Cold Heat

By Vic Bustamante

Set against the backdrop of the New Mexico desert, Cold Heat introduces an eclectic cast of characters that brings the American Southwest to life.

Theres Officer Jaime Red Claw of the Alta Sheriffs Department, who discovers skeletal human remains on his day off. Theres fifty-two-year old Bernice Begay of Show Low, Arizona. She creates handmade Native American rugs and blankets and sells them with the help of her two sons Milford and Dilford. Bernices cousin, Tessie, is a basket weaver. Their lives intersect with that of twenty-one-year-old truck driver Kyle Westknown in the Yah-te spirit Bak-Chi-Hloand seventeen-year-old Evan Withers, who is introduced to the interesting world of truck driving as he travels from New York to Mexico.

A sequel to Grandfathers Songs, this novel examines the second-class citizenship experienced by Native Americans while focusing on the special qualities of Indian heritage, culture, and families.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 15, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450264495

Vic Bustamante

Vic Bustamante was born and raised in Miami, Arizona. He served in the navy and is now retired after working in the aerospace manufacturing industry, as a truck driver, and as a truck dispatcher. Bustamante, also the author of Grandfather’s Songs, lives in Whittier, California.

Book preview

Cold

      Heat

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VIC BUSTAMANTE

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Bloomington

Cold Heat

Copyright © 2009, 2010 by Vic Bustamante

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

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www.iuniverse.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4502-6452-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-6451-8 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-6449-5 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010915440

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 11/02/2010

In memory of:

DeWitt J. Lorenz

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1—Bones

Chapter 2—Bernice Begay

Chapter 3—Extended Family

Chapter 4—Missing Cards

Chapter 5—Kyle in Yuma

Chapter 6—Home and Back

Chapter 7—Albuquerque/Phoenix

Chapter 8—Highway 60–77

Chapter 9—Painful Agony

Chapter 10—What Now?

Chapter 11—Welcome, Bak-Chi-Hlo

Chapter 12—Welcome to Santa Fe

Chapter 13—Home

Chapter 14—Friday

Chapter 15—Saturday

Chapter 16—Strange Tale

Chapter 17—Blue Eyes

Chapter 18—Doing Honor

Chapter 19—Gifts

Chapter 20—Alta

Chapter 21—Meanwhile

Chapter 22—It Is What It Is

Chapter 23—Swap Out

Chapter 24—Trucking

Chapter 25—Contracts

Chapter 26—Visiting

Chapter 27—Utah

Chapter 28—Evan

Chapter 29—Good-bye Edna

Chapter 30—Partners

Chapter 31—Convoy

Chapter 32—Onward

Chapter 33—Going South

Chapter 34—Loaded

Chapter 35—Mustangs

Chapter 36—Visiting

Chapter 37—Homeward

Acknowledgements

Thank you Mariam Samoniantz, English teacher, retired. Again, your patience and suggestions and your RED pencil have made this sequel a reality.

Thank you Dee Dee Dearing for your moral support in declaring me a storyteller.

Thank you to all the gang at Mimo’s Café for being supportive.

Thank you to all my relatives and friends, near and far away.

A special thank you to Will Lennertz, creative writing instructor, co-chair, English Department, Santiago Canyon College, Orange, California, for pointing me in the right direction.

Chapter 1—Bones

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The bones, or what is left of them, are mostly white and gray. The skull, twenty some feet away, is missing its lower jaw. The right eye socket is staring at a huge boulder, but the skull’s position, lying on its left side and partially buried in the fine sand, leaves nothing for the left socket to stare at. If these bones are found and assembled, they will prove to be human. The skull, obviously, is a dead give away.

The desert floor is so blistering hot that a grey lizard pauses to lift a front foot and rear foot for a few seconds, and then lifts its other feet. It now continues toward a dry tuft of grass. The only other movements in this utterly barren landscape are those of the dry stalks of yellow and brown grasses and low lying bushes, caused by the ever-present winds, which suck the moisture out of all the vegetation and cause the granules of sand to shift in ways that cover or uncover whatever does not move.

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Today, Jaime Red Claw is just plain Jaime. After tomorrow he will be Officer Jaime Red Claw of the Alta, New Mexico, sheriff’s department. Today and tomorrow are his days off, but for now he is in his barebones Volkswagen dune buggy, about five miles west of Alta, going alone out into the desert. He enjoys the silence and being away from everybody. Right now, that is an oxymoron, as the decibel level from the exhaust pipe is anything but silent. After another quarter mile on the blacktop road, he spots a dirt tract on the left, heading south toward the mountains. Jaime gears down, slowing his VW, and turns onto the tract. Bouncing along on the washboard hardpan of the dirt surface, he continues driving past approximately three miles of low-growing shrubbery, including ocotillo, yucca, and some Joshua trees. He sees several large boulders off to his left, perhaps a half mile away. On this particular tract, he knows there is a settlement of people living out five miles farther. He has been on this tract before and curiosity gets the better of him as he turns left again, off the tract, and heads for the boulders. The balloon tires on the VW are steadily plowing over the soft sand. Any other vehicle, other than a four-wheel drive, would be in a world of hurt in this terrain.

With slight adjustments to the steering wheel, Jaime can see the boulders getting bigger and taller as he nears. He also sees what seems to be a rusted-out hulk of what had once been a pickup truck. The VW has enough forward momentum that Jaime pops the gearshift into neutral and lets the buggy coast close to the rusted hulk. He is trying to guess how long the pickup has been out here. All kinds of questions pop into his mind, and right now there are no answers. So, although this is his day off, Jaime’s training as a lawman starts kicking in.

As the VW engine idles, Jaime sits and looks at the right side of the hulk. Finally he turns the engine off and reaches over to the passenger seat and gets his leather gloves. If he is going to do a touchy-feely inspection, he does not want to get any cuts on his hands or fingers. He also notices how suddenly quiet it is. Well, almost quiet; the engine is popping and ticking and making cooling noises. Slowly, the cicadas are beginning to make themselves heard. Before setting his left, booted foot onto the ground, Jaime slowly turns his head far to the right and then slowly pans to the left, much like a movie camera might. Far to the west, huge cumulus clouds are massing together. Tonight, if not late this afternoon, these clouds will drench the Four Corners area far to the north. In one fluid, seamless movement, Jaime gets off the dune buggy and starts to approach the rusty remnant.

Elsewhere in this desert setting, there is a quiet, peaceful quality to it. Here, the sense of serenity is missing, and the air itself seems troubled. Also, another intrusion makes itself known. Jaime needs to pee.

Buttoning his jeans and walking slowly, he approaches the rusted hulk. The tires are all but gone, with just little pieces of rubber remaining. The hulk is resting on its four wheels, which are almost covered in dry grass and weeds. Shards of glass that had once been the windshield, side, and rear windows are scattered mostly into the interior on the dashboard, the floor, and on the springs of the bench seat. The dried out, gray, badly cracked rubber around the windows is broken or gone. The shards, having glazed over, reflect rainbow colors. In the back of the truck, small, rotten pieces of canvas and wood are evident. Jaime has to take weathering into account, and being in the desert, decay and rust are accelerated. Now he focuses on the ignition switch. There, resistant to time and weather, is a key, with a thin wire ring, waiting for somebody’s thumb and forefinger to twist it forward. Looking down at the bare floorboards, Jaime sees a glazed, brown, pint bottle and several cans, probably aluminum. Looking around and making many guesses, he sees another set of boulders not too far away. Going back to the dune buggy, Jaime gets his .22 pistol and then slowly walks toward those boulders. He is trying to keep calm. He reminds himself that it is his day off and he has accidentally found an abandoned pickup, just like many other rusting hulks left out in the desert by thieves or people who are tired of their broken junk heaps and think nothing of leaving them out in the desert. People throw trash out their car windows along the highways. Why not abandon their cars out here? As he approaches the boulders, be it his Indian heritage or being a sheriff’s deputy, his anxiety level is now ratcheting up a couple of notches.

Easy, Red Claw, Jaime says to himself. He keeps looking around. Now that his dune buggy has cooled down sufficiently, the ticking and popping has stopped, small animal life begins to move around. He puts his right hand next to his jeans pocket and feels his own ignition key. Somehow that is a bit of reassurance.

Lizards, horned toads, a Gila monster, a small covey of quail, a rattlesnake and two rabbits mark his passing. High overhead, some hawks are riding the thermals as he walks among the cholla, ocotillo, and yucca. Jaime, being very careful where he steps, is grateful that today he is wearing his engineer-type boots rather than the moccasin boots.

There is a familiarity about these boulders, and he is trying to remember when he last saw them. Now, less then ten feet away, he sees several large rattlesnakes stretched out along the narrow piece of shade from the nearest boulder. The sun being almost overhead means that shadow will, in about five minutes, disappear. Jaime’s footsteps alert the snakes, they assume a defensive strike posture, tasting the air, flicking their tongues in and out. Walking parallel to the boulder, Jaime sees a hole at the base and sees other snakes, in and around the opening, in an agitated state caused by his presence. He takes two or more steps and feels a crunching through the sole of his left boot. Looking around he spots splintered bone fragments. Slowly, crouching down, while keeping an eye toward the hole at the base of the boulder, he looks around for other snakes, as he begins to feel the ground around him. Carefully feeling on and under the sand, he feels pieces of different bone fragments. These, he uncovers, leaving them in place. His fingers curve around a large piece, and he gently tugs at it. There is a bit of resistance as the length begins to appear from beneath the sand. As he continues to pull, he feels a heavier piece being moved. Slowly, a flat, curved piece about the size of a dinner plate begins to appear. Holy shit! Jaime yells, dropping the long bone and jumping away. His reptilian audience also reacts to his sudden yell and jump. Their strike posture is heightened to the max, while their rattles are a back and forth blur. Jaime steps away from the bones and definitely away from the snakes. He can feel his heart beating rapidly, and his breathing is fast. His anxiety level is off the scale. Just as quickly, his self-control kicks in. Get a grip, Red Claw. You’ve seen human bones before. Why are you spooked? Looking at the bones and the snakes, he forces his breathing to slow down while the questions who, what, how, and why go through his mind. The where is obviously here.

Until proven otherwise, this is now a homicide scene, according to Officer Red Claw. The deceased had intentions of returning to the pickup, as he or she had left the key in the ignition. Now, another question comes to his mind: Was this death accidental or intentional? Jaime’s tracks are the only ones present, not counting the slithering marks. Keeping a wary eye on the snakes, Jaime walks past the death scene a few more yards, stops, and looks at the boulders from an east to west perspective. Aha. He sees why these boulders are familiar. He now turns and looks east again, rising onto the balls of his feet. Off in the distance, several hundred yards away, he can see the roof of a very old, dilapidated, wood and mud shack. The full view of the shack is hidden by the growth of mesquite trees. That is the old home of the deceased shaman. Scanning farther left, he can barely make out the young shaman’s trailer. Its white color is hardly visible through the brush, and it is at least a quarter mile away.

Familiarity now comes to him in chunks and slabs, and they fall into place. About three years ago, he and his parents had attended Shaman Raven’s death vigil, just outside the shack. The old man’s grandson, Gentry, had performed the death rites. A young, white man who worked at Carmen’s Cocina, then, had occupied the trailer.

Returning to the dune buggy, Jaime looks over at the rusty pickup one more time and then starts the VW engine and slowly backs out the way he came in, keeping to his own tire tracks. Reaching the tract, he heads for the blacktop to get to a phone and report his find to his boss, Captain Albert Crow.

Reaching the blacktop, he turns right, and within ten minutes, he makes another right turn into Carmen’s parking lot. The lunch crowd is thinning out now, and several cars pull out as he gets out of his buggy. The driver of a pickup gives Jaime a thumbs up and a smile, and then points to the dune buggy. Jaime smiles back, nodding.

During the summer, only the screen door keeps the flying insects out, and it squeaks each time a customer comes in or leaves. The squeak is loud enough for the staff to know somebody is coming or going when they are busy. Jaime opens the door, and it announces his presence. The aroma of cooking and spices greets him, along with Ruby, the waitress, who flashes him a smile as he enters.

Hi, Jaime, be with you in a minute.

Hi, Ruby, I need to use your phone. It’s official business.

Go ahead, help yourself, she says, pointing to the back counter.

Jaime walks to the phone, picks up the receiver, listens for the dial tone, and then dials the sheriff’s office.

Sheriff’s office, a pleasant female voice answers.

Hi, Natalie, this is Jaime. Natalie is the daytime radio dispatcher, receptionist, and all-around Girl Friday.

Hi, Jaime. This is your day off. What’s up?

Is the captain in or out?

He’s out, but he’s due to walk in any minute. Where are you?

Carmen’s Cocina. Tell the cap I found what appears to be human bones.

Jaime, my brother is here, do you want to tell him?

Yeah, let me talk to him. Thanks, Natalie.

There is some clicking on the line and then the buzz of an extension. On the second buzz, the receiver is picked up.

Lieutenant Grey Eyes.

Leonard, this is Jaime.

Jaime? Today is your day off. Did you call me just to brag about all the rabbits you bagged?

Leonard, I’m calling to let you know I found some human skeletal remains a few miles from here.

Where is here, Jaime?

My twenty is Carmen’s Cocina. It’s the nearest phone around.

Jaime, you stay put. I’ll get some of the guys and meet you there, and I’ll let the captain know.

Ten four, Leonard. Oh, make sure the crew is wearing thick-soled boots. The cholla is bad out there.

Thanks for the heads up, Jaime.

While Jaime is on the phone, Lydia, the manager, comes out of the kitchen and gives Jaime a smile. As he walks from behind the counter, she asks, Hot date tonight?

I wish, he responds.

Want something to eat and drink?

How about a tall iced tea?

Coming right up. Find a place to sit.

I’ll be out in the patio. I’m expecting company.

Walking to the patio, he sees Ruby talking to the busboy, which is her eldest son. Ruby walks up to him just as he sits at a table facing the parking lot.

Hi again, Jaime. Is she Yah-te or Mexican?

Neither, he responds with a smile. What’s with you and Miss Lydia asking about my love life?

You’re a young, handsome man, Jaime. You would make a fine catch.

A fine catch, as in fishing? Then throw me back into the water.

Jaime Red Claw, you know what I mean. Don’t play words with me.

I know what you mean, Ruby. I’m just playing with you. First, I’m a cop. Bad people shoot at cops. If I was married and had kids and I got killed, there would be a grieving widow putting ashes on her face, arms, and hair, and the kids would be fatherless. Very frankly, Ruby, I don’t want that responsibility. The smile leaves his face.

You’re right when you say you don’t want that responsibility. Look at the guys you work with. They’re all married.

He allows Ruby this personal conversation and intrusion into his private life, as they regard one another as brother and sister. The busboy approaches the table with a tall iced tea, four packets of sugar, a straw, and a long stirring spoon.

Alford, how you doing, young man? Jaime asks.

I’m fine, Officer Red Claw.

That’s good to hear. By the way, I hear good things about your grades. Blushing, Alford looks at his mother. She pats his right hand and says, He’s trying, Jaime. He really is. Even Jimmy, his father, is proud of him. Now, let’s get back to work, son. Jaime, we’ll talk some more about fishing. The mother and son walk away.

Jaime is thinking that Leonard must have had a tough time putting a crew together. He has been sitting here waiting for almost an hour. The ice in his tea has melted, and he is about to order a fresh drink when he sees three of the department’s four-wheelers come rolling into the parking lot. It is two fifteen in the afternoon. The captain and the lieutenant get out of one vehicle, and two others get out of each of the other units.

The six officers file into the restaurant, and Alford points in the direction of the patio. They walk single file to the patio, taking seats around Jaime. When everybody is seated, Captain Crow says, Okay, Jaime, what is the short version?

About two hours ago, I went out there in my dune buggy, he says and points in a southwesterly direction, and I spotted a rusted-out pickup. I thought it a bit unusual that a key was still in the ignition. Also, it had an old empty bottle of booze and, I guess, beer cans. I walked farther past the truck to some boulders, and that is where I found the bones.

Jaime is about to go on about the bones when Captain Crow interrupts him. Okay, Jaime, lead the way.

Captain Crow, Ruby says, as the officers prepare to leave.

Yes?

Take these iced teas with you. It’s a warm one out there, and they’re on the house.

Thanks, Ruby, that’s very thoughtful of you, he says, as he accepts a tall, lidded, Styrofoam cup. Alford passes the other cups out as the officer’s file out, mumbling their thanks.

The four-vehicle convoy, led by Jaime’s dune buggy, reaches the homicide scene. Everybody walks around the rusty hulk of the pickup making comments to one another about the key in the ignition. Its previous owner had every intention of using the pickup again, they agree.

Captain, should we take the license plate off and run it through the system? asks Jaime.

No, Raven Eye, get the camera and take a picture of the plate. Jaime, lead on to the bone site.

Jaime leads the other officers toward the set of boulders. He notices that they are all wearing boots and gloves. One officer is carrying two shovels and a shoulder bag. The other two are carrying a big box with rope handles. Jaime warns the crew about the rattlesnake den close to the bones. He also warns, as they get closer, that they should tread lightly, as there’s no telling how far and wide the bones are scattered. At last Jaime points out his discovery. The rattlesnakes make a hasty retreat into the hole just under the boulder. The big box is set down and opened. There are two aluminum tennis racket frames with screen door mesh, flour sifters, large spoons, trowels, whiskbrooms, and brushes. At the bottom, there are several thick trash bags and sandwich-size plastic bags. A camera is in the shoulder bag.

Methodically they begin to sift, rake, and gently shovel the soft sand. The bones that Jaime found are fully unearthed, brushed clean of sand, and placed inside the trash bags. These bones are a femur connected to one half of a pelvic bone. Both bones show marks of having been gnawed.

Jaime points out to the captain and the lieutenant that several hundred yards away, almost due east, is the old Shaman Raven’s shack and to the north is the young shaman’s trailer.

Leonard, tomorrow we should be able to wrap it up here by this time, if not sooner. Why don’t you pay our young shaman a visit?

I was thinking the same thing, Captain.

The digging, brushing, and sifting activity quickly yields many more bones of various sizes, including the skull. Some of the bones are easy to identify, such as the ribs and parts of the spinal column. It will be the job of a forensic pathologist to reassemble the pieces, considering that a fox, coyote, skunk, or some other carnivore might have dibs on some of the missing pieces. A metal detector is used, and the unit emits a signal that something is under the sand. Two officers rake the sand, and a long rifle barrel, with the firing mechanism still attached, is dug up along with pieces of wood that were once the rifle butt. This is all that is left of what had once been a high-powered rifle. Not too far away, another two pieces of rusted metal are found. They are parts of a bipod.

Shortly after six in the evening, the captain tells his crew to pack it up, explaining he doesn’t want anybody here after sunset, which is not too far off.

We’ll meet up at Carmen’s at six in the morning and be here by six thirty. Maybe, we can wrap this up by noon. Everybody nods yes. The hand tools and metal detector are put away. One man carries the shovels, while two tote the box. Raven Eye did take a picture of the license plate and is now carrying several trash bags, along with Jaime. Silently, they make their way back to their vehicles.

Captain? Jaime says. Will you need me tomorrow?

Captain Crow thinks a bit. No, Tom Saitey comes on duty tomorrow. We’ll see you on Friday.

Thanks, Captain.

All the vehicles get back on the blacktop heading for Alta, all except Jaime, who turns into Carmen’s parking lot. He is ravenously hungry.

Chapter 2—Bernice Begay

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To outsiders she is Miss Bernice Begay. To insiders, meaning members of the tribe, she is Bernice. To her immediate family, she is Bernie, and finally, to her two sons, she is Ma. She is fifty-two, but looks sixty-two. Her long, straight hair is absolutely snow white. Bare foot, she stands at five feet, five inches tall. Her girth, in polite circles, is said to be matronly.

As a black-eyed beauty of eighteen, she got married to Gilford. The Begay’s set up housekeeping in Show Low, Arizona, and they had two sons, Dilford and Milford. At age twenty-two, she became a widow.

One day, for whatever the reason, Gilford and his brother Leroy drive south to the mining community of Globe. That night, around ten, on their return trip on Highway 60–77, one of the brothers is driving. Is he tired? Has he had one too many beers? Is he going too fast? The pickup misses one of the hairpin turns on this section of highway, which has a series of switchbacks in the Salt River Canyon. The truck goes off the road, plunges down to the next level of road, and then rolls off down to the next level. There, the vehicle catches fire and explodes.

Bernice’s own parents make lame excuses why they cannot take her and the boys in. Her in-laws already have a full house. Bernice and the boys go to live with her maternal grandmother.

The toothless old woman makes them live in a tent under a large cottonwood tree, several yards away from her hogan. For that privilege, Bernice sweeps, washes clothes, cooks, sews, and chops firewood for her grandmother. If the chores are not done to the expectations of the old woman, Bernice will feel the lash of a leather belt. Grandmother does not lavish affection on her grandsons, either. Consequently, with their mother doing grandmother’s bidding, the boys are free to explore the desert and its secrets immediately around them. It is their playground. Grandmother’s largess allows Bernice to feed the boys and herself reasonably well.

Winters in these upper barren deserts are brutally cold, especially at night when temperatures drop down into the single digits, and that is not counting the wind chill factor, which causes the numbers to plummet into the minuses. It snows; it hails; and it sleets. Mercifully, the snow lasts for a day or so and then melts leaving splotches of white against a brown backdrop like a pinto horse, but on a grander scale. Again, grandmother allows Bernice to cover her tent with two large canvas tarps. Several rugs are on the hardpan dirt floor, and there is a rectangular fire pit with a small opening at the top of the tent, allowing the smoke to escape. Actually, the tent is quite snug and warm. All of their worldly possessions occupy the back of the tent. Bernice’s sleeping pallet is on the left side of the fire pit. The boys’ larger pallet is on the opposite side. Needless to say, living space is very minimal at best. Yet, they manage.

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Six years later, the boys, now ten and eleven years old, are handed a shovel and rake by their grandmother. She takes them about two hundred feet behind her hogan. She has a rock the size of a grapefruit, which she sets down when she gets to where she is going. There, she tells the boys to get three more rocks about the same size and to follow her, so the boys set their tools down and go about finding three rocks of comparable size. She approves, and then has them follow her again. Grandmother paces off seventy-five feet and has one rock set down. She walks off another seventy-five feet at a right angle and has another rock set down, and then off she goes at another right angle and another seventy-five feet. The last rock is set down.

You, she says, pointing to Dilford. Go find a long stick.

I’m Dilford, Grandmother. She gives him a hard stare and then says, I pointed at you. That meant I was talking to you. I don’t care what your name is. It could be Dog Face for all I care. The boy hangs his head at this tirade.

Dog Face, go find a long stick now! The boy runs away. Now you, she says and looks at Milford, start digging a hole right here, now. She points at the ground between her and the boy.

This section of land behind the hogan is hard-packed adobe dirt, and the boy has a difficult time breaking the hardpan. Dilford returns with a long yucca stem.

Here is the stick, Grandmother.

Okay, Dog Face, you make a line in the ground from this rock to that rock, and from that rock to the other rock, and then to the other one. You will be drawing a big square in the ground. Now!

The old woman stands watching the boys trying their best to do her bidding. While Dilford is trying to scratch a line in the ground, she admonishes the boy, Dog Face, the line has to be straight as an arrow, not like a snake, or you will make another. As for you, she says to Milford, when the hole is as deep as the shovel blade is long, that will be deep enough. Saying that, the old woman walks back to the hogan.

Bernice is spreading some blouses over a drying rack made out of yucca stems lashed together. She has seen the old woman talk and yell at her sons and then walk back to the hogan. Bernice knows the boys are terrified of their grandmother. She finishes spreading the last blouse and then walks toward the boys. For a short while, she watches them trying to work the hardpan. Within her, anger is building on top of frustration and resentment.

Boys, stop what you are doing. Go to the tree and sit there to rest. Drink some water first. Go.

Ma, Grandmother said …, Milford starts to say.

I don’t care what your grandmother said. I am your mother, and I’m telling you to stop. I am going to talk to that old woman. With that, Bernice stomps away toward the hogan.

At the entrance she takes a deep breath, and then pushes the doorway blanket and steps into the cool semi-darkness. She sees the old woman seated on a blanket on her pallet. Bernice glares at her grandmother.

You are an evil, vicious, horrible old woman. You have made me your slave, and now you are trying to make slaves out of my sons. I will not have it! We will not live here anymore. We will take our chances out in the desert rather than accept any more of your so-called generosity. Find somebody else to do your slave work. With nostrils still flaring, Bernice turns around and goes to the doorway.

So, you do have a backbone after all. I’ve been waiting for you to show it to me. Yes, Granddaughter, I have been evil, vicious, and horrible for a reason. Bernice, still seething, is facing the doorway, watching as the blanket is stirred by the outside breeze.

You lost your husband; I lost a grandson. Why the other relatives would not take you in, I don’t know. I don’t care. You came to me a broken woman with no spirit, no life, and two undisciplined sons. I did not make you work to make you my slave. Yes, I am an old woman, but I am still capable of doing those chores for myself. Bernie, in my way, good or bad, I am trying to build character in you. I am trying to give you inner strength, not only for your body, but also for your mind and spirit. Perhaps I went about it the wrong way. Bernie, turn around and look at me, please. Bernice slowly turns around. You need not answer these questions, Granddaughter, but why did it take you so long to stand up to me? Has it taken this long to build that inner strength? Strange as it may sound, Granddaughter, I do love you, and I do love your sons. Why am I so hard on them? To show them that life, like that hard ground, is not easy, and people have to work hard if they expect to get anything or anywhere. That was just one lesson. There are so many lessons of life to learn. They need to start learning now while they are young. The old woman rises from her blanket. Granddaughter, please sit here. I have something to show you.

Bernice is stunned by the sudden change in her grandmother’s attitude toward her and her sons. Slowly she walks to the old woman’s pallet, gathers her long skirt, and settles on the blanket. The old woman has gone behind two blankets to another part of the hogan. Presently she returns with a large canvas bag. Setting it down, she reaches in, pulls out a very big, folded blanket, and spreads it out on to the hard-packed dirt floor. The colors are quite vivid. The pattern in itself is simple, and the viewer’s eye is drawn to the center. The old woman kneels close to Bernice, lifts the edge of the blanket, and places it across Bernice’s lap.

Feel the edges, look closely at the weave, and tell me what you see. Tell me what your senses tell you about this blanket.

It is very beautiful. It is soft, not coarse. The weave is tight. She turns the edge over. It is difficult to tell which is the right side.

You, too, can do this, Bernie. Through the ability to weave and create your own designs, you can express yourself. You can tell a story. Bernie, allow me to help you. By the way, weaving is a good way to provide money. Let me teach you the way my great-grandmother taught her daughter, who taught her daughter, who taught me. Bernie, I tell you now, it will not be easy. It will be hard on your body, hands, and eyes. And yes, I will be hard on you, but I will not be mean, vicious, or evil anymore.

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Through the next eight years, while the boys go to the reservation school, Bernice learns to shear sheep, comb the wool, twist the fibers into yarn, and dye the yarn, using berries and the bark of different trees and shrubs. She learns to make her own loom.

During the summer, she weaves, sitting on a blanket under the cottonwood tree. As the blanket takes shape and grows, she sits on a stool or stands. She learns how to use the shuttle, the polished piece of hardwood, to pass the yarn through the warp. She learns how to tighten the weave using the paddle.

There is a lot of trial and error. Grandmother inspects each day’s efforts, and when she finds an error, she points it out patiently, explaining what was done wrong and why. To Bernice’s dismay, the old woman has her undo the weaving to where the mistake is and reweave it. The old woman no longer scolds, yells, or whips Bernice. In fact, the old woman becomes what a caring grandmother is supposed to be. The unweaving and reweaving is the only punishment.

The boys, now young men in their late teens, are attentive to their mother and grandmother. Now that they are out of school, they get jobs on a sheep ranch. They save and pool their hard-earned money and buy a near-new pickup truck, but they also pick up the habit of smoking cigarettes from the older men on the ranch. They think it makes them look older and more grownup, and fortunately, their taste for alcohol is limited to an occasional beer or two once a week, no more.

Milford and Dilford with their near-new pickup, are able to go to the trading post near Turley about fifteen miles from home to buy their beer and cigarettes and talk to two girls, Patsy and Daisy working at the trading post. Once a month, the boys take the girls to Bloomington to see a movie. Bernice will go with the boys to the trading post to do the major buying of supplies. She meets the girls and lets her sons know that she approves of the girls. A year later, Dilford marries Daisy then Milford marries Patsy shortly thereafter. Two small hogans are built next to the main hogan close to Bernice.

Bernice allows herself to be at the loom four to six hours a day, since she has other chores to do. Grandmother is showing signs of slowing down.

One spring morning, Bernice and her grandmother are seated outside at a wooden table sipping wild mint tea, looking at the old cottonwood tree starting to get new leaves.

Granddaughter, I was looking at your last two blankets yesterday. I think it is time for you to think about selling them and the others you will make. Bernie, your craft now rivals and surpasses mine. You have mastered the craft of weaving. There are two other weavers such as us, so that makes four. The other two and I are old, and our time is very short. You will be left. There are other weavers who, like dogs, have fleas, but ours is the best. Just remember what I’ve told you about dealing with white agents. In Santa Fe, do business only with Joseph Two Shoes. He will tell you who to deal with in Taos. Trust him, Bernie. Now my job here is finished.

Two days later, Grandmother Totsie Begay joined the spirits of her ancestors.

Chapter 3—Extended Family

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By dint of hard work, very long hours, and a long-range goal, Milford and Dilford, along with their wives and Bernie, head east to Santa Fe. The sheep shearing is completed, and the boys have earned enough time off. Bernice is going to Santa Fe to sell her blankets with Joseph Two Shoes as her go-between with the white agents. Joseph will also go with them up to Taos to meet with other buyers. The boys want to meet with some officials from the Bureau of Indian Affairs to get advice on starting their own sheep business and advice on bank loans, grazing permits, water rights, and where to graze. Sheep eat the grasses right down to the ground. Cattle do not. Recovery of grasses and other vegetation takes longer where sheep have been.

Bernice has had a productive autumn and winter. She has moved her loom indoors into an adjacent room she had the boys build next to the hogan after grandmother passed away. On one of her previous selling trips, Bernice has invested in two Coleman lanterns and a Coleman stove. The lanterns emit a tremendous amount of light and some warmth. She has dedicated most of her weaving efforts, starting in mid October ’til the last of March, and the results are four, six by eight blankets, exquisite in designs, textures, and colors.

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Joseph Two Shoes, without any outward expression, is touching the edges, feeling the smooth texture and notes that, like Grandmother Totsie Begay’s blanket’s, Bernice’s blanket’s are the finest. However, Joseph Two Shoes has now gone into business for himself, since he has all the contacts. True, the weavers pay him a commission for acting as a go-between, but now he wants a bigger slice of the pie.

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Bernice, again you bring masterpieces. However, things have changed since you were here last. I will now buy your blankets directly rather than you having to go around Santa Fe and Taos to the different agents. It will save you and me time. The other two weavers, Fannie Tzuzu and Mary Lonewolf, have readily agreed to this arrangement. I’m sure you will find me reasonable.

Bernice knows the agents Two Shoes alludes to are clients who are serious collectors of Native American arts and crafts who display and sell them in their upscale art galleries in all major cities throughout the United States and Canada. Some are curators of major museums. Bernice is also aware that her blankets, like her grandmother’s, Fannie’s and Mary’s blankets, will in time appreciate in value.

Two Shoes, still maintaining a stoic demeanor, goes to his desk, gets his checkbook, and writes a check for six thousand dollars. With a smile on his wrinkled face, he hands Bernice the check and says, Bernice, the Creator has blessed you again.

Bernice looks at the check. Two Shoes pick out the blanket you do not like.

Bernice, I like them all.

That is not what this check says.

What should it say?

Eight thousand.

Bernice, what would your grandmother say if she were here to see you take advantage of me, an old man? Two Shoes walks around from behind the desk and approaches Bernice, pleading his case.

She would be quite angry at me for accepting less than what these blankets are really worth.

Milford and Dilford are slowly walking around the room, looking at pottery and baskets and other blankets. Milford, being very close to the desk, pauses, and then continues to stroll about. Bernice is still talking. You and I both know that each blanket will bring three times what you are offering for all the blankets. Grandmother would also tell me to go elsewhere where quality, not quantity, is appreciated. One more thing, Two Shoes, there are only three of us weavers left, and all the other so-called weavers are like fleas on dogs. There are too many, putting out poor quality in quantity. They’re for the white tourists who don’t know any better, and you won’t tell them that. She hands the check back to Two Shoes.

A disbelieving Two Shoes watches as she rolls up the blankets. Milford and Dilford are positioned at each end of the rolled blankets ready to take them back out to the pickup.

Bernice, wait. Let’s not be rash. Let’s talk this over.

Two Shoes, what is there to talk over? You insult me with that check, and then you insult me again by saying I am trying to take advantage of you. Two Shoes, you have been around the white man too long. Now you are treating me like they would. I will not let you insult me a third time or take advantage of me.

Bernice, don’t do this. You are being stubborn like your grandmother. If you keep on insisting for more money, I will notify all the trading posts and agents like myself not to do business with you."

Two Shoes, now you are using threats. Enough. Bernice nods to her sons then points her chin at the pickup.

Milford and Dilford reload the rolled blankets in the back of the pickup, while Bernice, seething, climbs into the cab. Normally, she would ride in the back, per custom. Not this afternoon. One of the boys will have to ride in the back with the two young wives.

What now or where to, Ma? asks Milford behind the wheel.

Head for home, she says sternly.

Ma, I know you are angry, and so am I. Could we at least spend the night at Three Feathers’ lodge? My wife and Dilford’s wife are tired from the long trip here. Tomorrow, being rested, we can go home.

You are right, my son. I need to rest to think clearly. Besides, you and your brother have business to attend to. Head for Three Feathers’ lodge, and if you see a fruit and vegetable stand, stop. We should not arrive with empty hands.

About three miles out of town, Milford spots two pickup trucks parked close to each other. One has produce; the other one has live chickens in wire cages. Bernice reaches into the right, deep pocket of her long skirt and hands him a roll of bills.

Tell Patsy and Daisy to buy fruits and vegetables. You and your brother get four chickens. I will sit here and think. Milford tells the others the plan and then goes to the passenger side of the truck. He reaches into his back pockets, pulls out ten to fifteen three-by-four index cards in each hand, and hands them to his mother.

Ma, I hope these help you think better.

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The afternoon sun is just as hot and relentless as the noon sun. Wet burlap sacks are draped over several wooden cases of produce and fruit while all the chickens are squatting with their beaks slightly open. They are in a stupor. The wire cages too have wet burlap sacks over them. When the chicken vendor reaches for the chosen chickens, they offer little to no resistance, even when their feet are bound together with twine. The boys carry two chickens each to the pickup while Patsy and Daisy carry several bags of reasonably fresh produce.

Fifteen to twenty minutes later, the pickup pulls up to Three Feathers’ lodge. Three Feathers’ lodge is really a family compound of six hogans facing east. Five of the hogans are living quarters, while the sixth and largest is the main lodge. The compound is surrounded by mesquite trees, deliberately planted as a fence with an eight-foot opening. There is a grove of cottonwoods within the compound that offers sufficient shade from the direct rays of the sun.

Milford toots the horn twice. Grownups and children spill out from the hogans and greet them warmly. Three Feathers and his wife, Tessie, have four children—all boys. The two oldest are married. Their wives help Daisy and Patsy unload the pickup of produce, fruit, and chickens and go to the main hogan. The men and children remain outside. Earlier that day, a sheep had been slaughtered. There are two picnic tables with benches and assorted chairs. A wooden door on two empty oil drums is the serving table.

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Tessie, the matriarch of the family and of the Three Feathers Clan, is seated at one end of a picnic table, keeping an eye on Bernice. She senses that, in spite of the fact that her younger cousin is smiling and laughing, something is not right, but interfering in someone else’s business is not the Navajo way.

The sunset, magnificent as always, slips over the western horizon. Several kerosene lamps are lit along with a large bonfire that shoots sparks into the night sky as the burning logs shift in the flames. After the evening meal, chairs and the four picnic benches are placed in a semicircle around the fire. Tessie makes it a point to sit next to Bernice.

Bernie, I want to thank you for your generosity in the food gifts that you brought today. The Creator surely smiled on you on selling your fine blankets. I need to go elsewhere to sell my baskets, and Daniel Blackhorse, my second son’s wife’s brother, is having difficulty selling his fine pottery.

Tessie, how can that be? Your baskets are beautiful, and there are people, collectors, fine shops, and trading posts here in Santa Fe and up in Taos, especially the white people and their shops, that will buy your baskets and Daniel’s pottery.

The problem is that agents don’t want to pay us. Daniel went to Santa Fe and then up to Taos. At both trading posts, the agents attempted to cheat him. He was so angry he almost broke all of his pots. Fortunately, he smashed only two of them. Bernie, I found a magazine written about three months ago. There was a story with pictures. One picture showed three of my baskets, and the next picture showed some of Daniel’s pottery. Another picture showed a blanket that Grandmother Totsie had made. My oldest son read the story to me, saying that the white collectors paid thousands of dollars for those things in the pictures. Yet, Daniel was only offered fifty dollars a pot. Buford took me to Taos two weeks ago. I took ten baskets that I made over the winter. I deal with Arthur Saitey at the trading post and a collector from Phoenix was visiting and buying. Buford helped me take the baskets inside. Arthur looked at the baskets and began praising them to the sky. This collector wanted all of them and wanted to write me a check for fifteen hundred dollars. Arthur stopped him and took the man to one side; they talked for several minutes and then the man walked away. Arthur came back to me and offered seven hundred and fifty dollars, saying, Take it or leave it. Bernie, I am ashamed to say, I took Arthur’s check. Buford has suggested I start looking for another agent.

Tessie, the Creator did not smile on me, either. My blankets are still in the back of the truck. Joseph Two Shoes did the same to me.

Bernie, I am getting an idea, but we need to talk with my husband and seek his counsel. Would you talk with him as well?

Yes.

Tessie rises from her chair and immediately several grandchildren surround her as she makes her way to the group of men drinking beer. Reaching deep into a pocket hidden within her long, voluminus, sateen skirt, she pulls out a handful of chewy cactus candy. As the children receive the sweet treats, they say, Thank you. The children then form a group of their own, sitting by the fire while intently chewing. The firelight gleams off their happy eyes and brown faces.

Buford, Tessie says, approaching the men. All conversation stops. Bernie and I need to speak with you. It is a family matter that needs your wisdom.

Buford steps away from the group and follows Tessie and Bernice. Passing the group of children, he bends down and ruffles the hair of several small heads. Tessie takes a chair from a daughter-in-law and places it so that he will face her and Bernice. Buford is happy to sit, and he places his hands on his ample stomach, lacing his fingers. He regards both women.

Husband, Bernie tells me she has suffered from her blanket agent like I have with my agent and Daniel Blackhorse with his. The agents do not want to pay us a fair price, yet they sell our crafts at high prices. We believe that other weavers, potters, and jewelry makers are being cheated as well.

Bernie, your sons tell me they have some time off from working.

Yes.

Buford regards his wife and then Bernice again.

Would you Tessie, and you Bernie, along with your two sons, be willing to travel down to Albuquerque and Las Cruces and then go to Tucson, Arizona, and then up to Phoenix and talk with other people of other tribes as well?

The two women look at each other, and Bernice says, Buford, I was considering talking to the others of our people, people that we know. Traveling far, I don’t know what good that would do or what it would accomplish besides burning a lot of gasoline, staying in motels, and eating in restaurants, other than sightseeing.

Husband, what did you have in mind?

Tessie, Bernie, you tell me other weavers, potters, and jewelry makers are being cheated. I saw with my own eyes what Arthur did about your baskets, Tessie. You two, plus Daniel, Fannie, and Mary are only five being affected by Joseph Two Shoes and Arthur. If you find that the same thing is happening in Albuquerque, then go to Las Cruces. If it is the same there, then go into Arizona. Tessie, give the people you talk to our mailing address here in Santa Fe. Who knows? Maybe you can start what the white people call a boycott. That means everybody you talk to and everybody they talk to will not do business with the agents anymore. It’s like forming a union of artisans and going on strike.

Husband, you have given us much to think about.

"Buford, after we spoke with Two Shoes and before we got here, one of my sons gave me a bunch of cards with the names, addresses, and telephone numbers of his clients. I know it