling before she disappears, “come Neewa!”
We watch
waiting for her to turn, make a move, and begin her retreat. Finally, she
relents her direct accent upward and circles behind a boulder, disappearing from
sight for several moments. Then she appears from behind the rock and races full
speed down the hill straight for us.
Reassured I
exhale the air in my chest and lungs, “Here she comes.”
Running down
the ridge and back across the valley she arrives where we stand and drops the
stick on Jackie’s foot. I reach out to cuddle her.
“AHHHHHHHH!”
Jackie screams jumping backwards, “that’s not the stick I threw… that’s
a leg bone.”
“Don’t
touch it,” I step back, then move forward and stoop examining it.
Looking at the
bone on the ground, “If this is a human bone, it’s going to ruin our
ghost-hunting trip.”
We are going to
have to call the police. They will tell us we found a body--maybe it’s a
murder victim. Maybe it’s the bones of someone from the Donner Party who was
never recovered?
“The police
will have to call the crime scene investigation team (CSI). Who knows they might
have to take all our stuff, tents and all,” I mutter in a hopeless tone.
Jackie looks at
me horrified. “What about whoever it is? They deserve better than having their
bones scattered all over the mountain?”
Acknowledging
Jackie, “You’re right, I’m just thinking of myself and my ghost hunting
trip. We’re finally here and I want to catch that ghost so bad, I don’t want
to go home now.”
Dad comes
flying down the trail, “What was that? Who screamed? Are you all right?” He
takes Jackie by the shoulders and looks her straight in the eye.
Jackie rambles,
“I threw a stick for Neewa and she brought back this bone, Look!” she
points.
Dad hesitates,
“It could be anything, where did she get it?”
“Across the
valley and up on that ridge,” I motion.
Without
hesitation Dad walks out into the valley headed up the hill. On the steep
incline he takes shorter steps, working his way over the rocks.
Dad calls me on
his cell phone, “Where? Where?” he waves his arm looking at me.
Directing him
to the location where Neewa was sniffing around I bellow, “To the Left, left,
no not that way, the other left.”
“Am I getting
closer?” He yells into the phone as he works his way, slowly moving closer and
closer. Inspecting the area, kicking rocks and dirt, he stoops down.
Jackie and I
hold our breath anticipating identification of the victim.
Dad shouts into
the cell phone as if he is yelling across the valley. “Here it is, I don’t
see hooves or a skull.” Breathing heavily into the phone, “The skull will
tell me if it’s a human.”
Seconds pass
like hours, Jackie and I stare, waiting for confirmation that our trip is
ruined.
“Here are the
hooves!” Sounding relieved, “It’s a deer all right and the skull’s over
there, no antlers though--must be a doe.”
“T M I
Dad,” Jackie says after hearing every word.
Jackie shakes
her head to get rid of the thought of a dead deer laying a few hundred feet from
our campsite.
I hang up and
turn away grimacing, wondering how it might have died? Maybe it was thirst or
starvation or maybe a coyote attack?
“I’m just
glad it isn’t human bones. We probably would have had to go home. And just
when we’re about to have some fun.” I disclose my thoughts.
“Yeah real
fun Christina, what are we going to discover next?” Jackie raises her
eyebrows, “Hope no more dead bodies, no matter if it’s a deer or not.”
Neewa has been
following Jackie and I around since she dropped her new found bone, “No more
playing fetch, you are going on your chain. That deer could’ve been poisoned.
You could die from chewing on that bone.”
Dad returns
huffing and puffing.
I question,
“Did you set the ghost traps at the exact spot where the settler’s wagon
train was stranded, you know--where it happened?”
Dad smiles,
“Yup, right where Mrs. Waldo saw that spirit last week too. Everything is on
the trail ready to catch that ghost. I have all the equipment set up. One of the
motion detectors is connected to the digital camera and the other is attached to
the thermal infrared camera. The anemometer is right next to them and the
electromagnetic field meter is on the opposite side of the trail.”
“Jackie you
keep the light meter and the spectrometer (determines the composition of the
object) with you in case that ghoul visits us here at camp. Dad will be carrying
the radio frequency field strength meter (detects electrical fields) in his
pack. I’m in charge of the night vision goggles, compliments of Dad’s boss,
ha ha.”
“All right,
we’re ready,” I continue, “now all we have to do is wait for this phantom
to show up. These banshees will do anything to lure a human being into their
trap. They want to take over your body and soul and this fiend is no
different.”
As we sit
around the campfire, Dad begins to tell a scary legend. He always does this
especially when we’re in the middle of nowhere.
Neewa lies by
my feet, her chain still clipped to her collar, occasionally she looks up at me
with her steel grey eyes.
“People and
pets disappear in the desert all the time. Usually they are found dead, near the
place where they disappeared,” Dad speaks with an eerie shiver in his voice as
he begins to tell a story.
“She
lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage and sold herbal remedies for her
livelihood. Folks living in the town nearby called her Bloody Mary, and say she
was a witch. None dared cross the old crone for fear that their cows would go
dry, their food-stores rot away before winter, their children take sick of
fever, or any number of terrible things that an angry witch could do to her
neighbors.
Then
the children in the village began to disappear, one by one. No one could find
out where they had gone. Grief-stricken families searched the woods, the local
buildings, and all the houses and barns, but there was no sign of them.
A
few brave souls even went to Bloody Mary's home in the woods to see if the witch
had taken the children, but she denied any knowledge of the disappearances.
Still, it was noted that her haggard appearance had changed. She looked younger,
more attractive.
The
neighbors were suspicious, but they could find no proof that the witch had taken
their young ones.
Then
came the night when the daughter of the miller rose from her bed and walked
outside, following an enchanted sound no one else could hear.
The
miller's wife had a toothache and was sitting up in the kitchen treating the
tooth with an herbal remedy when her daughter left the house. She screamed for
her husband and followed the girl out of the door. The miller came running in
his nightshirt Together, they tried to restrain the girl, but she kept breaking
away from them and heading out of town.
The
desperate cries of the miller and his wife woke the neighbors. They came to
assist the frantic couple.
Suddenly,
a sharp-eyed farmer gave a shout and pointed towards a strange light at the edge
of the woods. A few townsmen followed him out into the field and saw Bloody Mary
standing beside a large oak tree, holding a magic wand that was pointed towards
the miller's house. She was glowing with an unearthly light as she set her evil
spell upon the child.
The
townsmen grabbed their guns and their pitchforks and ran toward the witch. When
she heard the commotion, Bloody Mary broke off her spell and fled back into the
woods.
The
far-sighted farmer had loaded his gun with silver bullets in case the witch ever
came after his daughter. Now he took aim and shot at her. The bullet hit Bloody
Mary in the hip and she fell to the ground.
The
angry townsmen leapt upon her and carried her back into the field, where they
built a huge bonfire and burned her at the stake.
As
she burned, Bloody Mary screamed a curse at the villagers, “If anyone mentions
my name aloud before a mirror, I will send my spirit to revenge myself upon them
for my death.”
When
she was dead, the villagers went to her house in the woods and found the missing
children the evil witch had kidnapped. She was draining their blood and using it
to make herself young again.
From
that day to this, anyone foolish enough to chant Bloody Mary's name three times
before a darkened mirror will summon the vengeful spirit of the witch. It is
said that she will tear their bodies to pieces and rip their souls from their
mutilated bodies. The souls of these unfortunate ones will burn in torment as
Bloody Mary once was burned, and they will be trapped forever in the mirror.”
“Thanks Dad,
I’m going to sleep and you tell me a chilling story, now stop it, I’m not
kidding. You’re going to give me nightmares.”
“Come Neewa,”
you’re staying in the tent with Jackie and me.
As I lie down
all kinds of thoughts run through my head. Thoughts about ghosts and the Donner
party’s terrible tragedy flood my brain. I look through the nylon tent at the
glowing fire. Shadows of the campfire flames dance on the tent like a movie
screen displaying a slide show. The shapes dwindle and shrink smaller and
smaller, it’s the fires last dance.
Listening to
the quiet, there’s nothing out there. No sounds but the crackling fire.
Drifting into sleep, I know bodies are discovered on the desert all the time,
I’ve heard stories. One time a four-wheeler found a humane skeleton near here
in an old deserted mine. Imagine that, going in a cave and seeing bones lying
there. Now that’s scary, I’d explore an old mine, but I’m not going first.
Sometimes a
newspaper reporter will get an anonymous letter telling where a dead body can be
found.
Local police
receive tips too, people are afraid to come forward, so they call or write
anonymous letters, revealing where a corpse is. Usually all that’s left of the
carcass are bones. Most of the time no one can figure out who it was. Out of
respect, the police give the remains a name--John Doe if it’s a man and Jane
Doe if it’s a woman.
Tonight we are
going to catch that ghost. Then I can tell all my friends back East. They will
think I’m so cool, the most famous ghost hunter ever. But right now I’d
better get some rest before we hike up the trail. I need sleep now. My eyes are
heavy and begin to close, than open and close again.
Chapter 5 - Dream (Dreaming)
“Dad, I have
to go find Neewa’s Mother and Father.”
“That’s a
good idea,” he moans still asleep. “Are they still living in the desert?”
It is dusk and
I’m in the middle of the desert, walking along an endless wall of sand.
I call out to
Dad, “Are they dead?” he doesn’t answer.
Maybe they are
lost somewhere, or they were killed out here in the middle of nowhere. Does
Neewa look like her Mom and Dad?
“Hello,
hello,” my voice echoes through the vast wasteland. I pick up a newspaper
lying on the sand and begin to read aloud.
A hiker
discovered a skeleton in the desert last week. The police are investigating the
circumstances of the death. The coroner performed an autopsy and CSI has been
called in to analyze the evidence.
The victim was
last seen a month ago playing cards at a downtown casino Detective Kelly said.
Apparently he was followed out of the casino and shot three times in the chest.
An ace of hearts was found in the dead man’s pocket.
The hiker, who
would not give his name, found the remains near the den of a family of coyotes.
“Animals dug
the bones up,” the hiker said, “oddest thing though, several of the pack
looked like white German shepherd’s.”
Detective Kelly
said our Detectives also found a Native American Indian tomb near the shallow
grave of the gambler. The Native American appears to be over a hundred years
old.
Kelly Said,
“We have sent for a forensic anthropologist from the University to document
the tomb. We will know more when we have that report.”
Chapter 6 - Ghost Hunt
After running
into camp, Dad is out of breath and shakes me, “Wake up, the camera started,
wake up. Get your sister, let’s go.”
“Wake up
who?” I ask sitting up, startled.
Neewa slides
out the tent opening following Dad as he gathers some stuff and starts up the
trail.
My mouth starts
to form words, who was the dead gambler? Then I realize it was just a dream.
Shaking
Jackie’s shoulder and arm, “Jackie wake up, wake up, the motion detector
went off.”
“What time is
it?” Rubbing her eyes, she tries to sit up but falls over and back to sleep.
Putting on my
boots I reply, “Three AM, and it’s cold out. Get the flashlights.”
In seconds
Neewa and I are jogging up the trail with great expectation of what we will
find.
By the time I
get half way there I’m out of breath, gasping for air. Neewa circles me as I
stop and stand on the side of the path to catch my breath. I wheeze for more
thin air. At this altitude my asthma could kick in at any moment. As I catch my
breath Jackie the cross-country runner passes by.
“Meet you up
there Christina,” She huffs.
Neewa runs to
her side as she passes, Jackie pats her head. They run together for a few
strides, before Neewa turns and comes back to my side.
There’s no
one else out on the trail, no barking dogs, or roaring car engines speeding by.
Other than our flashlights streaking through the air, the stars, and a half moon
illuminate our path and reveal the dark silhouettes of the mountains around us.
I inhale the
scents of the sage, and lichen-covered rock moist from the morning dew. Morning
mist hangs over the trail and disappears in the darkness while a gentle breeze
whistles through the dry grasses and rock crevasses near the trail.
Finally Neewa
and I arrive at the stakeout. I put on the night vision goggles and check for
red or purple shapes moving in the sea of darkness around me.
“Yo Poppy, no
heat-emitting bodies giving off infrared thermal energy out here,” I report.
Dad is
fidgeting with the cameras, “The digital camera ran for one minute and ten
seconds,” he says. But the infrared camera didn’t even turn on.”
“Why didn’t
the motion detector turn on the IR camera?” I ask.
He shakes his
head. “I don’t know, we have to check it out when we get back home.”
I suggest,
“Jackie, check the radio frequency field strength meter.”
Jackie
displeased replies, “Dad kept it in his backpack at the camp, it wasn’t even
here.”
“My bad,”
he says, “Check the other meters.”
“The light
meter and the spectrometer are still at the tent in Jackie’s backpack,” I
add with a bit of sarcasm.
“We’ll have
to put them out next time,” Dad says.
Digital camera
in hand, he rewinds the tape back to the beginning. As it plays we all squeeze
together to watch the screen. Our faces are motionless, like children peering
out of a window, watching the first snowfall. Excited we watch, nothing,
nothing, nothing.
Whiz! Something
flies across the screen at the speed of light. It looked like a giant pair of
wings. Losing my balance I fall backwards onto my butt.
“What is
it?” Jackie exclaims.
“I don’t
know. Neewa, stop licking my face, Yuck!” Her tongue swipes my cheek and eye.
“Ha, ha,”
Jackie and Dad stare at me as I scramble to my feet.
“What was
that?” I ask laughing getting between them in front of the screen.
Disappointed
Dad replies, “Looks like a big old owl to me.”
Jackie sighs,
“That’s no ghost.”
He rewinds the
tape playing it back in slow motion this time. We watch the screen anticipating
the flying object.
Swoosh! It
passes from one side of the screen to the other in a second.
“It’s a
Western Screech Owl,” he mumbles.
An owl is not a
ghost and an owl is not going to get me my own TV show.
“The meter is
reading twenty-two milliguass (MG) of electro magnetic waves at the same time
the owl flew past the camera,” I say.
“How do you
explain that?” Jackie asks.
Dad is busy
adding up all the radiation given off by our equipment.
“Let’s see,
we have a total of about eight MG from all this stuff. That leaves fourteen
unexplained, which is equal to the electromagnetic field given off by two
televisions and a microphone.” Dad concludes.
“I don’t
see any TV’s here, do you?” I add.
“This is
curious, if there were electric lights, wires or some other source of this
energy, that would explain the reading. But I don’t see anything that would
give off that much energy,” Dad questions.
Determined to
account for the discrepancy he explains, “I checked the electromagnetic field
on the trail before I set up our trap. It was less than one MG, which is the
normal level anywhere on Earth. If it was the owl that caused it to jump to
twenty four MG, then maybe the owl was not an owl.”
“Check the
other meters. Did the aerometer register anything when the owl flew by?”
I read the
meter, “The wind thingy says seventy miles per hour. That’s pretty fast for
an owl. How fast do owl’s fly anyway?”
“Well if that
owl caused the increase in wind speed, then that would mean it was an owl and
not a ghost. Or the ghost could have taken the shape of the owl,” Dad ponders
aloud.
I add, “I
don’t know, the evidence seems to be inconclusive. We will have to examine
everything again when we get home.”
Slowly dark sky
is filling with new light in the east, giving way to pink and fuchsia rays of
light. To the west is darkness, stars, planets, and the Milky Way. Like jewels
they are dazzling, glowing, as we stand between night and day.
Sunlight colors
the mountains ruby red as it peaks over the ridge highlighting the jagged edges.
Warmth radiates
orange and purple against the soft blue horizon. Light pushes away night,
darkness fades into the light of day.
Dad and Jackie
begin to pack up our stuff for the trip home as Neewa and I play a game. The
game is I pet her with big strokes along her back, neck, and behind the ears.
When I stop, she jumps up on me, begging for more. It’s Neewa’s favorite
game.
On the way home
Neewa and Jackie are asleep, but I’m awake thinking about that ghost. I was
sure we were going to catch it. I wonder if we did.
Having a video
of an owl traveling at seventy miles per hour and a reading on one meter of
twenty-two milliguass (MG) of electromagnetic field doesn’t prove we captured
Mrs. Waldo’s ghost.
But I know
ghosts are real, they are. And I’m going to catch one.
We have the
latest ghost hunting stuff, better than all the other hunters. All paranormal
investigators have equipment that detects different types of energy including
magnetic, microwave, and wind as well as electrical, sound, and light.
Some scientists
say these types of energy are white energy. They say white energy can be seen,
touched and measured. These same researchers say white energy makes up
ninety-eight percent of all the natural energy in the universe.
A small group
of scientists see galaxies moving in ways that can’t be explained by normal
laws of mechanics. They theorize it is dark energy that comprises ninety-eight
percent of the energy in the universe. Dark energy cannot be seen, touched, or
measured. Nobody seems to know very much about it.
Drifting in and
out of sleep, I wake up and fall back again as we travel the long trip home from
Donner State Park.
I didn’t get
the proof I needed to prove that the ghost exists, but I’ll capture one yet,
you wait and see.
We arrive home
too tired to unpack everything, so we take in the cameras and most of the
important meters and go to bed.
“Good night,
Dad, love you.”
“Good night
Christina, Jackie, love you.”
“Love you
Dad,” Jackie says.
“Good night
Neewa.”
Neewa cuddles
up near my feet. She looks up at me, content. Her grey eyes stare back at me,
looking for attention. She rolls to her side and takes a deep breath. Her rib
cage rises and falls as she lets out a slight snort and closes her eyes.
When Neewa
dreams she rolls over and lets out a yelp at the same time. Then she talks in
doggy language about something. I wonder what she’s talking about? Do all dogs
dream?
Chapter 7 - The Illness
It is evening
and Neewa hasn’t eaten all day. She is exhausted, not herself at all, and she
is not drinking any water either.
Her black nose
is dry and she is coughing. On top of that, she has brown stuff in the corners
of her eyes.
Panic grips me
as I look at her, “Dad, we have to take Neewa to the vet right away.”
Dad has noticed
the change in her. He looks at me then her again. Moments later we are carrying
Neewa to the car. We jump in and drive to the veterinarian.
After waiting
an hour, we are shown into the examination room. The vet enters and takes a
quick look at Neewa’s eyes, ears and nose.
He looks at her
concerned, “She is very sick with a disease called distemper a deadly K9
disease.”
“There is
nothing I can do for her, she will not make it. I’m sorry.” He shrugs his
shoulders and walks to the exit adding, “Please see my secretary on your way
out.”
My head falls
into my hands and I burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably I’m unable to
stop trembling.
“Dad, don’t
let her die! Please!” I cry.
The vet stops,
turns and walks back toward us, “There is a remote chance she will recover but
it is not likely. When dogs are born they must be immunized for distemper.
It’s serious and can spread rapidly through a kennel, especially if
unvaccinated individuals are present. Not all patients die, however a
significant number do. Dogs of every age are susceptible, however, the very
young and old have the highest death rate, as high as seventy five percent.
Patients that recover from distemper may suffer permanent damage to vision as
well as the nervous system. Puppies can have severely mottled teeth, losing many
of them due to abnormalities in the developing enamel.”
He leaves the
room. Dad, Jackie and I carry Neewa to the van. Once inside I weep all the whole
way home.
“I can’t
just watch her die, we have to do something.”
I look at her
on my lap, motionless, “Neewa, don’t die.”
When we arrive
home, Dad goes to the phone and calls everyone we know, most of whom are his
Native American friends from work.
I sit crying in
the corner with Neewa next to me. She looks at me pathetically as if she is
about to die.
Jackie begins
to sob and slams her door, locking herself in her room.
Neewa has more
brown sand in the corners of her eyes and is coughing a high-pitched cough. Dad
says she sounds like me when I was a baby. I used to have asthma attacks.
Dad exclaims,
“Everyone I’ve spoken to is talking about a vet named Cuthberson. He’s the
best one around, they say if he can’t save her, no one can.”
Dad finds his
number in the old gray phone book in the kitchen drawer and calls. His answering
machine picks up the call and a voice says, “You have reached the office of
Doctor Cuthberson. We have no appointments available. The doctor is at the
county fairgrounds all week. Please call back after Saturday, thank you.”
“He is the
official county fair veterinarian. Tomorrow is the last day. The doctor will be
there all day,” Dad declares.
I interrupt,
“I’m going to find that doctor and he’s going to save Neewa.”
***
I wake up early
Saturday morning. Dad and I are on our way to the fair to find the doctor.
Jackie is staying behind with the Burns family for the day. She can take care of
Neewa, look in on her, and give her water while I’m away. Although she
hasn’t drank anything in a while.
Dad and I
arrive at the fairgrounds not knowing where Doctor Cuthberson is. I’m
searching for a doctor I’ve never met, nor do I have any idea what he looks
like.
Dad and I go
straight for the First Aid tent, he must be there. Upon arriving, the tent
doesn’t appear to be busy at all, but with this heat it will be.
I question the
attendant, “Is Doctor Cuthberson here?”
“No,” he
replies. “He spends most of his time by the stables. He works out of his
mobile hospital parked at building number two.
Dad and I split
up taking different paths to cover more ground inside the razor wire topped
fence that surrounds the fair’s compound.
I’m going
straight to the mobile hospital to check and see if he is there. Dad is going to
try the vendor area and talk to some of his friends who are volunteering at the
booths.
I’m walking
aimlessly in ninety-degree of dry heat and it’s only eleven o’clock. My
clothes are sticking to my body like plastic wrap.
I pass corrals
of horses, Arabian, American Quarter, Thoroughbreds and more.
And 4-H club exhibits with sheep, rabbits, and chickens of every variety.
The hot breeze swirls through the grounds laden with the smell of farm animals,
their barns full of cows, Guernsey, Friesian and Jersey, pigs too, of every
variety and more, so much more.
Events like
steer wrestling and horse jumping are going on in the two side arenas. Acres and
acres of competitions, booths, games of chance, and even amusement rides
surround me as the sun beats down from directly above as it approaches midday.
I stop to sit
in the shade and sip my water bottle for a moment. In the background the
rollercoaster screams and the Himalaya circles one way, stops, and then
reverses, while the riders scream for more. Those are my favorites rides. When I
was little Dad took us on all of them back home at our county fair. We rode the
highest and fastest roller coasters on the East coast too.
Another hour
passes and I still haven’t found him.
I ask a family
sitting by their animals at a 4-H exhibit, “Have you seen Doctor Cuthberson?”
I sigh.
“No haven’t
seen him,” someone in the circle responds.
Further down
the dirt walkway at the end of the barn, I ask a group of trainers standing at
the horse stables, “Can you tell me where Doctor Cuthberson is?”
“He hasn’t
been around yet today,” one of them replies.
Suddenly the
loudspeaker blares, “Attention, attention, five minutes till the start of the
chuck wagon race.”
The main arena
for the race is just down this walkway the sign says. Stopping near the
pig-racing track, I look around to get my bearings. I have no way of knowing
where he is in this gigantic carnival.
I catch a
glimpse of the information booth out of the corner of my eye.
The man inside
the booth begins another announcement, “Dr. Cuthberson, paging Dr. Cuthberson,
please report to the chuck wagon race starting line.”
I sprint to the
announcer at the booth.
“Where is he?
Where is Dr. Cuthberson?” I screech.
The man points
into the massive crowd of people walking in every direction. His finger guides
my eyes across the huge public walkway packed with people.
Strollers are
speeding everywhere--doublewides, tandems, and triples. Grandmothers cuddle
crying babies. Vendors sell their wares up and down the pavement. Clowns with
huge red, green, and purple balloons amuse the children. People rush in every
direction.
“There he is,
right there,” The announcer points.
“Where?
Where?” I shout.
“The tall man
with the tan hat and red neckerchief,” The broadcaster holds his raised arm
steady pointing in his direction.
I’m
mesmerized, frozen as I stare at Doctor Cuthberson for the first time. The crowd
seems to part for the six-foot tall lanky figure sporting a black ten gallon hat
atop his head. He strolls toward the arena dressed in blue jeans, and a western
shirt with the collar open below his stubby unshaven chin. Suddenly he
disappears into the crowd, swallowed up by the masses.
Scrambling into
the mob, I push through the heap of humanity struggling to get to the opposite
side of the pavement where he walked just a moment ago.
“Shoot! Lost
him,” I moan finding myself standing where he stood.
I run in the
direction he took, jumping up to see above the crowd, straining to locate him.
But he’s nowhere to be seen.
I decide to
race him to the chuck wagon starting line. Zigzagging and crisscrossing through
throngs of people, darting between bodies, I arrive at a dead end.
In front of me
is a stadium full of people standing and cheering for their favorite teams.
Dressed in cowboy hats, multi-hued tops, and waving colored bandanas. The roar
from within is deafening as the crowd pulsates, forward and back.
At the starting
line of the oval dirt track are chuck wagon teams lined up four across. Each
team has six horses decorated with the team’s colors, matching blankets, and
blinkers. Every horse is decked out with a classy harness, collar, and bridle,
and tethered by leather straps.
Horses are
snorting and stomping their feet, anticipating the start of the race. Arabians,
Paints, and Appaloosas stand side by side. Their brushed coats glisten in the
sun, while rigging of polished golden wood frames their grand physiques.
Seated behind
each harnessed team of horses are a driver and passenger--adorned with
color-coordinated bow ties, and silk. They wear cowboy hats, vests, and chaps
that cover their blue jeans and custom leather boots. And sit on the edge of
their seats with reins in hand waiting for the starting gun to fire.
Behind each
doublewide seat is a fifteen-foot high covered wagon painted with the name and
logo of their ranch.
The
colors of the drivers’ shirts match the canvas covering the wagons. It reminds
me of back home and the many trips to the horse races with my Grandma on
Thursday nights.
I
exhale a deep sigh and take a bench seat in the no charge viewing stands at the
far end of the arena. While the paid seats in the center of the stadium are
packed, not an empty spot in sight.
Chapter 8 - The Starting Line
“On
your mark, get set…” The starter’s words ring out over the public address
system, “Bang!” He fires his pistol into the air.
Drivers
snap their reins, sending a clear message to the teams. Shaking the ground, they
sprint away from the starting line, twenty-four feet of horses followed by
twenty more of iron, wood, and canvas.
Racing
into the first turn, wagons squeeze together as drivers lean to the inside to
keep their balance. Each expert coachman controlling ten tons of flesh and
carriage thundering down the track. Racing through the turn, the wagons reflect
the light of the sinking sun behind them. They pass the shadows of shade trees
under western blue skies. Into the straightaway they sprint, a continuous stream
of dust kicks up into the air behind them. Maneuvering for position, each team
tries to take the lead.
The
announcer calls out their order as they enter the last turn. “It’s the
Hawker Ranch in the lead, followed by the Bond Farm, La Rosa Ranch is third, and
bringing up the rear is the Quest Group!”
Coming
through the backstretch and heading for the finish, the teams gallop four
abreast. A mountain of wood and animals roar past the grand stands.
People
are jumping up and down waving colored bandanas and hats. Everyone is standing,
electrified, as the teams stampede by. My seat vibrates as if a clap of thunder
has just hit nearby.
All
of a sudden Crash! Boom! Bang! Comes from the finish line in an explosion.
Clouds of dust rise above the size of hot air balloons, obscuring the finish,
silencing the arena. Air Currents scoop up the dust and carry it away, revealing
a mound of wagons and horse teams in chaos.
The
dreadful image burns in my mind. Horses are tangled, trapped, raising their
heads straining to be free. Two teams of horses are knotted together amid the
pandemonium, and two lone horses are ensnared by wagons, held captive by their
harnesses in the mangled wreckage.
What
once were horse drawn wagons are now twisted metal, torn canvas, and splintered
wood.
The
crowd already silent, lets out a collective gasp, “Oh!”
A
man behind me sighs, “They are going to have to destroy that horse,” he
points at a trapped horse.
I
leap from my seat, crossing the blacktop and climb to the top of the arena
fence.
A
grisly sight, horses are whinnying and snorting, struggling to be liberated,
gasping for freedom.
“Looks
bad,” a man near by whispers to his friend.
It’s
a miracle, all the drivers and passengers seem to have escaped injury. A few can
be seen, in shock, eyeing the devastation, not knowing what to do first.
Trainers,
bronco riders, and calf ropers are risking their lives running into the wreck to
rescue the teams of horses.
Men
brandishing blades of steel cut agitated horses from their harnesses. Spooked,
shaking their heads, one Appaloosa and an Arabian dash in opposite directions.
They run erratically through the arena, each turning at different intervals,
only to dart back from where they came.
More
men rush to help. Carefully crossing the track, glancing in every direction, not
wanting to be trampled by horses running untamed in the arena.
One
team of six horses, wagon-less, is careening around the track eerily holding
their heads high--manes blowing in the wind--bodies sweating--eyes bulging.
Someone
shouts in amazement, “There goes Doc Cuthberson! Look at him climb into the
wreckage!”
Another
man yells, “He’s fearless!”
Before
anyone can blink an eye, he’s in the middle of the debris grasping the reins
of one ensnared horse, pulling it to its feet. Reaching to untangle another, he
coaxes it to his side. Everyone in the bleachers is in shock, motionless, eyeing
his every move.
Horses
are still running loose in the stadium. Cowboys, with lassoes in hand are
chasing them down. Wagons from the massive crash are being hoisted and towed
from the arena by teams of men with trucks and chain.
Holding
the horses, he perilously stands his ground, ordering the cowboys, “Pull
there! Push that wagon! Now that one!” He yells, “Hurry boys, hurry.”
Cowboys
are yelling, shouting orders to untangle the wagons surrounding Doc and the two
remaining horses. Working feverishly side-by-side, they thrust and heave,
determined to free up the wagons. Finally, untangled, they are swiftly pulled
away.
Smiling,
almost laughing, Doc immerges from the chaos jogging toward the main gate with
the two horses in his grasp.
Concerned
owners and trainers run to him, eager to take their horses and calm them with
familiar words and comforting strokes. Cautiously they inspect the livestock for
injury, and then whisk them away to their stalls for further care.
Many
in the crowd sigh, one concedes, “I’m glad that’s over with.”
Another
exhales, “That was a close call.”
“Were
any of the horses hurt bad?” I ask.
“Won’t
know till Doc checks them out,” someone responds in a hopeful tone winking and
holding up two crossed fingers.
Now
is my chance to see Doc Cuthberson--to save Neewa. I jump from the corral rails
and sprint to the stables to find him.
Arriving
in moments at a gigantic wooden barn between the arena and stables. I hesitate
before entering. Slowly I peer around the corner and inside. Thick wooden
timbers climb from the floor to the cross beams that traverse it’s length and
width above me. Dim sunlight shines through a few tattered boards protecting the
loft full of hay from rain and wind. Bowls of milk for the cats sit on the floor
boards next to the green poison for the unwanted rats that will soon prowl
through the night.
On
the hay-covered dirt floor, horses held by their trainers, wait their turn for
the vets assessment of every bump and bruise. Everyone is talking about the
crash. Their voices are laden with concern. That’s when I see him, kneeling
along side an appaloosa gelding of at least fifteen hands, examining, and gently
patting his side.
Tears
stream down my cheeks as I stagger up to him and cry out, “Dr. Cuthberson my
puppy has distemper--she is going to die--you’ve gotta save her!”
I
plead, “Can you help her? Please?”
Perplexed,
he looks up at me as he gets to his feet. Stepping away from his patient he
takes off his big hat and with one great swipe brushes off his jeans. Staring at
me, he circles around the far side of the horse, and continues his evaluation,
checking head, front quarter, hindquarter, and legs.
At
last he looks at me and says, “Little girl, what the heck are you doing
here?”
Glancing
away he spits a wade of chew onto the dirt floor and then observes the tears
streaming down my cheek.
He
leans over the horse between us and with a thick western accent whispers,
“Bring ‘er to my office tomorrow morning, I’ll take a look at ‘er,
we’ll see what we can do.”
“Thank
you, thank you,” I blubber wiping tears from my under my eyes, standing,
staring, in shock.
The
concerned owner of this horse peers over Doc’s shoulder at me. They stand
there among many horses and owners patting their steeds, silently waiting.
Doc
says, “This one will be all right. Wrap up all four ankles good and tight.”
He nods to a man in a white coat to his right watching every move.
The
horse’s owner exhales in relief.
Turning
on his heels doc walks away, headed for the next one in line. A rancher walks up
to him, doctor recognizes the man and smiles.
“Doc,
I need you out at my ranch right away. I can fly you out in my plane,” the
rancher says sounding troubled.
“I
hardly use a car anymore,” Doc says, as he walks along side the rancher. “I
have to check on the rest of these horses first. Then we’ll go.”
Both
men have serious expressions on their faces as they go separate ways. Again Doc
Cuthberson disappears, this time swallowed up by a swarm of horses and their
caregivers.
All
I know is he’s ‘gonna see Neewa tomorrow. He’s going to save her. I know
he is.
I
turn and run toward the main fair grounds leaving the chaos at the stables
behind me. Sounds of whinnying horses being tended by worried trainers fade into
the distance.
While
the happy sounds of the fair, previously extinguished, gain new volume. Back in
the hustle and bustle, I’m beside myself with joy. Trying to hold back my
sobbing and regain my composure, I stop near a bench along a walkway and sit.
Below
the twilight sky are the bright lights of the fairgrounds. The Ferris wheel
turns against the star-studded backdrop. Riders scream as they reach the top of
its great circle and then descend back to the ground. In the distance the
Egyptian Boat rocks one-way and then the other, increasing its arc, higher and
higher with every to and fro.
Up
and jogging again, around me people are strolling, laughing, eating, and rushing
to their next thrilling moment.
Vendors
hawk their toys, beckoning would-be buyers to come forward.
The
fair will be closing down later tonight, its over until next year.
I
run to Dad who is sitting at the information booth where we agreed to meet.
“Christina
I haven’t been able to find him,” he blurts out.
“But
I have,” I shout. “I found him and we can bring Neewa to his office in the
morning.”
“He’s
going to see her on a Sunday morning?” His voice gets louder in disbelief.
“Yeah
I got it covered. I’ll tell you all about it. All I want to do is go home.”
Heading
for the exit, I spot Doctor Cuthberson being driven through the fairgrounds to
the airport. He’ll soon be flying out to that ranch.
“He
is going to see a sick horse out in Winnemucca,” says one man to another
walking next to us. “The ranchers depend on him to care for the large animals
in this county.”
“He’s
the only one in these parts,” a woman chimes in.
“Yup,
he travels miles to care for the horses, cattle, and sheep around here,”
another adds.
Working
my way through the crowd toward the van with Dad my thoughts wonder. No one told
me he doctors only large animals. He’s different from the other veterinarian
in town who cares for dogs, cats, and smaller pets. He stays in his office and
has the animals come to him. Dr. Cuthberson flies across the county to take care
of all the ranchers’ large animals.
Once
in the car, I tell Dad the whole story. How I first laid eyes on him through the
crowd of people. Where I ran to find him at the chuck wagon race, and all the
riders and horses that barley escaped injury in the terrifying accident. And
about witnessing all the people running to the rescue, and the Doctor in the
middle of the wreck saving the trapped horses. Lastly, I tell Dad how I found
him at the stables caring for every one of those horses.
We
arrive at home and I run to check on Neewa. She is not well, about the same as
when I left her this morning, maybe worse. She tries to drink some water from
the bowl I raise to her mouth, but only takes a little. Her nose feels like
dried leather. Trying to greet me, she shakes as she stands, then collapses down
to the ground in a ball of white fur.
I
cry as I tell her, “You have to hold on, I’m going to take you to the doctor
tomorrow. He is going to save you.”
Neewa
looks at me as if she understands. But her look tells me, this had better work,
because I’m not gonna to be able to hold on much longer.
I
sob and tell her, “You have to stay outside again tonight.” I hold her close
to me, “I can’t keep you inside Neewa, you’re too sick. Tomorrow
everything is going to be better. I know Dr. Cuthberson will save you. You have
to make it through the night, you have to, you hear me!” I pull her face into
mine. Her dried nose against my cheek.
She looks at me with her
sagging big grey eyes. I clean the crusty discharge from the corners and hold
her close to me as she closes her eyes and falls asleep.
Chapter 9 - Doc’s
It’s
morning and we arrive at Dr. Cuthberson’s ranch. Dad and I carry Neewa into
the office.
His
assistant in a white coat comes to meet us, “I’m Lyle, the doctor is helping
one of his mares give birth. Do you want to come watch?”
“Bring your puppy, she
can’t hurt any animals here.” Lyle says as we walk through the empty waiting
room.
Mumbling
as we walk, “I don’t want to see this, I really hate blood.”
Jackie
follows the assistant saying, “I wanta see.”
Dad
carries Neewa in his arms. She is limp, not at all the same frisky puppy we
adopted at the pound months ago.
Keeping
my head down and hiding my eyes, I enter the barn. The faint scents of manure
and hay hang in the air. Every stall is clean, with a layer of fresh hay and a
bucket of oats hung on the side. Colorful blankets are draped over the sidewalls
of each stall, and a wooden name placard prominently hangs above each gate.
“Where
are all the other horses?” I ask Lyle the assistant.
He
answers, “They are out in the pastures for the day, we bring them in around
five.”
Unsure
of myself, I lag behind everyone as we enter the fifth stall. The mare is lying
down, breathing heavily. Her foal is beginning to show. I can already see the
foal’s legs outside of the birth canal. Above the stalls entrance is her name,
Queen Ann.
Doc
says, “It’s her time to give birth.”
Jackie’s
eyes are wide as she and Dad watch.
I
decide to leave and maybe come back later, when it’s all over. Dad holds Neewa,
as I duck into the next stall, hoping I don’t puke.
“Is
it a filly or a colt?” Lyle excitedly asks the Doctor.
Sounds
of water gurgling and suction emanate from the stall.
Sweat
drips from his forehead as he answers, “Don’t know yet.”
Peeking
around the corner, I stare as he helps Queen Ann. He gently pulls the legs of
the foal, who is born a few seconds later.
“It’s
a filly!” he exclaims.
Slinking
back into the birthing stall, I watch the newborn lying on the hay next to her
mother.
My
stomach begins to settle. What a great movie this would make, someone should
videotape this. But it isn’t for the fainthearted.
Doctor
Cuthberson says to his assistant, “Lyle, you watch the filly. I’ll be back
after I take a look at the puppy.”
We
follow him into the examination room near the front office. Dad places Neewa on
the stainless steel table in the middle of the room. She collapses into a white
lump.
Ammonia,
strong enough to cause me to tear permeates the air in the clean and organized
room. I gaze around the room at locked medicine cabinets. Under the large
windows is a row of glass cases. Inside are Native American artifacts and
artwork, with pottery, baskets, and weapons labeled and dated just like in a
museum. Woven blankets and oil paintings of fierce looking Indian chiefs cover
the walls.
Doc
Cuthberson turns from the sink and begins the examination. Methodically he looks
at her eyes, nose, and mouth, quickly completing the procedure.
His
voice is confident as he quickly speaks, “I wanta give her a shot of live
distemper virus, maybe jump start her immune system. It’s not the usual
treatment, but it’s her best chance to live. It could kill her too. If I
don’t give her the shot she’ll die for sure.”
Swiftly
and just as convincingly I reply, “Give her the shot,” Dad nods his consent.
Doc
doesn’t say a word as he leaves the room, returning in seconds with the shot.
He grabs a hand full of her butt cheek fur and skin and sticks the needle in.
She yelps.
Without
delay he says, “Leave her here overnight. Pick her up after school tomorrow.
We’ll keep an eye on her.”
He
politely says, “Good luck,” and hastily heads back to his new filly.
I
look at him, “Thank you for helping Neewa.”
Doc
looks at me with piercing blue eyes surrounded by dark skin and ferruled brow.
The door slams closed, locking behind him.
Neewa
is still on the table, “You have to stay here tonight,” I hold her. “The
doctor will take care of you.”
Tears
run down my face as I squeeze her close to me. I feel so helpless. There is
nothing I can do but pray.
Moments
after doc leaves, Lyle the veterinary assistant enters the room.
He
looks at me saying, “The doctor gave her the live virus in hopes that her
immune system will strengthen and fight off the disease. Don’t worry we will
keep an eye on her for ya.”
He
gently takes her from the table and my grasp. I lunge forward to give her one
last kiss and hug.
Lyle
walks us to the exit. The door shuts with a bang. I walk away sniveling.
Jackie
is upset and puts her arm around me as we walk to the van.
Dad
embraces us and says, “She’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
Driving
out of Doc’s driveway, I look out the window. Somewhere on this ranch, Neewa
is lying helpless in a cage, alone in the desert again, just like when she was
born.
Jackie
all excited says, “Christina! Look at the K-2 meter. It’s flashing like
mad.”
I
look toward Jackie, tears still welling in my eyes. “I can’t think about
that right now.”
Dad
gushes with excitement, “Did you see those masks on the wall? One was labeled,
Sun Dance Headdress and another marked Shaman Spirit Mask. And there were
ancient medicines and powders in that other glass cabinet in the corner.”
Jackie
adds, “I saw a scepter that had some kind of hair on it. I hope its not human
hair, eek.”
Dad
turns toward me with a glaring stare, “Doc Cuthberson is either a collector,
or a shaman. I’ll bet they have secret ceremonies out here.”
Jackie
shrieks, “I brought the pocket spectrometer and the radio frequency meter too.
The readings are off the charts!”
“What’s
going on out here?” Jackie yells.
Dad
eagerly says, “Lets do an investigation when we come back here tomorrow to
pick up Neewa. We’ll bring the cameras and take video of the ranch. I’ll bet
this place has all kinds of paranormal activity.”
“Christina,
what do you think?” Jackie asks, trying to distract me from Neewa’s critical
condition.
“I’m
worried about Neewa. I pray she lives.”
Chapter 10 - Back to Doc’s
I’m
waiting at the curb for Dad and Jackie to pick me up.
“Let’s
go Dad,” I demand jumping into the backseat. “I have to go get Neewa.”
The
ride out to doc’s ranch seems never ending. I twitch and move around in my
seat but I can’t settle down. Finally we arrive.
Dad
points to some boxes in the back seat, “We have the cameras and some of the
other equipment for our investigation of Doc’s ranch. I’ll set everything up
in the back of the van before I go in. Jackie you stay in the van and watch
everything. Make sure the cameras are running.”
Jackie
moans, “I don’t see why I have to wait out here and take the video while you
guys go inside.”
Jackie
smirks, “Yeah, yeah, okay I‘ll stay here and sweat to death. No, I’m going
for a walk around the ranch till I find a nice cool shade tree to sit under.”
Dad
whispers, “Okay, but keep everything in sight. I don’t want to get caught
snooping around.”
In
the waiting room, I clench my sweaty fists and pace from wall to wall. Our
Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name… I pray Neewa will be all
right.
Dad
is walking around the room looking at all the artifacts. He’s taking notes as
he goes from one display to another.
“Here
she is,” Lyle boasts, walking her through the door into the waiting room.
“Neewa’s
walking,” I exclaim, jumping to my knees to embrace her.
She
is wagging her tail. That’s good, really good. Even her nose is a little wet.
I hold her close as I feel the thump, thump, thump, of her tail on my ankles.
Dad
gets his traditional sniff and lick on the hand. In return, Neewa expects and
gets a scratch on the head, just behind her ears.
“Is
she okay? Will she live?” I stutter, blinking my eyes, anxious to hear his
answer.
He
kneels next to me stroking Neewa’s ivory white coat, scratching her behind the
ears. “Doc thinks she is going to make it, but she’s still in danger.”
Walking
us to the front of the building Lyle says, “The doctor said give Neewa plenty
of water, dry food only, and one of these pills every six hours. You have
already given her the best chance to live.”
I
stare at the sign on the wall, “All Doctors Fees are Payable on the Day of
Examination.”
Lyle
sees me and says, “We will take no money from you and Neewa.” He hastens,
“Doc wants her back here in two weeks. Oh, and he had a question… where was
she born?”
I
answer, “The dogcatcher said she was born on the desert, just outside of town.
We adopted her at the pound.”
“Oh,”
He nods closing the door behind us.
Neewa
walks across the parking lot, excited to be free, she tenderly frolics around us
on the way to the van. She runs to Jackie, who hugs her, and in return gets a
lick on the face, from eye to forehead.
“Neewa
your breath stinks,” She says.
I’m
so thrilled to have her back. At last, I can laugh again.
Neewa
hops gingerly into the van and stands on the back seat waiting for me. Watching
me she tilts her head the way she does. She looks so much better.
All
the ghost-hunting crap is in my way as I squeeze into the seat next to her.
Finally
I shout, “Get this stuff out of here, its in Neewa’s way.”
I hand Jackie meter,
camera, and begin to lift up piece after piece of equipment.
Reaching,
Jackie looks at the meter and shouts, “This one is stuck at forty-eight
milligause. That’s twelve higher than the reading we got yesterday, the
highest reading I’ve ever seen.”
Dad
asks, “Jackie did you look for any thing that might give off an
electromagnetic field? Like a transformer or an air conditioning unit?”
“No,
I was busy with all this stuff. Then you guys came back too fast. What am I a
magician?” She blurts out sarcastically.
Dad
looks around and exclaims as we pull away, “This place is loaded with spirits.
I can feel it. As soon as we get home we’ll check all the cameras, meters,
everything.”
We
drive out the rutted driveway leaving Doc’s ranch. He has a vast spread. The
smell of which permeate the hot air. Several barns, two houses, and fenced
corrals dot the landscape. There are a couple of ponds, cattle and horses, and
local birds dipping and diving in the fresh water. They probably get their water
from those spinning windmills; it looks more like an oasis than a ranch.
The
main house has many windows, two big chimneys at each end, and a porch that runs
all the way along the front, side, and across the back. Clotheslines traverse
the yard running from the house to the back fence. There’s one set of clothes
already dry from the hot desert sun.
Neewa
will live. I know she will, although I can still see the disease in her yellow
tinted eyes. And her breath smells really bad. Sitting in the van, I daydream
about giving her food and water, lots of water.
After
getting home I give her one of the pills. The only way to be sure she swallows
it, is to push it down her throat and watch her neck undulate. She walks away
and goes into my room where she curls up in a ball on her bed and goes to sleep.
I
tell her, “Go to sleep girl. It’s time for you to rest. You’re home
now.”
In
the living room, Dad and Jackie are looking at our cameras and meters. It’s
our paranormal lab, at least until we can figure something else out. I call it
ghost-hunting headquarters.
“Did
the camera get anything?” I ask Dad and Jackie.
Dad
replies, “We are looking at the tape now.”
“There,
there,” Jackie exclaims, “That’s a floating orb! There’s another and
another!”
“This
place is paranormal central!”
“Did
you see that?” So excited, Jackie sprays spit on me.
The
hair on the back of my neck stands up, “What are they? And what do they do?
Why would anyone call floating bubbles, orbs?” I sarcastically add.
“Christina
cool it! Give me a second. I’m watching this,” Jackie says perturbed by my
interruptions.
Staring
at the screen, she finally answers me as if she is reading from a textbook.
“The orb is energy being transferred from a source such as, power
lines, heat energy, batteries, or people, to a spirit… or orb, so it can
manifest. It may not even be a conscious act. The spirit is doing what it does.
It’s the way they get their energy.”
Really
excited Dad jumps in, “Finally we got something on film.”
“Look!
Six floating orbs! It’s an orb hotel out there!” Jackie shouts, “Dad they
could be animal spirits. They don’t have to be people spirits, especially
since he’s a vet. I’ll bet a lot of animals die out there. And the ones that
haven’t crossed over yet, well they are still there,” Jackie whispers.
Standing
behind her, I visualize cattle and horses floating through the air.
She
pulls herself closer to the laptop, focused on the screen. “I’m going to
import this video into my movie maker program. I’ll be able to look at the
video and audio tracks separately. Maybe we captured one of those orbs trying to
speak with us.”
Dad
warns, “Jackie, make a backup copy of that file right away, and put another on
a DVD to be safe. And by the way, we can’t tell anyone about this, at least
not until we get back East. First we have to get as far away from here as
possible. Then we can report our findings to the National Paranormal Society.
I’d probably lose my job if we made this discovery public. Besides there is a
lot more ghost hunting still needs to be done before we disclose what we do.”
“I
want to go back out to Doc’s ranch again. We have a good excuse, Neewa’s
follow up is in two weeks,” Jackie adds.
Dad
guesses, “I bet we find their secret Indian burial grounds out there.”
“I’ve
had enough for today,” I close my door.
I’m
finally away from all the ghost talk. Collapsing on my bed, I think about
Neewa’s pills. They look like horse pills, an ugly gray and brown color, and
they are so big.
Maybe
they are horse pills? I just hope they work.
She
is lying down in her own bed now and will probably sleep through the night.
She’s stretched out with her feet up in the air as usual, the way she always
does. When she dreams in that position her feet move back and forth as if she is
running, I laugh at her.
I’ll
have to wake her and give her another pill in a few hours. I hate pushing it
down her throat, but I have to make sure she swallows it or she’ll never get
better.
“Good
night Dad, love you.”
“Good
night Christina, Jackie, love you.”
“Love
you Dad,” Jackie says.
“Good
night, Neewa.”
Chapter 11 - Neewa’s tongue
Waking,
then falling back to sleep and waking again, I look at Neewa lying, helpless.
There is nothing I can do for her but hope she recovers or dies without pain.
Doctor
Cuthberson said he thinks Neewa is going to make it.
I
repeat his words softly, over and over again. “She’s going to make it.
She’s going to make it.”
Finally,
I fall asleep at 5:00 AM, only to be awakened by my alarm a half hour later.
Dragging myself out of bed, I’m so tired, and so not into going to school.
Wagging
her tail, Neewa gets to her feet and wobbles across the rug to her water. I
smile guardedly.
“Dad,
she’s drinking,” I holler into the kitchen. “She’s drinking.”
He
answers, “Great, Christina. Don’t forget to give her a pill.”
Giving
her today’s first pill I tell her, “Girl you have to eat and drink today.
I’m putting you outside with plenty of food and water.”
Snapping
the chain to her collar I tell her, “I’ll be home early, only a half-day of
school today, Yea!” She pulls away and licks my chin.
“Oh
Neewa, don’t lick me, yuck!” We look each other in the eyes as the bus pulls
up. I turn and run to catch it before it drives away. A cloud of dust billows
over her chain as she drags it across the yard till it snaps tight, stopping
her. Staring, Neewa watches me disappear down the street. Looking back at her
standing there, I sigh, today she will lay in the shade, drink plenty of water
and sleep.
I’m
still the new kid at school. I don’t really know anyone. Most of the kids I
meet live on the reservation and go to high school far away in Arizona. The kids
here figure I’ll only be around a little while anyway, so why bother. I feel
the same way, no need to get too friendly, I’ll be leaving soon. It’ll be
good-bye to this place.
One
of the kids on my bus is a real troublemaker. He came up with this hare-brained
scheme to steal his own girlfriend’s stereo. Then he tried to frame me. Said
his girlfriend saw me looking in her bedroom window. He was going to rob his own
girlfriend. She caught him handing her stereo out the window to one of his
posse’.
I
denied it, told them I was at home all night. The cops didn’t believe him.
They
were already following him and his buddies for drinking and drugging. He was
arrested and I was cleared, but can you imagine the trouble I could have been
in.
“Ring,
ring, ring,” that’s the final bell. Am I glad this day is over. I’ll jog
home instead of waiting around for the bus.
As
I run to within a few blocks of home I yell, “Neewa, Neewa!”
She
replies, “Woof, Woof,” in a deep-throated bark. As I enter the yard she is
waiting for me, staring with tilted head, listening to my footsteps approach,
and wagging her tail.
I
run to her and unclip the chain from her collar, telling her, “Good girl.”
I’m
so glad to see you. I stroke her neck and shoulder as she leans into my hand,
panting.
She
circles me, jumping and barking for me to get a toy and play. Then she sprints
around the whole yard, as fast as ever.
“Calm
down Neewa, take it easy, you have to get better first.”
I
look around for the water and food dishes that I put out this morning. All the
water is gone. She might have drunk it? Or maybe she knocked it over? One of the
bowls of food is empty. That means she ate her first meal in days, unless of
course the squirrels got to it first.
I
run inside and return with fresh water. She drinks, and looks up at me. Eagerly,
she slurps up more and dribbles it all over my shoes. Her black nose is shiny
and moist again, not the cracked, dried up, flaking tissue it was a day ago. I
squeeze her and we both fall over onto the dry dirt that covers most of the
yard.
“Yuck!
Neewa your breath stinks!” I cry out scrambling to my feet.
Grasping
her snout and holding her head steady, I peel back her black lips and peek at
her teeth for the first time since her illness. Quickly she shakes loose from my
grip.
Goose
bumps explode on my arms and legs. Cringing I cry out, “Oh my God, Neewa, your
teeth are green, and some are missing.” I stagger away from her feeling like
I’m going to throw up.
Just
then Dad and Jackie arrive home in a whirlwind of dust, as the van pulls up the
alleyway drive.
“How’s
Neewa doing?” Dad asks with a genuine look of concern.
“She
seems okay, I think she’s doing better,” I mumble.
I
get chills thinking about her awful teeth. The first veterinarian warned me
about this. He said she would lose some teeth. Thankfully, she hasn’t lost all
of them. All of the top and bottom premolars are gone, which are the one’s
between her canines and molars.
Neewa
is panting while she lay on the only patch of grass in the yard, gnawing on one
of her soup bones. No problem with her front teeth. She cleaned all the meat
off, not a spec is left on that bone.
Crack!
She splits the bone wide open and feverishly slurps out all the tasty marrow. I
guess there’s nothing wrong with her back teeth either.
Neewa
runs to Dad, prances around us, encouraging us to grab one of her toys and play.
Dad
smiles, “Hey what is that pink thing hanging out of Neewa’s mouth?”
Embarrassed
for Neewa I defend her. “Dad, get over it. That’s her tongue. She lost some
teeth, okay, so her tongue hangs out a little.”
“A
little,” Dad chuckles, “Her whole tongue is sticking out of her mouth.”
“Stop,
you’re making a big thing out of nothing. It’s just the tip hangs out the
side cause her premolars fell out.”
Without
those teeth, Neewa’s pink tongue slips out of the toothless gap. This small
swatch of pink against her black lips gives her a funny, almost hysterical look.
In
fact Neewa’s tongue has become the family joke. I’m always saying, Neewa
stop sticking your tongue out. She looks at me and tilts her head to one side.
Then I burst out laughing.
Everywhere
we go people ask, what is that in her mouth? Or someone might inquire, is that
her tongue hanging out? Yes, we say, and everyone wants to know why.
One
time, a kid walked up to her and pulled on it. Surprised the little girl
exclaimed, yuck! It’s her tongue? We all laughed… and Neewa handles it all
with great dignity.
Neewa
loves to run around the yard, but if I don’t watch her she disappears.
Sometimes she can be blocks away in just seconds. I don’t even know where she
goes. Dad says she visits other dogs, but I think people invite her into their
home. I bet they feed and play with her.
When
I realize she has vanished, I call her to come home. Sometimes she barks and
runs home like the wind. Other times, it takes hours of searching the
neighborhood to find her.
When
I find her, I ask, where have you been? But she won’t tell me. Sometimes when
she runs away, I think she may never come home, but she always does.
It
was right around this time, I started keeping her on the chain, and that’s
when it got weird. Neewa began to dig holes in the yard. First, she dug a hole
over by the steps of the house near a cement wall. No one took much notice,
until she dug two more holes by our fence. It wasn’t long before the yard was
full of holes, a dozen or more. Soon the place looked like the desert in the
movie, Holes…. Everywhere you looked there was another and another.
Her
favorite holes are the ones that are as big as a cave. She crawls down the
entrance on her belly and turns around inside. Then she pokes her head out to
watch, smell, and hear everything going on around her. The dirt she digs out of
each hole is left in a pile at the opening. She rests her head on this mound and
keeps her nose in the air, sniffing the wind.
When
our neighbor Jane saw all the holes Neewa dug, she was totally shocked. She
thinks Neewa digs the holes to stay cool and away from the heat during the day
and at night when it is cold she can stay warm inside.
In
high mountain deserts, summer days and nights have a wide range of temperature.
Days are ninety to a hundred degrees, but nights are cool, sometimes even cold.
Tall
Bristlecone Pine trees shade most of our yard and Neewa’s play area keeping us
cool, especially if there is a breeze. Flowers in the front of the house attract
lots of bees and birds. I’ve seen hummingbirds hovering in the air around
dusk. Then they disappear in the honeysuckle and lilac bushes that crowd the
house and give off sweet fragrances.
We
don’t have to worry about cutting the lawn, the grass just doesn’t grow in a
place that gets so little rainfall.
Chapter 12 - Rodeo
Dad
walks in and trips over one of Neewa’s soup bones. “Whoa!” he shouts
sliding several feet across the room, “what the hell was that?”
I
laugh, “You have to watch where you’re going.”
Dad
kicks the bone out of the doorway and chuckles, “Lets all go to the rodeo. Can
you believe it, a rodeo here in town.”
I
ask myself, go to a rodeo? No, I don’t think so. They tease those animals,
don’t they?
“I’m
not going,” I say.
Dad
answers from his room, “It’s the Woman’s National Championships. The main
events are saddle bronco riding, barrel racing, bull riding, calf roping, and
steer wrestling.”
“I
wanna go,” Jackie shouts from her room.
“All
right I’ll go,” I say reluctantly, knowing Neewa can’t. “But we can
still bring Neewa and keep her outside, right Dad?”
Dad
puts on his best jeans and is stomping his feet into his boots, “Bang!
Bang!”
“What
the hell are you doing?” I ask.
“Bring
the ghost hunting equipment,” He reminds me, “We can test it out at the
rodeo. We’ll see what kind of readings we get from the riders and horses.”
I
have to remember to bring along Neewa’s corkscrew stake and chain to keep her
from running off. As long as we park in the shade, she will be nice and cool.
She can take a nap under the van. I’ll make sure she has plenty of water and
food.
***
Arriving
at the arena, I jump from the van and prepare a place for Neewa, securing her to
the chain and filling her bowls.
While
waiting for Dad and Jackie I study the rippling sand dunes and sagebrush
scattered over the stark desert. Tumbleweeds blow across the landscape driven by
scorching hot winds. Distant mountains change colors with each new angle of the
sun’s rays. Bright rust and amber hues paint the serrated rock faces. Towering
peaks rise over shadowy crevasses under the cloudless blue bird sky.
Scratching
Neewa behind the ear, she leans into my rub for a deeper massage, “You stay
Neewa, don’t pull your stake out of the ground. Here is your lunch and water,
and stay out of the sun. We’ll be back in an hour or so, I promise.”
The
rodeo has already started. I throw my backpack full of ghost hunting stuff over
my shoulder and run for the main gate.
The
parking lot is full of trucks with license plates from every state. I see Idaho,
Wyoming, California, Iowa, and Arizona to name a few, even Canada is here.
As
we walk through the entrance into the arena, the sound of the crowd is
deafening. Fans are cheering and clapping for one of the competitors. Dad and
Jackie are talking to me as an announcement is broadcast over the public address
system.
“I
can’t hear you!” I say. A hush comes over the crowd.
A
woman on horseback, wearing chaps and a hat pulled down tight on her head
disappears into a tunnel at the far end of the arena. The barrel racing
competition has just ended. Staff rush in and roll the bright red barrels off
the main floor for the next event.
Spectators
are perched on railings and fill the bleachers. Families huddle together to
support their daughters, mothers, and sisters. Most are wearing blue jeans, silk
jackets with logos, and of course cowboy hats and boots. The older people have
the traditional dungaree jackets or vests.
As
we search for seats, I look at the spectators filling the bleachers.
The
Native Americans bring their look. It’s more of a hybrid between a western
cowboy and American Indian. The blue jeans and boots are about the same, but
above the waist are Indian blankets or deer skin jackets with fringes. Then
beige faces with characteristic jet-black shoulder length hair and ten gallon
hats with colorful beaded headbands.
Mexicans
Americans have come to compete too, with multi colored ponchos, gaucho hats, and
much shorter hair. In the crowd are a few sombreros with red and yellow trim and
gold tassels.
Finally
we find empty seats at the far end of the arena. Dad sets up the tripod in the
aisle with the infrared camera, while Jackie is getting readings pointing the
infrared thermometer toward the nearby competitors warming up for the next
event. I raise the digital camera to my eye and zoom in and out on the
spectators across the way. The K-2 meter, Ghost Hunter’s favorite device lays
quiet, no lights flashing, detecting EMF here.
No
one around us will ever guess we’re paranormal investigators disguised as
rodeo fans. They have no idea what we are doing, nor do they care.
“Next
event Calf Roping,” Ceremoniously the announcer’s voice blares. “The first
contestant is Josie Sullivan, riding Sissy, representing the Sullivan Ranch,
Gunstock, Colorado.”
While
cheers radiate from the stands, a horse and rider stampede into the rink,
galloping from the tunnel at a furious speed. I jump up in my seat at the sound
of a Bang. A gate flies open releasing a calf from the pen near the tunnel. All
three sprint straight at us at lightening speed, nostrils flared, hooves kicking
dirt up into the air in every direction.
The
calf, fearing for its life, desperately tries to escape the horse and rider
thundering toward it, squeezing the terrified animal closer and closer to the
rail.
Suddenly,
the cowgirl hurls her rope high into the air. In slow motion it soars, hanging
above the ground, circling toward its target. Whoosh! As if by magic it falls
around the calf’s head. Josie pulls the rains of her horse and the team skids
to a stop. As the rope slices the air, snapping tight around the calf’s neck,
it spins a hundred eighty degrees. The stunned calf, eyes rolling back, lands on
all fours.
Jumping
from her horse to the ground, she follows the taught rope with gloved hand to
the calf. She than hoists her cowering prey off its feet, dropping it to the
ground on its side with a thud. In seconds she ties three legs of the bewildered
beast together, and steps back throwing her hands high into the air in triumph.
Everyone
applauds and looks to the clock and standings to gauge her performance. All of
this takes place in about sixty seconds, the amount of time it takes to inhale
and exhale ten breaths.
For
the next hour, horses and riders sprint up and down the arena, pounding their
hoofs, flexing their muscles, and snorting in the air. Again and again the
challenge plays out, woman vs. beast, beast vs. woman.
At
intermission everyone scatters to buy food, programs, and souvenirs as water is
applied to the arena floor to keep the dust down. The wet dirt’s pungent
fragrance filters through my nose to the back of my mouth. I taste the floor.
“I
wanna use the thermal infrared camera Dad, let me have a turn, you always get
it,” I demand.
Handing
my camera to Jackie I say, “Here you take the digital, I’ll use the
infrared.”
Infrared
pictures are called thermo-grams. They display the heat given off by the horses,
riders, and cattle in colorful shades of red, purple, and blue on the screen.
The colors are representations of light outside of the visible spectrum called
emitted radiation.
So
many beautiful horses are all decked out with shiny coats, and elegantly braided
tails and manes. Their bridals and halters sparkle with the reflected light from
above. Silver studs adorn the embossed saddles with strands of rawhide hanging
down.
The
woman riders are dressed in colorful tops, jeans with chaps, and boots with
imposing spurs. Adorned with just the right amount of makeup, bright red
lipstick, and rouge on their checks, the competitors are objects of beauty as
well as power.
Jackie
whispers, “I’m taking a close-up picture of that horse over there with this
sixty X zoom lens. Wow, it feels like I’m riding the horse myself, this is so
cool.”
That’s
the last event, it’s the end of the rodeo.
All
the awards and prize money is being handed out. Cameras are flashing as the
press scrambles to interview the winners.
I
hang out and get some autographs on my program. One of the girls who signed my
program sat near us in the stands. I saw her chewing tobacco.
She
asked me, “Did you have fun at the rodeo?”
I
tell her, “It was really something to see the girls riding, roping, and
wrestling.” She laughed and said, “We are good aren’t we?”
I
said, “Yes you are.”
As
I am going to the exit I hear a women’s voice, “Let’s go to that ghost
town, the one just west of here.”
That
was all I needed to hear as I turn to her smiling, “Excuse me miss, where is
the ghost town?”
She
replies, “Ah, it’s only about five miles from here. You take the main
highway West to a sign that says Automotive Shop and points to the left. Turn
right at the sign and take that dirt road to the end. It leads to a box canyon
where the town is. We’re going there now. Do you want to follow us?”
“Can
we Dad?” I say with a look in my eyes that fully explains the consequences for
a wrong answer.
“Yes,
Yes, definitely, I wanna go,” Dad says while trying to balance all our stuff
strapped around his neck and under his arms.
“Great,”
I declare, “We’ll follow you.”
“We
have a red pick-up with a horse trailer that says Rayburn Ranch on the side,”
she replies.
“Okay
we’ll be right behind you,” I add.
I
run to the van, hurrying to walk Neewa and throw everything into the back of the
van. Dad and Jackie pack the rest and get in, while I scan the parking lot for
the Rayburn’s red truck.
Catching
a glimpse of their trailer I yell out, “There, there they are!”
Chapter 13 - Ghost Town
I’m
nervous, as we turn onto a dirt road at the sign that says Automotive Shop. The
lonely path has wasteland on both sides and those amber and rust mountain peaks
I saw from the arena glimmering in the background, are right in front of me.
Neewa
whines as our van slows down. Dad cracks open the door just enough for Neewa to
push it open with her head and jump out the door. Jumping onto the ground, she
runs alongside of our van and then into the desert kicking up sand as she runs
parallel to us. Her nose just a hair off the hot sand. She stops short, checks
out a prairie dog hole, and continues searching for any other scents.
“Run
Neewa, run!” Exalted by her energy and ability.
My
attention quickly shifts to a faint image of the forgotten colony coming into
view. I silently stare at the eerie looking scene. It looks staged, like a
miniature playhouse dropped from above. Surrounding the discarded settlement are
steep canyon walls on each side and behind, and ten-foot high sand dunes block
the only road leading in and out.
Main
Street, if you want to call it that, is the one and only street with a small row
of buildings on either side. The dwellings once bustling with people are now
deserted.
It’s
a forsaken town, a ghost town. Nothing else is visible anywhere around it. No
electric wires, streetlights, or government building proclaiming ownership. No
abandoned wagons or cars lie about, nothing. Nor is there anyone to be seen,
except the Rayburn’s and us.
Parking
our van alongside the Rayburn truck, we get out as Neewa catches up. She prances
around, circling us wildly, jumping, excited that we are going on a hike.
Jackie, Dad, and I gather up our backpacks and begin the hike into town.
Surprised,
I see a cemetery in the foreground, just about five hundred feet from where we
stand. It is small, filled with knee high weeds, and surrounded by a faded
broken picket fence.
Mr.
Rayburn points at the cemetery, “Places like this were called boom and bust
towns, and they all had their own cemeteries. When someone died, they were
buried with everything they owned. Most people had very few belongings, so the
undertakers left their boots on. That’s why all the towns out West named their
cemeteries Boot Hill. That accounts for the Boot part of the cemetery name. The
Hill part of the name can be explained by the fact that the location picked for
the burials was the highest ground near town. That was in case of a flood. The
town folks didn’t want bodies floating all over the place after a storm.”
Mrs.
Rayburn adds as they walk off together, “Many of these boomtowns lasted only a
few years or until the gold or silver ran out. After that everyone left town,
well almost everyone, none of the inhabitants of Boot Hill ever did, I hope, ha
ha ha.”
I
look at Dad and Jackie, neither of them is laughing.
Inside
the cemetery I find gravestones so battered by the wind and weather they are
blank. The names and dates have worn off. Other headstones have only faint
impressions of the letters and numbers that once spelled out the name, date of
birth, and when they died. If we’re lucky we might find an epitaph telling
something about the deceased or maybe how they died.
I
exclaim, “Wow check this out, Tabor, Agnes P., Pioneer, Wife, Mother.”
Moving
to the next grave, I can hardly believe my eyes. “Dad, Jackie look, Seaborn
Barnes, Sam Bass Gang, Texas Train Robber, shot in the legs during the Mesquite
Train Robbery!”
Dad
walks from the middle of the cemetery and whispers, “Getting any readings on
the K-2?”
“No,
nothing yet.” I kneel down and touch the brittle tombstone, wood flakes away
from under my fingers.
“Christina,
this is so cool. Get a picture of that tombstone with the infrared camera, I
mean the camera.” Jackie looks around as if she let our secret out.
Dad
says excitedly, “There has to be something here. One of these graves might
give off infrared or electromagnetic energy.”
“Don’t
worry about the Smiths. They’ll never figure out we’re hunting ghosts,” I
say.
Dad
and I are first to turn and walk toward the gate to exit the cemetery.
“Hey
wait up, I’m not staying here alone. I’m finish with all these graves. Lets
get out here,” Jackie calls out running to catch up to us.
We
only have a few hours before dark so I’m taking thermo images as we walk into
town.
The
Smiths are already leaving, heading back to their truck. We meet halfway between
the cemetery and town.
Mrs.
Rayburn says, “We’re headed back home to California.”
Once
many years ago, there was gold and silver mines all around this town,” Mr.
Rayburn adds.
“Thanks
for the tip on the ghost town. It’s really awesome,” I reply.
Jackie
agrees, “Yeah, this is sooo cool.”
“Watch
out for Sally Ann.” Mrs. Rayburn says laughing.
I
look at her— “Sally Ann?”
Mrs. Rayburn replies,
“She’s the ghost that lives in town. There is a legend about her and her
brother. He was very ill and she, although dead for years, came back from the
other side to encourage the doctor to help him.”
Mr. Rayburn looks us in
the eye and begins to tell his story. “About one hundred years ago the circuit
doctor was in town and was awakened from a deep sleep by a bright light shining
right in front of him. He sat up quickly, shading his eyes.
At
first he thought that he had overslept. But the glow was not coming from the
window. As his eyes adjusted to the brilliance, he saw a woman dressed in white,
standing at the foot of the bed. A heavenly light surrounded her, and she glowed
from within as well. The doctor gasped in fear and huddled underneath his
bedclothes.
‘Do
not be afraid,’ the spirit said in a kind gentle voice.
The
doctor took heart at her words. He withdrew his head from the covers and looked
right at the glowing woman.
‘I
come to you from another world,’ the woman said.
‘Who
are you?’ The doctor asked.
‘In
life, my name was Sally Ann. I was sister to Simeon Carter.’
‘Why
have you been sent here?’ asked the doctor.
‘I’m
here to tell you that my brother Simeon will die of strychnine poisoning if you
are not more persistent.’
The
doctor swallowed his guilt, remembering his pride in having thought he cured
Simeon.
One
of the earliest lessons he had learned in medical school was how such pride
could cause him to be too confident with his treatments. A patient could die if
the doctor was not thorough. The doctor was falling into this trap with her
brother Simeon.
He thanked the ghost for
her warning and promised to go to her brother at daybreak. Satisfied, the ghost
vanished and the room was in darkness once more.”
After
those words, the Smiths headed for their truck. Mr. Rayburn turns and says, “I
ought to know, Sally Anne was my Grandmother.”
Seconds
later they drive off, leaving Neewa and the three of us in the ghost town, alone
with Sally Ann.
Within
seconds of their departure, out of our knapsacks come the paranormal stuff we
have been concealing from them.
“Okay
let’s go to town,” I say.
Dad
warns, “We have a lot of ground to cover and not much time till sunset. Better
get a move on it— our best chance to catch Sally Ann is at that hotel.”
It’s
around eighty degrees, warm for this time of day. I can feel the nearby canyon
walls radiating the days heat absorbed after many hours in the sun. There is
time before it drops from the sky and disappears. Then it will get cold and
dark, fast.
Neewa
runs off into the canyon, as if destiny was calling her.
“She
can’t disappear in that box canyon, unless of course she can fly over those
cliffs. Ha ha ha,” We all laugh, although I am a bit nervous at the thought of
it.
As
we enter town, I stare at the faded gray structures that line each side of the
street. The wobbly buildings, one and two stories high, have shadowy alleyways
between them.
The
entire town looks like its ready to collapse, complete sections of several roofs
are torn away. Railings and steps on the front porches are crumbling and
decaying. In the same condition are the wooden walkways connecting them.
Splintered planks lie on the once muddy paths, left to rot. Long ago these paths
connected the towns bustling traffic of ladies in puffed out dresses and
feathered bonnets and men wearing vests, boots, and wide brimmed hats to shade
them from the hot sun.
Hollow
openings are all that’s left of the windows and doors, blown out by the harsh
windstorms that frequent the canyons. Several doors dangle by a nail or a hinge,
still in place from the past. About the only thing moving in town are the
shredded raggedy curtains fluttering about, still attached by a thread to the
once modestly decorated second floor boarding rooms of the day.
Bang!
Bang! Echoes down Main Street, the sound comes from somewhere and ricochets off
the back of the canyon. I snap my head up to look for it’s origin, but I
can’t tell which direction it came from.
“Jackie,
make sure you don’t put your finger over the microphone, I want the audio
recording of this ghost town to be perfect. It maybe the only one ever made
here.”
Dad
whispers, “Be quiet, we might capture an EVP.”
I
ask softly, “Jackie what’s an EVP again?”
“Electronic
Voice Phenomenon? It’s a captured recording of one or several disembodied
voices. Most times the voices are not heard as they’re being recorded. Only
when you play back the digital file can you hear them,” She smiles.
“Nobody
go inside any buildings, they might fall apart at any minute,” Dad is
repeating himself again because he’s stressed out about it.
“Chill
Dad, I heard ya! Stop with the crumbling buildings already, we’re not going
in. You are so annoying.”
Jackie
points, “Hey look! That was a dry goods store and over there the saloon, and
there’s the hotel. What’s that other one?”
Jackie
and I walk side-by-side, photographing the few signs still legible on the front
of the buildings. One says Sheriff’s Office, another Blacksmith. Next we work
our way around the back of town with my thermal imaging recorder in hand. I
begin to tape the details of the back of every building. Jackie raises the
digital camera with its sixty X zoom lens to her eye and scans through a door
and down the hallway of a building. Next she zooms into each room through the
outside windows.
“Christina
look! That door, it’s got a bright light around it,” She whispers.
I
walk to her and stare at the door. It’s glowing around the edge, and seemingly
pulsing. A halo surrounds the border of the door.
The
weather beaten cedar door has deep silver and gray vertical ridges. The glass
doorknob is missing, probably taken by a treasure hunter who didn’t have
enough room or strength to take the door.
“I’m
going in,” I whisper to her.
“No
Christina, Dad said don’t go inside.”
“I’m
just going to check that door.”
“Don’t
go,” She whispers.
Before
she can finish her words, I climb in the window and walk at a snail's pace down
the hall. The door shimmers back and forth in the breeze. I stare at the light.
Closer and closer I tiptoe until the finger on my sweaty hand glides along its
edge. I’m about to push it forward when it swings open. All of a sudden bright
sunlight hits me square in my eyes blinding me. Trembling, I peer into the room,
and slink inside. The setting sun sits in the middle of the window opposite me.
“Christina
hurry up,” Jackie implores.
Empty
just bare floorboards and some broken furniture lying about. No ghosts, no
aberration here. I turn and walk back to Jackie who anxiously waits.
Dad’s
gone over to the hotel with the K-2 and radio frequency field strength meters.
He’s at the hotel door when we come from behind the buildings.
“The
K-2 is lighting up like a Christmas Tree,” He exclaims. “Look!” Holding it
up for us to see. The green, yellow, orange, and red lights flash. “What do
you think of this? It could be Sally Ann?”
“Could
be,” I agree, “Dad we recorded everything.”
“Me
too Dad, I zoomed down every hallway and into every room.” Jackie backs up my
story.
“Okay,
it’ll be getting dark soon, no telling who or what might be out here at night.
We’ll check all the recordings at home, lets get out of here!” Dad starts
walking back.
If
only the Smiths stayed a little longer. We could have stayed into the night.
With them here we would have found Sally Ann for sure.
But
with only three of us out here, no thanks. Even the National Paranormal Society
recommends a minimum of five adults at an Investigation. I’m not sure if
that’s for verification, or just safety?
I
fall behind everyone headed for the van as we exit town in a hurry.
“Hey
what is the name of this town anyway?” I yell to Dad and Jackie leading the
way out.
“Don’t
know? We should try to figure that out,” Dad answers.
“I
saw it on the hotel, its Potosi, its spelled P–o-t- o-s-i,” Jackie answers.
“What
kind of name is that? French?” I timidly suggest.
“Maybe,”
Dad replies.
As
we make our way back toward the van we pass the cemetery. The cool night winds
are arriving in town. Dad hands me a sweatshirt from his backpack. I gaze back
at town. It looks like a real ghost town with tumbleweeds blowing down Main
Street.
“Bang!”
“AHHHHH!”
I scream, “What was that?”
That
freaked me out, I’m getting out of here. Panic grips me, my heart pounds.
Jackie raises her hand to cover her mouth, as if to catch a deep sigh.
“Relax,”
Dad utters, “That’s the same shutter we heard banging on the way into
town.”
“It’s
a shutter? I didn’t see any shutters anywhere in town. We’ll check the video
when we get home, you’ll see, that was Sally Ann.”
“It
didn’t sound like the one I herd when we first got here. That one sounded more
like a gun shot?” Jackie recalls.
“That
can’t be?” Dad replies, “There isn’t anyone around here for miles?”
If
it weren’t for the banging shutters, raggedy curtains in the windows, chilling
winds, and whirling dust and sand, I might like this place. Ha ha.
“Bang!
Bang! Bang!”
It’s
just the wind, it’s just the wind, I tell myself. The wind always kicks up
when the sun goes down. It’s definitely time to go.
Really
loud I yell, “Neewa! Neewa! Come girl!”
Neewa,
Neewa, Come girl, echo’s off the canyon wall.
My
heart races as I turn and stare, searching for her, straining into the twilight.
But she is nowhere in sight.
“Neewa!
Neewa!” I implore.
Sure
enough the canyon answers in a fading reply, Neewa, Neewa, Neewa, Neewa.
Where
the heck is she?
I
spot her faint image under a shadowy ledge. She’s a minute spec of white
sprinting in the darkened shadows.
“There
she is! Come on girl, come on,” I beg her.
The
canyon answers, come on girl come on.
Crossing
the rocky terrain, she glides. Her strong body and powerful muscles carry her
over the rough landscape. She maneuvers around boulders and bounces through the
canyon.
Neewa
is strong now and weighs more than forty pounds. She is over two and a half feet
tall and when she stands on her hind legs, her black padded paws and ivory
toenails reach my shoulders.
“Come
on Neewa, let’s get out of here, we’ve had enough excitement for one day.
This place creeps me out.”
After
loading up the van we begin the drive home. I sit in the dark thinking what a
great day. First the rodeo with the cowgirls, horses, bulls, and steer. Then the
ghost town and the Rayburn’s story about Sally Ann and her brother. The best
part was the ghost town. I finally investigated a real ghost town.
I
can’t wait to get home and check the video we took in the lab. If I captured
Sally Ann, I will be famous. I’m going to tell everyone back east, all my
friends will think this is so cool.
Neewa
curls up next to me on the seat. The van’s big seats have lots of room. But
she is right next to me and rests her head near my leg like she always does. Her
eyes close and she lets out a big sigh through her wet nose that shines even in
the darkness.
***
“Christina,
wake up we’re home,” Dad says.
“Oh
my god, I’m too tired to do anything tonight.”
I
can barley walk inside to go to bed. Neewa follows me in and I stop in the
kitchen to fill her bowls, which she quickly empties.
“Good
night Dad love you.”
“Good
night Christina, Jackie, love you.”
“Goodnight
Dad Love you.” Jackie says.
“Good
night Neewa.”
As
I crawl into bed she catches up to me and jumps up taking her spot at the foot
of the bed. Carefully she turns in a tight circle and lies down for the night.
In a white fluffy ball, she groans and places her nose on her tail. Then she
sighs and watches me till I close my eyes, before she closes hers.
***
Sunday
morning and Jackie and I pull out the cameras and all of the scientific meters.
I’m downloading the video files onto my hard drive using the fire wire and
moviemaker program.
“Click,
capture, click, publish, I will have Sally Ann on this tape, I guarantee it,
maybe even her aberration,” I tell Jackie.
She
answers, “Yeah Christina sure an aberration, I don’t think so.”
After
an hour or so of reviewing the video I tell Jackie, “See, I told you there
isn’t one shutter on any of those windows at the ghost town, not one! What do
you say to that? Where did that banging shutter come from?”
Watching
the last ten minutes of the video of the ghost town, suddenly I hear,
“%^&*($#@)&%%)@#$)(&^%$$#.”
“What’s
that? Jackie did you hear that?” The hair fuzz on my arms stands up.
“No,
I didn’t hear anything, just static,” Jackie replies.
“Play
that back, the hotel part,” I shriek.
“%^&*($#@)&%%)@#$)(&^%$$#.”
“Wow!
Did you hear it that time?” Convinced.
“I
think I heard something Christina, but it sounds like noise to me.”
“Play
it again,” I demand.
“%^&*($#@)&%%)@#$)(&^%$$#.”
“I
heard it that time, it’s static all right. Christina, you heard static,
that’s all it is,” Jackie insists.
“No,
that’s an EVP. We just heard a recording of the disembodied voice of Sally
Ann. She was talking to us,” I jump to my feet.
“Christina,
how can we be sure?” Jackie asks.
“We
need something else, and it has to match up the with the same time line when we
recorded Sally Ann’s EVP.” I’m serious.
Running
to my backpack for the other meters, “Lets get the rest of the equipment and
check everything we had at the ghost town. The approximate time of the encounter
was at about one hour and fifteen minutes into the investigation.”
“I’m
on it,” Jackie answers doubtful.
Jackie
and I take out each device and check all the readings and cross-reference
everything.
“Looks
like the only device with a reading is the radio frequency detector, it recorded
eighty MHz (Mega Hertz), whatever that means?” I say.
Jackie answers, “I’m not sure? It must mean something?”
One
thing I know, the eighty MHz of electro-magnetic radiation had to come from
something. That’s why Dad’s K-2 meter was lighting up.
Sometimes
spirits communicate in that frequency, or so I’ve heard. It could have come
from the natural magnetic field in the atmosphere or a computer screen, electric
motor, cell phones, or walkie-talkies.
I
nod, “I’ll prove it, its Sally Ann, hold on, hold on. I got a text from
Matt. I wonder if he got the picture I sent him of the hotel lobby?”
I
read it to Jackie, “Haha, plezz, u r trying to trick me! U think throwing
powder in the air and taking a pic of it will make me think it’s a ghost? lol
the picture is a fake.”
“What
is he talking about, I didn’t throw any powder,” I scroll to his message and
look at the picture.
“Oh
my god, Look Jackie! It’s an apparition of Sally Ann in the hotel lobby! I
caught her with my cell camera. She’s standing in the corner pointing her
finger at something.”
Jackie
looks at the picture, “It looks like someone threw powder into the air. How do
you know it is her? It could be her brother?”
I
inspect the photo, “It’s got to be her! She’s a little bit of a thing.
Kind of cute, huh. First she talked to us and now I have a picture of her.
I’ve got her now!”
I
continue checking all the meters and digital film from the ghost town, but find
nothing else. “Looks like that’s it, we got the radio frequency field
strength meter that recorded the eighty mega hertz (MHz), whatever that
means?” I look at Jackie.
She
replies, “I kind of know, it’s a magnetic field given off by stuff, just
like EMF. The RF meter measures electro-magnetic radiation given off by objects
like microwave signal towers, satellite television signals, and radio signals.
And it’s all measured in megahertz (MHz).”
I
offer, “Sometimes the radiation is just hanging around in the air, or it could
be from a spirit.”
Dad
walks in the door after returning from his Sunday morning basketball game with
the guys from work.
I
jump at him, “We recorded Sally Ann’s EVP. And the RF meter had a reading of
eighty MHz at the exact same time we heard Sally Ann. And remember the K-2 was
lighting up by the hotel. I double-checked everything, every meter, and all the stuff.
There isn’t anything else. That’s everything we got at the ghost town. Oh,
and we got the picture.”
Dad
looks at me over the top of his reading glasses. “You got a picture?”
I
reply, “Yeah, you know the one I took with my cell phone in the hotel lobby. I
sent it to Matt. He sent it back saying I tried to trick him by throwing powder
in front of the camera. When I looked at it I realized it was Sally Ann’s
apparition in the picture. That proves she was there. I knew it.”
Dad
motions for my phone so he can see the picture, “Could be, could be. I’ll
bring the picture to work and analysis it.”
I
add, “I’ll send it to you.”
Dad
says, “Let me count up the electro-magnetic radiation given off by the stuff
we had at the ghost town. Let’s see, three cell phones, that’s nine HMz and
the cameras are about ten MHz. We have to add the radio frequency, EMF, and
Light meters, they’re about six MHz, so that’s twenty-five MHz. And the
Altimeter, that’s another three, total twenty-eight. That’s nowhere near
eighty MHz, we have fifty two MHz unaccounted for.”
Dad
states, “I have to bring the EVP recording to work and see if I can enhance
the file on the equipment we have there. I’ll give it a forensic audio
treatment (FAT) and an acoustical signal analysis (ASC). The FAT will tell us
the characteristics and or problems with the recording—for example distortion,
excessive noise, and speed of the sound. If the tape is demagnetized or if a
dropout is present. The ASC will decipher hard to hear inaudible speech signals
through forensic phonetic experimentation. If it is a recording of speech, the
graphical representation or spectrogram can be printed out. That will give us a
voice picture of someone or something, similar to a photographic picture of a
person.”
“Dad
I double checked everything, every meter, and all the tapes from the cameras.
There isn’t anything else. We got the EVP recording of Sally Ann, the radio
frequency reading of eighty MHz, K-2 readings, and the picture.
That’s everything from the ghost town.”
I
continue, “I think it proves there was something there? It’s conclusive. I
can feel it, I know we recorded Sally Ann or maybe her brother.”
Jackie
adds, “I think it was her brother, Simeon.”
“Dad,
what do you do at work anyway?” I ask.
“Oh,
I just test stuff, different equipment, that’s all.
I’ll
bring this recording of Sally Ann’s EVP to work and analyze it when no one is
around. You and Jackie check the Internet for information about anything
paranormal that gives off fifty to sixty MHz of electromagnetic energy. See what
you can find out. And remember, not a word to anyone.”
Chapter 14 - Chester’s Gifts
Our
friend Chester arrives at our house unexpectedly. My Dad and he work together
over at the government building. Sometimes they go fishing in the canyon outside
of town. They walk up the canyon, in the water, fishing the pools as the water
flows down through the rocks and gorges to the valley.
Dad
took me horseback riding in the canyon once. It was so much fun, my horse was
named Rosy. We rode across the desert and then up into the canyon. Rosy stopped
and drank water from the stream. She pulled the rains right out of my hand. I
was almost knocked right off of her into the river.
The
water is so crystal clear and clean you can drink it.
Everywhere
in the canyon are quaking aspen trees with leaves that shake in the wind, as if
they are dancing. That’s why they call them quaking aspen. The sun reflects
off of them causing them to shimmer like stars shinning in the night.
Chester
is a Native American and he has a home in town. He’s tall, with long straight
black hair down to his shoulders. Usually he wears blue jeans with cowboy boots
and a nice shirt with a collar, which is left hanging out, never tucked in. His
large stomach hangs over his belt buckle. Chester is an artist. He paints
pictures of deserts and Indians.
His
mother lives near by in the one of the oldest homes around. Heather is her name,
and she is the tribal medicine woman.
Their
Indian word for Medicine Woman is “newe pohakanten.” The medicine woman is
very important in Indian culture. She gives remedies made from herbs and roots.
If someone is really sick, she summons help from spirits to cure them. She also
uses the same herbs and roots to protect the tribe from evil.
Chester
and I are outside and let Neewa off her chain so she can run around.
He
looks around at the yard, “Look at all the holes.”
Neewa
is running around. Chester picks up one of her toys and throws it. In no time
she brings it back to him and drops it on the ground near his feet.
“Smart
little pup you are,” Chester acknowledges as he throws her toy again.
Chester
watches Neewa go down into one of her holes to get out her favorite toy.
Looking
at me, then at Neewa again he exclaims, “She’s a coy dog, must be a coy dog,
look at the holes. I never saw a dog dig holes like that. Those holes are more
like coyote dens. Look at that, she can go down and turn around inside, just
like a coyote.”
He
laughs watching Neewa closely, “You got a coyote there.”
“Hey,
what’s that pink thing in her mouth?” He reaches out to grab it.
Before
he can get close enough to touch Neewa’s tongue, I shout, “It’s her
tongue!”
The
words came out of my mouth quickly from all the practice I get.
“That’s
her tongue?” He pulls his hand back just in time.
“Oh,
I thought she had something stuck in her mouth,” He says laughing and shaking
his head in disbelief.
“Chester,
the distemper almost killed her, it rotted out some of her teeth. Now her tongue
falls out,” I explain.
He
laughs and Neewa looks at us. She tilts her head with her tongue hanging out the
side as if to say, “What are you guys laughing at?”
Chester
knows all about dogs and coyotes, he hunts deer and all kinds of wild game.
Having lived here all his life, he must know what he is talking about.
I
ask him, wanting to know what the future might hold for Neewa and I. “Will she
get vicious and bite? Or run back to the desert to be wild again?”
Chester
says with confidence, “You don’t have to worry about Neewa. She will be a
good pet. You’d have known by now if she were mean or vicious.
Most
coy dogs are friendly and make good pets. My aunt has a coy dog and it’s good
with kids and other pets too.”
I
ask him again for reassurance, even if it might annoy him, “Are you sure she
isn’t going to go back to the desert?”
“No,
I don’t think so, but anything can happen.”
Chester
shrugs his shoulders and then adds, “I brought Neewa a charm for her collar.
Can I put it on her?”
“Sure,
what kind of charm is it?”
Chester
laughs, “It will protect her from evil.”
I
look at Chester with questions written all over my face, trying to judge his
seriousness. My mind flashes back to Doctor Cuthberson’s office and the Indian
Medicine Man’s mask, and the artifacts. Then I think about the orbs we
captured on video at his ranch the day we went to pick Neewa up.
My
thoughts wonders back to the dream I had about Neewa’s family watching over
the murdered gambler found in the desert, next to the old Indian tomb.
Why
does Chester want to protect Neewa from evil? He did say evil didn’t he?
Finally
Chester says laughing, “The evil dogcatcher, that’s who.” Now serious he
continues, “I don’t want Neewa to be caught by him again. The charm is a
tribal ID tag, most of our dogs have them.
With
this charm on her, the dogcatcher won’t take her back to the pound. He will
recognize the tag and know Neewa is an Indian dog. It makes a sound too, so you
can hear her in the distance.”
I
breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh cool, I don’t want her going back to the
pound.”
I
talk to Neewa, “Did you hear that Neewa? Your officially an Indian dog.”
“Where
did you get it?” I asked Chester, wondering about the charm.
“Doctor
Cuthberson gave it to me for Neewa. He told me to tell you that Neewa doesn’t
have to come back for her follow-up. But she should wear the charm so she
doesn’t go back to the pound.”
Chester
pulls a painting from his car, “John, I almost forgot why I came here. This
painting is for you and your family.”
Forgetting
about the charm, ghosts, evil, orbs, the dogcatcher, Doctor Cuthberson, and
Indian Spirits, I look at Dad.
Dad
looks at Chester, then at the painting, and back again at Chester.
Dad
is noticeably surprised and shocked.
It
is a beautiful painting, a black and white desert landscape done in acrylic.
Dad
does not know what to say as he blurts out, “Chester, thank you, how can I
ever repay you?”
“I
want you and your family to have this painting. I don’t want you to forget us
when you move away. We will not forget.”
Chester
knew that most government workers move away after about a year. They go back
home where they came from.
He
spoke up again, “John, Christina, I got to go, see you guys.”
I
say, “Good bye Chester thanks for the charm.”
Chester
replies, “Indians don’t say good bye. The words good by are not in our
language so there is no good bye for Indians. We believe that when we die, we
pass into the next life. We all see each other in the after life, the Spirit
World, no need to say good bye.”
He
gets into the car and says to Dad, “Oh you have to bring your kids over to my
Mothers.”
Dad
replies, “Sounds like fun, my kids know your sister Diane.”
Chester
adds, “Mom wants to meet all of you, Neewa too. She has some herbs to give
you.”
“See
you guys,” Chester waves and drives off.
Chapter 15 - The Tribal Historian
Jackie
and I are grocery shopping downtown at the market. Dad is running some errands
and will catch up with us later.
Surprisingly,
Chester and Marvin are over by the frozen food section. Jackie and I walk over
to say hi. I met Marvin a while ago through Chester.
Marvin
is the Tribal Historian, a Piute and Shoshone Indian and a cousin of
Chester’s. He is not the outdoorsman type. He doesn’t hunt, fish, or camp
out, but he does want to be a lawyer.
Marvin
works at my school doing I don’t know what and is a student at the local
community college. He’s short and stout with short hair and a bubble butt.
He always wears dress slacks, a pressed shirt, and a tie. The tie is
always loose around the neck and his shirt’s top button is always left undone.
If it is not too hot he wears a blazer.
Marvin
has kind of a different way about him. I don’t care what people say about him,
he’s been nice to my family and me.
He
always looks like he’s in a hurry, working frantically to meet some deadline
or complete a very important project.
When
we get closer to Chester and Marvin, I realize they are in a heated discussion.
Marvin’s round face is bright red and his mouth is going a mile a minute. He
is mad about something, and he is telling Chester about it.
Jackie
and I step up to hear what they are saying. Marvin turns toward us to include us
in the conversation.
“Hi
you guys, how you guys doing?” He asks in his usual sultry whining tone.
Marvin
and a lot of other people out West always say, “You guys”, it is the way
people talk out here.
“Good,
good, what’s up?” I reply.
Marvin
answers in a harsh and disgusted tone, “My professor at college is stupid.”
“What
happen?” I ask.
“This
teacher is giving me a hard time about me not knowing what a word means,”
Marvin whines, he always whines.
“I
never heard this word before. Where was I supposed to hear it? I don’t even
know what that word means, and I’m the Tribal Historian. We don’t even have
this word in our language.”
Marvin
is so mad but he continues talking, spewing disgust, and bitterness. Spit shoots
from between his oversized lips.
“Who
does he think he is?” Marvin adds.
Jackie
whispers to me, “Ask him what the word is.”
“No
shush.” I look at Marvin.
Marvin
continues, “That teacher makes me so mad, he didn’t believe me. He said I
was lying and that I got the question wrong on purpose. I would never do that,
lie like that. I could just scream.”
I
could see that Jackie wanted to know what the word is. She could not resist
speaking up and asking Marvin the question.
“Marvin,
what is the word?” Jackie asks with an impatient tone.
Marvin
looks at us and then at Chester, then back at us again.
“That
professor is wrong,” He is angry now, you can see it in his face.
“What
is it? What is it?” Jackie says annoyed with the whole thing, now.
Finally
Marvin blurts it out, “Pedestrian, pedestrian!”
“Pedestrian?”
I repeat, not knowing the meaning of the word either, “Never heard that word
before either.”
Bewildered,
and at a loss for words Jackie looks at me.
Marvin
just shrugs.
“Marvin
I don’t know what that word means either, never heard of it,” I empathize.
Jackie
whispers in my ear, “Someone crossing a street or walking.”
How
would Marvin know what the word pedestrian means? Most Indians his age haven’t
left their colony or reservation except to go away to high school.
I
talk with Marvin for a while longer, trying to calm him down.
Chester
finally adds, “That teacher is wrong, and not considering that we are
different, we are not white people like him.”
Chester
and Marvin start walking off into the market. Each says with a smile, “See you
guys later.”
I
reply, “Good bye.”
Chester
laughs, “Indians don’t say good bye.”
Marvin
raises his arm and hand as if to say wait a minute, “Christina, I almost
forgot, how is that puppy of yours doing?”
I
reply smiling, “She is doing really great, completely recovered. I thought we
were going to lose her, but thanks to Doctor Cuthberson, he saved her.”
“Oh,
I know Doc Cuthberson, he is a great doctor,” Marvin adds. “I want you to
bring Neewa to our Tribal History Meeting on Thursday night at seven o’clock.
Give a little talk about how you adopted Neewa at the pound. It will encourage
others to adopt animals. Coy dogs played an important role in the protection of
our village’s hundreds of years ago. They alerted the tribes to bears, wolves,
and intruders approaching our villages. Come early so the kids can play with
Neewa.
The
meeting is for all ages, anyone can get up and give a presentation. It’s like
show and tell, and everyone there is interested in our history or they
wouldn’t come,” he laughs.
“Okay,
I’ll bring her early. Dad will probably drop me off,” I answer, uncertain
why they want me to give a talk?
Chester
and Marvin are talking about something as they walk off.
I
hear Chester say, “Neewa has spirit,” or something like that.
Marvin
answers, “Does Christina know?”
Then
they disappear down one of the isles talking in their Native language.
***
Jackie
and I are looking for Dad, he’s around here somewhere.
“Dad,
what are you doing by the dairy products? I got all this stuff already, look,”
Aggravated, I point into the shopping cart.
We
finish getting our supplies and check out.
On
the way home, I tell him about Marvin and his problem, and Neewa’s invitation
to the Tribal History meeting on Thursday night.
Dad
says, “I agree with Chester, Indians are different. Their culture is not the
same as ours.”
“I’ll
tell you a story about different cultures,” Dad begins.
I
interrupt, “Dad, I don’t want to hear one of your long boring lectures.
I’m not in school.”
Jackie
sighs, “No stories please Dad.”
Dad
continues his story about different cultures, he begins, “It was about two
months ago, I had a talk with the Tribal Chairman Jake.”
“No,
No,” I yell putting my fingers in my ears, “I don’t want to hear it.”
Jackie
has a change of heart to annoy me, “Go ahead Dad, I’m listening, but make it
quick.”
Dad
continues with his story, “I saw the Tribal Chairman sitting in his pickup
truck so I walked over to him.
“Jake,”
I nodded, “Monday is Columbus Day.”
Jake
is his white name, most Indians have a white name and an Indian name. They only
use their Indian Name when they are with Indians.
“Yeah
so what does that have to do with anything?” Jake laughed at me with a
peculiar smile.
Jake
continued, “Columbus is the one who started all the trouble for Indians.”
I
stumble over my words a little taken back by his words, but I finally say,
“Tomorrow is a federal holiday and I want the day off, I’m a federal
employee.”
“You want the day
off?” Jake laughed out loud.
“Some
guinea (gi-nee) gets lost at sea and you want the day off,” Jake laughed a
belly laugh. And he continued to laughed and laughed, and I started laughing
too. We laughed together.
Then
Jake said, and I’ll never forget his words, “John you can take off any day
you want.” And he drove off without saying another word.
“Now
that is a cultural difference,” Dad grins.
I
interrupt, “Oh my God, I’m so bored. If you don’t stop with your dull
stories I’m going to scream.”
Jackie
pats Dad on the shoulder, “Dad, you are done with the history lesson, too much
is no good.”
I
hate listening to Dads stories. He thinks he is cool. I tell him, Dad you are
not cool.
Dad
sighs, “I felt a closeness with Jake for those few moments as we laughed
together. I think he felt the same way.
The
next week I heard that Jake had died in a car accident. Too many accidents
happened around here.”
As
we drive home, I think about Jake and how many car accidents there have been
lately. It’s sad to see the families missing a loved one.
Jake
was Tribal Chairman and he was always making me laugh and tickling me. I hung
out with him at one of Dad’s bring your family to work gatherings. He was
always playing pranks on people and making everyone laugh. He was so much fun to
be with.
The
Tribal Chairman of an Indian tribe is just like the Prime Minister of England.
We are studying England in History. Both are the leaders of their governments
and elected by the people. The Tribal Chairman is the leader of the Tribal
Council just like the Prime Minister is leader of the Parliament.
The
government of England and governments of Indian Tribes have a lot in common. In
England the Parliament makes the laws. On the reservation the Tribal Council
makes the laws. They are also similar because the Parliament is made up of
elected members and the Tribal Council is also made up of elected councilmen and
councilwoman.
But
the biggest similarity is that the Chief of a tribe is just like the King and
Queen of England. He’s a figurehead and has no official power in the tribe,
yet he has influence on everything. The Chief is a descendant of previous chiefs
of that tribe and has the same family bloodline. Similarly the King and Queen of
England have little official power, but lots of authority. The King or Queen of
England also has the bloodline of the previous monarchs of England.
Finally
we are home, I fly out of the car, “Dad, I’m taking Neewa for a walk, be
back in little while.”
“Ok,
don’t go too far, it’s late and you have school tomorrow,” He agrees.
I
laugh, “You worry too much, I have Neewa now.”
Dad
always used to say, don’t walk anywhere alone.
Now
he says, Take Neewa with you wherever you go.
Neewa
and I love to stroll around town looking at everyone’s flower gardens and
pretty homes.
It’s
warm tonight and I want to walk a while, just to get away from everyone. Neewa
and I hike around ten blocks before we decide to turn back.
I
tell Neewa as we pass a charming white cape cod, “I love that one. We had a
house like that back home, but that was before Mom moved away. We had to sell
it. I wish we never came out West. I miss my friends, Grandma, Grandpa, and most
of all Mom.”
“Oh
Neewa you look so silly with your tongue hanging out the side of your mouth,”
I chuckle.
Before
I know it, we are back home and it’s time to go to bed.
***
Thursday
already, and I forgot all about the tribal history meeting tonight. Lucky thing
Dad reminded me at breakfast. I have that English report to do too. I’ll worry
about the tribal history meeting later, after I do my report.
Meanwhile,
I’ve got to get the bus, “Bye Dad, love you.”
***
That
night after dinner Dad is driving Neewa and me to the tribal building. As I get
out of the car I tell myself not to worry it’s just like show and tell.
Anyway, I love talking about Neewa. But I don’t like getting up in front of a
group of people and talking.
One
good thing, this presentation will get me an extra credit grade in history. My
history teacher, Mrs. Bats is a tribe member, a Washoe Indian. She told the
class, she is going to give extra credit for any presentation about history
outside of school.
To
qualify for extra credit my presentation has to be about history. Since Neewa is
a coy dog, and coy dog’s protected Indian villages hundreds of years ago, my
talk about Neewa qualifies. I’ll get an extra credit grade, not just a few
points.
Right
now, my History average is seventy-seven. If I get it up to an eighty, I can get
a B. Dad pays three dollars for B’s and five dollars for A’s, nothing for
C’s. Get a D, you lose your laptop until you bring up the grade. Don’t even
think about getting an F.
The
Tribal History meeting is in the new two-story building on the reservation. My
eyes light up as I walk into the foyer. To my left is an enormous eagle in a
glass case. Its wings are spread out and span five feet from wing tip to wing
tip, showing all the beautiful feathers. Other displays of Indian artifacts,
ancient tools, hunting points, and spears heads line the other side of the
entrance. Original paintings of Chiefs, early villages, and warriors on
horseback are hung on the walls.
A
beading display with a loom and pictures of techniques are in the corner.
According
to this directory I am looking at, offices make up the second floor, with suites
for the Tribal Chairman, Tribal Council, a meeting room, and a recreation room.
The other half of the second floor is a jewelry workshop, where they make silver
jewelry with turquoise and coral stones.
In
another corner is a diagram with the Chiefs Family Tree. It displays the
bloodline that starts around the 1500’s and depicts all the descendants down
through the generations to the present.
On
another wall in big bold letters is, “Tribal Historian Members Project.” It
is more like a tribal family tree, with the names of all the members that ever
lived. The list dates back hundreds of years, showing all the different families
through the years.
Some
of the living members have their white name under their Indian name.
Each
member that is dead has a gravestone symbol and the words, At Rest or Not At
Rest. What that means, I don’t know? Seems to me if your dead your at rest,
like it or not.
I
see Marvin who is in charge of the project.
I
ask him, “What does the At Rest and Not At Rest mean?”
Marvin
pauses hesitating before he speaks, “At Rest means that the tribal member’s
body is here on the reservation and therefore their spirit is here At Rest.
After
an Indian dies, we believe that the spirit lives on in the Spirit World. Members
of our tribe who have died must be brought back here to our Indian burial ground
to enter the Spirit World.
If
someone dies far away, or their body disappeared, turned to dust, or never
found, their spirits are Not At Rest. Those spirits Not At Rest wonder the earth
trying to return to us.”
I
remark, “Oh, I get it, you have to be buried here to be At Rest.”
“Yes”
Marvin nodds, “But if your body is not returned here, it is possible your
spirit can come back in another being.”
“Oh
cool, I get it.”
Mrs.
Bats, my history teacher, walks over to talk to Marvin and me.
She
pets Neewa and she wags her tail.
I
blurt out nervously, “I don’t really know what I am suppose to say.”
Marvin
replies, “Just tell that wonderful story about Neewa. Start with when she was
a puppy, how you went to the pound and found her. Explain to everyone what the
dogcatcher said when you were leaving the pound. Then let everyone know how she
got the name “Neewa”, and what it means.
Chester
told me about the holes in your yard. Everyone will laugh when they hear that
stories. You could explain how Neewa got sick with distemper, and how you found
Doctor Cuthberson.”
Marvin
laughs, “Then give them some time to ask questions. That’s all, it will be
fine.”
As
I enter the room with Neewa everyone applauds. I am sure they are applauding
Neewa. The little kids call Neewa to come by them and she meanders through the
isles getting pets and pats on the head from the kids. She goes around the room
to everyone in the hall as I speak. Everything is going just like Marvin said it
would, and Neewa is a big hit as usual.
Standing
at the podium in the front of the room, I talk about Neewa’s life. I start
with when I got her at the pound and how I found her name in the book and what
it means. Everyone laughs when I tell them about how she digs holes in the yard.
And a few wows come from the audience when I tell them about her close call with
death, the disease distemper.
When
I stop talking, I ask if anyone has any questions.
One
person wants to know. “Where did you get the book on Shoshone Language? What
is the name of the book?”
“I
don’t know,” I say, “But I will ask my Dad and we will give the
information to Marvin to give to you.”
A
boy asks, “What is that sticking out of her mouth?”
Having
forgotten the part about her teeth, I explain how distemper caused her to lose
some of her teeth. I tell everyone that Neewa lost many of the teeth in the
middle of her jaw. And that is the place where her tongue falls out the side of
her mouth.
A
little girl asks, “Do you know, Neewa has a spirit?” Everyone laughs.
I
answer, “No, I don’t know she has a spirit.”
With
no other questions everyone applauds, all the kids have already gotten up and
begun calling and petting Neewa.
The
presentation is over and it seems to have gone well. I finished the story in
about ten minutes.
I
wonder if anyone knows that I want to be a writer, I think to myself.
I
can feel the cool air, as Neewa and I wait to be picked up by Dad and Jackie.
Marvin hurries from an office on the first floor
and comes over to thank me, “Thanks for coming and speaking at the History
Council meeting. Christina, I am so very busy with all my projects, school, and
the meetings. That was great! I am so glad you came,” He runs off directing
someone to do something as he turns the corner and goes out of sight.
Mrs.
Bats, my history teacher comes over to Neewa and me as we wait at the front
door.
She
says, “You gave a very good presentation. Would you like to give the same
presentation in history class tomorrow?”
I
answer, “I don’t know if they will let me bring Neewa to school.”
Mrs.
Bats laughs and says, “Without Neewa will be fine.”
As
Dad and Jackie pull up to the front door I say, “Good-bye Mrs. Bats.”
“See
you Christina,” She replies.
I
get in the car and we drive off.
“Christina
how did it go?” Dad asks.
Annoyed
to have to talk anymore, “It went fine Dad, I don’t want to talk about it. I
just want to go home, take a hot shower and go to bed.”
“I
just want to be left alone,” I tell him one more time hoping this will be the
end of the conversation.
“One
funny thing did happen. A little girl asked me, “Did I know Neewa has a
Spirit?”
Dad
replies, “Yeah that is a funny question. What did you say?”
I
said, “No, I didn’t know Neewa has a spirit.”
Looking
at Neewa, both Dad and I ask her at the same time, “Neewa, do you have a
spirit?”
Neewa looks at me, tilts
her head with her tongue hanging out and then barks, “Roooof.”
Chapter 16 - The Pumpkin Pies
Our
family is making plans for the holiday. This will be my first Thanksgiving with
Neewa.
Dad wants us to visit
our friends Manny and Margaret for the weekend. They live about four hours from
here. I like the idea of going there for the holiday because Manny and Margaret
are fun.
Manny
is a member of the Gosh Ute tribe and he works for the government with my Dad.
He and Margaret visited us a few times and stayed over night at our house.
Manny,
Margaret, Dad, Jackie and I have done all kinds of neat stuff. We went on a
rollercoaster called Speed The Ride, which goes seventy miles per hour. It’s
at the Nascar Café and one of the fastest and highest rollercoaster’s in the
world.
Another
time Manny took us to a water park called the Wild Island Adventure. It has
water slides, wave pools, and all kinds of fun rides.
Manny
likes to have fun and that’s why I like him. One time we went to this swimming
club in town. Even though you had to be a member to get in, Manny got us in. We
had a blast in the pools, water slides, and sprinklers.
Another
time at a big barbeque with Manny we played softball and met lots of people from
where Dad works.
Grandma
and Grandpa want us to come home to New Jersey for the holiday. But it is too
far and cost too much money to go back East.
This
year we will go home to see everyone around New Years maybe. I want to go home
for good. I miss everyone so much, especially my friends.
Tomorrow
we will be leaving for Manny’s Thanksgiving dinner. His home is about two
hundred miles from here.
Dad
asks me, “Can you and Jackie make pumpkin pies to bring to the holiday
dinner?”
“Yeah
Dad, I’ll make them,” Jackie yells.
I
answer, “I’ll help Jackie.”
I
want Jackie to make the pies while I just hang out and watch movies on my
laptop.
We
decide to make three pumpkin pies. As soon as Jackie gets started, I can slip
away without anyone noticing. They will never know.
Dad
is preparing dinner. Neewa is watching everyone as she stays in the kitchen
under the table and to observe everything that is going on. Neewa likes to smell
all the foods being prepared and cooked.
I
help Jackie measure out the ingredients for the pies. The pies we’re bringing
are made of real pumpkin.
Each
pie is made with three quarter cup sugar, one teaspoon cinnamon, half teaspoon
salt, half teaspoon ginger, quarter teaspoon cloves, two eggs, two cups mashed
pumpkin and one and a half cups of milk.
The
first step in the process is to cook the Halloween pumpkin that we saved since
October. I begin by boiling two quarts of water on the stove. After cleaning out
the pumpkin and cutting it into cubes, I boil them for thirty minutes or until
soft. Then I let the pumpkin cool, so I can peel and mash it.
I
add the other ingredients to the mashed pumpkin and put everything into a big
bowl for later.
Next
I begin to make the piecrust dough. The dough is easy, just three quarters cup
of shortening, half teaspoon salt, one teaspoon milk, quarter cup hot water, and
two cups of flour for each pie.
Mix
it all together and knead the dough for five minutes. I let the dough sit for a
little while, as I get out the wax paper and prepare the surface of the counter.
Now
I roll the dough out into three big flat pieces for the piecrusts.
Jackie
puts each piece of dough in a nine inch round pie plate and cuts away the excess
dough at the edges.
We
are almost done as I pour the filling with the mashed pumpkin and ingredients
into the dough lined pie plates.
Pinch
the dough around the edges, and put the pies into the oven to bake at three
hundred fifty degrees for twenty-five minutes.
It
doesn’t take long for the pies to smell up the entire house. Pumpkin pie
smells are everywhere. Finally we are done.
“Whew,
I’m tired, I’m going to lay down,” At last.
These
are the best smelling pumpkin pies I’ve ever made. They are made the old
fashion way from fresh pumpkin cooked in a big pot and mashed by hand. Even the
dough for the crust is home made.
The
pies look and smell so good, way better than the frozen pumpkin pies from the
freezer section of the grocery store.
It
sure would have been a lot easier to get the frozen ones.
Dad
takes the fresh pies from the oven and places them on the counter to cool.
After
dinner we all want to go shopping for additional supplies for tomorrow’s trip.
Jackie and I are going to a couple of stores to pick up some things. We drive
along the side streets avoiding the main highway as Dad talks about the trip.
Dad
remarks, “We’re going to Manny’s house on his reservations. There are only
about ninety people living on this one.”
“Christina
read me the directions,” He hands me a paper with scribbling on it.
As
I’m about to read the directions he got from Manny … Dad interrupts.
“The
trip is going to take all day. Manny wasn’t sure of the name of one of the
roads. He said there would be a sign,” Dad remembers.
We
have never made this trip before. I’m looking forward to going on a new
adventure.
I
also want to see my friends Manny and Margaret because I have lots of fun with
them.
Dad
tells me that their Indian Reservation is different from the one near our home.
For one thing, it’s in the middle of nowhere and far from any town. All of the
land around it is government owned, cattle ranches, or desert. The land
doesn’t grow anything but sagebrush, cactus, and some desert grasses because
it doesn’t rain. It’s so dry you can’t grow corn or hay or anything.
The
desert land is so baron, it barely supports the cattle they raise on it. Once or
twice a week the ranchers have to bring hay to the cattle, so they don’t
starve. Dad says one head of cattle needs five acres of desert to survive for
just one year.
There
are no businesses near the reservation where we are going. A combination general
store and gas station is about three miles away. And there aren’t any doctors
or hospitals for over a hundred miles.
The
people out there have very little income. What they do make comes from ranching
and government subsidies. Young families and older people are the only ones that
live there anymore because most of the middle aged people left for better jobs
in the cities.
They
have a one-room schoolhouse for kindergarten to eighth grade. After that the
kids go away to residential high schools.
Some
of the houses on the reservations are made of railroad ties and some have no
electricity or even bathrooms. Usually the outhouses are located about twenty
feet from the homes. The Indian word for outhouse is “gwida-gahni”.
It
has been a bad year for this band of Indians. There were three bad accidents,
and each was related to alcohol use. Dad was told that a total of three people
died. Some say it was bad spirits that killed them.
My
Dad shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, “It is tragic. Something needs
to be done. That’s more than three percent of the population in one year. If
that continues, the reservation will be a ghost town in a few decades.”
Our
town is very different from where Manny lives. We have an interstate highway and
a railroad going right through the middle. There are lots of stores, gas
stations, and businesses.
There
is an ambulance squad, hospital, lots of doctors and even a newspaper.
Income
around here is mostly from tourism, fishing, hunting, and lots of people just
passing through on their way to California or East. Dad says our town makes
money from hotels, casinos, and special bars like Rose’s, Toni’s, and
Sue’s.
It’s
the county seat and that means lots of government offices and schools. It has
the county fair grounds, an airport, and a community college too.
On
the outskirts of town there is cattle and sheep ranching, even mining.
The
reservation we live near has just a couple homes made of railroad ties, maybe
only one or two. Most of the homes are conventional ones with three bedrooms,
bathrooms, and electricity.
Yet
tragedy still strikes this reservation too. I remember one day not too long ago
a Tribal Councilmen’s wife went off the road, rolled her truck, and died. Some
of Dad’s friends at work whispered stories about the cause of the accident.
I
remember when Dad heard about it he shrugged his shoulders and said, “There is
too much drinking going on around here.”
Chapter 17 - Neewa’s Spirit Flew
It’s
late and I arrive back home with Dad and Jackie after shopping. As I walk in the
door Neewa jumps up on me to give her welcome home kisses and get scratches.
This
is not unusual she always does this. Neewa misses me when I leave home without
her. She does not like to be left out of any trips and she is always excited
when I return home. Her tail is hitting the wall, thud, thud, thud. She jumps
around and wags her tail continuously until I reach down to stroke her. I pet
her and put my jacket on the hook near the door.
Jackie
screams, “Dad, the pumpkin pies are gone!”
As
I look around for the thieves, I see no sign of anyone in the house. No door is
broken and no window smashed in.
Dad
comes bursting into the house and runs over to Jackie, “What happen? Are you
alright?”
“Look
at this Dad. The pies are gone!” Jackie investigates the scene, “Empty pie
plates are all over the kitchen floor!”
Dad
and Jackie stand frozen looking at each other, perplexed.
Neewa
looks different, a little funny. As I inspect her more closely I can see a small
orange stain on the white fur above her black lips. I look at Neewa again,
closer this time. There’s another blemish on the top of her paw between her
toes. And as I look down the hall, I see fresh paw prints.
I’m
frowning and my hands are on my hips, “It was not thieves.”
“Oh
boy,” Jackie exclaims, “She ate all three pies and she didn’t even leave
us one.”
“I
can’t believe you did this Neewa. You ate all of our pies. How did you get up
on the counter?”
I
hide my laugh, as I know Jackie and Dad are disappointed, but I burst out
laughing anyway, “Ha Ha Ha Neewa, how did you get the pies? You would have had
to fly through the air to get up on the counter?”
I
can hear Dad yell, “Bad girl, bad Neewa, go lay down.”
Neewa’s
tail and ears drop down, but I don’t think she knows what she did wrong. I
look at the aluminum pie plates scattered around the kitchen.
I’m
very disappointed. I want to cry. We have nothing to bring for the dinner
tomorrow. And all that work was for nothing. Well almost nothing, Neewa got a
good meal out of it.
Jackie
is running to the door, pulling Neewa outside by the collar, “Oh boy, you are
going to be sick.”
Dad
sighs, “Make sure you get the chain on her Jackie, we don’t want her to get
lost before the trip tomorrow.”
Dad
exclaims, “Hey look, I left the digital camera on the counter. The motion
detector started the camera when Neewa climbed up and ate the pies.”
I
joke, trying to lighten up the situation a little, “Maybe we will see her
floating up onto the counter like a ghost.”
Jackie
laughs as she comes back in the door, “Ha, ha, she didn’t climb up on the
counter, she flew up like a bird.”
We
all laugh and then go back to cleaning up her mess.
All
of a sudden Dad is running out the door.
“What’s
the matter? Where are you going?” I yell to him as I sway back and forth
hanging out the door.
His
words are muffled as he closes the car door and drives off, “I’ll check the
camera when I get back. You guys wait here.”
In
just fifteen minutes he’s back at the house with two brown bags of groceries.
“Dad
where did you go? What in the world did you buy?” I asked him as he walks in
the door.
Unpacking
he declares, “I drove to the supermarket, ran in and got three frozen nine
inch piecrusts and six cans of pumpkin. Okay everyone, we are going to make
three more pies tonight.”
I
sigh, “Tonight?”
“You
guys get out the bowls.” He directs us as he turns on the oven.
Jackie
and I pitch in. I get out the bowls while Jackie gathers the rest of the
ingredients that we already have.
Before
I know it, we measure and mix the batter for three pies, pour them into the
store bought pie plates, and pop them into the oven.
It
isn’t long before the house is filled with the smell of pumpkin pies, again.
About thirty minutes later, we have three pies. But this time I put them right
into the refrigerator.
I
frown looking out the window at Neewa, “Neewa we are letting the pies cool
down in the refrigerator this time.”
Neewa
is still outside and probably will be till morning. I hope she’s feeling
better by then.
We’re
all relieved to have pumpkin pies to bring on our trip. Everything seems better
now.
Chapter 18 - The Desert
I
wake up early Thanksgiving morning and help Dad finish packing the car. We are
ready to leave. Neewa is the last one to get in. She is so excited and jumps
around the back seat like a jumping bean.
Off
we drive with plenty of time to get there for dinner, at least that is the plan.
During the first part of the trip we approach the beautiful Ruby Mountains. Deep
in the canyons are quaking aspen trees with leaves shaking in the breeze. The
leaves reflect the sun and twinkle like flashlights against the shadowy canyon
walls.
The
ruby red glow of the mountains is wonderful. Passing through the range, baby
blue skies hang above, and not a cloud in the sky.
Our
trip starts off with a peaceful drive through miles of endless vistas packed
with faded green sagebrush, tan desert sands, and dried gray grasses. We are on
a straight flat highway, with neither a hill, nor a valley.
As
usual the prairie dogs run in front of our van, as though they are playing a
game of tag.
Dad
yells at a prairie dog as it runs out in front of us, “Watch out, get out of
my way.”
The
prairie dog scurries into the road as we pass over him. We wait to feel a bump
or hear a knock? Timidly we look out the rear window anticipating carnage.
Miraculously, he’s not lying squashed on the road.
“How
did he do that? I thought for sure I hit him?” Dad mumbles, perplexed at the
animals reasoning.
More
than half way to Manny’s, we drive into town where we are supposed to turn
onto another road. The directions say turn west and we do. Clunk, bump, we are
on a dirt road. I can tell Dad doesn’t like this as he slows to a crawl.
This
is really interesting, there’s little difference between the surface of the
road and the empty desert that surrounds us. It’s more like a twenty-foot
trail carved by a bulldozer pushing the windswept sand to the side of the lane.
I can barley see the edge of the path. Road? More like a wide ditch in the
middle of the desert.
Desolate
roads can be treacherous because they can disappear into the dunes. People
vanish on trails like these. If a sign blows down, a driver might miss a turn
and drive right out into the desert.
To
make matters worse he might go farther and farther, losing his sense of
direction and get lost. That would be his last mistake. Once lost, he will never
find his way back. Usually these unfortunate victims dye slowly of thirst, or
exposure, or both.
Dad
frowns as sand starts blowing, “I’m trying to follow this ditch of a
road.”
He
shrugs his shoulders looking at Jackie in the front seat next to him.
“It
is getting more difficult to stay on it,” he says, “And the visibility has
gone from bad to worse.”
All
of a sudden the wind starts blowing harder. Desert sand, dust, and dirt form a
thick cloud in front of us. The storm is howling in the cracks of our van
windows and doors making eerie sounds. Sand is blowing across our windshield so
thick, I can barely see the road in front of me.
There
is nothing to guide us down this dirt trail. No electric lines or anything else,
to help us stay where we belong. The road itself is covered with sand from the
dust storms that frequent the area. One more thing, we haven’t seen another
car on this road, not one.
Dad
declares, “We have to pull over and wait out this storm.”
Dad
takes out the map and looks for a better route. After several facial
expressions, measuring distances, and looking at possible alternate routes, he
looks straight ahead.
“This
is the only road on the map that will take us to Manny’s,” he declares.
“The only other choice is to go way down south and then come back north over
here,” He points to the map. “But that will take an extra three hours.”
After
a few minutes the wind dies down and visibility seems to improve as the sky
turns western blue again.
Jackie
speaks first, “I vote we keep going.”
I
add, “I second that.”
We
drive on, more quiet and thoughtful then before.
Chapter 19 - Horses
Up
ahead there is something on the side of the road. Neewa sees them too. She is
pacing from side to side in the back of the van.
About
a hundred feet in front of us is a heard of about ten horses. They don’t look
like they belong. Whose horses are they? Are we near a ranch? I don’t see any.
The
horses that make up this group are all different sizes and colors. Some are
large, a few are small, and one appears to be a donkey.
As
we drive closer, I see their long tails and mains are knotted, frayed, and have
burrs stuck in them.
The
leader of the group is a black stallion and he’s watching us, and stirring to
alert the heard. He’s a beautiful horse with a gray patch across his right
back leg and another small swatch on his forehead.
His
long black tail hangs down to the ground, while half his mane hangs on either
side of his muscular neck. He looks skinny, but his coat shins on his powerfully
built body.
I
can tell he’s the leader because he puts himself between his heard and us to
protect them, turning sideways to block our view of his family.
Neewa
is getting more excited, jumping from seat to seat. She wants to run and play
with the big dogs.
“They
are not dogs,” I tell her.
She
is making a high-pitched whining sound, as if to say, “Let me out, let me
out.”
Jackie
is getting trampled, and is quite annoyed with Neewa as she jumps from front
seat to back, and then to the front again.
“Let
her out Dad, she has to go,” She exclaims.
Dad
stops and opens the door. Neewa jumps out and runs up the road.
Dad
pulls onto the shoulder, “Neewa is running right at the heard. I hope she
knows what she’s doing.”
At
that moment dread shots from my brain down to my toes. The thought of losing
Neewa had never occurred to me until that second.
“Dad,
drive, drive, hurry up, catch her!” I cry out hitting his seat back with my
hands.
At
that moment the heard spooks. Snorting a warning the stallion and his family
rumble into the desert. He’s following his family, urging them into a full
gallop.
Neewa
is following them, running from one side of the heard to the other. As quickly
as the horses appeared in front of us, they are gone over the hill. Then she
disappears, gone into the miles and miles of sagebrush and sand.
My
heart drops out of my chest. Neewa is gone and I don’t know if I will ever see
her again. I feel my stomach in my throat.
Dad
pulls over and I jump out.
Jackie
yells, “Call her before she gets too far!”
“Neewa,
Neewa, Neewa!” I yell, hoping she will hear me.
Dad
whistles his loudest two-finger whistle, “Whistle! Whistle.”
I
form my lips to whistle, but nothing comes out. I can’t whistle.
“Listen,
stop!” I shout.
I
never should have let her run out into the desert. She may never come back.
We
all start yelling, “Neewa come! Neewa! Neewa!”
Again,
we are silent. I listen for her to bark, or yelp, or something. Seconds pass
like minutes. You can hear a pin drop.
“I
hear something,” I’m not sure what it is in the distance, is that her?
I
cry out, “It sounds like Neewa barking, I hear her.”
I
call out, “Neewa, Neewa!”
I
look at Dad then Jackie, “I hear a jingling sound.”
Jackie
exclaims, “It’s more like a jingle ding, jingle ding.”
That
jingle ding sound is coming from Neewa’s charm, the one Chester put on her
collar.
At
that moment Neewa’s head appears to pop up out of the sand dune.
She
is sprinting for us. Sand kicks up into the air behind her as she makes her way
down the soft sand. Then she jumps right up on me, pushing me backwards onto the
ground. She licks my face and walks all over me.
Jackie
and Dad come to my rescue picking me up off the ground by my arms.
Neewa
jumps up on me with her front paws stretching all the way up onto my shoulders
while standing on her hind legs.
She
pushes off me and her paws hit the ground as she wags her tail.
Hugging
her I stroke her neck and side, and scratch her behind the ears.
“I
thought I lost you Neewa,” I exclaim.
“You
came back,” Jacqueline exclaims as she cuddles her.
She
wags her tail, whines, and lets out a, “Yelp.”
We
all jump in the car and off we go.
“They
are wild horses and they run free on the desert. They belonged to no one,” Dad
speaks.
“Where
did they all come from? How do they live? What do they eat?”
Dad
answers my bombardment of questions, one after the other. “They live out on
the desert and they eat whatever vegetation they can find. Many years ago wild
horses were rounded up and shipped to slaughterhouses. Hundreds of thousands of
them were killed. Some were kept for work horses on ranches.”
Dad
describes, “Wild horses were indigenous to North America, populating this
continent before the Ice Age. They moved north across the Bering land bridge,
fanned out from Siberia to the rest of Asia, Europe, and the Middle East, and
then became extinct here. When Europeans reintroduced horses to the Americas in
the 16th century, some escaped and formed wild herds. By 1900, there were 2
million wild horses in America. Their major predators, such as the mountain
lion, were all but wiped out, and for more than a century their biggest enemy
has been man. Horse roundups and massacres went unchecked for decades until Wild
Horse Annie came along.”
Chapter 20 - Antelope
Another
dust storm like that and we could vanish in the desert, never to be found, and
die a torturous death. One could come along at any moment. I don’t feel safe
out here.
We
are barely able to stay on this dirt road under these blue skies and listless
clouds. There isn’t any sign of human beings for miles. I’m glad our van is
running good, at least right now it is.
As
we pass a mountain range, there’s one of those Federal Park signs, National
Forest.
Dad
says he wants to stretch, so we pull over to the side of the road. Neewa jumps
out of my door as our van continues rolling. She loves to run along side us and
dash off into the desert to chase some poor unsuspecting critter. There she goes
again.
As
I get out, I see four eyes staring motionless right at me. Two heads
simultaneously follow me as I moved around to the back of our van to open the
trunk.
“Look,
look, shush,” I whisper.
I
point up on the hill, “There, on that ridge to the right, they are watching
us.”
“Look,”
Jackie whispers, “Are they gazelles?”
I
see two deer like creatures. But they are not deer. Nowhere near as big. More
like the white tail back east, but they are not out here.
I
freeze, “Look at the dark pointed antlers and the color of their bodies. Their
fur has different shades of beige, brown, and white around the neck and
underneath.”
I
question, “Their faces have a lot of white fur on them, but I don’t know
what they are?”
Dad
whispers, “They’re antelope, I’ve only seen them in books. Wow, cool,
I’ve always wanted to see one in the wild.”
The
two Pronghorn Antelope run for the hills, but one stops at the top and looks
directly at us, then turns and disappears over the ridge. In a few seconds they
are gone, vanished.
I’m
glad Neewa didn’t chase them, she would have never come back.
We
finish our rest stop and continue. For the next fifty miles, the only living
things we see are prairie dogs and buzzards. No other sign of life.
Finally
I see a sign, Indian Reservation 1 Mile.
It’s
about three PM now and the trip has taken much longer than we planned.
Turning
onto the reservation, we slowly ramble over ruts and bumps. A trail of dust
rises twenty feet above our van, enabling Manny and everyone else waiting for us
to see us coming a mile away.
As
we get closer, I see maybe ten eleven houses in a cluster in the valley.
That’s it, that’s the whole population. Looking around, there’s not much
happening here in the middle of nowhere. The place is isolated and boring,
nothing much to do.
Neewa
is barking to be let out of the van. Dad slows down and Neewa slivers under his
legs and jumps out the door. Off she gallops down the road in front of us
guiding the way. Occasionally looking back, she keeps the same distance between
us, commanding the lead.
Dad
says it’s fine to let her run along side the van. Its good exercise, as long
as she keeps her distance from the wheels, she won’t get hurt.
All
of a sudden she veers off into the brush having spotted her favorite prey,
chasing an unsuspecting prairie dog into its burrow. The poor little creature
has barley escaped her jaws, she barks at the entrance to it’s home. Then she
usually paws and pulls away large quantities of dirt, scaring the heck out of
the poor little thing. At that moment she prances off triumphant, catching up
with us in no time. Neewa just cannot resist chasing those little creatures.
When
we arrive at Manny’s house, all of his neighbors and relatives come out to
greet us. Most of them already know everything about us. The Indian grapevine is
very comprehensive and connects all the reservations. Everybody knows what
everyone else is doing.
We’re
all talking at the same time. Jokes are being told and questions asked about
what’s going on up North. Mostly they ask about relatives and friends we know,
well mostly Dad knows.
I’m
shy and I kind of hide behind Dad and play with Neewa. Nobody knows anything
about Neewa yet. When they hear me call her, they immediately ask me all kinds
of questions about her. I tell the whole story about how I got her and
everything she has done. Everyone laughs when they hear about the disappearing
pumpkin pies and how she had to fly onto the counter to get them.
Jackie
walks off with Manny’s daughter to play. Soon after that I notice Manny’s
two sons leaving to go fishing.
The
most exciting thing to happen out here this month was when a nine-year-old took
his Dad’s car for a ride. The father came running out of the house, shouting,
“Stop, stop!” Everyone came out of their house to watch them go down the
road. As he ran up along side of the car his pants were falling down. He reached
inside and shut the car off, stopping it cold. His kid thought it was funny and
laughed. Since no one was hurt, everyone laughed.
Out
here, it’s an everyday occurrence to have cattle wonder into someone’s yard.
After drinking their fill down by the stream, they find there way to the nearest
grass. No one notices much. They are just grazing on the grass in what they
think is their pasture, not knowing they aren’t supposed to eat there. Manny
says at least he won’t have to mow the lawn, which is funny cause Indians
don’t mow lawns, wouldn’t even cross their minds.
Cattle
sometimes wander into the tribe’s communal pastures, where the hay is grown as
a cash crop. Those fields are off limits. Eventually the heard is chased back
into the desert where the food is not plentiful, but free. Sooner or later they
end up back at the forbidden pasture where the grass is green and tender.
Dinner
is about to begin, as Jackie and I unpack some stuff. We put the pies in the
kitchen and our bags in our room. We’ll be sleeping in Steve room, he’s
Manny’s oldest son.
Inside
his room on the walls are pictures and posters. I recognize Geronimo over there
and that one is a diamond shaped thingy called a dream catcher. I think it
protects you from nightmares or something. On the windows instead of curtains
are Indian blankets tacked up on all four sides to keep the hot sun out.
One
old picture is of a band of Indians doing the Ghost Dance. Chief Wovoka began
the Ghost Dance among the Piute tribe. Then it spread throughout most of the
North American tribes around 1889. At the heart of the Ghost Dance movement was
the prophet of peace, a man named Jack Wilson, known as Wovoka. Wilson, A Piute
Indian prophesied a peaceful end to white American expansion while preaching
messages of clean living, an honest life, and cross-cultural cooperation.
Perhaps the best-known fact about the Ghost Dance movement is the role it played
in instigating the Wounded Knee massacre in 1890. At this massacre one hundred
fifty three Lakota Sioux died. The Sioux’s variation on the Ghost Dance was
different from Jack Wilson's original teachings. Settlers became afraid of the
dance, thinking it was a war dance.
The
room has trophies from a local rodeo event, as well as pictures from fishing
trips, and family gatherings. That one looks like a calf-roping trophy and that
one is a steer-wrestling award.
Looks
like the whole family goes to Pow Wow’s? There are pictures on the walls
labeled Ely PowWow and Duck Valley Pow Wow. What is a PowWow anyway?
“Dinnertime,
dinnertime,” Margaret rejoices as she strolls through the house smiling.
Everyone
runs to the table. Sitting down in the big dinning room, chairs shuffle and
slide on the floor. Spoons and forks clang as plates are scooped up and food
plopped down. Voices ring out, hey pass me that, arms reach out over the
checkered tablecloth filled with bounty.
Laughing,
joking, and talking, then quiet, we say Grace. After which the feast begins with
venison roast, corn, string beans, sweet potatoes, Mexican breads, and a big
turkey too.
As
Thanksgiving dinner ends, the joking and talking continues with the clean up.
Later
on, I take a nap during the football game. After waking up, Neewa and I go out
for a walk.
The
rest of the evening passes as we play games, nibble on leftovers, and chocolate
cake. I love chocolate cake.
Exhausted
after the long day, I crawl into my sleeping bag. Dad and Jackie are already
lying down and settling into a good nights sleep in their bags on the floor.
“Neewa
sleep on my feet and keep me warm,” I’m so tired.
Chapter 21 - Fishing
“Knock,
knock, knock, wake up,” I sit up stunned and look at Dad.
On
the other side of the door is Manny asking, “Do you guys want to go
fishing?”
“Yeah,
we all want to go,” Dad rubs his eyes.
In
minutes I’m following Dad and Jackie out the door to get the fishing stuff we
brought in the van. All of us are eager about going and Neewa senses the
excitement.
We
start out in our van with Manny leading the way in his car. Our destination is
the other side of the mountain about twenty minutes away near a small pond on
the reservation.
After
the bumpy dusty ride we arrive, park our van, and get into Manny’s car.
“Dad
why are we leaving our van way out here?” I ask.
Steve
sitting in the front seat turns around, “We are going to fish our way up the
stream to this pond. It will take about three hours. When we get here, we will
be tired and hungry. Instead of walking all the way back to where we started, we
can drive your van back.”
Manny
drives us all back to the starting point on the stream, the sun is now up for
almost an hour. With fishing gear in hand, we walk a narrow path to the waters
edge. There we all get ourselves organized and ready to go.
We
are standing in an oasis before swirling water with desert all around us. Before
me is crystal clean water meandering slowly through flatlands. In the distance
is a mountain where this stream flows down the center, a blue vein of bubbling
white water. Surrounding us are brown and beige-rolling hills. One side of the
stream has hundreds of meters of low lying fertile farming pasture surrounded by
a fence. On the other side is rock outcrops dotted with scrub pine and Aspen
trees shimmering in the dry breeze. Close to the stream are cattails, an
occasional wild flower, and tall grasses swaying.
Neewa
runs down stream, sprinting at full gallop, splashing water all over. Exiting,
she vanishes in the tall hay about to be harvested, and reappears on a small
hill above stream and fields.
We
start out at the widest section of the stream. That’s when I do something
I’ve never done before. Wading through the chilling stream in sneakers and
jeans, we begin casting our lines up stream. Using homemade flies called wooly
worms, we cast ahead and let the bait drift in the calm water.
As
we walk, applying our fishing technique, the current lazily meanders around us,
giving off cooling breezes, and glistening sunlight.
Next
we enter swift moving white water running over rock stepping-stones. Cascading
water fills a series of pools between the rocky cliffs rising above us, growing
narrower. Each pond of calm undisturbed blue green water empties with each
passing moment. Carefully, I cast my line into the next swirling eddy to tempt
my prey.
Silently
I cast my bait and walk along the edge of this large fishpond. Standing in the
shallow water, I make multiple throws to lure my quarry. Gently I lift and lower
my feet, careful not to disturb the pebbles holding the fine silt to the
streambed.
Neewa
follows our every move, and then darts by our fishing party to lead the way. I
throw a biscuit to her and she catches it, chews, and swallows it down in
seconds.
“Good
girl,” I yank her close to me, but she pulls away.
Gently
she wades into the stream and laps at the foaming bubbles passing by. With her
nose just above the surface, she tilts her head and stares into the water. Her
white paws are visible against the dark dirt bottom. After a few moments she
jumps out shaking the beaded water from her ivory coat.
We
fish pool after bright shimmering pool. Tired from the short night and long
morning I sit for a moment by the water and stare into moving current.
It’s
continually changing, never the same. Flowing from the mountains through the
desert. Who knows how far or long it’s journey to the ocean.
Dad
and Jackie join me on the bank of the stream.
Dad
says, “Fishing on a reservation for non-Indians is pretty much against the law
and punishable by death.”
Dad
asks Manny, “What ever happen to the last guys from the city that fished
here?”
Manny
replies, “Oh they were hung up on a tree and gutted like deer, their dogs
too.”
Dad
purposely did not bring his fishing pole. He already knows about the history of
whites steeling and taking just about everything from the Indians.
Manny’s
kids invited us to go fishing. Just us kids have fishing poles and that is
supposed to be okay?
We
are fishing for native trout, really big ones, on Native American land. It’s
fun fishing in a special place that Manny and his kids know. This land is sacred
to them and their tribe.
Rest
time is over and we continue up the waterway.
I
become concerned about Neewa as I haven’t seen or heard from her in a while.
To
get a better vantage point, I climb to the top of the ravine and position myself
facing away from the fishing party below. Far enough away and above everyone, I
can yell for her without scaring the fish.
Shouting
out into the desert, “Neewa, Neewa, Neewa.”
I
wait for her to answer.
Again
I holler, “Neewa come, Neewa come,” but nothing yet.
After
a few minutes I hear her bark, and it isn’t long before she runs to me at full
stride, stopping in front of me for a pat on the head. Perched on a cliff
looking down at the stream, both of us gingerly gaze over the edge.
Carefully
we climb down past rocks and brush, returning to water level.
“You
stay with us now Neewa, enough of the running off into the wild, no more,” I
order.
As
I hike and fish, Manny and his kids tell us Indian legends. First Steve tells
the story of “A Man and His Three Dogs.” It is about a wolf that tries to
become a human being, pretty cool. Next Manny tells us the legend of “The
White Trail In The Sky.” This story is about a bear that takes another bears
prey, and then the bear follows the Milky Way in the sky. Very cool ending.
We
are in a narrow part of the stream. It is only about five or ten feet in width.
Sheer canyon walls tower above us on both sides. Around us the steep rocky
cliffs allow a thin sliver of light down to the waters edge.
Slowly,
one by one we wade into the freezing water. Waist high, I push tall reeds to
either side as I pass through, slipping by the curtain like wall anchored to the
gravel bottom.
Looking
to either side of me, I stare at Indians naked from the waist up. Their long
dark hair hangs down to their muscular shoulders. Handsome stoic profiles glide
above the water like spirits suspended. They are at home here, like their
fathers and their father’s fathers. Moving effortlessly through the water as
if propelled by magic. They don’t even look human.
With
chattering teeth Dad remarks, “Manny I should have brought waders?”
Manny
replies looking at us, his expression is serious, almost aghast, “Indians
don’t wear waders.”
As
we reach the other side of the gorge the stream widens again. The rock walls
open up allowing the warming sun on my face and arms. The narrow grotto behind
us, we walk on smooth stone banks with grasses just beyond.
I
look up and see Neewa staring over the edge spying on us. I didn’t even hear
her sneak away.
Balanced
on the rim of the gorge she barks, “Roof, roof, roof.”
“Shush,”
I whisper, “Good girl Neewa.”
After
watching us for a while, she turns and vanishes.
From
down here by the stream, the shear rock walls rise over me like skyscrapers. I
jerk backward and wobble looking up, the rock appearing to be right over my
head.
A
tiny ribbon of water tumbles downward. The little waterfall cascades down and
smashes on the rocks. Glistening in the sunlight the droplets glide toward me in
slow motion splashing onto my foot, and trickling into the stream.
After
a couple more ponds, we have caught a half dozen Speckled Trout and finally
reach the last pond. I feel no need to fish anymore, although everyone else is
trying to catch just one more.
Walking
straight to our van, I’m relieved. It looks like a million bucks sitting
there, right where we left it a few hours ago. This is a lot better than walking
all the way back to where we started, that’s for sure. My cloths are dripping
wet, I’m cold, hungry, and tired. Finally, at the end of my fishing trip, I
drip-dry and pack my stuff. I’m thinking about being warm and dry soon.
Just
then Neewa comes running at full gallop and circles me thumping my shines with
her wagging tail.
Steve
is cleaning fish at the water’s edge. Neewa and I sit, and watch.
“Speckled
trout don’t have scales, no need to scale them,” Steve instructs.
Neewa
ogles Steve as he gathers the fish we caught today. She is begging for a taste
and of course her tongue is hanging out the side. Both of us stare at Steve as
he takes his hunting knife and cuts the chin of the lower jaw of each fish
creating a V shape flap that hangs down. Next he cuts an incision along the soft
white belly from the bottom fin up to the mouth just below the flap he just cut.
With the belly opened up, the guts, stomach, and everything is exposed. Like an
artist painting a picture he clasps the hanging skin flap under the jaw in his
fingers and yanks toward the tail.
“Crackle,
crunch, squish,” out comes the jaw, throat, gills, intestines, stomach, and
everything inside, in one big clump of guts.
Tossing
the innards toward the center of the pond he says, “Gutted, done, the turtles
will eat that.”
Smiling
proudly as he dips the limp carcass in the water he says, “Shake it around
under the water and this fish is ready for the frying pan.”
Steve
cleans and rinses each of the fish caught, rubbing out any blood or other
remains stuck inside. Turning to me as I hold a plastic bag open, he puts the
cleaned fish in one by one, saving one in his hand.
Looking
at Neewa he asks, “Hey what is that pink thing hanging out of her mouth?”
I
reply, “That’s her tongue, she lost some teeth when she had distemper as a
puppy. Now her tongue hangs out the gap left by the missing teeth.”
Steve
cuts a little piece of sushi filet off the fish and throws it to her. Neewa
catches it in her mouth and swallows it down in one gulp. I doubt if she even
chewed it at all. She stares at him for more, but we get up and head for the
van.
We
all gather around, packing up everything. Dad, Manny, and Steve are guessing the
weight of each fish. The rest of us are talking about where each fish was caught
and who caught it.
My
clothes are wet and when a cloud blocks the sun, I start to shiver. I rummage
through the trunk for my sweatshirt and coat and put them on over top of my wet
stuff.
That’s
when I heard it. It came out of nowhere. Clear as a church bell on a Sunday
morning.
Chapter 22 - Bang, A shot rang out
“Bang,”
A single shot rang out, one bullet hit the dirt sending a mini mushroom cloud of
dust into the air about fifty feet away from me. “Bang,” The sound echoes
off the mountains and returns again. I stop, frozen, as the world around me
seems to stand still. Looking at everyone, their faces are blank with strange
contorted expressions. Manny and his sons scramble to my side of the van and
take cover. Not knowing what else to do, each of us stoops down to hide.
Steve
is mad, “What was that Dad?”
Manny
shrugs, “It came from up on that ridge. I guess it’s one of the old timers
letting us know we are being watched. Guess he sent us a warning shot, doesn’t
like strangers poking around.”
Steve
sarcastically replies, “A warning shot?”
“Yeah,
you know fishing on the reservation is for Indians only,” Manny answers.
“Dad
you know John didn’t fish, he just came along to watch us kids have fun,”
Steve reasons.
Manny
replies, “I know that. But the old timer doesn’t know that. I’ll talk to
him, next time no shooting.”
Steve
sighs, “Ok Dad but I wish you’d have talked to him before we went
fishing.”
Manny
and Steve look at each other and chuckle. We all laugh, although it is a nervous
giggle for me as we jump in the van and drive away.
Down
the road is a general store where we can get something to eat. It’s the only
store around for twenty miles. We arrive after a short ride over a
pothole-riddled bumpy side road.
The
general store is also the gas station, hardware, feed, grocery, and liquor
store, as well as the U.S. post office. Most of us get egg sandwiches and milk
or coffee at the counter.
Something
is weird here, it’s only 11:00 AM and there are two boys drinking beer. I
don’t know what the drinking age is here, but they are definitely not old
enough. They look like they could be in middle school.
Neewa
runs through the store looking around for something to eat. Animals, especially
dogs are treated different out here. They are allowed to run through stores and
people don’t mind, they even like it. Already she is being petted by the cook
and welcomed into the kitchen. She disappears, no doubt they have both made new
friends.
At
the other end of the store is one of the local ranchers getting supplies. He is
about five feet tall, cowboy boots, and frail looking. He’s wearing an old
straw hat, beat up jeans, and a snap button plaid shirt. Sticking out of his
shirt pocket is a bag of chewing tobacco. Smiling he reveals a total of three
teeth in his entire mouth. I look at his face, old, wrinkled, and unshaven for
weeks. He guzzles down the rest of his beer and tosses the crushed can into the
trash.
I
don’t like the way he’s looking at me. Two other girls in the store don’t
like him either, I can tell. Instead of walking past him, they circle around
him, staying far away.
He
wheezes, “George Spahn’s my name and my ranch is the Spahn Ranch.” He
grins wickedly at us with an evil beam in his eye, “Come on out to my ranch,
we’re having a big party tonight, it’s out thata way. I have lots of friends
out there staying with me and they like to party.”
Dad
nods, “Thanks but we are leaving for home in a few minutes.”
I
tell Dad, “That guy gives me the creeps.”
Dad
agrees whispering, “I don’t like him either and I wouldn’t trust him,
he’s evil. That’s the kind of party people never come back from.”
Neewa
walks slowly between him and me and growls.
“Good
doggy, ha ha,” He turns and walks to the warehouse supply counter to finish
buying his provisions.
After
saying our farewells on the front steps of the general store. We get in the van
and drive away waving and yelling “bye, bye, bye.”
The
dirt road and surrounding desert seem kinder, more peaceful. Dad isn’t as
nervous as he was on the way here. Although I’m sure he’s concerned about
the dirt road and the possibility of it being obliterated by a single dust
storm.
We
drive for a few hours as the sun starts to set and the desert sky begins to
change colors. Sunset on the desert is the most beautiful time of the day. A
wide array of cloud formations and spectacular hues highlight the horizon. The
pinks and yellows change with each passing moment trying to out do the shades of
blue and purple. No two sunsets are ever the same in the desert and the next one
is always better than the one before.
“How
much longer till we reach the paved road?” I ask.
Dad
replies, “Any minute now. We should be on pavement before it gets dark.”
Jackie,
Neewa, and I are falling asleep. Neewa puts her head on my leg. Her cold wet
nose shines against my pant leg. She is tired from all the exploring today,
resting so close to me, I can feel her heart beating.
A
thud jars me awake. I look ahead where the headlights shine. We’ve reached the
pavement. The tires begin to hum as they glide over the silky blacktop signaling
our arrival back in civilization. Everyone lets out a collective sigh of relief.
“I’m
going back to sleep, wake me when we get home,” I mumble.
Dad
drives into the night for hours as I sleep. Then without warning we hit a bump,
we’ve turned into our backyard.
“I
call shower first,” I yell.
Frustrated
Jackie bellows, “Christina you always call first, you can’t do that.”
“Yes
I can, and I did,” I declare.
We’re
home, boy am I glad to be home. I never thought I’d say that about this old
place. I’m exhausted and that shower is sounding better and better. It’s
going to feel so good. Then I’m going to sleep. Well maybe not right to sleep,
I might read for a little while.
“Good
night Dad, love you.”
“Good
night Christina, Jackie, love you.”
“Love
you Dad,” Jackie says.
“Good
night, Neewa.”
Chapter 23 - Heather’s House
After
school Neewa and I walk to Heather’s house on the other side of town. Heather
is the tribal medicine woman and very powerful, maybe the most powerful in all
the tribe. She called yesterday to say she is expecting us at four o’clock.
Dad
and Jackie are waiting in front of Heather’s house as Neewa and I turn the
corner onto the dirt path that leads to her house.
“Neewa, Neewa,” Dad shouts as he sees us walking.
She
runs like the wind to Dad and gives him a welcome lick on the hand. As he pets
her she wags her tail, thumping his shin, “Thump, thump, thump,” and
circling him in delight. After which she jumps up and puts her paws on his
shoulders, stretching her body out. Pushing him backwards, she jumps down on all
fours and puts her cold wet nose in his hand and pushes and steers him to
Heather’s front door.
Watching
the whole thing I say, “Dad, she’s leading you towards the house. What does
she know about Heather’s house? She has never been here before?”
“Nothing
that I know of,” Dad shrugs.
Heather’s
place is the oldest home on the colony. It is one level and made of railroad
ties with cement plastered in-between the rows to hold it together and keep the
cold out. The flat roof is tarpaper, with extra tar spread on top of that. It
looks very humble with dilapidated front steps, a front door with deep gouges
and pealing paint, and three small windows in the front.
Her
compact yard is overgrown with plants and vegetation and has footpaths leading
to every section, worn down over many years. The outhouse is in the back, just a
quick walk from the door. Beyond that is desert, sagebrush, and sand as far as
the eye can see.
Diane,
Heather’s daughter, told me at school that the tribe’s burial ground is
underneath her house and that spirits visit them all the time. I don’t know if
I should believe her or not, she is a nice girl, but that seems a little too
far-fetched. A burial ground under a house, why would anyone put it there? I did
believe her when she told me she was apprenticing to be the next medicine woman
of the tribe. After all her Mom is the medicine woman.
Diane
told me herbs and plants for healing and ceremonies are grown throughout the
front and back yards. She says the plants are used in rituals, to treat illness,
and to keep away evil. Each plant has a particular purpose such as the treatment
of headaches, stomach problems, or arthritis. While other plants are used for
incense or sweat baths.
Stepping
up to Heather’s door, Neewa is at my side as we follow close behind Dad. As he
raises his arm to knock on the door, it opens, and she appears at the door
smiling.
“Come
in, come in, I’ve been waiting for you,” She grins.
Before
I walk in I order, “Neewa stay here, wait for me.”
Quickly
Heather asks, “Can Neewa come in? I would like that. We don’t have a dog or
a cat and Neewa can go wherever she wants.”
“Sure,”
I reply to Heather.
I
walk in the dimly lighted home barely able to see. It feels damp, but that is
due to the dirt floor covered with wooden planks that creek and squeak as we
walk.
Heather
ushers us over to the kitchen table by a big sink with a hand pump for water. As
my eyes adjust, her home comes into focus. Oversized woven rugs separate the one
room home into three sections. Her two daughters each have one and Heather has
the rest.
It
looks like a museum inside. In the front room there is a frightful mask all
painted in red and black. It looks creepy. Near by is a beautiful headdress made
of lots of eagle feathers, with a colorful yellow and red beaded headband. On
one wall is a ceremonial robe with intricate hand-sown bead designs of animals
and hieroglyphic symbols. I can make out the symbol for the sun and the other
symbols might be water and fire.
The
ceiling is open to the roof made of thick timbers.
Electric wires hang down with light bulbs on the ends that sway ever so
slightly. In the corner, a wood stove provides badly needed heat and light.
Neewa
runs around the house following her nose into the corners and along the walls,
then positions herself at Heather’s side. As Heather moves around the house,
Neewa follows her like a shadow. If Heather sits down, Neewa rests nearby on a
rug and seems to be looking all about the house, particularly Linda’s room.
Linda is Heather’s oldest daughter who is away at college.
Heather
speaks, “On the table are packages of herbs for each of you. They are from my
garden, take them now and put them in your pocket.”
“Thank
you,” Jackie and I say in unison.
“The
herbs will protect you from evil,” Heather adds.
I
look at Dad and Jackie and they look back at me and then at each other, none of
us know what to say to that.
Heather is quite old, maybe eighty or eighty-five.
She is about five foot tall, stout, and steady on her feet. Her long silver hair
is held tight in a bun by a handmade beaded bun cover. She is wearing a gray
wrap-around housecoat covered by a long woolen beige sweater. On top of that,
she wears a hand made bandolier bag of the finest quality.
I
have no idea what her last name is, so for now I will call her Heather. What do
you call a medicine woman anyway? Hey Doc, no of course not.
“Heather,”
At last I say, “Where is Diane?”
“Go
into her room Christina, she is doing her home work. Perhaps you can check it
for her?”
“Okay,”
I say as Jackie and I walk toward the single light in her room. Pushing aside
the vertical rug that separates her room from the rest of the house, we enter
her room.
Heather
starts talking to Dad about the tribe’s history. My guess is they will talk
about some of the events that have happen to the tribe over the years.
“Presently,”
I hear her say in the background, “All the tribe members have a new house
except me. My new house is coming, they say it will be here soon, but other
families needed one more then me. They have young children, so I let them get
their homes first before me. I only have Diane now, my oldest daughter Linda is
always away at school and Chester has his own home for a long time.”
Diane,
Jackie, Neewa and I step out the back door of the house as the wind begins to
blow and carry sand around. As we walk around the garden, the gusts begin to get
stronger and stronger. The wind is whipping around as we make our way to the
back steps. It sound like ocean waves breaking on the shore.
Chapter 24 - The Storm
“It’s
howling,” I remark.
“Whew,
Whew, Whew,” The wind whistles.
Heather
and Dad step outside to see what is going on as the force of the wind continues
to grow. It sounds like a train rolling down the tracks.
As
I stand at the back of the house, a cloud of dust and sand is coming straight at
me from the desert. A wall as tall and wide as the eye can see. Sand and
tumbleweeds zip by us at lightning speed. Suddenly fierce blowing currents of
air and sand hit me square in the face pushing me back. As I turn away, I am
almost knocked to the ground as I cover my face. The giant dust cloud is so
thick I can hardly see. The storm is raging now, sending sand flying sideways
and the wind is screeching in my ears in an unnatural way.
Neewa
lies down and gets into a tight ball with her tail covering her face. She seems
to know exactly what to do. Its as if she’s already been in a storm like this
before.
Diane,
Jackie, and I kneel down next to Neewa, as I cover us with my jacket and we
huddle close to the house for protection.
Sand
bounces off of my jacket making pinging sounds, striking everything. It is
peppering what little skin is exposed, actually stinging me.
I
peak out from under my jacket, looking in the direction of Heather and Dad. They
are covered with one of Heathers hand woven blankets.
The
wind driven sand engulfs them as Heather steps out from undercover of the
blanket and puts her arms straight out as if to embrace the squall. Eyes closed,
she looks up into the sky and smiles.
What
is Heather doing? Why is she looking into the sand storm? If I didn’t know
better, I’d think she is communicating with some power beyond the ordinary, a
spiritual supernatural force.
I
look away and take cover under my jacket with Diane, and Jackie, while Neewa
remains at our feet. I have never experienced this before, we don’t have
storms like this back home.
Neewa
is still curled up in a ball as the sand continues to pile up on her back and
around her head, everywhere.
Thankfully
the howling winds are beginning to subside. The blowing sand is settling as the
eerie screeching sounds dissipate. As quickly as it came, the storm exits in
silence continuing on its path across the desert.
I
take my jacket off of our heads as sand falls to the ground in sheets like
spilling syrup. I look at Neewa, now covered in a layer of sand from head to
tail. She gets up and shakes it off. It cascades to the ground around her like a
waterfall.
As
the storm departs, the bright sunlight returns from west to east. The back of
the sandstorm continues east leaving us behind. I look out over the desert,
nothing but the heavens. Silhouettes of distant mountains frame the western blue
sky while wispy white clouds linger above.
Newly
created waves of rippling sand cover the desert like water at the oceans edge.
The sand dunes sparkle like diamonds reflecting rays of light. I stare into the
dune as if gazing into the depths of the ocean.
We
walk out onto the desert, now more like fresh fallen snow, toward the sunset.
Before getting very far, we are ankle deep in sand deposited by the storm. My
sneakers fill and become weights on my feet. The rolling dunes summon me
forward, I’m being pulled out into the desert, not forcefully, but compelled
to continue nonetheless. The sun begins to set into an orange and yellow blanket
on the horizon.
“Come
on Neewa let’s go,” I command.
I
spot something as we gallop over the sand. It is out of place, an object lying
on top of the dune about the size of my fist, rounded, perhaps three inches
wide. A cylinder shaped piece of whatever, lying next to a half buried stick. I
reach down and pick them both up, concealing the one and waving the stick around
like a wand.
I
throw the stick for Neewa, who runs down the dune laboring in its depths,
kicking sand into the air.
Sneaking
a peak at the heavy hidden object, I see markings on the beige rock, similar to
the bark of a tree. It looks a lot like a section of a small log, cut straight
on either end, a jellyroll about 5 inches long. The sunlight reflects off the
shinny black core resembling black quartz.
I
know what this is, I’ve seen it before, its petrified wood.
It
must have been lying just under the sand and exposed by the powerful winds.
I’m not supposed to remove it, and it’s against the law to keep it,
especially on an Indian Reservation.
But
I won’t consider it for one moment. I stick it back in my jacket pocket, like
a hungry thief would steel a package of bologna at a grocery store.
Neewa
returns and we have a tug-of-war with the stick. She eventually gives in,
wanting to play fetch more than tug-of-war. I throw the stick further this time
and she runs to fetch it.
Chapter 25 - Devil Spirits
Heather
is grinning as she points her finger out into the desert, “Look, I see the
devil out there.”
Anxiously, I turn and
look. The soft and soothing blue skies surrounded the silhouette of a gray
funnel shaped cloud. It’s fifty feet high and twenty feet wide, twisting, and
moving across the horizon.
Fearful,
“What is it?”
“It’s a spirit
being, you call them dust devil’s, but Indians know better.”
Turning to Heather I
say, “It looks like a mini tornado.
I’ve never seen a dust
devil. We don’t have them back East.”
Heather speaks, as she
looks deep into my eyes, “Spirit beings are the supernatural energy of the
dead.”
I feel her gaze go
through me and exit the back of my head.
“Heather how does the
dust devil become a spirit being?”
Heather replies,
“Legend has it that the dust devil passes over the dead body of an Indian and
lifts the spirit from the Earth in the form of the dust devil. The spirit being
inhabits the dust devil to travel the Earth and look for a living creature’s
body to posses. After having done so, it shifts its shape from the supernatural
to the natural and is reborn, reincarnated. In its new body it must complete the
mission, which is to find its place in the sacred burial ground of our people.
That is its goal, to be with it’s our kind in the spirit world.”
Heather continues, “We
call our sacred burial ground the Spirit World. It’s a place hidden from
everyone but us, where Indian spirits beings can be At Rest. That is where all
the spirits of our tribe go when their human bodies die.
Ghosts can materialize,
move objects, and scare people, but they cannot take a body or soul, or return
from the supernatural world to the natural world like spirit beings.”
Whistling sounds come
from the dust devil. They get louder and louder as it moves closer to us. It is
making a shrill sound, like an old factory lunch whistle piercing the air at
noon.
The dust devil advances
across the desert, kicking up clouds of dust, brush, and lots of sand, as the
whistling gets deafening.
“The dust devil is
coming,” I screech.
The medicine woman
shouts a warning, “It is an evil devil spirit, a shape-shifting demon, and it
will take your body and your soul.”
Heather continues,
“Evil spirit beings are devils spirits wanting to reincarnate in the mortal
body of a human or animal. But the evil ones destroy the soul, causing the body
to die.”
I almost fall over the
steps and onto my head. An array of goose bumps rise on my arms like chicken
pox. The fuzzy hairs on the back of my neck stand up like soldiers at attention.
Jackie and Dad look at me, speechless.
Chapter 26 - Spirit World
Heather speaks, “This
evil devil spirit is moving like a tornado, a violently rotating column of air
with the power of the wind, earth and sky. That one is a strong one and it must
be stopped. I will vanquish this evil devil spirit back to the supernatural,
back to its eternal pain. My battle with evil will be to the death.”
Heather
reaches into her bandolier bag and throws a hand full of yellow powder into the
air. It blows right past us giving us a light coating.
She
explains, “The powder will protect us from this devil, but we must seek sacred
ground.”
Now
I’m in shock and I don’t know what to say. Jackie hugs Dad and Dad embraces
us as we stand shoulder to shoulder.
“Look!”
the medicine woman exclaims, “That evil devil spirit is seeking a body and
soul to possess, don’t let it be yours.”
I’m
gasping for air, “It sounds like a screaming banshee and its headed right for
us.”
“Hurry
up come into my home, it is sacred ground and the evil one cannot take you here.
Quickly, quickly,” Heather implores.
We
duck inside her house and go by the light of the wood stove. Heather throws blue
powder into the fire. It contacts the flames and blue smoke rises up the flue.
The stovepipe glows for a moment as the smoke goes up the chimney.
She
yells, “Go demon, leave us evil spirit.”
Huddling
together Heather looks at each of us, “Families of those who have been taken
by an evil devil spirit will not even noticed a change. They will not see any
physical difference in their loved one. No one will guess their body and soul
has been taken.
Evil
devil spirits are amongst us, you know who they are. You have met them, someone
who has become evil, a problem to the rest of us.
Everyone
who knows one will say, it’s not like him, he was so nice, but now he is
different.
A
friend of one who has been taken might confide, I don’t know what has happen
to her, she’s gone bad. I don’t know her anymore.”
No
one moves or speaks for what seems like minutes, but is only seconds.
Heather
speaks, “It’s safe now, the evil one is gone.”
Silence
hangs over us for a few seconds, none of us know what to do or say.
Finally
Dad says, “Okay, it’s getting late guys, lets go home. Thank you Heather for
everything. Good to see you Diane. Ready Christina? Jackie? Neewa?”
“Yeah
Dad, ready,” I reply.
Neewa
wags her tail and runs to my side.
“Me
too Dad, I’m ready,” Jackie adds as we file out.
Safely
in our car now, questions flood my head faster than terabits on high-speed
broadband. Did that really happen? What was Heather fighting? What is an evil
devil spirit?
But
not one of us actually has anything to say. We just stare at the road and drive
the half-mile to our home.
I
ask, “Dad are you thinking what I’m thinking? Heather said that her house is
sacred ground. And Diane told me at school that the tribe’s burial ground is
underneath her house and that spirits visit her.”
“Yes
Christina, what about it?” Dad asks.
“We’ve
found the Indian burial grounds, that’s what! Now all we have to do is figure
out how to get our equipment into that house without being discovered.”
Dad
cautions, “I don’t want to disrespect Heather, not to mention the entire
Indian nation. Trespassing is against the law, and whites’ going on an Indian
reservation is dangerous. You remember what happen to those diaboo’s
(non-Indians) who went fishing out at Duck Valley? They were found hanging from
a tree, gutted, and their dogs too.”
“Dad,
I have to film that sacred burial ground and capture a spirit on tape. There has
to be a way to get our equipment in there without getting caught? But how can
we? I can’t think of a way without being seen.”
“Who
says that evil devil spirit is still there?” Jackie questions. “And besides
I’m not going back there, that place scared the heck out of me.”
“But
seriously Dad, there’s something going on here. What about those Orbs at
Doctor Cuthberson’s ranch? And how about all his artifacts? And remember
Chester put that charm on Neewa and said; it will protect her from evil. Chester
had a strange look in his eyes when he said that. I stared back at him. Then he
said laughing, the evil dogcatcher that’s who.
He
wanted to tell me something, but he couldn’t. Something about Neewa, but
it’s the Indian way, he can’t possibly tell.
And
what about Heather giving us each herbs to protect us from evil? And now this
dust devil possessed by an evil devil spirit chasing us. And being vanquished
with colored powders thrown in the air and into a wood stove by a medicine
woman. Something is going on and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.
Dad,
did you forget what that little girl at the tribal history meeting said? She
asked, do you know Neewa has a spirit? And what about when Neewa flew up on the
kitchen counter to eat the pumpkin pies? Neewa can fly.”
Dad
replies, “You have a vivid imagination Christina, we have no real proof Neewa
flew onto the counter to get those pumpkin pies.”
Giggling
nervously, “I have an idea, we can put a backpack full of equipment on Neewa
and mount a camera on top. I’ll send her ghost hunting into Heathers sacred
burial grounds. Neewa can film and take readings with the meters in the
backpack. I can show the film on my own TV show. I’ll call it Doggie Ghost
Cam.”
Laughing,
“Wait, wait, I got a better name for my TV show. I’ll call it, Flying Doggie
Ghost Cam. Neewa can fly in and out of haunted houses, sacred burial grounds,
boot hill’s, and such.”
“Ha
ha, good Christina, that’s one of your better jokes,” Jackie smirks.
We
arrive home from Heathers. My head is full of devil spirits, charms, stories of
evil, doggie ghost cams shows, and fright, all thrown together.
On
my way to bed, “Neewa you are sleeping next to me tonight.”
I
jump on to my bed and pat the comforter, “Come on girl, jump, jump up.”
Dad
will have to spend some money on heat. It’s really gets cold at night. But
Neewa will keep me warm. She stretches out her long body and legs next to me as
she lies on her side, keeping me warm.
“Good
night, Dad, love you.”
“Good
night Christina, Jackie, love you.”
“Love
you Dad, Christina,” Jackie says.
“Good
night Neewa.”
Chapter 27 - Cowboying
Last
night Jackie was hired to do baby-sitting and slept over our neighbor’s house,
the Burns. She went to school from their house this morning. And after school
she had dinner with them and waited for Dad and I to get back from our long day
of cowboying.
***
After being out all day
cowboying, I come running in the door trying to contain myself. It’s around
9:00 PM at night and I try to act casual.
I
say to Jackie, “How did baby-sitting go last night? Did Hank and Jane get home
late?”
“No,
not too late. It went good. Brice and I designed clothes. Then we had a fashion
show and put on matching tops with boas and stuff. It was a lot of fun.
I
got to sleep in Brice’s room. She has two twin beds, really comfortable. It
was more like a sleep over, and I made some really big bucks babysitting, twenty
dollars,” Jackie says with a sassy tone.
“Very
cool, that’s a lot of money. You want to hear my amazing cowboying story?” I
screech.
Jackie
knew we had gone cowboying. It was all prearranged, her staying with the
Burn’s overnight. They live right across the street. Jackie did not want to go
cowboying, she thinks its barbaric to eat meat, she’s a vegetarian.
We
had left really early in the morning and we knew we wouldn’t be getting home
till late. Besides Jackie couldn’t go cause she had talent show practice, and
she didn’t want to miss that.
***
This
whole adventure began a few weeks ago when Chester called and asked us all to go
cowboying with him on his cousin’s ranch.
Dad
asked, “What is cowboying?”
Chester
explained, “Cowboying is when you round up cattle and drive them to wherever
you want them to go.”
Dad
repeated, “Christina, Jackie, you guys want to go cowboying on horses on a
ranch?”
I
took the phone right out of Dad’s hand and shouted, “Can Neewa come?”
“Yes
Neewa can come, if she can ride a horse?” Chester laughed.
“When?
When?” I asked him.
Chester
replied, “It depends on the weather. I’ll call you the night before. We
won’t go in the rain or bad weather.”
Chester
finally called yesterday afternoon, “Do you still want to go cowboying?”
“Yeah,”
I told him.
Chester
said, “Pick me up at four in the morning.”
I
cried out, “Four in the morning! Wow, Okay we’ll see you at four.”
I
shouted to Dad, “We are going cowboying tomorrow, the weather is supposed to
be good.”
Dad
replied, “Yeah tomorrow is good. I’ll call The Burns’s and ask if Jackie
can stay over their house tonight.”
“Jackie,
you okay with this?” Dad asked not completely convinced Jackie did not want to
go cowboying.
“Yeah
Dad, I’m not going cowboying, its barbaric,” She said again.
***
“So
anyway Jackie listen, we picked up Chester’s at four, and we all arrived at
the ranch before the sun came up. We met Chester’s cousin, Dave at his house
and took his pick-up truck to the barn. Dave was surprised when Neewa jumped up
into in the back of his pick-up.”
“Cute
dog you got there, can she stare down a steer?” Dave asked.
I
answered, “Neewa can do anything, just tell her once and she is good to go.”
Neewa
was an instant hit with everyone.
“She
loves to be petted and play fetch,” I told them as we drove down the dirt
road, “She can do anything. Its as if she is human.”
“Right
from the start Dad and Dave had an issue.”
Jackie
sighs, “Oh boy, it figures, Dad What did you do?”
He
doesn’t answer, just continues tinkering around the kitchen.
I
continue my story, “We’re getting in the truck. Dad just walked away from
our van and Dave asks, why did you lock your van?”
“Oh
did I?” Dad answered surprised.
“I
didn’t even realize I did? Where we come from you have to lock your car. I
guess it’s a habit.” Dad shrugged.
Dad
and I could tell Dave was insulted. He thought we didn’t trust him and that we
were afraid someone from his ranch would take something from our van.
Dad
confided in me, “I know there is nothing I can do to take back what I did. I
feel terrible that Dave thinks I don’t trust him. Guess we started off on the
wrong foot.”
Dad
tried to explain again by saying, “Dave we just moved out of the city. I
picked up the habit of locking the van. You have to lock it or someone will take
it.”
Dave
shrugged his shoulders, “Oh, is that right?”
Dad
sipped on his bottle of water as we arrived at the barn. Two of Dave’s ranch
hands were already saddling the horses and getting everything ready. They nodded
to us.
We
each had to check our own bridal, synch, and reins ourselves to be sure they
were tight, Dave insisted.
He
told us, “The heard roams government land all year long. They eat whatever
they can find, mostly sagebrush, but some grasses and new plant shoots if it
rains. But it’s not enough, so we bring them hay to add to their diet. Mostly,
the cattle live off whatever they can find. If it were not for the stream
running through our land, there would be nothing for them to eat, just more
desert.
We
have about a dozen fields of grass and hay that belong to the tribe. We sell
that for cash and that money goes to the old ones who can’t work.”
“I
got the gentlest horse Dave had, her name is Stork. Dad got a horse that likes
to throw you off onto the ground. Its name is Mac.”
Dave
said laughing under his breath, “Be ready to land on your feet when that one
throws you off.”
Dad
replied, “Yeah? Ok? I’ll be ready, I hope.”
“Next
we rode out onto the desert. It was so quiet and the sun was just coming up. You
should have seen it when the early morning light hit the mountains, they turned
a brilliant ruby red.”
Chester
gave us our coyboying instructions as we rode, “I will tell you guys where to
stand. We will drive the cattle toward you. Don’t get off your horses or you
will get trampled for sure. You guys will be like bumpers in bumper pool,
guiding the cattle.”
He
asks, “Did you ever play bumper pool?”
“Yes,”
We both say.
“I
play all the time,” he says. “At my friends house.”
Chester
continues, “The cattle will turn away from you when they see you. Make sure
they turn the right way. Just raise up your arm opposite the direction you want
them to go, don’t worry, they spook easy.”
I
looked at Jackie who is hanging on every word, “That was the extent of my
cowboying instructions.”
Chapter 28 - Cattle Drive
“I’m
not sure if they were speaking Shoshone, Piute, or Washoe, but no one spoke
English as we headed out to the desert.
It
felt like I was with Billy Crystal and Daniel Stern in the movie City Slickers.
You should have seen it Jackie, cattle everywhere. I was on my horse the whole
day. It feels like I’m still on that horse, my legs are killing me.”
“Yeah
Christina, you smell like you’re still on that round-up. I hope you’re
taking a shower,” Jackie wrinkles her nose.
“Yeah,
right after I finish the story,” I warn.
“Neewa
was running around the cattle like she knew how to round them up. She nipped at
the cow’s tails to get them to move faster. Once when a cow stopped right in
front of her, she looked the cow straight in the eye and barked. The cow turned
and ran to escape her glare. If a cow turned in the wrong direction, Neewa
circled around and brought it back to the heard.
Someone
would give a command in Shoshone, Piute, or Washoe. Dad and I would look at each
other with a blank stare. Chester translated only if it was something we needed
to know.
Chester
would yell, stay by that sage bush, or don’t move, or move to the left.
Dad
and I learned a couple of Indian words, stop, go, and don’t move you
diaboo’s.”
Dad
excited, continues the story while I go take a shower.
“Jackie,
we rounded up all the cattle on the desert. That took almost all day. It had to
be after two in the afternoon before we stopped for a drink of water.
Then
we drove the cattle down a long dirt road with fence on either side to a corral.
That was the easy part cause all we had to do was stay behind them and keep
moving.
Occasionally,
a steer would break away, get through a broken part of the fence and run for the
hills. One of the cowboys would have to go round up the cow and drive it back to
the heard.”
Dad
laughs, “Neewa ran off into some trees. It was the perfect place for her with
a shimmering stream, shade from the sun, and plenty of water. She probably
wanted to get a drink or go for a swim and cool off. I saw her chewing on the
green grass on the bank.
At
that moment, she started rolling around on the ground scratching her back. Dirt
and dust rose all around her as she wriggled around. I didn’t know what she
was doing.
We
continued down the road with the cattle when she came back. As soon as she got
close to me, I realized what had happen. She had been rolling in cow manure and
was covered in it.”
“Oh
my god you stink!” I yelled.
Returning
from my shower I interrupt Dad, “I told Neewa, you smell so bad you are going
to have to stay outside on her chain in one of your dens.
When
we passed the next pond, I took her for a swim. We played fetch and she swam
across the pond a few times, but that didn’t get all the smell off.”
Dad
continues the story, “We finally arrived at two big corrals that were in the
middle of this wide-open field. Somehow we were going to get all the cattle in
side. Christina and I were assigned to guard the gate and we positioned
ourselves twenty or thirty feet away. Our job was to guide the cattle into the
corral and keep the one’s inside from coming back out, which is what they
wanted to do.
The
only way to do this was to yell and wave our arms in the air to spook them in
the right direction. Sometimes just raising an arm would scare the cattle enough
to keep them from running back out.
When
Chester and Dave herded a whole bunch of cows in through the gate, the cows
inside tried to escape. Again and again the cattle got spooked and ran in every
direction. Sometimes they ran right at us, and then it was impossible to keep
them all from escaping while driving still more cattle in through the same gate.
If
you let one get by you, and it was your fault, the other cowboy’s gave you a
look. That would be your signal to go and get the escapee and drive it back into
the corral.”
Jackie’s
eyes are wide open as she listens to every word, “Next we separated the calves
from the cows and put them in a separate corral. The calves screamed when they
were taken from their moms. Some of them were not even weaned yet. It was sad,
cows were mooing for their young. I wanted to die. They tried to get back to
each other, crying, and blaring in cow language. They kept running out of the
corral and back to their moms, only to be separated again by one of us on
horseback. That was the worst part. I don’t ever want to do that again, I
cried.”
Dad
jumps in, “Cattle trucks arrived just when we finished getting the cows and
calves separated. The calves were in the smaller corral. They are staying on the
ranch, and will be Dave’s heard next year. The rest of the cattle were loaded
into the trucks.
But
in order to get the cattle onto the trucks, they had to be chased through this
chute that lead to the trailer. The chute is a four-foot wide corridor in the
corral with fence on both sides. It has dropdown doors to control the number of
cattle passing through. After that, they go up a ramp into the truck’s
trailer.”
Dad
added, “The truck drivers have to get the trailer door really close to the top
of the chute. If not, the cows jump between the trailer and ramp to freedom.
Several cows made the four-foot jump and ran to the other corral to be with
their calves. They mooed and mooed until they were roped and dragged back to the
chute by a cowboy.
Then
it was done, finally they were all loaded and two trucks full of cattle headed
for the auction.”
I
continued the story, “At this point I’m want to go home. I feel like I’m
going to collapse from emotional and physical exhaustion.
I
rode Stork back to Dave’s barn, I took her saddle off, and put away her
blanket, bridal, and all her stuff. She walked back to her stall and started
eating oats. I went straight to the van.
Dad
and I followed the trucks into town. On the way, I could hear the cows screaming
and mooing for their calves. Their cries are still ringing in my ears.”
Dad
chimes in as I pause to go get some water, “Today was auction day and the
buyers and sellers were ready to get started. We followed the trucks to the
cattle market right in town near the railroad. The auction is enormous with
dozens of corrals full of cattle. Each rancher’s heard of cattle is put in a
different corral where they are sold.
Sounds
were coming from everywhere at the huge railroad yard. Railroad cars wheels
squealed and train whistles blew. The auctioneer tested his mike getting ready
to start the bidding. Cattle were mooing, cowboys yelling orders to each other,
and hooves of cattle stomped up and down ramps.
Finally,
all of Dave’s cattle were unloaded from trucks into one of the corrals.
The
auctioneer went around to each heard yelling into his microphone for an opening
bid.
Swiftly
he began his chatter into the microphone, “Do I hear fifty cents a pound?
Fifty? Fifty, give me fifty cents? Do I hear fifty? There ya go, I have fifty
cents, do I hear fifty-five? Fifty-five? Fifty-five? Give me fifty-five cents.
The
auctioneer walked from corral to corral and the bidding continued until all the
cattle were sold to the highest bidder.
The
auction was over, trains were loaded with cattle, and off to the slaughterhouse
they went.
Dave
went to the cashier and picked up his check, and we came home.”
“That
was my cowboying experience. I’m going to remember this day for the rest of my
life. I’ll probably never do it again, ever. I’m going to bed after a good
soaking in a hot bathtub. You did save me some hot water? Didn’t you
Jackie?”
Jackie
looks over at me and says, “Christina you probably used it up when you took a
shower before,” She returns to her TV show.
“Cool,
sounds like you guys had a good time, I’m going to bed, Brice and I stayed up
late last night, goodnight.” Jackie walks to her room.
I
whisper to Dad, “My legs hurt pretty bad, my thighs are burning from holding
onto that horse. It feels like they are going to hurt for a week. Tomorrow is
Saturday and I’m staying in bed all day, so don’t wake me. I mean it.
Don’t wake me up.”
“Did
you have fun?” Dad asks.
“Yeah,
I had fun, but it was so sad separating the calves from the cows. I cried Dad,
they were calling each other, it was terrible,” I mope off to the bath.
Dad
reminds me, “We are going to leave Neewa outside tonight even though it will
be cold. She can sleep in one of her caves or dens or whatever they are and stay
warm. I will feed her and give her water. Hopefully, she won’t smell so bad
tomorrow. If she rolls around in the dirt a few times she’ll get most of the
smell off, or else you’ll have to give her a bath tomorrow.”
“Yeah,
sure, I’ll give her a bath tomorrow,” I answer.
I
lay on my bed, reliving the whole experience of the day.
It
was nice of Dave to take us out to dinner at the restaurant. The place was a few
blocks from the train yard, downtown. As I walked the bright lights downtown
flashed, Jack Pot, Jack Pot, alternating in yellow, red, and orange. One
casino’s flashing lights depicted a twenty-foot neon cowboy with a cigar in
his mouth and a fist full of dollars.
Jogging
across the tracks, we put the bright lights behind us passing a movie theatre,
bank, and a pawnshop.
We
arrived, and walked into the restaurant probably built a hundred years ago.
Along the left wall were the booths and across from them a long counter with
green vinyl topped metal-rimed stools. Spinning several of them easily, I walk
by and then collapsed into the vinyl bench seat with a squeak. Each booth was
just big enough for two people on either side.
The
twelve-foot high restaurant walls were green too, although a different shade. Or
maybe they were just covered with a coat of grease from the fryers and grill.
Fans hung down from the embossed tin ceiling painted white.
Behind
the restaurant counter was all the action. One cook on the grill, another busy
at the sandwich board, and yet one more chatting with the cute waitress that
helps bring in the regular customers.
Conversations
are plenty as I quietly listened to those around me. Charlie, seems to have lost
most of his stake at the casino and doesn’t want to go back to the ranch.
Randy is sitting at the counter after having drunk too much, and isn’t sure if
he should go back to the Pioneer Bar for another Bud, or stay here and have
another cup of Joe.
The
waitress bounced from table to table trying to cover up any mistakes the cooks
may have served up.
She
politely smiled at each patron, “Is everything all right? Can I get you
anything dear?”
Families
were interspersed throughout the room. They’re traveling long distances and
have stopped to eat and shake off the road.
Someone
asked in a tired and road weary voice, “Is there a good motel nearby? Clean
with plenty of hot water?”
I
wouldn’t touch that one, the motels here are known for problems with their hot
water supply. Well meaning locals suggest a variety of motels for the weary
traveler.
Smiling
the waitress asked enthusiastically, “What’ll you have sweetie?”
“Burger,
fries, and a Coke please,” I looked up at her as she wrote on her pad of
checks ready to hand in the next ticket to the cook.
During
dinner Dave told his story, “I borrow money to buy and raise cattle just like
any other rancher. The price of cattle has gone down, it could go down even
more. If that happens I’ll get an even lower price than I got today. I have to
sell my cattle now because there is no telling what the price is going to be
tomorrow. I’m not going to make much money this year. But I can’t take a
chance that the price will go down even more and then I’d lose money. So I
have to sell the heard now. At least I will have enough money to raise another
heard. I hope to get a better price next year.”
He
continued, “I’m going to keep my calves and buy more with the money from the
sale today. I’ll feed them all year and then sell them next year. If my bull
is healthy, I’ll have a lot more caves in the spring. I’ll brand those and
let them out into the desert.”
After
I had enough to eat we were ready to leave, I said, “Good luck Dave.”
Chester
said, “See you guys.”
Dave
said, “See ya.”
Dave
and Chester were staying at the restaurant to have some dessert and coffee. We
were ready to go home. Dad and I walked back to the van.
Neewa
was resting in the back seat and jumped up as we approached the van. She was
glad to see us. But I was not so happy to smell her. The whole car stunk of
manure.
Usually
Neewa jumps all over me when she sees me. But because she smelled so bad, I
didn’t let her near me. I told her to get in the back. Then I gave her the
rest of my cheeseburger, which she gobbled down in under three seconds.
I
held my nose, “Neewa you smell.”
Chapter 29 - On the Reservation
The
girl’s basketball game is an away game about a hundred miles from here. My Dad
is one of the coach’s for the team and we are going with them. We don’t know
what to expect on the overnight trip, so we are bringing our sleeping bags and
stuff. Besides Dad doesn’t like motel beds, he would rather sleep in his
sleeping bag on top of the bed. We laugh at him.
We’re
not taking any ghost hunting stuff to the game because it would definitely blow
our cover. Right now nobody knows we hunt ghosts. And Dad wants to keep it that
way.
We
leave and get about a half hour from home when the snow starts coming down.
It’s an unusual time of the year for snow, unless you are in the mountains
where we are.
There
is still another fifty miles to go. We are too far to turn back and close enough
to make it before the snow gets too deep. Pulling over is out of the question on
this road. If we slide off the edge, we will have to walk to town or stay and
freeze to death.
Snow
as dry as this is so coolio (the coolest.) It falls silently, slowly. Its about
four inches deep already.
Finally
we arrive at the motel just outside of town. When we get to the front desk we
find out that all the rooms are taken.
Dad
knocks on one of the team’s rooms, Edwin, one of the other coaches answers the
door and Dad explains the situation.
We
don’t want to cram into one of the team rooms because they’re already
crowded.
Edwin
says, “There’s no room here. Why don’t you guys stay at the jail. You and
the girls will be welcome there.”
“The
Jail,” I exclaim.
“They
always have plenty of room,” Edwin adds.
After
slyly looking in the room Dad replies, “I think that’s a good idea.”
Standing
outside all this time while they talk, I am almost frozen. Foggy white air comes
from my nose and mouth as I breathe. Finally, we get back in the warm van and
drive on toward town.
Dad
tells me that there will be trouble on the reservation when we get back home. He
was looking in the door of the room and saw beer, coaches, and some of the team.
I
ask, “Are you going to tell?”
“No
way, I won’t have to tell. The girls will tell without any encouragement from
me.”
Dad
warns, “Heather will have something to say to anyone who gets out of line. She
protects everyone in the tribe, but especially the young girls. Chester is there
and he will try to keep things from getting out of hand. But, they say when
Edwin has too much to drink, he becomes a different person, evil.”
Arriving
at the north end of town, we park near the jail.
We’ll
be better off in the jail where we can’t get involved in this,” Dad mutters.
The
building is rectangular with steel bars on the windows and doors. It stands
alone, by itself with vacant lots on either side.
The
downtown district is full of businesses and stores. Rows of two story buildings
line Main Street going toward the center of town. It looks like a typical
Midwest town with angled parking up and down the street and tall curbs along the
sidewalks of the storefronts.
Walking
back to the car after taking Neewa for a run, I marvel at how busy it is.
A
casino at the other end of town has so many blinking and flashing lights it
looks like Christmas time. There’re lots of fancy cars parked under the
marquis out front and people are coming and going through the revolving doors.
You’d think they were giving something away.
Also
located downtown are souvenir shops and various tribal buildings such as the
community center and several schools. One of these schools has a gym attached
where the teams will be competing tomorrow.
Suddenly,
I look up, out of nowhere comes Edwin’s truck speeding down Main Street. In
the front seat next to him are three girls waving at us as they come speeding
by. I wave back in dismay as the truck passes by out of control.
Dad
exasperated says, “It’s against the law to give alcohol to anyone under the
legal drinking age. Some of those kids are fourteen.”
I
can see more girls in the back of the pickup sitting on the thirty packs of beer
just picked up at the store.
“They
are heading back to the motel I hope,” Dad says in disgust. “That is, if
they don’t kill themselves before they get there.”
Chapter 30 - Go to Jail
Walking
into the Jail and right into the Sheriff’s office gave me a weird feeling.
Dad
explains the situation to the Sheriff, “We are here with the basketball team.
The motel has no more rooms and we can’t afford the casino hotel rates.”
The
sheriff is very understanding and accommodating, “You and your kids can stay
here. It’s not much, but it is dry, and warm. You are welcome to stay in this
cell.”
“Sheriff”
I ask, “Can I bring my dog in? She is very good and she won’t bother anyone,
I promise.”
He
says as we walk through the jail, “No problem just keep her in the cell with
you.”
Sheriff Sam is a tall man, soft-spoken, with brown
skin. He has all the stoic features of Cochise and Geronimo combined, with high
check bones, a broad forehead, and piercing brown eyes. His shined brown western
boots match his official kaki uniform that looks like a policeman’s uniform
but beige instead of blue. The shirt has western style pockets, collar, and
short sleeves. On his forearm is a tattoo of an eagle, globe, and anchor.
His
leather belt has his name, SAM in capitals on the back. The one and three
fourths inch letters are carved into a two-inch by ten inch tan strip of finely
tooled leather. That piece is sewn to another two-inch wide strip of blue suede
that is double-stitched to a wide leather backing that completes the three
layers of his custom belt. Sheriff Sam’s buckle is a status symbol out West.
It’s sterling silver with a raised brass bronco rider in the center.
As he lets us in the
cell he laughs, “Don’t worry I won’t lock you in.”
There
doesn’t seem to be anyone else in any of the other three cells.
As
I stand in our cell and look around, I feel much better about this whole thing.
The room looks more like a tidy youth hostel. It has double bunks on either
side, with mattresses, sheets, and bedspreads turned down at a corner. In one
area is a color-coordinated bathroom with a door. Colorful curtains cover the
bared window, and a nice woven rug warms the floor. On the beige painted cinder
block walls are pictures of peaceful lakes and streams.
After
running out to get Neewa and our stuff, Jackie and I return to the jail with
Neewa in tow.
I
then throw my sleeping bag onto a top bunk and shout, “I got this bunk.”
Quickly
Jackie throws hers onto the other top bunk laughing, “Dad, I guess you’re on
the bottom.”
Dad
replies, “No problem, I’m better off on the lower bunk.”
Really,
I didn’t care where Dad was sleeping as long as I got a top bunk.
Neewa
jumps on the other lower bunk and curls up into a ball like she always does.
“I’m
sleeping in my cloths,” I announce.
“It’s
obvious we’re all sleeping in our cloths Christina, this is a public place,”
Jackie sarcastically replies.
It
took a while for me to get settled in our unusual surroundings. Jackie and I
talk about telling everyone we know that we stayed overnight in jail.
“I’m
going to tell all my friends back East, they will go crazy,” she says.
“I
can’t wait to tell Grandma and Grandpa,” I say thinking of the shock value
of this is sure to worry them into begging Dad to bring us home.
Dad
nods, “Your Mom would not be happy about this, and when you tell Grandma and
Grandpa? Say it very, very slowly. Just tell them the truth, the motel had no
rooms and it was the only place left in town.”
I
laugh nervously, “This is so cool.”
“Good
night Dad, love you.”
“Good
Night Tina, Jackie, love you.”
“Love
You Dad, Christina,” Jackie says.
“Good
night Neewa.”
Of
course, Neewa is under the opposite bunk, watching everything. Then she
disappeared out the cell door for a while. I let her go and explore so she will
settle down. Later she comes back with the Sheriff who just couldn’t get
enough of her. He tells us she has a good appetite. I guess he shared his lunch
with her, probably gave her most of it, as well as any left over in the
refrigerator from lunches interrupted.
I
wake up at about 3:00 AM. The Deputy Sheriff is bringing in a man and everyone
is talking and hollering.
Someone
tells the man, “You have to stay here and sleep it off.”
“I’m
not staying in this dam place,” The man yells back.
“Oh
yes you are,” the deputy laughs. “You are not getting behind the wheel of
that truck until tomorrow. Now quit complaining and get some sleep before you
wake up the whole jail.”
After
the cell door closes, I hear the lock turn and click. It’s quiet again as the
new guy mumbles for a little while longer and then falls asleep.
Dad
and Jackie sleep right through the whole thing, they don’t even stir or turn
over. Neewa wakes up and looks at me. If I had gotten up to go somewhere, she
would have gotten up too.
I
say to her, “It’s Okay Neewa, go back to sleep.”
She
watches me until I close my eyes. I peak at her through my squinted eyes and she
closes her eyes and falls back to sleep.
Morning
sun barges through the barred window into the cell. We are up and packing,
having gotten up as the day shift Sheriff came in and the night shift sheriff is
packing up. Sheriff Sam is going home.
Sheriff
Sam walks through the jail and points at the man they brought in late last
night, “Let him go when he gets up.”
The
Sheriff turns and looks toward us, “Hope you slept good?”
I
answer, “Everything was fine, thank you for having us. I never slept in a jail
before, it was great fun.”
Dad
nods, “Thank you. Is there a place close by for breakfast?”
“Marge’s
Corner is just outside to the left,” He replies with a smile.
We
gather our stuff, make the beds, and walk out the front door. It feels just as
weird walking out of jail as it did walking in.
Two
more inches of fresh snow has fallen since we arrived and the plows have already
pushed it into piles.
As
I walk to our car, I can see it isn’t snow bound. I throw my stuff in and walk
Neewa around the block.
Dad
starts the car and leaves it idling so it will warm up for Neewa. With the sun
out, she will be as warm as toast in the van.
We
walk over to Marge’s Corner for breakfast. Of course, I left the windows
cracked open and some food and water for Neewa. Later, the car will be warm for
her, while we are at the game.
Chapter 31 - Basketball
After
breakfast I hurry to let Neewa out of the van so she can go for a run. Dad shuts
off the engine. It’ll be nice and warm for her while she waits for us.
“I
promise I’ll be back in a little while,” I tell her, as I get ready. “I
swear Neewa, I will come back after the game.” She doesn’t seem to mind and
lays down for a two-hour nap.
All
the players meet at the school gym for the big game. This game is between the
girl’s team from our reservation and the girl’s team here. The coaches and
the team members are all Native Americans except for us. In fact, everyone in
the gym is Native American but us.
I’m
sitting in the first row of the bleachers, which is the team’s bench. I have
the best view of the game. All around me are the players. Some of them are
suited up and ready to play and others are not. Our girls know everyone on the
home team and many of the spectators. They are talking with the fans and have
lots of friends and relatives here. Some of them know each other from having
gone to residential high school together. They come from the far corners of this reservation. Some have
traveled as much as thirty miles just to get here.
This
reservation is about twenty miles wide and fifty miles long. It is located on
the borderline of two states, and has over a thousand residents. The main
industries here are tourism, gambling, and ranching. Near the reservation is a
big lake for fishing and lots of forests to hunt game in.
I’m
having fun people watching. Native Americans don’t look anything like the
people back east. Some of them are full-blooded and others have only one eighth
or one-sixteenth Indian blood, but they are Native Americans nonetheless.
As
I look around the gym I see many different styles of dress. Some dress in
western cloths and a few are in business suits. Many of the men and woman have
cowboy boots and hats. And others have moccasins, deerskin pants, and ponchos
with beaded headbands. Some of the men have long straight hair and others have
short hair like Sheriff Sam. Many wear silver, turquoise, and coral necklaces,
bracelets, and rings.
The
game has started and everyone in the bleachers is cheering. This is a fun game,
competitive but fun. The girls around us are having a good time cheering and
hollering for their team.
One
yells, “Shoot it!”
Another
screams, “Defense! Defense!”
One
of the girls sitting with us turns to my Dad with a big bag of Redman Chewing
Tobacco in her hand. She holds out a pinch of the tobacco in her fingers and
looks right at Dad.
“You
want a chew?” She says with her big blue eyes.
Dad
hesitates, he isn’t even sure she is talking to him.
Another
girl sitting next to Dad elbows him in the side and motions with her head toward
the girl with the chew. Now Dad knows she is talking to him all right.
He
says, “Ah, no, no thanks, I don’t chew.”
Dad
doesn’t even know how to chew tobacco. He’d probably choke if he tried it.
They will laugh at him if he does.
The
girl who spoke to my Dad and all her girl friends are giggling and looking at
him. Again, she looks him in the eye.
She
smiles and says, “I’m Linda.”
Dad
says, “Hi I’m John.”
She
says smiling, “I know who you are.”
Turning
back toward the game and her friends she giggles and puts a tiny pinch of chew
in her cheek and continues watching the game.
Linda
is a stunning looking woman who isn’t more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight
years old. Her long shiny straight black hair falls softly around her shoulders.
Her piercing sky blue eyes are set perfectly in her high cheekbones and petite
nose surrounded by soft peach skin.
She
has a perpetual smile, gleaming white teeth, and rose-colored lips.
She
wears leather boots, embossed with intricate designs, tight jeans, and a western
shirt. On her head is a cowboy hat with a beaded headband. Wow, she is a
knockout with a slightly mischievous look in her eyes like a Frank Rinehart
photograph.
I
found out from one of the other girls that Linda is a college student in Denver
and studying to be a doctor.
Dad
can’t stop looking at her, and she is definitely flirting with him.
I
overheard a couple of the girls mention the party last night. It came up a few
times in conversations taking place around me in the bleachers. I heard a
comment or two and a few details slipped from their lips.
I
listened to the girls recount who was with who, and doing what.
One
of the girls who was only one year older than me asked, “What did I do wrong?
We were all just having fun? I did not do anything wrong.”
She
was unsure of herself and her voice trailed off at the end. It was not my place
to answer her or even change my expression.
One
of the older girls heard her talking to me.
The
older girl frowned and angrily said, “Oh yeah, Edwin is in big trouble when he
gets back. Heather is going to put a spell on him and turn him into a frog. Then
she will become an eagle and fly down and eat him for dinner. That will be the
end of Edwin.”
Another
girl sympathetically says, “Edwin has changed. He used to be a nice guy and
then all of a sudden he’s different. I don’t see what she sees in him
anyway, besides he’s married.”
Diane
is here too and she adds, “He is evil, someone will have to put him down.”
The
basketball game is coming to an end. The teams are tied and a shot is about to
be taken. The entire gym is silent. A roar comes from the crowd as the shot is
made.
“Hurray!
Hurray!” The crowd roars.
The
final buzzer sounds and everyone is cheering. The home team has won.
We
all move from the bleachers onto the gym floor. Walking out to the teams, I
congratulate several of our players on their effort.
Linda
and her friends are also out on the gym floor, talking and fooling around with
friends and team members. Plans for the evening are being made around us and we
decide to hang a little while longer.
All
the coaches are talking with each other. The coaches know Dad from work where
they have their own company team and they compete against other companies. They
call my Dad coach, because he’s the oldest one on the team. It took a while
for them to get accustomed to him, but now they are used to his ways and he’s
invited wherever they go.
Linda,
the gorgeous Indian maiden in the bleachers, walks up to us, “You guys coming
to the Pow Wow later?”
Dad
asks, “We would like to go? Where is it?”
She
replies smiling at Dad, “Come to the general store at three, I will take you
guys.”
Linda
walks back to her friends. She smiles at Dad as she and her friends walk out of
the gym.
We
are behind them, walking out when I ask, “Dad, What is a Pow Wow?”
Dad
has a dumb look on his face, “I have no idea, but I heard something about one
once. I thought it was only for Indians. I didn’t know daiboo’s could go?”
I’m
impatient, “Dad what is a daiboo?”
Dad
replies, “The word daiboo is the Indian word for non-Indian.”
The
Chippewa word is waubewy'on.
I
take off running to the van. Neewa sees me and jumps around inside the car ready
to get out.
“Neewa
good girl. Happy to see me?” I open the door.
She
leaps out of the van and jumps all over me. I quickly take her for a run.
“Fetch,”
I yell as I throw a stick into the snow.
“I
hope she doesn’t bring back a bone again,” Jackie says laughing.
I
answer, “Yah, that was too scary. I thought I was going to faint when she
brought that bone back and dropped it on your feet, ha ha.”
Playing
fetch with Neewa is good for her. She needs the exercise to keep her muscles and
bones strong.
She
can’t seem to find the stick so I pick up another and throw it shouting.
“Get it Neewa, get it girl.”
She
powers through the snow to where the stick disappears and plunges her nose down
into a foot of snow, somehow coming up with the stick I threw. Then she brings
it back to me and actually drops it right on my sneaker.
“Ouch!”
I yell.
She
looks up at me with concern.
“I’m
just kidding around Neeewa.”
I
take the stick off my sneaker and run with it and Neewa chases me down the
street. We play for a while and head back to the car.
“Neewa
later we are going to a Pow Wow and you are not allowed. You can stay in the car
again. We are going to meet my new friend Linda. She’s taking us to the Pow
Wow. I’ll only be another hour or so and then we are going home.”
Chapter 32 - Pow Wow
We
are having sandwiches and sodas at the drug store after having shopped around at
some of the local stores.
“Hurry
Jackie finish your sandwich,” I say.
Just
then Linda’s drives up. It’s three o’clock, she’s right on time. Out of
the car she whirls dressed in her
ceremonial costume.
Walking
toward us she says, “Hey you guys. How’s it going? Are you ready to go?”
She
looks beautiful like an Indian maiden. Dad looks at her all goo-goo eyed again,
but says nothing.
“The
Pow Wow is about to begin. It’s one of our oldest traditions,” Linda says as
we compliment her.
“Your
hair is gorgeous.”
“Linda”,
Jackie gasps, “I want to borrow that dress. Is it real deerskin? And those
beaded knee-high moccasins, oh my god, I want them.”
We
gobble up the remaining bites and pay at the counter.
“Let’s
go,” Linda says as we leave the store and get into her car.
“Pow
Wow’s date back hundreds of years to my great ancestors. The tribe would come
together to celebrate a birth, the harvest, or a victory on the battlefield.
We
fought with other tribes for hundreds of years. They would raid our village and
we would retaliate and raid their village. Then it was the settlers and then the
U.S. Calvary.”
Linda
explains, “The Pow Wow is going to be in the Round Hall building, a special
building.
At
the Pow Wow we will dance the Circle Dance in celebration of spring. I’m
dressed in traditional costume for the Shawl Dance, it is a dance that shows off
a maiden’s dancing skills.”
I
interrupt, “Your outfit is so beautiful.”
“There
will be other dances too, all of them are very meaningful to us.
After
the Pow Wow the Tribal Chairman, Tribal Council, and members meet in the
business hall next to the Round Hall. Reports about the tribes businesses will
be given.
Oh
we’re here, I’ll drop you guys off at the door. Go in and get a seat before
it gets too crowded.
I’ll
come and say hello after the Pow Wow is over. John, I will see you after the Pow
Wow, Right?”
Dad
manages to get out a, “yes”.
Jackie
and I just looked at each other and mumble, “Oh brother.”
I
tell Dad, “You are not cool, you think you are, but you are not. Stop trying
to act cool.”
We
walk into the Round Hall building, a huge rotunda the shape of two half
clamshells put together into a single round dome, but bigger.
Inside,
the frame is made of huge tree timbers that go from the ceiling down to the dirt
floor. A rock wall that looks like a natural stadium bleacher fills one side.
A
couple of rows of wooden benches made of split trees line the rest of the
outside walls. The sturdy benches have wooden legs made of small limbs cut from
the forest a hundred years ago. The ends of the benches are decorated with
intricate carved designs of animal heads and mystical looking figures.
We
end up in seats near the center of the hall but pretty far back. People are
filing in, sitting everywhere, and filling the place. I see many of the same
people that were at the basketball game. One or two of them walk by us and
recognize me from the game. They nod and I smile back.
“This
place is full of Indians,” I whisper to Dad, “We are the only diaboo’s in
the place.”
Dad
replies, “Few whites ever get to go to an all Indian Pow Wow on tribal land.
We are surrounded by miles and miles of Indian land.”
The
Pow Wow begins with a single drumbeat echoing through the hall. It is a very
slow, firm beat, very serene. Increasing in volume little by little, the
drumbeat progresses to a more powerful, pulsating beat that reverberates
throughout the building. Slowly more drums join in and the volume increases.
Suddenly the musicians are in full swing, several more drums are added and begin
different parallel rhythms.
I
feel the vibrations hitting me, sound waves pounding my eardrums.
It
sounds like a war rhythm. The same one Geronimo danced to the night before his
band of Apache warriors went into battle. At a signal from the lead drummer, the
drums slow way down to a whisper.
Indians
dressed in regular street clothing and others in ceremonial garb cross the
threshold from the seats onto the large dirt floor in the center of the hall.
They begin to form a big circle, holding hands at first and then letting go
after the circle is complete. Waiting patiently for the drums to be joined by
singers, the dancers pulse to the beating drums.
The
Pow Wow has begun with the Circle Dance. Now the drums are loud and the singing
begins as pounding feet join the refrain. The three together are a chorus with
alto, soprano, and bass, all keeping tempo. The floor begins to move as one. A
circle made of Indians in step with one another, moves to the left, two stepping
in unison, as if they are one. They circle in harmony looking to each other.
Abruptly
the singing stops, the dancers become still, the circle dance has ended.
The
drums begin again with little hesitation, missing only a beat or two. A single
dancer takes the center of the great hall, turning, spinning across the floor,
returning to the perimeter.
“Hey
Ya Hey Ya Hey Ya,” Echoes as the room becomes alive with the singers and their
sharp voices. The sounds grow louder with a higher pitch in every resounding
“Hey Ya.”
“Hey
Ya, Hey Ya, Hey Ya, Hey Ya, Hey Ya, Hey Ya,” The singers are in rhythm with
the drummers. I listen as the refrains repeat themselves. I’ve heard something
like this before, in movies or news clips depicting Native American
Celebrations.
Five,
six, seven drums pounding, repeating two perfectly timed beats. The second
strike of the drum is very sharp and heavier than the first, boom Boom, boom
Boom, boom Boom, boom Boom, boom Boom, boom Boom. Faster they pound, putting us
all into a daydream, a spiritual like trance. The beats of the drums are
synchronized with the high-pitched melodic inflections of voices that soften,
and then sharpen on queue as the rhythms change.
For
at least fifteen minutes, the singers call and answer, back and forth from
singer to drummer, drummer to singer, as the dancers provide a background.
Roots
used for medicine and to ward off evil burn like incense in the hall. The
medicine woman showed me these plants in her garden. She said they are used for
healing and in ceremonies. It smells like burning charcoal with a scent of sage
and desert dew. Clouds hang over us like the cold air inside the hall that
I’ve now forgotten about. Colored layers of smoke resembling the sandstone and
shale of the desert ravines and baron hillsides swirl and blanket the hall’s
spiritual harmony.
Jackie,
Dad and me stare at the dancers circling one-way around the floor as more of the
Nation’s People come from their seats to join in the Circle Dance. In unison
they move, fluid and smooth, they step toe to heal, toe to heal.
The men, woman, and children straighten and bend to
the pulse of the music. Dust from the dirt floor rises a few inches at the
dancers feet giving the illusion that they have levitated above the floor.
Flowing strands of rawhide and silk threads hang down from their garments and
sway back and forth in time with the drums and singers.
Chanting
reverberates through the hall accompanied by drumming, piercing voices, and the
movement of the dancers gives the scene a surreal feel.
“Hey
ya, Hey ya, Hey ya, Hey ya,” again saturates the air.
Suddenly
everything stops. Silence! Suspended in motion are the dancers, musicians, and
singers. No one moves or speaks. Frozen in whatever position or location they
are when the silence began. They are unmoving, as if in a still life photograph
taken at this very instant. Not a muscle flinches nor the glance of an eye
changes.
Abruptly
the stillness breaks and the suspended animation ends. All who are frozen step
quickly to the side, forward, or back to regain their balance before falling
down in the circle. Each dancer smiles as he or she regains their steadiness,
happy to have “caught” themselves. The “catching” of ones self is an
experience practiced throughout Native American folklore. Something to do with
holding your own spirit, its a secret too, like everything.
Everyone
is laughing and greeting each other. Smiles, eye contact, and nods are exchanged
amongst the dancers around the circle and the musicians.
The
drummers and singers are smiling and laughing. Each of us sitting in the room
rises to our feet, smiling and nodding too. It’s contagious, traveling through
the Round Hall like a “wave” at a sports event. Next a rapturous applause
breaks out with high-pitched calls and cries echoing for seconds that seem like
minutes.
“The
Deer Dancer is next,” someone behind us whispers to Jackie.
Some
kids sitting by her are playing with her coat and scarf. Jackie is chatting with
them as they tell her about their uncle, a Chief, who will be dancing next.
Again,
the circle takes shape with a mixture of new dancers and some of the dancers
already on the floor.
“Shush,
Shush!” One to another they whisper, “Shush.”
The
great hall becomes silent. Softly the drums begin their familiar beat, boom
Boom, one two, one two, boom Boom, boom Boom.
Surprising
us, the Chief leaps into the circle. A gasp emanates from the crowd. The Chief
has a deer antler headdress called a “gast o hweh.”
The
deer antlers of the Deer Dancer’s headdress are real. They are connected to
the headdress by a small piece of deer skull and covered in buckskin. It’s
small like a cap with two large antlers standing straight up like on a deer. One
large eagle feather is placed in the middle, signifying there is harmony and
unity in the tribe.
Linda
was telling me at lunch that when the Chief dances with the Deer Dance Headdress
on, he’s transformed into the “Spirit Deer,” a mythological deer.
The
Chief continues dancing alone in the circle as the outer circle and everyone in
their seats watch for the transformation. Musicians are chanting, drums are
beating.
One
by one mythological animals enter the hall, pass through the circle, and form a
small inner ring. “Bear” steps forward into the inner ring and joins the
Chief. Next are the spirits of “Stork,” and then “Beaver”. Stork is one
of Spirit Deer’s closest allies, always watching out for him from the sky.
Beaver too is his friend; he makes the meadows, ponds, and lakes for deer and
the others.
The
drums are pounding in the background and chanting has grown even more powerful.
All of a sudden, a great crescendo of drumming and chanting erupts as the Chief
leaps high into the air and lands on his knees. Surrounded in the inner ring by
his allies, the spirits that have joined him. He looks up into the heavens as
everything stops. The Chief is transformed into the Spirit Deer. The
mythological animals circle around the now transformed Spirit Deer. The Deer
Dance is over.
The
inner and outer circles open up providing an exit of enlightenment for the
Spirit Deer who departs on a voyage, a journey to protect the worthy from evil.
Silence
follows and then everyone in the circle begins talking while returning to his or
her seats.
Heather,
the medicine woman will be next. I didn’t even know she was at the Pow Wow. I
learned after the basketball game that she would be performing the Bean Dance.
She
steps onto the dirt floor wearing a large headdress that looks like a
“Katsina” Doll. The Katsina, also known as “Katsinam” is sometimes
called a Kachina Doll. They are representations of supernatural God like
spirits. Spirit Beings that live among the Indian people.
Heather
is wearing the Katsina spirit headdress of Wuyak-Kuita. This spirit protects you
from evil trespassers. Around her shoulders is a ceremonial robe called a Button
Blanket. The blanket is dark wool and decorated with beads and paintings of
animals. It has rows of seashells sewn onto it. One of the figures is a deer,
another an eagle, and the third design is a bear.
A
small self-contained fire is burning red-hot flames on the floor before Heather.
Some drumming and very low chanting can be heard in the background. Heather
walks around the flame chanting and then reaches into her bandolier bag, which
hangs neatly around her neck and shoulder. She throws a handful of powder into
the flame. Red smoke rises straight up toward the ceiling and hangs in the air
over her head. Another fistful of powder is tossed in the fire. This time yellow
smoke ascends, like a signal, to the ceiling joining the red smoke hanging over
us. Minutes pass as Heather completes the rest of the ceremony. Several more
clouds of smoke rise up above the bleachers as she dances around the flames.
The
drums and chanting grow louder reaching a deafening volume. All at once Heather
throws two more handfuls of powder into the flame and dark clouds of black smoke
engulf her as the chanting and the drumming suddenly stop.
As
the smoke clears everyone gasps, “Oh, ah.”
Oh,
ah,” again comes from the throngs of viewers followed by “shush, shush!”
Heather
is gone disappearing into thin air, the Bean Dance is over.
Jackie
and I look at each other as I whisper, “Did you see that?”
Dad
whispers, “That was amazing, she just vanished.”
Jackie
says in a soft voice, “That was no trick.”
My
ghost hunting face becomes twisted as I try to form the words to describe my
loss of fame and fortune.
I
stammer, “Dad, you didn’t bring any equipment at all?”
My
discovery of real spirits will go undocumented again.
Jackie
questions, “Nothing Dad? We have nothing?”
“Brought
nothing of what?” He asks innocently, “Oh that.”
Finally
coming out of Heathers trance he whispers, “No, we have none of our ghost
hunting equipment. Sorry, couldn’t take the chance that anything from work
might be misplaced or broken. Or worse they might find out about our hobby.
Besides we were supposed to be having fun at a basketball game. How was I
supposed to know we’d be going to a Pow Wow?”
Disgusted
I throw up my hands, “Nothing, we brought nothing!”
Linda’s
Shawl Dance is next. It’s performed to celebrate an occasion, entertain, or
teach. This dance is done in full traditional costume and performed by a special
maiden selected by the tribe’s Pow Wow committee.
Linda
appears on the dirt floor dressed as we had seen her earlier with some additions
to her costume. She wears a deerskin dress with beaded mythological designs sewn
into the shoulders complimented by beaded knee-high moccasins. Around her
shapely waist is a concha belt made of silver seashells inlaid with turquoise
and coral. The blue turquoise represents the sky and the red coral symbolizes
fire. She wears a headband, not a headdress, with beaded designs and eagle
feathers hanging down. Her cape has eagle feathers along the entire hemline,
stretching from one hand across her back to her other hand, like wings.
Musicians
and singers begin in unison as she starts turning and spinning, portraying the
legend for all of us see. She is spectacular, her footwork precise and
deliberate. It is a beautifully choreographed five-minute celebration of the
Shawl Dance.
Almost
as quickly as it began, it is over. The music stops and Linda stands still. A
roar comes from all the people in the hall. They are stomping their feet and
yelling high-pitched cries, whops, yips, and blood curdling calls. They continue
for almost a minute until she leaves the dirt floor. Even after she has left,
bedlam continues and when she returns and waves to the crowd, mayhem gives way
to applause that thunders through the room. The place is shaking as she exits
for the last time.
The
musicians get up and begin to gather their instruments and belongings. They
receive a standing ovation with whops and calls acknowledging their
contribution. Finally calm prevails.
People
in the hall are filing out through the doors. Everyone is leaving the hall. We
gather up our things and head for the exit. Around us everyone is talking about
how good the Deer Dancer, Heather, Linda, and the musicians were.
I’m
thinking about the video I could have made of the Pow Wow. I could’ve had a
complete documentary of a real Pow Wow and a medicine woman vanishing. As I
ponder my lost fame and fortune I turn my thoughts to walking Neewa and the
three-hour ride home.
Linda
comes running over to us. I am so excited to see her. Jackie and I run to her
and give her a big group hug. Energized from her performance she pulls Dad into
our group embrace.
Linda
gets eye-to-eye with Dad, so close I thought their lips touched, “I will be
coming home next week.”
Dad
replies spellbound by the closeness of her body to his, “Oh you must come to
visit us.”
Linda
answers, “I will come, it’ll be great to see you guys.”
After
a last embrace she runs off with her friends giggling, “See you next week.”
Dad
motions writing on a pad, “We have to give your our number.”
“I
have it,” She laughs as she is swallowed up in an ocean of long black hair,
headbands, and cowboy hats.
Dad
mutters to himself as we leave the great hall, “How did she get our number?”
Jackie
and I looked at each other smiling.
I
whisper to Jackie, “If Dad doesn’t know that Linda is Chester’s sister by
now, I’m not telling him.”
Jackie
replies, “He is so dumb, dah.”
We
arrive back at the van after the ten-block walk in the freezing cold. We’re
packed and ready for the long ride home. Neewa is so glad to see me, she jumps
all over as we gallop down the street for her last run before we hit the road.
“I
missed you Neewa, good girl, good girl, run girl run. We are going home.”
***
We
arrived home in the middle of the night. The house and the neighborhood are
dark.
After
getting washed up, I’m in bed, ready to sleep.
“Dad,
Why does Jackie have to take a bath now?” I shout from my room. “Never
mind,” I’m so tired I don’t even care.
She
can use up all the hot water tonight. I’ll have plenty for my morning shower.
Chapter 33 - Linda for Dinner
Linda
calls us to say she is coming to town to visit her family and friends. She has a
week off from school.
Dad
is getting all kinds of special stuff out of boxes. Out comes Grandma’s set of
earthenware dishes. We haven’t seen those dishes in two years. He also takes
out the candlestick holders and is buying new candles. We only use them during
power blackouts. And he’s putting placemats on the dinner table too. He’s
making a real fuss about Linda’s visit.
It’s
early morning and Dad asks, “Hey you guys I spoke to Linda and she asked if
she can stay over here at our house a few nights? She said the spirits at her
Mom’s house give her the creeps. So what do you think? Can she stay in one of
your rooms? I’ll sleep on the couch and whoever gives up their room can stay
in my room.”
“I
got a better idea,” I tell him, “How about you stay on the couch and Linda
stays in your room. Jackie and I keep our rooms? Duh!”
Dad
replies, “Ok, that sounds good to me, I’ll run it by Linda.”
“What
did she say? The spirits at her house give her the creeps?” I laugh quietly,
“How about introducing us to those spirits, Ha ha?”
Dad
answers, “Yeah Christina, we’ll just walk in there and meet them.”
Unannounced
Linda shows up earlier than anticipated. Dad is helping her bring in her stuff
and puts it in his room.
Linda
talks a lot about medical school, how much work I requires, and all the time she
devotes to it. She says she’s been looking forward to time off and being able
to think about something other than school.
Dad
told us she would be in and out of the house since she has a lot of people to
see and things to do. He said one night she might be here for dinner and the
next morning, gone. She will probably sleep over a friend’s house one or two
nights, so we might not see her for a couple days? Who knows? He concluds at the
end of his speech.
I
show Linda around a little. She is getting a kick out of our lab in the living
room. I tried to clean it up, but it’s obvious something is going on there.
Inquisitively
she handles some of our equipment, “What do you guys do with all this
stuff?”
Dad
answers, “A lot of that equipment is from work. I bring it home to test it. We
bring it camping with us and do field tests too.”
“I
think there’s something else behind all this?” She picks up various meters
and then checks out the thermal infrared camera.
Dad
replies, “Well you’ll have to come camping with us sometime and you can see
what we do with it.”
***
The
week is going by fast. We are sitting down to our last supper with Linda before
she goes back to school in the morning. Linda wants to hear more stories like
the one’s I’ve already told her. She says I’m a great storyteller. Again I
tell her about Neewa. How I got her at the pound and everything. I tell her
about the Tribal Historian Meeting and when the little girl asked if I knew,
Neewa has a spirit?”
Linda
is all ears and laughs at the jokes I sprinkle in. She wants to hear all about
Jackie and I. I tell her about New Jersey and how I want to go back.
Jackie
happily adds, “Me too, I miss all my friends and especially Grandma and
Grandpa.”
Linda
tells us she is going to do her residency in New York City in eighteen months.
Looking
at Dad with that twinkle in her blue eyes she speaks, “Are you guys going to
be living close to New York City?”
Dad
explains, “We’re going to be pretty close to New York City. It’s still
quite a trip to travel back and forth everyday. A lot depends on the time of day
and the traffic. It could take two hours each way.
Dad
says, “We’ll be going back East before you start your internship. You can
come and stay with us.”
Linda
replies, “Yeah, I’ll visit you guys. They have apartments for us at the
university hospital.”
Dad
replies, “Yes of course, you must come and stay with us, it’s settled.”
It’s
been a cool having Linda visit. She and Dad got along really well. Linda says
we’ll be getting together again soon. I’m going to miss her, though I know
she has to go back to school. I hope she visits us. Maybe she can stay with us
when we get back east? That would be so cool, as long as she doesn’t mind my,
ghost hunting.
Chapter 34 - Camping
Spring
is so close I can feel it and smell it in the air. I’m packing Neewa’s bowls
and chain for our camping trip to Ruby Lake Reserve, a National Wildlife Refuge.
I’ll be picking pine nuts, hiking, and fishing. Chester and his girl friend
Marlene decided to come too.
I’m
bringing my sleeping bag and all my stuff.
I
pull Dad over to the side away from everyone, “Dad can we bring the ghost
hunting stuff?”
Concerned
about our safety and his job, “I’m afraid the whole reservation will know if
we do? Its not a good idea.”
“Come
on Dad,” Jackie breaks in, “We have to go ghost hunting out there.”
Dad
replies, “Can’t do it, the guys at work are already suspicious about me
taking equipment home on the weekends. And Chester will be there. Whatever we do
will get back to everyone, including Heather and Linda.”
“You
know how the Indian Grape Vine works. Look what happen to coach Edwin when he
got back from the basketball game. Everyone knew what he did. I saw him at a
softball game a week later. He looked like someone ran over him with a truck.
You should have seen the look in his eyes. The whole tribe shamed him. He has a
long road ahead of him if he’s going to redeem himself. I heard Heather almost
got rid of him. No, we can’t risk it.”
Starting
off early Saturday is Dad’s idea. We all pile into our van. Dad wants to get
there with plenty of time to pick pine nuts. Or is it to go fishing? Chester is
six feet tall and he can barley get in or out of our front seat. Dad is five
feet eleven inches and has to put his seat all the way back to fit. In the back
seats are Marlene, Jackie, Neewa and I. It’s a little tight but we fit.
Neewa
is in the third seat with me and all our gear is behind us. She’s able to jump
around everywhere as usual, but lies down and is sleeping next to me.
Chester
and Dad love to fish the marshes. They talk about it all the time. It’s
Dad’s all-time favorite fishing spot.
Chester
says, “There are plenty of pinion pine trees in the mountains surrounding the
marshes. The weather’s good and it’s time to harvest the pine nuts. We’ll
get bags of them.”
Chester’s
girlfriend is Chinese American with long straight black hair below her
shoulders. Marlene is very close to her family in California. She talks about
them all the time and misses them terribly. Sometimes she just breaks down
crying because she misses them so much. When Marlene and Chester are together
they look like brother and sister, same color skin, hair, everything.
I’m
telling Chester and Marlene about Neewa and the pumpkin pies that disappeared,
they laugh and laugh.
“We
still can’t figure out how she got up on the counter?” I say, interested to
hear Chester’s ideas.
Chester
says, “Maybe she flew up onto the counter like a ghost.”
We
all laugh and laugh riding down the road.
I have pine nuts dancing in my head as I fall
asleep on a rolled up sweatshirt pushed up against the window. I think the real
reason we are going to the marshes is because it has eight-pound brown trout all
through its canals and ponds.
The
Ruby Lake Reserve is a National Wildlife Refuge. People go there to camp, bird
watch, hunt, and fish.
The
Native Americans that live around here call it the Ruby Marshes. That is what
they called it before anyone else even knew about it. It was designated a
federal park in 1938 by President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
But
before that, Indians migrated through the area for hundreds of years, hunting
and gathering food for survival. They moved south to north with the good
weather, following the seasons. These people were known as hunter-gatherers.
The
drive to the marshes will take four hours through desolate, barren desert.
The
desert is teaming with life. At first glance it looks like there isn’t
anything going on out here. But in the mountain deserts life is everywhere if
you know where to look. There are prairie dogs, mule deer, and antelope to name
a few. So far this trip I saw a gopher, rabbits and a rare roadrunner. And there
are insects, lots of bugs, mosquitoes, and beetles.
Beautiful
birds are hidden everywhere in the desert. Hummingbirds drink the pollen from
the desert flowers, while hawks circle above looking for prey. Eagles too patrol
the scrub forests and the desert looking for dinner or a snack. And there are
plenty of buzzards waiting to clean up whatever dead animal is leftover.
The
predators like the coyote, fox, and even wolves roam the desert. They look for
moles, deer, and prairie dogs. Animals in the food chain finish every morsel
they can get, devouring every last bit. Any carcass out here is picked clean,
right down to the bones. Even the flies and maggots make sure nothing is left to
eat. There is no time to waste in the desert. It’s first come first serve.
Many
species of desert flowers grow here. There are Yucca, Buckwheat, Ruby Mountain
Primrose, Monte Neva Paintbrush, Milk Vetch, and Scorpion Flowers. After a
rainstorm, the desert comes alive, flowers bloom, and grasses color the rolling
hills and paint the desert landscape.
Dad
complains, “The prairie dogs run across the road just as I get close. Are they
playing chicken with our van?”
“Squish,
Splat. Oh no, I hit that one!” Dad screeches.
He
looks in the rear view mirror. We all turn to survey the remains of the poor
little prairie dog.
Chester
says, “John I’m going to tell you how to avoid the suicidal prairie dogs.”
Everyone
laughs.
Dad
stutters, “J-just as I pass, it runs out into the road. It’s crazy. Stay on
the side of the road! You nutty prairie dog.”
Chester
says, “You’ll never hit one if you don’t slow down or swerve to try to
avoid it. That’s when you run one over. If you stay straight and maintain your
speed, you wont hit it. They run under the car and between the wheels.”
Chester
warns laughing, “If you slow down, speed up, or swerve? Squish, splat, more
food for the buzzards.”
We
laugh.
From
now on Dad doesn’t change direction or slow down when he sees prairie dogs run
in front of the van. Amazingly, he doesn’t hit another prairie dog.
About
an hour away from Ruby Lake we see a sign for the Park and turn onto the dirt
road entrance. A marker says, Ruby Lake Campground twenty-five miles.
It
seems like forever, traveling miles and miles through the scrub forest and
sagebrush on this endless dirt road. Dust and pebbles kick up into the air
behind our van as we barrel down the road. Finally we arrive in the park.
I
didn’t see one car on the entire access road. As we turn into the camping
area, it appears to be empty.
Dad
declares, “Pick out a campsite, we can take any of these, or two if you
want.”
He
pulls into the driveway of campsite number nine. I let Neewa jump out my door
and she disappears into the brush. We all get out to stretch and look around.
The afternoon air is crisp and clean and I can see the marsh stretching across
the valley in front of me.
On
the ridge looking out over the park Jackie yells, “Look at this, you can see
everything from here, this is the one I want.”
“There’s
nobody here, just a few motor homes over in the Motor Homes area, but no tent
campers except for us.”
You
pay for the night by putting money in an envelope provided and leave it in a
wooden box at the end of the driveway. It’s self-service camping. The park
rangers come around in the afternoon and pick up the envelopes.
Stunning
beauty and tranquility surrounds me as far as I can see. I stare into the miles
of marsh, with reeds swaying and grasses blowing in the breezes that whip across
the water leaving tinny wave trails. Mountains surround us, glowing in crimson
earth tones from the sun’s rays beating down. The marsh is an enormous meadow
comprised of soft pastel colors, purple, blue, yellow, and light green, all
blended together.
Underneath
the umbrella of flora and fauna are vast amounts of water. But only specks of
the green blue water are visible from our vantage point up here.
Birds
of all types pop up and then disappear as they skip from reed to cattail, flying
to and from their nests. Like dancers they glide and leap about, taking
different poses on the flowers and tall stems. Some just hover above the marsh
looking for their favorite foods, waiting to dive, to make a grab. Others feed
on a wide variety of seeds and bugs and then return to their young hidden
amongst the safety of the pallet of color.
Ducks
and geese are departing as others come in for landings, “Splash, quack!
Splash, honk honk!”
Like
the runways of a modern airport, the many landing strips are all in use at the
same time. Ducks, snow geese, and swan land and take off while two great blue
heron pass by above us. Gliding effortlessly, they turn and circle.
“Neewa,
Neewa, Neewa!” I call her so she doesn’t stray too far.
Galloping
toward me from a nearby stream that feeds the marsh, she stops and shakes off
the water from her coat into the air like a sprinkler onto my legs and feet.
“You
stay close Neewa, I don’t want you going too far,” I order sternly.
We
unpack our tent and gear for the evening. I finally pick a spot to put up my
tent and prepare for the night. It is still warm right now, but I wonder about
the cold night ahead. We have two tents for the three of us. Jackie and I get
the bigger one with the screen door and rain cover and Dad gets the little one.
Chester
walks over to me as Neewa follows him around, “It will be cold tonight. Bring
some of these large round rocks into your tent and put them in your sleeping
bag. Here take this one. The rocks are warm from sitting in the sun all day and
they will give off heat during the night.”
Chester
and Marlene want to sleep out under the stars in just their sleeping bags. I see
Chester putting a lot of rocks in the two bags. Jackie and I gather rocks and
put them in our bags.
The
sandwiches we brought from home are in the cooler. They are looking mighty good
right now. I’m ready to eat, but we are all walking to one of the ponds first.
Jackie,
Chester, Dad, and me bring along our fishing poles as we follow the dirt trail
through the tall grass down to the marsh.
As
we approach the water a multitude of different birds come into view. Ducks are
paired off and swim about. They have vibrant iridescent colors that shimmer from
the reflected light off the water. Shiny black wings, fluorescent red heads and
glowing green and beige feathers. Every size and color bird imaginable, bright
orange, golden brown, and blue feathers are being dried and preened in every
direction.
You
can actually drive your motor home out on these access roads. There are only two
other families out here right now. One camper is parked on a canal with a
solitary fisherman on the bank near by. As we approach, he becomes excited and
runs up to us, wild enthusiasm in his eyes.
Unable
to contain himself he brags, “I already caught two five-pound brown trout.”
Turning
back to his rod and reel, he reenters the trance from which he had taken a
momentary break. Totally under the spell of the challenge of catching the
creatures that lie beneath the water, his singular transfixed gaze returns to
the shimmering hypnotic water.
There
is a second motor home further out on the canal bank as each of us begins to
separate, picking a place to fish.
I
love fishing, and this is the most exciting place there is. We are hundreds of
miles from any town, with thousands of protected acres of land around us.
Dad
gets a hit, but can’t set the hook.
“Dam
I missed it!” Dad grimaces.
The
sun has already dropped below the mountaintops that surround the marshes. The
sky darkens as we head for camp. Night comes as we reach our campsite, worn-out
from the long day.
I’m
beat and ready to finish my half eaten sandwich, hang out by the campfire a
little, and go to sleep.
Neewa’s
bowls of food and water are empty. I refill them and she lies down by my tent
watching me.
Gradually
the moon, once concealed behind the mountains, begins to light the panorama
around us.
Bats
begin to fly their nightly missions above, scooping up their meal of choice.
There are plenty of delicious mosquitoes, flies, and other insects to go around.
Some bates eat as many as a thousand mosquitoes in one night. There are dozens
of different types of bats out here, Silver-Haired, Allen’s Big-Eared,
Spotted, Western Red, Hoary, and Western Yellow to name a few.
Tonight
the sky is clear and full of billions of stars. They look like candles burning,
flickering in the night. I can see the Milky Way stretching from horizon to
horizon. The planets are easy to pick out. They shine like spotlights. And
spring and summer constellations extend across the sky like a bracelet around
the heavens.
The
stars are brighter because we are in the middle of nowhere. There are no towns,
homes, or anything around for miles.
Chester,
Jackie, Neewa, and myself sit by the fire. Chester begins to tell a tale his
Grandfather told him when he was a boy.
He
looks at us and begins, “The name of the story is, Coyote and the Monster. A
long, long time ago, people did not yet inhabit the earth. A monster walked upon
the land, eating all the animals except Coyote. Coyote was angry that his
friends were gone. He climbed the tallest mountain and tied himself to the top.
Coyote called upon the monster, challenging it to try to eat him. The monster
sucked in all the air, hoping to pull in Coyote with its powerful breath. But
the ropes holding Coyote were too strong. The monster tried many other ways to
get Coyote off the mountain, but it was no use. Realizing that Coyote was sly
and clever, the monster thought of a new plan. It would befriend Coyote and
invite him to stay at its home. Before the visit began, Coyote said that he
wanted to visit his friends and asked if he could enter the monster's stomach to
see them. The monster allowed this. Once inside the monster, Coyote cut out its
heart and set fire to its insides. His friends were freed.
Then
Coyote decided to make a new animal. He flung pieces of the monster in the four
directions. Wherever the pieces landed, a new tribe of Indians emerged. He ran
out of body parts before he could create a new human animal on the site where
the monster had lain. He used the monster's blood, which was still on his hands,
to create the Nez Perce, who would be strong and good.”
On
that note I turn and walk to my tent, “And thanks for the bloody monster story
just before I go to sleep. Are you trying to creep me out?”
“Ha
ha ha ha, he he he he,” We all laugh.
“Yeah
thanks Chester,” Jackie adds.
We
get into our sleeping bags, zip, zip.
Chapter 35 - Howling
I
peer out of the screen door of the tent into the marsh and beyond. A quarter
crescent moon begins to poop up over the mountaintop, large and bright, so
close, I can reach out and pull it from the sky. That’s when I hear it, as the
moon glistens on the water of the marshlands.
“Owwww,
Ow, owww,” The howling begins as if on queue, like the beginning of a horror
movie.
That
first cry comes from the dark shadows of the mountains, where the moon’s light
doesn’t reach, but not far from the shimmering reflection on the water before
me.
Suddenly,
another lament comes from the north end of the marsh, “Owwww, Ow, owwwwww,
Owwww, Ow, owwwwww.”
Neewa
begins sniffing the air, her nose pointing straight up.
I
think this could be the end, she will surely run away and go back to the
wilderness. Fear spreads through my body, tightening every muscle.
“It’s
as if they are asking each other questions and then answering,” I whisper to
Jackie beside me.
I
yell in the direction of Chester and Marlene’s sleeping bags, “What are
they?”
Moments
pass like minutes when Chester comes to the campfire near our tent, “They are
coyote. Don’t worry, they won’t bother us.” Chester hesitates and nods at
Neewa laughing, “I wasn’t counting on having one of the coyotes here in
camp, ha ha ha.”
It’s
difficult for me to read Chester’s laugh. He’s not afraid, that I know. It
seems like he’s always laughing at some irony in the world. Like it’s his
destiny in life to look at things around him and see the humor, sadness, or joy
in them. It’s as if he thinks he is here in this world temporarily, a kind of
a layover.
The
coyote’s conversation continues like a song, echoing in every direction
filling me with beautiful lyrics, followed by fear.
My
head is up, ears alert, and my eyes are as wide open as a full moon. My body
tightens as adrenalin flows. I’m ready to run or fight for my life. But out
here there isn’t anywhere to run.
Sarcastically,
I grumble back at Chester, “Yeah right, I’m in a tent in the middle of
nowhere and coyote’s are howling all around me. Oh! Not to worry, he says.
They won’t hurt you, he says.” I look at him, “Are you crazy?”
Chester
adds, “They are far away, they only sound nearby. They won’t come any
closer. Not as long as we have this fire going.”
Neewa
raises her nose into the air, inhaling their scent.
“Owww,
Owww Owwwwwww!” Neewa lets out a coyote howl the likes of which I’ve never
heard before.
Neewa
is talking with them using perfect pitch and tone. My eyes begin to blink
nervously, uncontrollably, even faster then my hands are shaking from the fear
spreading through my body. I will lose her. This is it, surely she will run away
to be with her own kind.
I
break down sobbing uncontrollably. Quickly before anyone sees, I gain control
and wipe the tears from my eyes and cheeks with the cuff of my sweatshirt
wrapped around the back of my hand.
Neewa
is chained to a near by tree, stirring and pacing. She stares into the darkness
beyond the moonlight, as if she sees her cousins moving about, securing
positions, surrounding us.
Shimmying
over the warm rocks in my sleeping bag, I lift myself out of the tent and walk
to her. I check her collar to make sure she cannot slip away. I pull her close
to me to break the spell she is in, tears fall to my cheeks.
“Will
she run away?” I ask Chester who is sitting by the fire, after having built it
up for the long night ahead.
“No
she will not run away, Neewa will keep them away from us.” Chester warns
walking away, “Don’t let her off that chain.”
After
returning to my sleeping bag, I curl up with the stones, warm from the long
day’s sun. Stars are shinning brightly through the tent’s screen door.
Jackie and Dad are asleep already. I toss and turn, and then settle down again,
trying to sleep.
“Ah,”
I sigh.
My
eyes begin to close, then open, and close. Neewa howls a few more times in the
background. A few more howls come from the mountains and across the marsh. But
even that doesn’t keep me awake. Except for the frogs and crickets calling in
the night, it is quiet again and I fall asleep.
***
Before
I know it morning arrives and the sun although not above the mountain peaks,
begins to illuminate the valley. I’m
waking up on a hill overlooking the vast Ruby Marshes. The mist hangs over the
water as the sun begins to unveil the ruby glow of the mountains to the west of
the marsh.
Hurriedly
I look over at Neewa, she is still here. She whines signaling me she is ready to
get off the chain and go for her morning run. I let her go with great
apprehension as she disappears into the brush.
“Neewa
stay close, don’t go running off!” I demand.
I
walk to the campfire, a deep frown of worry on my forehead.
“Bread
and coffee for breakfast, yum, that’s my favorite. Dad how long have you been
awake?”
“Oh
just a little while. Here Tina try some of this.”
“Hum,
that is good,” I smack my lips.
“I
call it campfire toast and jam. Can you go wake Jackie?” Dad asks.
“She’s
up, on her way back from the outhouse,” I answer.
Jackie
joins us, everyone sips coffee and munches on toast and jam.
“So,
are we going pine nut hunting or fishing?” Jackie asks.
The
fog is burning off the blue green water.
Chapter 36 - Pine Nuts
“So
Chester, where do you think we can start gathering the pine nuts?” Dad asks.
He
answers, “On our way into the park I saw a pine forest about two miles from
here. That’s where we can start.”
Piling
into the van we drive a couple miles and stop near a hill dotted with dark green
pine trees. After we pull the van off the road, we get out.
I
look around, “So this is where we will find the pine nuts.”
Neewa
runs off into the forest, she cannot help herself. She follows her nose to a
nearby trickling stream.
All
of us walk the hundred or so yards to the middle of this mountain and plan our
strategy. Chester directs Jackie, Dad, and me up the ridge. While he and Marlene
go toward the lower end of the mountain.
Dad,
Jackie, and I start up the hill in front of us, headed for higher elevations.
I’m in the middle of a deserted forest with no one around me for miles. Of
course there are probably wild coyote, deer, lots of prairie dogs, and who knows
what else out here.
“I
think Neewa is looking for her uncles and cousins,” I huff and puff catching
my breath as we ascend, “The ones she was talking to last night.”
Dad
is already ahead of us, leading the way up the ridge.
The
trees are scruffy, short, and in small groups of five or six. Pruned by the
whipping winds coming off the desert, they resemble fifteen-foot high Japanese
Bonsai trees.
Walking
on sandy dirt, ledge rock, and an occasional patch of Moss or Lichen, we march
on. Between the rock crevasses are clumps of grass and wild flowers. Brittle and
dry twigs crackle under my sneakers.
Seeds
are brought here by animals or scattered about by the wind. Some fall on the
steep slopes and sprout, while others end up in soil made of decaying pine
needles and windblown dirt. Still others are brought by the infrequent rain
runoff. The trees here seem to be able to grow precariously anchored to scraps
of dirt and rock.
According
to Chester the growing and harvesting of pine nuts is supposed to work like
this. Each pinion pine tree grows hundreds of pinecones with seeds in them
called pine nuts. As the pinecones mature they fall from the tree and open like
pedals of a blooming flower. Inside the pinecone scales are pine nuts ready to
be eaten.
Jackie
and I reach the first pine trees and run under them glowing with excitement and
the anticipation of discovery. Beneath the trees are pinecones, spread about. We
move quickly to pick up the cones on the ground and inspect them, but there are
no pine nuts. Out of breath from the incline I run to the next grove of trees
gathering up more cones. As I break them apart with my hands, the dry scales
yield nothing but dust.
“Jackie,”
I query, “Did you find any pine nuts?”
“No,
no pine nuts, there are pinecones but no nuts in them.”
I
pick up a couple of pinecones and squeeze them in my hands. They are brittle and
crumple into pieces. The broken identical scales are about a half-inch long and
a quarter-inch wide.
Looking
over at Jackie, “Yuck! There are bugs in these cones.”
Dusting
off the bugs and scale flakes from my hands, I run frenzied to the next tree and
pick up more cones. Breaking them apart one by one I expect to see beautiful
pine nuts falling gently into my hands. But instead I get more bugs and toss
this aside. Rubbing my hands till all the junk is gone, I stand still,
exasperated, and stare off into the valley.
The
sun is hot and there is little wind. The only relief from the heat is the shade
of these trees. The sand and rock in the baron sections of the slopes around us
reflect the suns ray’s at us. I feel sweat dripping from my brow and beading
up on my lip.
“Jackie,
maybe we’re doing something wrong? What if we are supposed to pick the
pinecones from the tree? Before they hit the ground and the bugs get them.”
“Maybe
the bugs are eating the pine nuts?”
Dad
walks by complaining, “I can’t find any pine nuts. You?”
“No,”
We answer in agreement.
“Just
bugs,” I add.
He
walks away toward a stand of trees just above us on the slopping hillside
warning, “Be careful climbing those trees.”
Lucky
thing, these are scrub pine trees. We are in a forest full of the shortest
full-grown trees on Earth. The trees don’t grow more then fifteen feet high
because the harsh winds prune the limbs and branches back all the time.
With
no ladder or anything to stand on, Jackie cups her hands together and gives me a
boost up into a tree. This would never work back East where the trees are ten
times bigger.
I
pull myself up onto the first branch and sit. Then reach down to help Jackie up.
Perched on the lowest branches, we start plucking pinecones and tossing them
down on the ground. After a good amount land below us, we jump down from the
tree. One by one we methodically bludgeon and pry open the new cones. I twist
and squeeze them, anticipating finding what I’m looking for. Struggling, I
fight to obtain the bounty of delicious oval white nuts.
“No
pine nuts,” I frown throwing the remnants of the cones onto the ground.
“No
pine nuts,” Jackie adds disgusted.
It’s
clear to Jackie and I, there are no pine nuts here. Well, we’re pretty sure
there aren’t any.
We
give up on the pine nut hunt and sit in the shade, throwing rocks down the hill.
They roll and bump over the outcrops of ledge and fall over the edge, out of
sight.
I’ve
not seen or heard Neewa in a while as I get that sinking feeling.
I
stand, “Neewa, Neewa, come Neewa,” I call out.
After
hesitating and taking a deep breath I shout, “Neewa, Neewa.”
Jackie
whistles, “Whewwwwwwwww, whewwwwww.”
“I
wish I could whistle like you,” I lament looking at her.
Waving
my hands in the air at her, “Listen Jackie, stop whistling, listen. I hear
something. It’s her.”
Her
bark grows louder and louder, echoing over the mountainside. I anticipate her
running over the ridge and jumping up on me.
“Come
girl, come on Girl!” Out of the blue she careens into us, stomping on our feet
as she gallops by almost bowling us over. Her paws spread wide as she grippes
the dirt, sand flies up behind her. Her muscles tighten to control her stop.
I’m
so happy to see her you’d think we were separated for days, not minutes. I
cuddle her, patting her head, and stroking her soft coat. She positions herself
against my knee signaling me to scratch her behind the ears, which I do.
From
the rock face where we stand, we begin walking up the ridge. Neewa quickly takes
point leading us along the rocky terrain. After a few moments she runs off
again, nose to the ground, having picked up a scent of something. She is on the
hunt, sniffing along the surface of the dirt, stalking her prey.
We
meander along occasionally checking a pinecone or two, not wanting to give up.
Continuing on our hike, we are high above the road we left this morning.
I decide to escape the heat and hike toward a grove of trees.
Chapter 37 - Juniper Berries
“What
are those trees up there?” I point looking to Jackie for an answer.
“Juniper,
they are Juniper trees, a coniferous evergreen tree native to high mountain
desert forests,” The botanist in the family explains.
We
reach the shade of the juniper grove, finally getting out of the sun’s direct
rays. Tired from the day’s events, I look for a place to sit and rest.
I
pay no attention to Jackie as she inspects, shakes, and smells something in her
hands.
“Look
at these purple berries from these trees and the little brown nuts I found on
the ground. What are they?”
Jackie
begins rolling the little round things in her hand, “The purple berries from
the tree are the size of green peas. She breaks one open and inside the berry is
one of the beige nuts that looks like little an acorn. The beige acorn seeds on
the ground were once covered in a purple layer. But the coatings dry and fall
off, leaving these little brown acorn nuts.”
Jackie
displays a handful of the nuts and giggles, “Dad look. I found these under the
Juniper trees over there, they have holes in one end.”
Standing
shoulder-to-shoulder, each of us takes a nut from Jackie’s hand. A thorough
inspection concludes that every one of the nuts is about the size of a pencil
eraser, about five centimeters. And each one has the shape of a very tiny apple.
We stand inspecting the little nuts.
“Jackie
your hands are disgusting,” We laugh, as I look down at my own too.
“Yuck!” They are covered in smudges of pine tar and dirt rubbed in. It’s
stuck to my skin like glue at a crafts table. I try to peel it off by scraping
it with a stick, then a rock. But it’s no use, it is dried on like cement.
Dad
has sweat dripping from his head, and his shirt is wet around the collar and
back. By now Jackie and I are both wishing we had worn shorts. But it was so
cold this morning, and who would’ve thought it would be so hot this early. It
seems to be getting hotter by the minute.
I
check the back of my hand. One of the beige nuts is stuck between my fingers.
Scrutinizing it, I inspect the incredibly perfect round hole in the middle of
the top. The opening is deep and goes almost all the way through to the bottom.
I hold it up to my eye to see if I can peer inside. The curious hole in the nut
makes it look like a tiny apple that’s been cored. But it’s not cored all
the way through. Nope, instead the one-centimeter wide tunnel ends just before
the bottom.
Strangely
centered, each hole seems to be in the exact same location on each and every
nut. Perplexed, again I hold the juniper nut to my eye, looking into the dark
hole searching for a revelation as to how and why it is there?
“How
did the hole get there Dad?” I inquire.
Dad
shakes his head, “I don’t know, maybe that’s the way they are?”
Jackie
declares, “I’ll show Chester, he will know. I’ll collect a bunch of them.
I’m sure they are juniper nuts but how the heck did that hole get there?”
Dad
and Jackie begin gathering nuts sitting under the juniper trees. It’s too hot
to be moving around now. Minutes pass as I gaze into the blue sky and flora
covered marshes in the distance. We share several gulps of water from our
canteen and chill on the hillside.
“I’m
going to look for Neewa,” I announce walking away from them, “Where are you
guys going to be?”
Jackie
answers, “We’ll be right here under these shady trees.”
“Stay
here,” I say, “So I can find you when I get back.”
Jackie
calls to me as I disappear from sight, “Ok we’ll be waiting.”
Walking
up the ridge, I feel the freedom of being on my own. I’m alone in the
wilderness with no one else around for miles.
I
wonder what happen here long ago? Could I possibly be the first human to walk
through this forest in thousands of years? Maybe I’m the only human that ever
traveled here. Most likely Indians trekked here in the last hundred years. I’m
not the first nor will I be the last.
Neanderthal
man camped here a hundred thousand years ago. He probably lived in a nearby cave
and painted the walls. It would be so cool to find one of those caves and
discover paintings never seen before.
Approaching
the top of the hill, I call out, “Neewa, Neewa come.”
Slipping
back into my imagination, I wonder if buffalo once roamed here. They came to
drink water and eat the grass at the marsh. Buffalo could’ve been hunted right
here where I’m standing. Maybe this was once a buffalo jump, where buffalo
were herded together and then stampeded off a cliff.
Ancient
man used to kill the buffalo this way. They chased the buffalo around and around
in the canyon getting them all worked up. As the buffalo got more excited, they
were stampeded towards a cliff and then over the edge. They died or were so
badly injured it was easy for the hunters to finish them off.
In
a history book I read, it said as many as a hundred buffalo would go off a cliff
at once. Indians waited near the bottom and killed the ones that lived with
spears and knives. It was gruesome.
Indians
used all of the buffalo for one thing or another. It was their custom not to
waste anything. Clothing was made from the skins. Some hides were made into
blankets while others were used to cover tipis. Meat was dried into jerky so it
would not spoil in the summer. And in the winter, the meat was kept frozen
underground.
Rambling
along I daydream about the Piute, Washoe, and Gosh Ute Indians that once roamed
this region. I wonder how they survived gathering roots and berries, and hunting
mule deer, and other animals.
These
mule deer out West are similar to the white tail deer back East. Except the mule
deer is bigger, much bigger and their antlers are twice the size. Other than
that they have the same colored fur and just about everything else.
Quiet
as a mouse, I approach the highest rocky peak on this mountain. Leaping from
rock to rock, I skip along forgetting about were I am and what I’m doing here.
All
of a sudden, I hear a thud and feel a vibration under my feet. It travels up
through my knees and legs.
Startled,
I look up at the blue western sky dotted with white fluffy clouds. The sun
glares back into my eyes.
Chapter 38 - The Ghost of the Mule Deer
Suddenly
I focus on a pair of eyes looking right at me. Around those eyes is the face of
a mule deer, motionless, just twenty feet in front of me. Surrounding the
massive buck’s antlers is blinding sunlight obscuring his body. His eyes are
the color of rusted steel and his ears white as snow. His black nostrils are
flared wide open in his shiny wet nose, dripping stuff. He exhales snorting nose
spray to the ground at my feet.
My
heart pounds as he looks through me, neither of us can believe our eyes. I am
frozen, unable to move for what seems like seconds, but is only tenths of an
instant. Fixed on his, I blink my eyes.
But
he’s gone. Disappeared as if by magic without a sound or a trace of his path.
My mind floods with questions. Did I see what I think I saw? Where did he go?
He
must have jumped through the air, soaring out of sight. I remain still, waiting
to feel the vibration as he lands, listening past the hilltop breeze for the
sound of his hooves striking the ground, galloping in retreat. But I feel
nothing, only the wind softly whistling in my ear and the sun warming my flush
skin.
Was
it an illusion? Maybe I imagined the massive stag with giant antlers and
piercing eyes. Perhaps it was the branches of a tree hanging down, not antlers.
Possibly the deer head was a rock shaped by the wind and rain to look like the
head of a deer. Or maybe I just invented the whole thing.
“I’ll
find out!” I streak to where he stood in a split second.
Atop
the mountains highest point, I stare down from my new location at the previously
unseen valley before me. No trees block my view. Nor is the scant brush higher
than my ankles. The wind swept baron moonscape before me has little to obscure
his escape route. There are no juniper or pinion pine trees blocking my view.
Nothing
is moving on the lifeless terrain. No rustling bushes or dried lifeless grasses
swaying. Neither is there dust kicked up into the air to reveal his path of
retreat.
“Where
are you?” I shout stomping my feet.
Scanning
from left to right, then right to left covering every possible direction of his
getaway. But I see no buck, not solitary deer on his way home from the marsh. No
heard of deer feeding on the hillside to which he might have belonged.
“Nothing,”
I repeat, “Nothing?”
Even
the wind that gives flight to hawks and vultures is still. I kneel down for a
ground level view to look out over the motionless vista, but nothing stirs.
Maybe
he’s hiding somewhere, like lions do in the tall grasses of Africa, blending
in with the colors around them. Invisible I thought, just waiting for me to walk
away. Then he will continue on his path.
After
a while, regrettably there is no living creature to be seen anywhere. Whatever
it was or is, it’s gone now.
That’s
when I spot them, on the ground right in front of me, right where he stood.
I
whisper, “Antlers.”
They
seem unreal, out of place, as if they were put there, positioned upright, not
shed or dropped.
Again
I glance back down the barren hillside straining to see the buck, but he is not
there.
Quickly,
I glance back at the antlers. Much to my surprise they are still there. I rub my
eyes and focus, but the two perfectly symmetrical antlers do not disappear. They
remain upright.
They
are large antlers, maybe three feet across, and would only fit upon a great stag
like the one I thought I saw.
I
circle them, inspecting every detail, every sharp point. Unable to resist any
longer I kneel down and touch one of the smooth grooves on a shaft and run my
finger up the edge jumping from tip to tip, counting eight points each.
Overcome
with the desire to hold one, I lift an antler into my arms. The shear weight and
girth almost bowls me over. I have to quickly regain my balance to keep from
falling.
Then
it occurs to me, I couldn’t just leave them here and walk away. They
shouldn’t just stay here where no one will see them. Someone should keep them
for themselves.
Maybe
they belong here in the wilderness with the wind, sun, and earth. After all this
is where they have been. They belong to no one. No one owns them. There are no
possessions out here. I don’t know what to do.
Suddenly,
I hear the sound of something rushing straight at me.
Turning
anxiously toward it, “Neewa Crap, You scared the hell out of me!”
My
eyes shoot from Neewa back to antlers and back to Neewa again.
“Neewa,”
my voice loud, “Where have you been?” I hold her face close to mine and look
into her eyes, “Did you see that buck?” She pulls away and jumps up on me. I
scratch her head behind the ears. She pushes her paws forward, then she shoves
me and jumps down.
Running
around, she brushes her ribs against my knees signaling me to scratch her on the
top of her head. I promptly comply.
In
a few seconds she and I are side by side on our way down the mountain to find
Jackie and Dad.
“Neewa,
I saw this immense buck?” I tell her.
Our
pace quickens down the hill. She runs out in front leading the way.
Antlers
are awkward to carry. I’m having a hard time not sticking myself in one place
or another. Carrying both of them, I almost fall for the third time. It would be
like falling on a bunch of sharp daggers. In no time I would bleed to death.
Great! What an ending to our camping trip.
I
can hear the reporter now, “Christina was mortally injured today when she fell
on a deer antler while hiking at Ruby Lake.”
Yeah,
Ruby Lake where no man has walked for ten thousand years, Ha! Carefully, I
meander to the grove of Juniper trees where Dad and Jackie were last seen
collecting nuts. They are still relaxing in the shade, waiting for me.
“Look!
Look at these!” Neewa runs over to Dad and Jackie for pets and hugs.
“What
are they?” Jackie doesn’t know what they are.
“Antlers,
they’re deer antlers,” I reply.
“Wow,”
Dad cries out as he jumps to his feet. He takes one off my hands before I impale
myself.
I
begin to recount the whole story as we walk down to the van. Nothing, not one
detail do I leave out. I begin with how I felt the pulsation of the deer’s
hooves through the ground. And then I describe the mule deer buck looking right
at me, eyes bugged out, snorting snot. Then I explain how he vanished into thin
air and how I tried to find it, but could not. Lastly, how I ran to the ridge,
exactly where the great buck had stood and looked everywhere. And then I
discovered the antlers, right where he stood.
After
that, no one said a word or spoke of the antlers again.
Jackie
is all excited about the juniper seeds and can’t wait to ask Chester about
them.
I’m
anxious about the antlers and whether I did the right thing by taking them. How
will I explain it to Chester? And will Chester believe my story? What about how
the buck vanished and the antlers remained where he stood.
This
is really silly no one will ever believe this story. I’m not sure Jackie and
Dad believe it. Chester will think I imagined it for sure.
Dad,
Jackie, and me are at the van when Chester and Marlene arrive.
Chester
shrugs his shoulders, “No pine nuts, we didn’t find any pine nuts. We found
empty pinecones and plenty of bugs in pinecones, but no pine nuts. How about you
guys?”
“We
didn’t find any pine nuts either,” I reply looking at them.
Jackie
runs up to Chester with a hand full of juniper nuts, “Look at these, we found
them under the trees on the ridge.”
She
holds out her hand for Chester and Marlene to inspect. They each take a couple
of the nuts in their hands.
Marlene
says, “I have no idea what they are, we don’t have them in Chicago,” She
giggles.
Marlene
giggles a lot.
Chester
rolls one between his thumb and pointer fingers. “Juniper nuts, these are so
cool, look at the light beige color around the top and the deep brown on the
rest of the nut. It looks like a tiny acorn.”
Jackie
impatient and overly excited, “The hole, what about the hole? How did it get
there?”
Chester
grins, “The prairie dog uses his hollow tooth to eat the middle of the nut.”
Dad
exclaimed, “No way! That’s impossible, you are kidding right?”
Chester
continues, “No, no kidding, the prairie dog places the Juniper nut in the
right position in his mouth. And then with his hollow sharp front tooth, he
bites down into the nut. The hollow tooth takes the meat out of the center of
the nut and the prairie dog eats it. Then he throws away the rest. That’s how
the nut gets the hole in it.
Jackie
looks perplexed, not knowing what to say. She just holds the nut up to her eye
and looks at it.
Dad
is still a non-believer and mutters, “I don’t believe that. It’s
impossible, each hole is exactly the same.”
Chester
laughs, “That’s how they do it.”
Jackie
asks, “Why doesn’t the hole go all the way through?”
Chester
laughs, he’s always laughing, “Their tooth is not long enough.”
Dad
continues to be skeptical, “I just can’t believe it, I’ve never heard of
such a thing.”
Chester
makes his point, “I swear on my Chief.”
I
have never heard Chester say that before. Though I can tell by the way he said
it, he’s serious. The Chief is the most reverent figure in the tribe, kind of
like the Queen of England.
One
time I was on the reservation and a bunch of kids were playing football. An
argument broke out over an out of bounds call one of the players made. The
squabble was about to come to blows between two kids when the kid who called the
ball out said, I swear on my Chief. Everyone looked at each other, stopped
arguing and walked back to their positions to continue the game. The argument
was over, no one even mentioned it again.
After
hearing Chester say that, Dad stops his opposition and without hesitation says,
“Wow! That is most amazing natural freaky thing I’ve ever heard of.”
I
begin talking a mile a minute interrupting everyone, “Chester listen to this,
I saw this massive deer, a buck, his silhouette was surrounded by the sunlight.
He was only twenty feet away from me. His eyes were locked onto mine. I could
hardly believe it. I watched him stare back at me. We both stood motionless,
eyes transfixed on each other.
I
blinked my eyes still looking right at him, and he disappeared! Right in front
of my eyes, gone, vanished.
I
thought he jumped over the ridge so I ran up to where he stood and looked
everywhere, but I saw no deer and nothing moving anywhere.”
Chester’s
eyes become as wide as light bulbs as I pull the antlers from the trunk of the
van, “I found these antlers lying right where he stood.”
He
cries out, “You found those, you lucky duck, all by yourself, no one else?”
“Yes,
yes, no one else, all by myself,” I exclaim.
Chester
becomes serious, “This is a really important question. Were the antlers
standing straight up?”
“Yes,
Yes, they were pointing straight up, as if placed,” I reply, my voice shaking.
There
is silence. Chester looks at each of us and then at the antlers again. He
appears to be trying to make a decision as to whether or not to tell us what
he’s thinking.
Chester
grumbles with his head down as if revealing a secret, “You saw the Spirit
Deer.”
“What
is that?” I sigh knowing for sure that I had no business taking the antlers
off the mountain.
“It’s
the Spirit Deer,” Chester declares smiling, “He left the antlers to kill the
bear. Bear will trip and fall onto the antlers and die when they pierce his
heart.”
Chester
continues, “Listen to me, I will tell you the Indian legend, A Buck And A
Bear. The story goes something like this. A bear with two cubs and a buck with
two fawns shared the forest. The bear trapped the buck and ate it for dinner.
The two fawns were angry at the bear for eating their father. To get revenge,
the fawns tricked the bear into killing and eating its own cubs. Now the bear
wanted payback for this trick and chased the two fawns into the forest.
At
this time the great buck’s spirit returned from the Spirit World as the Spirit
Deer to revenge his own death and to protect his fawns. Spirit Deer appeared
before his children, the fawns, and told them to lead the bear across a rickety
bridge onto a nearby island.
The
bear followed the scent the fawns purposely laid down. On the other side of the
bridge the Spirit Deer placed its antlers pointing straight up.
Stork,
an ally to Spirit Deer stood in the water next to the wobbly bridge made from
logs, sticks, and mud. As the bear began to cross the bridge stork pulled a
single twig from the bottom. The unsound bridge fell apart and the bear tripped,
stumbled, and fell onto the antlers. They pierced his heart and killed him
instantly.
It
is the Spirit Deer’s alliance with the wise Stork that enabled him to kill the
bear. Indian legend has it that the same Spirit Deer still roams this forest
setting traps for the bear.”
“Chester,
am I in trouble? Should I have left the antlers back in the forest?” I
shudder.
Chester
looking somewhat puzzled answers, “No Christina you are not in trouble. You
came face to face with Spirit Deer.”
“Should
I put them back now, the antlers? I can put them back. I know where I found
them,” I add.
“No,
you must keep them. He gave them to you to teach you two lessons. One is not to
be tricked by a bear. And two, make alliances with the stork. That is what you
must learn from the gift of the Spirit Deer.”
Chester
spoke with a puzzled look on his face, “Maybe you will be a powerful chief
some day and wear these antlers at a Pow Wow in the Deer Dance.”
I
slump down into a sitting position next to the car with one antler in my hands,
“Chester my head is spinning with spirits and legends. I saw the Deer Dance at
the Pow Wow, a Chief turned into the Spirit Deer.”
Nothing
more is said, we all get in the van and head back to our campsite. It was a
quiet ride.
Arriving
at our campsite, we pack up our tents and cooking stuff, and drive away headed
home.
I’m
still anxious about keeping the antlers. Maybe they belong where I found them,
on that ridge overlooking the marshes and the valley. I should never have taken
them. They belong in the forest. They are not mine.
Oh
my god, I’m going to torture myself about this for the entire ride home.
When
I get home I’m going to give those antlers a thorough going over in the lab.
They must have some kind of supernatural power. After all that was a Spirit
Deer.
I
still can’t believe we came all the way out here with no meters or cameras. I
should’ve at least brought an EMF meter or something, even the thermal
infrared camera. Though I never would have gotten a picture of that deer, he was
too fast. I saw him for not even a second. If I even saw him at all.
It’s
late when we arrive back in town. We drop off Chester and Marlene first and then
go straight home.
As
we pull into the driveway I call out, “Shower.” That’s a signal not to
mess with me as there is only one shower and I’m getting it first before
Jackie uses up all the hot water.
With
hot water pouring all over me, I begin to feel human again. There were no
showers at Ruby Lake and the bathrooms are primitive, which means they are
outhouses, pretty awful.
This
time Jackie has to wait until I’m done, then she can take her bath, she loves
her baths.
Chapter 39 - Going Back East
Oh
crap, morning is here already. I sit on the side of my bed, getting dressed. And
run out the door to catch my school bus.
Whew,
I barely made it. Today is the last day of school for the year, thank God.
Sitting in my usual seat, I look around at my schoolmates. All of who are still
strangers.
My
stop is the last one before we get to school. Today I’ll walk through all my
classes, give back all my books, and clean out my locker. No parties to go to,
no signing of yearbooks, and definitely no crying in the hallway. I’ve done
all that. Then it will be time to go home.
I’ve
been in this town for almost a year, its time to leave. I really miss all my
friends, Grandma and Grandpa too. Maybe Mom will be back from Canada when we get
home. I can’t wait to tell her all the cool stuff I’ve been doing. But
first, California, I have to go to California and see the Pacific Ocean and San
Francisco.
We
can do lots of ghost hunting on our way to California. It will be the adventure
of a lifetime.
Dad
has a pretty good job waiting for him in New Jersey. He says he’ll be working
by the Delaware Bay at a government office. But if that doesn’t work out, his
old boss in Maryland said he is welcome to come back there. Maryland is only
three hours from home. At least, I’ll be a lot closer to home then we are way
out here.
New
Jersey would be all right for a year or two, but I don’t want to stay in New
Jersey for the rest of my life either. I’m not going to college in New Jersey,
that’s for sure, anywhere but there.
My
plan is either to live with Grandma in Florida or my uncle in California.
***
“Hey
Dad, did you ever check out that recording of Neewa eating the pumpkin pies?”
“No,
I forgot all about it.”
Dad
asks, “What about the antlers, did you check them out?”
“Yeah
the antlers have nothing, I put the EMF meter on them and a few other meters
too, but no readings at all, nothing. They’re packed in one of the boxes ready
to go back East.”
Dad
suggests, “I can queue up the Flying Neewa eating pumpkin pies tape. I have to
download all those files onto my pc anyway. You want to help me?”
“Sure
lets do it,” I answer enthusiastically.
In
short order, Dad has everything set up. The camera and hot wire are already
connected to the computer.
He
sits in front of the pc, “Ok click download, now click camera, capture, save,
okay, now publish.”
I
wait till the entire file is finished.
“We
got it,” The file is saved to the desktop.
“Dad
play it back,” anxious to see the tape, “Hurry up.”
“Ok
Christina watch this, I have some stuff to do.”
When
Neewa tripped the motion detector the camera was lying on its side. In the frame
is Neewa already on the countertop with the view flipped ninety degrees.
The
video of Neewa shows her eating the pies all right, but only a partial view. I
can see a portion of her ivory white fur in the foreground and part of one
pumpkin pie. I cannot see her eating the other two pies though, but I can hear
her.
As
I continue watching the tape, Neewa sniffs the camera and licks the lens. She
can hear the camera running.
Now
I hear her swallowing the pieces of pie, gobbling them down. It’s almost like
she is consuming a whole pumpkin pie at once. Next the pie plate in view is
being licked.
Another
pie plate on the counter rattles around like a thunderstorm as she cleans that
one off. Then plates hit the floor and Neewa jumps down to finish up the rest.
The sound of her pawing and slapping down a plate and then licking it clean is
woefully repeated. I listen to the next pie plate being cleaned.
The
kitchen window in the background was about the only other thing I could see. All
the sounds of Neewa’s feast are recorded, right up until the camera shuts
itself off. Turns out there are no pictures of Neewa levitating onto the
three-foot high counter top. I’ll never prove that she flew. Still I wonder
how in the world did she get up there?
Chapter 40 - Beading Juniper Nuts
The
phone rings, I pick it up holding it inches from my ear, wondering who could
this be? It’s Diane on the other end inviting Jackie and me to come over to
her house and do some beading. Don’t forget to bring Neewa she says before
hanging up.
I’m
excited about beading.
I
request, “Dad, meet us at Diane’s at four o’clock.”
Jackie
and I start walking over to Diane’s.
I
like Heather but she is the medicine woman of the tribe and sometimes she gives
me the creeps. I want Dad to be with me when I’m there or I will be totally
freaked out.
Remember
what happen the last time we were at Heather’s house? There was that fierce
windstorm that scared the crap out of me. We were outside, covered in sand, and
that dust devil came flying into Heather’s yard, chasing us into the house.
Heather
said it was an evil Spirit Devil in the dust devil that wanted to posses me. But
Heather protected us with her powders, throwing the sacred stuff all over us and
into the woodstove. Oh my god, that was too creepy.
Heather
said in a really weird voice, “Go devil, leave us you demon.”
I
can’t get those words out of my head.
Maybe
it was Heather who made the dust storm with the evil Spirit Devil. I don’t
know if I should even be at Heathers?
After
it was over, Heather gave us herbs to protect us from evil. I wish I had them in
my pocket right now. But they are packed away with my clothes, the antlers, and
our entire collection of ghost hunting equipment. Except for the stuff that goes
back to Dad’s work. He’s going to return all of it at the end of the week,
his last day.
Neewa
is all excited as we arrive at Diane and Heather’s house. I thought Neewa
should wait outside with the kids in the Diane’s neighborhood? They love to
play with her. Though they make fun of her tongue hanging out the side of her
mouth.
“Neewa!”
Heather exclaims petting and hugging her, “You come right into my house, I
want you here with me.”
Diane
smiles at Neewa as she holds the door open and watches her slip in. She runs in,
galloping through the house, smelling every room, especially the kitchen, which
she scourers for scraps.
Diane
motions Jackie and me to come over to the kitchen table. She has her beading
stuff on the table. We brought her a couple of strands of yellow beads that Dad
had given us. Diane places them with all of her beads. I see bright turquoise
blue, red coral, white, and black beads. She has rolls of silky string and
silver clasps in the center of the table.
We
park ourselves down and she shows us some basic beading designs. After that we
each take a sowing needle, some fishing line, and begin stringing beads from our
trays.
In
silence, I look around her home. The house has not changed since I was last
here.
Using
a loom is what I want to learn. I saw some beading techniques for looms in a
display at the tribal building. Loom beading creates the most intricate designs,
like ones you see in museums and galleries.
I’m
a stringing beads onto a necklace when I look up and see Diane run her needle
through a small acorn like bead.
“What
is that?” I ask.
She
answers, “It’s a juniper bead.”
I
exclaim, “The one’s the prairie dogs bite a hole in?”
Diane
looks puzzled, “Yes the prairie dogs do bite a hole into the nut. They put a
circular tunnel almost all the way through to the end. I push a heavy sowing
needle through the bottom of the nut to make it into a bead. Then I string the
juniper beads in patterns with other beads. Here look at this one.”
Diane
holds up a bracelet with juniper nuts placed every third bead.
“No
way!” Jackie jumps up and stands behind Diane for a closer look.
“Way!”
I say.
Pointing
at the bracelet I say to Jackie, “They’re like the ones you found out at
Ruby Lake. Diane makes them into beads and strings them.”
Jackie
takes one of the juniper nuts from Diane’s beading tray and rolls it between
her two fingers.
Nodding
her head in agreement, “Yup it’s the same. That’s amazing. Look how cool
they look in that bracelet, awesome.”
“Show
me how you get the hole the rest of the way through,” Jackie leans over
Diane’s tray.
Diane
picks up another nut, “The prairie dog leaves some of the shell at the bottom
when it bites down. I just push the needle through the bottom of the whole like
this.”
Quietly
we observe as she picks up another nut and slides the heavy sowing needle
inside. Then positioning it over some cardboard, she pushes the needle down,
puncturing a small hole thru the remaining portion of the nut. Thus, making a
juniper nut into a beautiful juniper bead.
Jackie
reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handful of clean, shinny ones from Ruby
Lake and puts them in Diane’s tray.
“Wow,
where did you get all those?” Diane turns to look at Jackie puzzled.
Jackie
smiles, “They are from Ruby Lake, the Spirit Deer gave them too me.”
Diane
asks, “The Spirit Deer? When did you meet the Spirit Deer?”
Jackie
says, “Well, I didn’t but Christina met him on a trail.”
We
all laugh and continue beading.
Diane
adds a handful of juniper beads to each of our beading trays. We string them
with the other colorful beads.
I
remark, “The juniper beads have the best natural color. Don’t you think?”
We
all nod our heads in agreement.
Diane
says, “The Spirit Deer is very important to us. If you are in his favor, he
will protect you from evil. But if you are his enemy, he will pierce your heart
with his antlers.”
Jackie
speaks, “She is in his favor, Chester said he left the antlers for her.”
Looking
at Diane to see her reaction I say, “I knew I should have left those antlers
where I found them.”
Diane
replies, “You were given the antlers of the Spirit Deer?”
Chapter 41 - Diane’s Secret
“I
have a secret everyone in our tribe knows, but we don’t tell white people,”
Diane pauses and looks at both of us for a moment.
“The
Chief is my father and his wife is my mother. When I was a baby they gave me to
Heather. She is my mother now. I was a gift to her, Napittu—h is our word for
present.”
“My
blood Mom and Dad have nine other children, my brothers and sisters. My Chief
wanted Heather to have a child to help her and follow in her footsteps.”
The
Chief said to Heather, “Teach her to be the Shaman of my people.”
Diane
is moving about the beading table helping us. She looks at us out of the corner
of her eye, observing our reaction to the secret.
Diane
says, “They gave one of their own children away. Heather raised me from when I
was a little baby. She takes care of me and I take care of her.”
Heather
is watching us with her steel gray eyes, looking into my soul. She has deep
wrinkles in her forehead from her many years. Her skin looks grey, like her
hair.
Heather
speaks, “No one wanted this land so they gave it to us. This land is not good
for much of anything. It’s just desert and sagebrush. We are on the outskirts
of town, on the edge of the desert. There is no one but a few Indians here.”
I
can hear the wind howling. Sand is being picked up by gusts of wind and sounds
like hail as it hits the windows.
Heather
speaks proudly, “My son and my daughter are grown now, and they have their own
lives. Chester likes to hunt and fish. But his favorite thing to do is painting.
He’s such a good painter. Linda is going to be a doctor. I miss her so
much.”
I
interrupt, “I met Linda at the basketball game, she is so cool. We went to the
Pow Wow with her. She danced the Shawl Dance, it was awesome.”
Jackie
adds, “I liked the bead designs on her cloths. And that deer skin dress and
those moccasins she had on, can I get them in my size?”
At
that moment I recall Heather dancing at the Pow Wow. I can almost hear the
musicians, and see the smoke hanging in the great hall. What I remember most is
the moment when she disappeared right in front of my eyes.
Looking
straight at her, “How did you disappear?”
“Oh
that,” She replies, “That is something one shaman passes on to another. I
can’t tell anyone for fear that an Evil Spirit Devil will learn the secret.”
Chester
and Dad arrived at Heathers house. Chester knows we will be going back East
soon. He looks serious as he walks over to the beading table.
Neewa
greets Chester with a wagging tail and a few nudges to his palm with her cold
wet nose.
Chester
reaches down and scratches Neewa behind her ears and under her chin, “Neewa,
how you doing girl.” He massages her head with his two strong hands and
scratches her behind the ears.
I
give Dad a dirty look, letting him know I’m pissed that he’s late. He knows
we don’t want to be at Heathers alone, its creepy. I continue beading.
Chester
looks at us and says, “How you guys doing?”
I
say, “I’m fine.”
Jackie
says, “Good Chester, how are you?”
Chester
says, “Oh, I’m fine.”
Chapter 42 - The Medicine Woman’s Mystery is
Revealed
Chester
speaks, “You guys need to be told something very important before you go back
East. Lets all sit down and talk about what you must know.”
This
sounds serious, “I knew I shouldn’t have taken those antlers.”
Chester
speaking softly, “It’s okay Christina, the antlers are a gift from the
Spirit Deer. He is grateful for the good deeds you have done. The Spirit Deer
will protect you from evil, and you must keep his watch over you a secret.”
I
reply anxiously, “What deeds? I didn’t do any deeds?”
“Oh
yes you did, but you did not know it,” He is quick to add. “The first good
deed was adopting Neewa at the pound and saving her Spirit. If Neewa had stayed
at the pound much longer, she would have been euphemized.”
“What
spirit?” I shudder.
Heebe-tee-tse’s
Spirit, an Indian worrier who died in the late 1800’s. His body was never
found and his spirit has been wandered the desert ever since. He has been unable
to return home to be at rest in our sacred burial ground. But he kept searching
for a way home to us. When Neewa was born on the desert, the Spirit Being of
Heebe-tee-tse entered her body and he is still there.
“Oh
brother,” I gasp.
Chester
smiles, “Your second deed was saving Neewa from dying of distemper. By
bringing her to Doctor Cuthberson you saved her and Heebe-tee-tse’s spirit in
Neewa from certain death. If Neewa had died, Heebe-tee-tse’s Spirit Being
could have been lost.
Doctor
Cuthberson, a trusted Shaman learned of Heebe-tee-tse’s spirit when Neewa
stayed overnight at his animal hospital. He spoke to Heebe-tee-tse and made
preparations for him to enter our sacred burial ground.
Chester
continues, “Do you remember the tribal building and the Tribal Historian
Members Project? All the members that have ever lived are listed on that wall.
We are always looking for lost ancestors like Heebe-tee-tse who are trying to
return to us to be At Rest.”
Remember
the little girl at the Tribal History meeting? She said, did you know Neewa has
a Spirit?
Since
that moment everyone knew about Heebe-tee-tse coming home. We have all been
waiting to welcome him.”
Jackie
interrupts, “So let me get this right, Neewa is a Spirit Being of this worrier
Heebe-tee-tse?”
Chester
sighs, “Well not exactly, you see it is not Neewa who is a Spirit Being, but
the Spirit Being is in Neewa’s body.”
“Oh,
I get it now, Neewa’s possessed,” Jackie clarifies.
Chester
persists, “When Neewa was born near Heebe-tee-tse’s grave he took refuge in
Neewa’s body, he possessed her, but not in a bad way. He will not harm her.”
I
break in, “Dad, what about my dream, the one where I was looking for Neewa’s
family in the desert. Remember I read the newspaper about the hiker who saw the
white German shepherd family digging up the bones of the gambler…. And right
next to the gambler was the grave of the Native American Indian who was over a
hundred years old.”
Heather
adds, “We have been protecting Neewa and all of you since we have known about
Heebe-tee-tse. Do you recall when Chester put the charm on Neewa’s collar when
you came back from the ghost town? The charm is a Katsina, a sacred symbol that
protects the wearer from evil trespassers. This Katsina is called Wuyak-Kuita
and affords it’s wearer safe travel. Chester got it from Doctor Cuthberson who
also placed a potion in the Wuyak-Kuita charm. The potion guarded Neewa against
the evil Devil Spirits who wanted to take Heebe-tee-tse’s spirit for
themselves and evil. And the jingle ding sound coming from the charm is an
incantation. A magical spell to shelter you and your family from evil.”
Heather
continues telling of events in my life and she was not even there, “All of you
had encounters with evil. Remember you met George Spahn at the general store
near Manny’s house. You did not like the way he looked at you. He is a dead
man. It was his ghost that invited all of you to his ranch. He would’ve killed
Heebe-tee-tse and substituted an evil Devil Spirit in Neewa. The evil Devil
Spirits at his ranch take bodies and souls of those who fall into their trap.
They want to come to live with our people, but they are evil and we do not want
them.”
Heather
smiles, “What’s more, have you forgotten what happen on the fishing trip?
The gunshot that hit the ground near your van saved you from a Devil Spirit
stalking Neewa and Heebe-tee-tse. A Chosen One, who sees, fired that shot. He
was not shooting at you or your family. His bullet was meant to defeat the evil
stalker. Furthermore remember my house? I used yellow and blue powders to
vanquished the evil spirit in the dust devil? So you see, we have all been
protecting you.”
Chester
speaks adding still more archival proof to my already overflowing to capacity
encounters with demons and evil spirits, “At the Pow Wow when the Deer Dance
was performed and that Chief transformed himself into the Spirit Deer. That
Spirit Deer has been following you and Neewa ever since the Pow Wow. At Ruby
Lake the ghost of the mule deer was the Spirit Deer that left his antlers as a
gift for you and Neewa for helping Heebe-tee-tse.
And
you heard the howling coyotes at Ruby Lake? They too were evil and wanted the
power of Heebe-tee-tse’s spirit for themselves, but Spirit Deer and the herbs
Heather gave you warded off the attack.”
Chester
adds, “Heather is certain you are safe now. You must always keep the antlers
and charm you have been given. Never give them away or lose them, as they will
keep you safe from the evil ones.”
Heather
talks to Dad, Jackie and me, “I have another secret. No one will put a new
house here in place of this old one. Under my house is our sacred burial ground
where all our Indian Spirit Beings are resting. We cannot disturb them, the
Spirit Beings must stay here forever.”
Chester
interrupts, “Now I have to tell you quickly because they will be here soon.”
I
ask, “Who will be here soon?”
Jackie
looks up as she is finishing her necklace, “Who else is coming to the beading
party?”
Heather
and Chester smile and say in unison, “The Spirit Beings!”
Jackie
puts her face down on the table and coverers her head with her arms. Dad comes
to the table and sits between us, putting his arms around us both.
Heather
speaks, “Chanting will be starting in Linda’s room. The Spirit Beings are
creating the sounds of the wind and the smells of fire and earth. The ceremony
has begun.
First,
the exorcism of Heebe-tee-tse from Neewa’s body, then the Spirit Beings will
assist Heebe-tee-tse in entering the Spirit World through our sacred ground.
Neewa will be the same coy dog you know and love after it is over.”
I
can smell burning roots, herbs, and sweet flowers. The smoke is swirling by the
candlelight as Neewa walks behind the curtain. Flickering light is coming from
behind the woven divide separating us from the Spirits. Mystical yellow and blue
smoke churns overhead.
Heather
exclaims, “We are close, the Spirit Beings are thanking you and Neewa.”
Dad
squeezes Jackie and me tighter. Seconds pass like minutes.
Chanting
and drumming radiate from behind the curtain. “Hey Hey Hey Hey Ya Ya Ya… Ya
Ya Ya….”
The
High-pitched screeches echo in my ears and through my head. Soft then loud
rhythms repeat.
The
chants of the spirits send chills down my spine, “Hey Hey Hey Hey Ya Ya, Ya Ya,
Ya Ya,”
Visible
through an open crack, shadows of awkward human shapes move about on Linda’s
wall. Above the woven blankets strange forms move in circles on a visible slice
of ceiling.
Frightened
by the appearance of Heather leaving the back room, I’m startle and almost
fall backwards off my seat.
Heather
nods and smiles a great big smile, “The Spirit Beings are thankful,
Heebe-tee-tse is home, at rest. No longer wondering the desert, he has left
Neewa’s body and is where he belongs. All the Spirit Beings are celebrating
with him.”
Jackie
speaks softly, “The ghost hunting equipment is at home, but all the ghosts are
here.”
I
whisper to Dad, “Okay, so we don’t have scientific proof that there are
ghosts, but there is no doubt about it in my mind. There are ghosts here.”
Just
at that moment Neewa runs out from behind the curtain and jumps onto my lap. I
hold her close to me as she thumps her tail against my legs, wagging it
vigorously. The charm around her neck is jingling as she licks my face.
“Yuck,
stop it Neewa.”
Chapter 43 - The End
I
wake up in my bed with Neewa standing over me licking my face. As I push her
away, she sits down at the foot of the bed staring at me with her tongue hanging
out of the side of her mouth.
I
laugh, “Neewa, you are too cute, I love you.”
Just
then Dad yells from the kitchen, “Christina get up, you’ve been asleep for
the entire morning. We are all packed and leaving for California tomorrow. You
have time to visit your friends to say good-bye. Don’t forget Diane, Heather,
Chester, and Marvin. I’ll call the Burn’s, Manny and Margaret, Doctor
Cuthberson, and Linda. You and your sister have to stay together until we
leave.”
THE END
Watch
for these volumes of Neewa The Wonderdog and the Ghost Hunters.
The
Ghosts of the Northeast appear in this adventure. Meet the Death Demon, and
follow Neewa as she is threatened by an attack of by the Wild Dogs of Woodstock.
Next she joyously visits Boston and attends a ivy league concert.
In
this episode of the Ghosts of the Delmarva Peninsula, Neewa travels in the
American South. She catches shad in the Choptank River and oysters in the
Chesapeake Bay. She digs antiques and the treasure of the pirates of the
Chesapeake Bay. While swimming and exploring here she searches for James A.
Michener in St. Michaels. But discovers the presence of a ghost from a French
soldier from the war of 1812, left behind after everyone else had left.
In
the Ghosts of the West Pickles the cat, Sheba the German Shepard, and Neewa have
many escapades. Sheba and Neewa swim and body surf in the Pacific Ocean.
Together they travel to the Rocky Mountains, Pueblo ruins, and are overwhelmed
at the Ghost Ranch in the Grand Canyon. They even visit Mt. Rushmore, but
Pickles does not want to go.
On
the East Coast, Vampires stalks Neewa as she travels in New Jersey. There she
and Lizzy the Spaniel face tragedy. Neewa comes face to face with evil in So Ho,
New York City. She survives an attack of the Ghost of the North East blackout
and matches wits with a clever squirrel from Brooklyn.
