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Chapters 1 to 13 click here to go to Chapters 1 to 13

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.

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Designs by John, Inc. homes, specifications, prices and all aspects of the information on this web site are
subject to change without notice.  Errors and omissions are not the responsibility of Designs by John, Inc.
In addition the local municipality may change any and all plans to conform to the land use and
building codes in effect.  The use of our custom builders contract will  enable communication of any and
all details and specifications.  Greater than 1 Exterior stairs and all decks are not included in this offer.  All
garages when included are under the home, attached garages and lower level   "I" (eye) beams are an extra cost.  Design by John, Inc. homes do not include options such as shrubs, bay  window,  brick work or any other  option pictured or  featured but not offered  with the " standard (heritage) " modular home.  John T. Cerutti  possesses a real estate license in New Jersey.  This company may offer properties for sale for which it is the contractual owner.

You may purchase a web site of approximately this size and style for  $ 1 500.00*.   Comments, ?'s, Contact: Webmaster@DesignsbyJohn,Inc.  Pages Maintained by CRCreations, E-mail:CRCreations or Call 973-702-1619.   Copyright (c) 1999 Designs By John, Inc.  You may see other Web Sites created by Designs by John, Inc with prices by following these links: CrCreation.Com *contract required for this special offer. SSL is not included in this offer. 

Webmaster email: DesignsJohn.Com  http://www.crcreations.com/ http://www.crcreation.com/ http://www.jewelrywoman.com/ http://mmongullacpa.com/  http://www.desgnsjohn.com, http://www.designsbyjohninc.com

CRCreations.Com  
Thousands of White or Yellow 14 Kt. Gold Dance, Sports, Military, Religious, Swimming, Theatre, performing arts, Tap Dance charms, pendants, earrings, rings, bracelets and more Jewelry gifts.  Each item is perfect in detail and design or your money back.  We custom make OLD D tie tacks, cuff links or body jewelry from any of our designs.  We can also make anything in white gold, yellow gold, 2 tone or 3 tone gold and Diamond Jewelry at 50% off !  We have Sports gifts, Dance gifts, Military gifts, Religious gifts, performing arts and dance gifts country western Dancing boots and hats.  We have Baseball, Dance, Golf, Soccer, Skiing snowboarding gifts, Basketball, Football, Cheering, Hockey, Tennis, Hunting and Fishing and professional Gifts for Police, Firemen  Military Soldiers, Cowboys, gamblers,  Military Pilots, Civilian Pilots  and Actors,  We have U S A Flag pins, Religion medals, Saints medals,  Angel pins and pendants, Western cowboys embossed saddles and boots, straight and flush card hands for gamblers, American Indians gold jewelry chief heads and  14Kt GOLD chains.   We have horse racing, horse riding, horse heads, miniature horses, horseshoe, horse jumping, quarter horses, unicorns wild horses in 14 Kt Gold Jewelry.  We have the largest selection of 14 Kt. holiday and bestfriends jewelry charms.   All 14 Kt gold items are stamped 14 Kt and Made In The USA.    We have charms in every sport ready for delivery and charm bracelets too !  FREE gift box with every item.  You can trust CRCreations.Com in Business since 1986 and on the WWW since 1996.  See 2 SECURITY Certificates, CLICK THE RED TRIANGLE WITH BLUE GLOBE lower Right hand corner of this paget!!!   OR click the BLUE Trust Wave TRUSTED COMMERCE certificate in the left column below the table of contents. Order on line with our  secure shopping cart or call 973-670-6767 for quick order.   We accept credit card and Pay Pal purchases too. Order on line at our secure shopping cart or call 973-670-6767 for quick order.   We accept credit cards and Pay Pal purchases too.  Click here to email me with any request:designsjohn@nac.net.

 

I am John Cerutti and happy to hear from you again.  Thank you again for visiting the many websites of John Cerutti.  Your orders will be shipped ASAP by John Cerutti.  Yes it will be delivered by US postal service.  Yes you get a free gift box.   Hi I'm John Cerutti and I will be handling your order every step of the way.  John Cerutti sells only gorgeous 100 % 14 Kt plumb GOLD jewelry to you for Christmas.  My products are 100 % 14 Kt gold or YOUR money back.

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