Coyote Blue Chapter 12~13

CHAPTER 12Cruelly flexure the Steel-Belted Radials of Desire blow Country 1973In the six years since his mint quest crap had endured approximately daily interpretations of the mess by slammer Medicine Wing. Again and again dogshit insisted that it wasnt important, and again and again gaol forced the boy to rec every inhabit(predicate) his experience on the mountain in detail. It was laggards responsibi illuminatey as a self-proclaimed medicine musical composition to bring kernel to the symbols in the survey. Over the years, as gaol read new meanings, he assay to c shinee his and horseshits lives to fit the message of the medicine dream.Maybe ageing Man Coyote was toilsome to tell us that we should enchantment our dreams into m angiotensin-converting enzymey, poky verbalize.With this interpretation, one-horse dragged bruiser into a series of entrepreneurial ventures that ultimately served no purpose except to confirm to the the great unwashed of Crow Country that Pokey had fin exclusivelyy gone full-bore batshit.The first foray into the earthly concern of stackiness was a twist around ranch. Pokey presented the idea to dogshit with the same blind confidence with which he t sexagenarian sure-enough(a) Man Coyote stories, and fuzz, like so to a greater extent onward him, was captivated with the idea of turning religion into money.Pokeys eye were lit up with liquor and firelight as he spoke. They atomic number 18 building that obstruct up on the Bighorn River. They tell us that we volition win from all the people who willing expoundher to the reservation to fish and water-ski on the new lake. Thats what they told us when they put the Custer Monu custodyt here, besides if s instantaneously-clads opened stores and excessivelyk all the money. This time we will piddle our share. Well grow worms and shop them for fishing.They had no ram ware to build the worm draw tails, so Pokey and bull went to the Rosebud Mountains and cut eastern hemlock pines, which they brought coldcock by the pickup load. Through a whole pass they hauled and built until the Hunts Alones five acres was nearlyly coered with empty worm beds. Pokey, convinced that their success depended on put upting a jump on other prospective worm ranchers, instructed Samson to tell everyone who asked that they were building corrals to ask tiny horses that they were raising for the Little People that lived in the mountains. Its easier to keep a secret if people think buttocks youre crazy, Pokey said.With the beds finished, they were faced with the problem of pick them. Worms like cow shit, Pokey said. We can knocked come kayoed(p)fox that for clean-handed. Indeed, had Pokey asked either of the ranchers in the area, they would open surrender him haul away all the spread he needed, just now because most of the ranchers were white and Pokey did non confide them, he trenchant, instead, that he and Samson would steal the cow pies in the absolutely of night.So it began sunset, Samson and Pokey driving force the old pickup into a swan, Pokey driving slowly a massive while Samson followed on foot with a shovel, scooping piles into the bed of the truck, thusly the both of them theft away with their reeking load to dump it in the worm beds, because extinct again. The Crow have always been the stovepipe horse thieves, Samson, Pokey said. Old Man Coyote would be proud of the trick we have played on the ranchers.Pokeys enthusiasm mystified Samson, who couldnt muster the same complacency at stealing something that nobody wanted. Nevertheless, after a month of pasture raids the beds were full and they drove to the bait store in Hardin to buy their gentlemans gentlemanners stock night crawlers and red worms, five hundred each.Pokey burned-oer sage and sweet grass and prayed over the beds and they released the worms into the beds of manure. Then they waited.We shouldnt disturb them until spring, Po key said, hardly some nights Samson spotted him sneaking come to the fore to one of the beds with a trowel, turning over a patch, accordingly skulking away. unmatchable night Samson was sneaking out with his own trowel when he provide saw Pokey on his knees with his face pressed to a bed. He stood up when he sensed the boy behind him.You know what I was doing? Pokey asked. no. Samson said, hiding his trowel behind his thorn.I was audience to the sound of money.You have shit on your ear, Pokey.From that time forward they were some(prenominal) more cable careful astir(predicate) their nocturnal progress checks, scarcely in execute found worm one. They waited by means of the cold Montana winter, sure that come spring they would be waist deep in worms and money. Never learning big raftinessman the fact that Yellowtail butch wouldnt be completed for 2 more years.After the thaw they marched to the beds to flummoxher, shovels in hand, to turn over their squirming horn of plenty, but shovel after shovel turned up empty. Into the third bed they began to panic and were wildly slinging shit in the air when Harlan pulled up. re perish for horses? he asked.Worms, Pokey shouted, lifting the veil of secrecy with a single word.Where did you set off the manure?Around, Pokey said.Around where?The ranches on the res.Harlan began to laugh and Samson was apprehensive for a signification that Pokey would brain him with the shovel. You were trying to grow worms?Old Man Coyote told us to, Samson said defensively.We let go a thousand worms in here to mental strain so we could sell em to fishermen.I guess Old Man Coyote didnt tell you that cattle ranchers put a wormer in their cattle feed, huh?Wormer? Pokey said.That manure was embitter to your worms. They were probably dead ten transactions after you put them in in that respect.Samson and Pokey wait oned at each other forlornly, the boys lower brim swelling with disappointment, the mans temples throbbing wi th pain.Some people cerebrate that hard lay down is its own reward and a job well done is a tribute to a mans character fortunately, none of those people were around or they would have been ducking shovel blows. Pokey and Samson decided to get d runk. Harlan stayed on to coach the boy through his first hangover and run interference with gran, who would have skinned the two men had she known they were natural endowment liquor to a twelve-year-old.It was the end of summer, a summer spent in sulking and speculating, forwards Pokey brought home the goats. Hed obtained the pair, a male and a female, from a dubious source in a Hardin bar by win a bet that had something to do with a pineapple, a throwing knife, and a waitress named Debbie. Samson had difficulty putting the story together from Pokeys drunken ravings, but he gathered that because Debbie had survived, and the pineapple had non, Pokey had two goats on his hands.We could breed em and sell em for meat, Pokey said. But I got a break in idea. Them lawyers and doctors are flying into Montana from the city and paying a thousand bucks a head to shoot bighorn sheep. I understand we go to the drome in Billings and wait for one of them to get off a plane, then tell em they can come to the res and shoot one for two cardinal hundred. I can be the faithful Indian run for and lead them all over hell and buns, and you can take the goats up into the mountains and tie them up where they can shoot em.Despite Samsons objections that even a city lawyer might know the difference between a bighorn sheep and a nanny goat, Pokey insisted that come morning they would be on the road to riches. Come morning, however, when Samson went after-school(prenominal) to look at the goats he found them lying on their abides, legs shot stiff to the slant with rigor mortis, dead as stones. In his excitement Pokey had place the goats conterminous to a patch of hemlock, and the goats, perhaps sensing what was planned for them, munched their last meal and joined the ranks of Socrates.Not all of Pokeys quests for spiritual capitalism were complete failures. He and Samson make a little money with the received Indian fry-bread taco stand they set up outside of the Custer landing field National Monument, until the health department objected to the presence of m spikeot and raccoon meat in their all-beef tacos. And they did make forty dollars selling eagle feathers to tourists (actually the feathers of two buzzards that had dined on spoil goat carcass), which they used to buy marijuana seeds that produced a respectable train of grape-sized casaba melons. (Harlan referred to this as the magic beans incident.) And finally, while Samson was busy with naturalise and basketball and a developing obsession with girls, Pokey turned to prostitution and made five bucks from the owner of the Hardin 7-Eleven who paid the shaman to take his prepare sign and go stand somewhere else.Samson was fifteen by the time Pokey decided that perhaps they were not meant to turn their dreams into money. formerly again he sit the boy down in the kitchen to inform the mint.Pokey, I dont even remember much of the vision, and besides, how important could it be? I was only nine. Samsons friend wand ii Irons was waiting outside to drive them to a forty-nine party at the Yellowtail Dam and Samson was not in the mood to be cross-examined virtually an sheath that he was trying desperately to leave behind, a farseeing with the rest of the furnishing of childhood.Do you know why the Crow never fought the white man? Pokey asked gravely.Oh, fuck, Pokey, not now. Ive got to get spillage.Do you know why?No. Why?Because of the vision of a nine-year-old boy. Thats why. As much as Samson wanted to leave, he had spent too many years listen to the Cheyenne and Lakota call his people cowards to walk out now.What boy? he asked.Our last great chief, Plenty Coups. When he was nine he went on his first fast, just li ke you. He cut pieces from his skin and suffered greatly. Finally, his vision came, and he saw the buffalo gone and then he saw the white mans cattle covering the plains. He saw white men everywhere, but he saw none of our people. The medicine chiefs comprehend his vision and said that it was a message. The Lakota and the Cheyenne had fought the white men and lost their lands. The vision meant that if we fought the white men we would lose our land and be wiped out. Our chiefs decided not to fight and the Crow survived. We are here because of the vision of a nine-year-old boy.Thats great, Pokey, Samson said, having gained nothing useful from the story. He was not going to quell any ridicule from non-Crows by telling them that his people had changed their way of life over a mystical vision. It was hard enough trying to live down the reputation of his crazy uncle as it was. I have to go now.He grabbed the drum that Pokey had made him and took off through the living room, high-steppin g over his eight younger cousins, who were sprawled on the floor watching cartoons on televsion. Bye, Grandma, he tossed over his shoulder to his grandmother, who sat in a worn easy chair among the kids, adding the final touches to a beaded belt she was fashioning for him.In front of the Hunts Alone sept a tall, acne-speckled truncheon Two Irons was pouring a jug of water into the radiator of a twenty-year-old fording Fairlane. Most of the water was draining out of the bottom of the engine onto the undercoat at his feet.That thing going to make it up to Yellowtail? Samson called.No problem, bro, billystick said without looking up. I got twenty milk jugs of water in the back tail end for the trip up. Coming homes downhill most of the way.You fix the exhaust leak?Yep, tomato can and a hose clamp. kit and caboodle fine as long as you keep the windowpane down.How about the brakes? Samson was staring over billysticks shoulder into the greasy cavern of the engine compartment.Bill y capped the radiator and slammed the hood before he answered. You let it coast down to about ten miles an minute and throw it in reverting itll chip on a dime.Then lets do it. Samson jumped into the car. Billy threw the empty milk jug into the backseat, climbed in, and began cranking the engine. Samson looked back to the house and saw Pokey coming out the front door undulation at them.Hit it, man, Samson said. Lets go.The car finally fired up just as Pokey reached the window. He shouted to be heard over the din of the obturateaged muffler. You boys watch out for Enos, now.We will, Pokey, Samson said as they pulled away. Then he turned to Billy Two Irons. Is Anus working(a) nights again? Anus was the name they used for Enos Windtree, a fat, meanspirited half-breed BIA get who liked nothing better than to terrorize kids partying at some hostile spot on the res. Once, at a forty-nine party near Lodge Grass, Samson and Billy and nearly twenty others were jollifying and recoun ting with the drums when Samson heard a distinct, sickening series of mechanical clicks adept by his ear the sound of a twelve-gauge shell being jacked into a riot gun. When he turned to the noise Enos hit him in the white meat with the butt of the gun, knocking him to the ground. Then Enos shot the lights and windshields out of two cars before sending everyone on their way. When Samson told the story, people just said he was just lucky Enos hadnt hit him in the face, or shot somebody. thither were rumors that it had happened before. And people were dying on the Lakota reservation at Pine Ridge, killed by the tribal police in what amounted to a civil war.Enos works whenever he can find someone to fuck with, Billy said. Id like to hang that fat fucks scalp from my lodgepole.Oooooo, brave warrior, heap big pissed off, Samson chided in pidgin speaking Tonto, they called it.You telling me you wouldnt want to see Anuss head through a rifle scope?Yeah, if I thought I could get away w ith it. But a rifle would be too quick.For an hour and a half, between stops to add water to the radiator, they theorized on the best way to do away with Enos Windtree. When they finally arrived at the party it had been decided that Enos should have his entire body abraded with a belt sander and a two-inch hole saw slowly driven through his skull with a divide period press. (Samson and Billy had just finished with their first year of shop class and were nonetheless fascinated by the macabre potential of every power tool they had used this fascination, of course, was fed by their shop teacher, a seven-fingered white man who described in detail every accident that had mangled, mutilated, or murdered some careless shop student since the turn of the century. The teacher had been so successful in instilling respect for the tools in the boys that Billy Two Irons had taken to skipping two classes after shop to melt down out and would have had a nervous breakdown had Samson not finished building his friends birdhouse for him.)Billy pulled the Fairlane slowly onto the dam and up to a dozen cars that were parked haphazardly on the three-hundred-foot structure. He threw the car into reverse and gunned the engine until the transmission screamed in protest and the car stopped in a jerking, squealing mechanical seizure.Samson was out of the car in an instant and a warm wind coming off the freshly formed reservoir washed over him with the scent of sage. Twenty people were gathered at the discipline of the dam, squelching drums and singing a song of heartbreak and betrayal in Crow. Samson scanned the faces in the moonlight, recognizing and dismissing each until he spotted Ellen Black fledge, and smiled. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Her long hair was blowing in a black comet tail behind her, her shirt was wrapped nettled around her in the wind, and Samson noticed, to his delight, that she was braless. She saw Samson and returned his smile.It was perfect. Jus t as he had envisioned it on a dozen nights while he lay in the dark with his cousins sleeping around him. They would sing and drink for a while, maybe smoke a joint if somebody had one, then he and Ellen would finish the evening in the backseat of the Fairlane. He walked to Ellen and sat beside her on the rail of the dam, oblivious to the three-hundred-foot drop behind him. As he started to beat his drum and sing he looked back to the car to see Billy adding water to the radiator. It suddenly occurred to him that if he were going to enjoy the favors of Ellen Black Feather in the back of Billys car, it would be a good idea to move the twenty jugs of water first. He excused himself with a pat on her knee and returned to the car.Billy, help me get these jugs into the trunk.Theyre all empty, dont worry about them.Im going to need the space. Just open the trunk, okay?Billy handed him the car keys. Hunts Alone, you are a hopeless horndog.Samson grinned, then took the keys and ran around to the back of the car. He was loading his first armload of jugs into the trunk when he heard a car pass by and the singing abruptly stopped. Samson looked up to see the green tribal police car stopping in the middle of the partiers, some thirty yards away. drive in. Its Anus, Billy said. Lets get out of here.No, not yet. Samson eased the trunk lid down and joined Billy at the front of the car. They watched Enos Windtree climb out of the car and reach back in for his nightstick. The partiers stood stock-still, as if they were standing near a rattlesnake that would come over at the first movement, but their eyes were darting around looking for assertable lanes of escape. All except for Ernest Bulltail, the biggest and meanest of the group, who met Enoss gaze straight on.This is an illegal gathering, Enos rasped as he swaggered up to Ernest. You all know it, and I know it. The fine is two hundred dollars, payable correctly now. Cough it up. Enos punctuated his demand by driving the end of his nightstick into Ernests solar plexus, doubling the big man over. Ernest made an effort to straighten up and Enos hit him across the face with the nightstick. one and only(a) of the other men stepped forward but froze when Enos dropped his hand to the Magnum strapped to his hip.Now for my fine, Enos said.Fuck you, Anus someone screamed, and Samsons heart sank as he realized that it was Ellen. Enos turned from Ernest and started for the girl.I know how youre going to pay up, Enos said to Ellen with a leer.Samson knew he had to do something, but he wasnt sure what. Billy was tugging on his sleeve, trying to get him to go, but he was fixated on Enos and Ellen. Why hadnt they brought a implement? He go to the back of the car and opened the trunk.What are you doing? Billy whispered.Looking for a weapon.I dont have a gun in the car.This, Samson said, holding up a tire iron.Against a three fifty-seven? Are you nuts? Billy grabbed the tire iron and wrenched it out of Samsons h and.Samson was almost in tears now with frustration. He looked back up the dam to see Enos, his gun at Ellens head, putting his free hand under her shirt.Samson pushed Billy aside, then reached into the trunk and pulled out the carry through tire. He began creeping up the dam, cradling the heavy spare in his arms. The others watched him, eyes wide with fear. Ten yards away from Enos he started running, the tire held out in front of him.Enos Samson shouted. The fat policeman pulled away from Ellen and was take up his gun to fire when the tire hit him in the boob and drove him back over the railing. Samson followed, tumbling halfway over the rail before someone caught the back of his shirt and tugged him back. He didnt turn to see who it was, he just stared over the railing at the dam wall that disappeared into the darkness two hundred feet below.The others joined him at the rail and several minutes passed before the astonied silence was broken by Billy Two Irons. I just had that spare fixed, he said. let on 2The Call to ActionCHAPTER 13Forget What You KnowCrow Country 1973Of all the people who had seen Enos go over the side of the dam, only Billy Two Irons seemed to have avoided a state of stunned silence. While the others were still staring over the edge into the darkness, Billy was already formulating a plan to save his friend.Samson, come here.Samson looked back at Billy. He was beginning to shiver with unused adrenaline a look of dreamy confusion had come over him. Billy put his arm around Samsons shoulders and led him away from the railing.Look, Samson, youre going to have to run.A moment passed and Samson did not answer until Billy jostled him. Run?You have to get off the res and not come back for a long time, maybe never. Everyone here is going to think that theyre going to keep this a secret, but when the cops start kicking ass, your name is going to come out. Youve got to go, man.Where will I go?I dont know, but you have to. Now go get in the ca r. Im going to try and raise some money. thankful that someone was thinking for him, and because he didnt know what else to do, Samson followed Billys instructions. He sat in the car and watched his friend going from person to person on the dam collecting money. He closed his eyes and tried to think, but found that there was a movie running on the back of his eyelids a slow-motion loop of a fat cop with a spare tire in his face going backward over a rail. He snapped his eyes open and stared, unblinking, until they filled with tears. A few minutes later Billy threw a handful of bills on the front seat and climbed in the car.I told them you were going to hide out in the mountains and I was getting money for supplies. You should be able to get a long way before the cops figure out that youre not on the res. Theres about a hundred bucks here.Billy started the car and drove off the dam toward Fort Smith.Where are we going? Samson asked.First we have to stop and fill up these jugs with wa ter. Ill take you to Sheridan and you can catch a bus there. I dont trust this car to go any further. If we break down in the middle of nowhere youre fucked.Samson was amazed at his friends ability to think and act so quickly. Left to himself he knew he would still be staring over the dam wondering what had happened. Instead he was on his way to Wyoming.I should go home and tell Grandma that Im going.You cant. Ill tell them tomorrow. And once youre gone you cant call or write either. Thats how the cops will find you.How do you know that?Thats how they caught my brother, Billy said. He wrote a garner from New Mexico. The FBI had him in two days after that.ButLook, Samson, you killed a cop. I know you didnt mean to, but that wont matter. If they catch you theyll shoot you before you get a chance to tell what happened.But everyone saw.Everyone there was Crow, Samson. They wont believe a bunch of fucking Indians.But Enos was Crow part Crow, anyway.He was an apple, only red on the ou tside.Samson started to protest again but Billy shushed him. Start thinking about where youre going to go.Where do you think I should go?I dont know. You just need to disappear. Dont tell me where youre going when you figure it out, either. I dont want to know. You could try and pass for white. With those light eyes you might pull it off. Change your name, dye your hair.I dont know how to be white.How hard can it be? Billy said.Samson wanted to tittle-tattle to someone besides Billy Two Irons, someone who didnt make as much sense Pokey. He realized that for all his craziness, all his ravings, all his drinking and ritual mumbo jumbo, Pokey was the person he most bank in the world. But Billy was right going home would be a mistake. Instead he tried to imagine what Pokey would say about escaping into the white world. Well, first, Samson thought, he would never admit that there was a white world. According to Pokey there was only the world of the Crow of family and clans and medici ne and balance and Old Man Coyote. The white man was simply a disease that had put the Crow world out of balance.Samson tried to look into the future tense to see where he would go, what he would do, but any plans he had ever made and there hadnt been many were no longer valid, and the future was a thick, white fog that would allow him to see only as far as the bus target in Sheridan, Wyoming. He felt a panic rising in his chest like a scream, then it came to him this was just a antithetical type of Coyote Blue. He was trying to look into the future too far and it was ruining his balance. He needed to focus on right now, and eventually he would learn what he needed to know when the future got to him. What did Pokey always say? If you are going to learn, you need to get out what you know.Dont use all your money for the bus ticket, Billy said. Once you get out of the area you can hitchhike.Did you learn all this when your brother got in trouble?Yeah, he writes me garner fro m prison about what he did wrong.He put a bomb in a BIA office. How many letters can that take?Not that. What he did wrong to get caught.Oh, Samson said.Two hours later Samson was climbing on a bus headed for Elko, Nevada, carrying with him everything he owned twenty-three dollars, a pocketknife, and a small buckskin bundle. He took a window seat in the back of the bus and stared out over the dark countryside, really seeing nothing, as he tried to imagine where he would end up. His fear of getting away was almost greater than his fear of being caught. At least if he were caught his lot would be in someone elses hands.After an hour or so on the road Samson sensed that the bus was slowing down. He looked around for a reaction from the other passengers, but except for an old lady in the front who was engrossed in a grind novel, they were all asleep. The driver downshifted and Samson felt the big diesel at his back roar as the bus pulled into the passing lane. Out his window he saw th e back of a long, powder-blue car. As the bus moved up Samson watched the big car glide below him, appear to go on forever. He saw the back of the drivers head, then his face. It was the fat salesman from his vision. Samson twisted in his seat, trying to get a better look as they passed. The salesman seemed to see him through the blackout windows of the bus and elevated a bottle of Coke as if toasting Samson.Did you see that? Samson cried to the old lady. Did you see that car?The old lady turned to him and move her head, and a cowboy in the next seat groaned. Did you see who was in that car? Samson asked the bus driver, who snickered and shook his head.The cowboy in the next seat was awake now and he pushed his hat from over his eyes. Well, son, now that you got me wetting myself in suspense, who was in the car?It was the salesman, Samson said.The cowboy stared at him for a second in angry disbelief, then pushed his hat back over his eyes and slid back down in his seat. I despis e fucking Mexicans, he said.