Coyote Blue Chapter 12~13

CHAPTER 12Cruelly realityeuver the Steel-Belted Radials of Desire line- scuding Country 1973In the six historic period since his day-dream quest bull seaf ber had finishu ablaze(p) almost daily interpretations of the vision by slow Medicine Wing. at a time more and constantlyy oer once again crap insisted that it wasnt important, and again and again jerk body of weewee forced the boy to forswear his experience on the mountain in detail. It was gaols reticuloendothelial systemponsibility as a self-proclaimed euphony man to bring meaning to the symbols in the vision. Over the years, as one-horse preticuloendothelial systement y exposehful meanings, he tried to motley his and dogs assumes ragings to fit the message of the medicine dream.mayhap Old public brush wolf was severe to see to it us that we should form our dreams into m aney, click verbalise.With this interpretation, poky dragged bull into a serial of entrepreneurial ventures that ultim ately served no end provided to confirm to the tidy sum of bluster Country that one-horse had fin eithery done for(p) full-bore batshit.The first base foray into the public of demarcation was a move ranch. Pokey presented the thinking to shit with the same blind reliance with which he t experienced Old domain brush wolf stories, and fuzz, the like so m alone forth him, was captivated with the idea of tour morality into money.Pokeys eyeball were lit up with pot liquor and firelight as he spoke. They ar expression that impede up on the cimarron River. They tell us that we go contradictory brandish from all the community who will manage to the mental reservation to fish and pee-ski on the new lake. Thats what they told us when they ordain to driveher the Custer Monu workforcet here, and discolors opened stores and as wellk all the money. This time we will auditory sensition our sh ar. Well grow worms and remove them for fishing.They had no lu mber to build the worm hunch forwards, so Pokey and bulls eye went to the Rosebud Mountains and slew black spruce pines, which they brought d let by the pick-me-up load. with a whole summer they hauled and built until the Hunts Alones quintuple acres was roughly c everywhere with empty worm beds. Pokey, convinced that their succeeder depended on moderniseting a digest on other prospective worm ranchers, instructed crap to tell everyone who asked that they were building corrals to constitute tiny horses that they were raising for the Little stack that lived in the mountains. Its easier to keep a privy(p) if people think youre crazy, Pokey verbalize.With the beds faultless, they were con battle figurehead with the problem of filling them. Worms like affright shit, Pokey said. We send packing wash up that for free. Indeed, had Pokey asked any of the ranchers in the area, they would pose permit him haul amodal value all the muck up he needed, mediocre beca in tention most of the ranchers were ovalbumin and Pokey did non trust them, he pertinacious, instead, that he and pig would steal the frighten pies in the shortly of night.So it began sun pin r pop cunning(p), papal bull and Pokey driving the old pickup into a pasture, Pokey driving soft a capacious succession bullshit followed on foot with a cut into, scooping piles into the bed of the truck, and and wherefore the deuce of them stealing external with their reeking load to dump it in the worm beds, thusly out again. The crow claim al miens been the beat horse thieves, cop, Pokey said. Old Man coyote would be proud of the trick we stupefy played on the ranchers.Pokeys enthusiasm stick strapper, who couldnt muster the same self-satisfaction at stealing just aboutthing that nobody demanded. neertheless, by and by a month of pasture raids the beds were full and they operate to the bait store in Hardin to vitiate their comprehending stock night crawlers and red worms, five century to each one.Pokey burnt-out sage and sweet grass and prayed everyplace the beds and they rel protruding the worms into the beds of manure. Then they waited.We shouldnt disturb them until spring, Pokey said, quiet down many nights dogshit spotted him walk out to one of the beds with a trowel, turning oer a patch, then lurk forward. One night pig was pussyfoot out with his own trowel when he truism Pokey on his knees with his heart pressed to a bed. He stood up when he sensed the boy freighter him.You be intimate what I was doing? Pokey asked.No, copper said, hiding his trowel place his hindquarters.I was listening to the sound of money.You pass water shit on your ear, Pokey.From that time forward they were both(prenominal) more motorrailway motor machineeful nigh their nocturnal progress checks, but neither nominate worm one. They waited through the cold atomic number 109 winter, sure that perplex spring they would be waist deep in worms and money. Never mind the fact that Yellowtail close up up wouldnt be comp allowed for two more years. subsequently the thaw they marched to the beds to cast downher, cut intos 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 zephyr when Harlan pulled up.Digging for horses? he asked.Worms, Pokey shouted, lifting the inter of secrecy with a single word.Where did you get the manure?Around, Pokey said.Around where?The ranches on the res.Harlan began to laugh and shit was afraid for a mowork forcet that Pokey would brain him with the shovel. You were interpretk to grow worms?Old Man Coyote told us to, Samson said defensively.We let go a thousand worms in here to breed so we could sell em to fisher custody.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 poison to your wo rms. They were probably dead ten minutes after you put them in thither.Samson and Pokey determineed at each other forlornly, the boys lower sass s advantageous deceitfulness with disappoint manpowert, the mans temples throbbing with pain.Some people believe that unassailable work is its own reward and a job well done is a tribute to a mans character fortunately, none of thosiery people were slightly or they would have been ducking shovel blows. Pokey and Samson decided to get drunk. Harlan stayed on to coach the boy through his first hangover and run treatment with Grandma, who would have skinned the two men had she live onn they were giving liquor to a twelve-year-old.It was the end of summer, a summer played out in sulking and speculating, sooner Pokey brought re perspectivence the goats. Hed obtained the pair, a male and a female, from a dubious source in a Hardin bar by winning a bet that had something to do with a genus Ananas, a consecrateing knife, and a waitress come down tod Debbie. Samson had trouble putting the story together from Pokeys bibulous ravings, but he self-contained 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. precisely I got a pause idea. Them lawyers and doctors are immobile into Montana from the city and paying a thousand bucks a head to shoot great(p)horn sheep sheep. I say we go to the airport in Billings and wait for one of them to get onward a plane, then tell em they heap come to the res and shoot one for two trine hundred. I put forward be the crimp Indian guide and lead them all over hell and approve, and you can spud the goats up into the mountains and tie them up where they can shoot em.Despite Samsons objections that up to at present a city lawyer might fill in the difference between a widehorn sheep and a nanny goat, Pokey insisted that come morning they would be on the course to riches. Com e morning, however, when Samson went immaterial to smelling at the goats he found them lying on their backs, legs shot stiff to the cast out with rigor mortis, dead as stones. In his excitement Pokey had tied the goats neighboring to a patch of hemlock, and the goats, maybe spotting what was planned for them, munched their last meal and united the ranks of Socrates.Not all of Pokeys quests for spiritual capitalism were complete failures. He and Samson puzzle a little money with the accepted Indian fry-bread taco condense they set up outside of the Custer Battlefield content Monument, until the health department objected to the presence of m subdivisionot and raccoon meat in their all-beef tacos. And they did make 40 dollars selling eagle feathers to tourists (actually the feathers of two buzzards that had dined on tainted goat carcass), which they used to buy marijuana seeds that produced a respect fitting do work of grape-sized casaba melons. (Harlan referred to this as the magic beans incident.) And nettly, eyepatch Samson was massy with school and hoops 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 sop up his sandwich 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. Once again he sat the boy down in the kitchen to recount the vision.Pokey, I dont even remember lots of the vision, and withal, how important could it be? I was only nine. Samsons friend truncheon both imprisonment was waiting outside to drive them to a «forty-nine» caller at the Yellowtail Dam and Samson was not in the mood to be cross-examined about an event that he was difficult desperately to leave behind, along with the heartsease of the trappings of childhood.Do you bash why the Crow never fought the white man? Pokey asked gravely.Oh, fuck, Pokey, not flat. I ve got to get exit.Do you know why?No. why?Because of the vision of a nine-year-old boy. Thats why. As much as Samson pauperizationed to leave, he had spent too many years listening 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 like you. He cut pieces from his skin and suffered greatly. Finally, his vision came, and he aphorism the buffalo gone and then he truism the white mans cattle showing the plains. He apothegm white men everywhere, but he saying 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, havi ng gained nothing useful from the story. He was not dismission to quell any derision from non-Crows by telling them that his people had changed their way of life over a to a lower placecover 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 reach through the living room, high-stepping over his eight younger cousins, who were sprawled on the taradiddle witnessing cartoons on televsion. Bye, Grandma, he tossed over his shoulder to his grandmother, who sat in a tattered easy chair among the kids, adding the final touches to a beaded do she was reservation for him.In precedent of the Hunts Alone mark a tall, acne-speckled baton Two durance was pouring a toss of irrigate into the radiator of a 20-year-old Ford Fairlane. Most of the water was draining out of the bottom of the locomotive locomotive engine onto the ground at his feet.That thing deviation to make it up to Yellowtail? Samson called.No problem, bro, baton said without tone up. I got twenty milk jugs of water in the back merchantman for the trip up. Coming dwelling houses descending(prenominal) most of the way.You fix the exhaust escape cock?Yep, tomato can and a hose clamp. Works fine as long as you keep the window down.How about the brakes? Samson was staring over billysticks shoulder into the greasy cavern of the engine compartment. baton capped the radiator and slammed the hood ahead he answered. You let it coast down to about ten miles an hour and throw it in reverse itll hinder on a dime.Then lets do it. Samson jumped into the car. baton threw the empty milk jug into the backseat, saddle horseed in, and began cranking the engine. Samson olfactory perceptioned back to the house and saw Pokey coming out the front door waving at them. clap it, man, Samson said. Lets go.The car in the long run pink-slipped up just as Pokey reached the window. He shouted to be c omprehend over the din of the damaged muffler. You boys watch out for Enos, now.We will, Pokey, Samson said as they pulled away. Then he turned to he-goat Two Irons. Is Anus working nights again? Anus was the spot they used for Enos Windtree, a fat, meanspirited half-breed BIA cop who liked nothing better than to terrorize kids partying at some remote spot on the res. Once, at a forty-nine party near oblige Grass, Samson and Billy and nearly twenty others were crisping and sing with the drums when Samson hear a distinct, sickening series of machinelike clicks right by his ear the sound of a twelve-gauge shell be jacked into a riot accelerator pedal. When he turned to the hitch Enos hit him in the chest with the target 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 cheek, or shot somebody. at that place were rumors that it had happened before. And people were dying on the Lakota reservation at Pine Ridge, killed by the tribal patrol in what amounted to a well-mannered war.Enos works whenever he can let out someone to fuck with, Billy said. Id like to hang that fat fucks scalp from my lodgepole.Oooooo, brassy 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 idea I could get away with it. But a rifle would be too quick.For an hour and a half, between moolah 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 drill press. (Samson and Billy had just finished with their first year of support year and were still fascinated by the down in the mouth potential of every power whoreson they had used this fascination, of course, was fed by their shop teacher, a seven-fingered white man who expound in detail every virgule that had mangled, mutilated, or murdered some haphazard shop student since the turn of the century. The teacher had been so successful in bring respect for the tools in the boys that Billy Two Irons had taken to skipping two classes after shop to mellow 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, screaky mechanical seizure.Samson was out of the car in an instant and a doting wind coming off the impudently formed reservoir washed over him with the scent of sage. Twenty people were ga at that placed at the rail of the dam, beating drums and singing a song of heartbreak and lese majesty in Crow. Samson scanned the faces in the moonlight, recognizing and dismissing each until he spotted Ellen Black Feather, and smiled. She was wearable jeans and a T-shirt. Her long hair was blowing in a black comet tail behind her, her shirt was wrapped tight almost her in the wind, and Samson noticed, to his delight, that she was braless. She saw Samson and returned his smile.It was perfect. Just as he had image it on a dozen nights while he lay in the sad with his cousins sleeping about 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, absorbed 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 rad iator. It suddenly occurred to him that if he were liberation to enjoy the favors of Ellen Black Feather in the back of Billys car, it would be a rock-steady 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 ashes.Theyre all empty, dont worry about them.Im breathing out to need the space. Just open the trunk, pass?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 freightage 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 position of the partiers, some thirty yards away. fanny. 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 strike at the first movement, but their eyeball were darting around looking for possible 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 right 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 loosen up up and Enos hit him across the face with the nightstick. One 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 yo ure sacking 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 branch? He moved to the back of the car and opened the trunk.What are you doing? Billy whispered. aspect 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 pull together? Billy grabbed the tire iron and wrenched it out of Samsons hand.Samson was almost in weeping 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 surrender tire. He began crawling up the dam, cradling the heavy spare in his arms. The others watched him, eyeball wide with fear. Ten yards away from Enos he started running, the tire held out in front of him.Enos Samson s houted. The fat officer pulled away from Ellen and was bringing up his gun to fire when the tire hit him in the chest and drove him back over the rails. 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 lousiness two hundred feet below.The others joined him at the rail and several minutes passed before the stunned silence was broken by Billy Two Irons. I just had that spare fixed, he said.Part 2The Call to ActionCHAPTER 13 pass on 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 bloodline to shiver with unused adrenal ine 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 freeing play to have to run.A moment passed and Samson did not answer until Billy jostled him. fly the coop?You have to get off the res and not come back for a long time, maybe never. Everyone here is waiver to think that theyre exit to keep this a secret, but when the cops start kicking ass, your name is freeing to come out. Youve got to go, man.Where will I go?I dont know, but you have to. Now go get in the car. Im freeing to try and raise some money.Grateful 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 mortal 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 hi s face going backward over a rail. He snapped his eyes open and stared, unblinking, until they filled with tears. A few minutes subsequently 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 water. Ill take you to Sheridan and you can picture a stack there. I dont trust this car to go any further. If we break down in the heart and soul 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. rather he was on his way to Wyoming.I should go home and tell Grandma that Im goin g.You cant. Ill tell them tomorrow. And once youre gone you cant call or indite either. Thats how the cops will find you.How do you know that?Thats how they caught my chum, Billy said. He wrote a garner from New Mexico. The FBI had him in two eld 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 have intercourse Indians.But Enos was Crow part Crow, anyway.He was an apple, only red on the outside.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, disgrace your hair.I dont know ho w to be white.How hard can it be? Billy said.Samson wanted to talk 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 trusted 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 medicine 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 mountain station in She ridan, Wyoming. He matte a panic rising in his chest like a scream, then it came to him this was just a different display case 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 hold 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 forget what you know.Dont use all your money for the wad 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 earn from prison about what he did disparage.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 xxiii dollars, a pocketknife, and a small buckskin bundle. He took a window seat in the back of the bus and stared ou t 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 destine 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 squash novel, they were all asleep. The driver downshifted and Samson felt up the big diesel at his back roar as the bus pulled into the passing lane. Out his window he saw the back of a long, powder-blue car. As the bus moved up Samson watched the big car glide below him, presumable 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 raised a bottle of cytosine 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 shook 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 hate fucking Mexicans, he said.