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Doc Barber stopped by the Donovan home at least once a week, sure of a good cup of coffee and fairly certain of a meal. Today he was accompanied by Tommy, and after dinner, they drew John Patrick and Daniel aside and told them of some disquiet in the peaceful mountain tribe of Navajo—there were several newcomers, men who’d refused to be relocated to the reservation with their own tribes, and who were fostering rebellion.
The doctor reported incidents on the outskirts of town—slaughtered cattle, stolen sheep, fences pulled over. A prospector’s shack had been burned while he was in town, a squatter’s wife was terrorized by half a dozen young warriors who splattered her house with the blood of chickens.
“I don’t feel safe going up there without Tommy in tow,” Barber said. “That Yellow Knife in particular seems like a dangerous fellow. Thought he could threaten Tommy because he lives with us white folk. Tell them how you answered him, Tommy.”
Tommy snorted. “Didn’ say nothin. Gave ’im what ’e deserved.” The blacksmith raised a hand to one of his broad shoulders and flicked off an invisible mote. “Bastard thinks ’e can take me, I say c’mon an’ try. But he ain’t got the stomach for it—you wait an’ see.”
Nevertheless, the tribe’s highest-ranking elder had asked Tommy to warn the white settlers to be prepared for more violence. “Runnin’ Wolf used pidgen English, so nobody but me an’ Left-Handed Bear could unnerstan’. I jus’ nodded a bit, lookin’ here an’ there, like we was talkin’ ’bout huntin’ or somethin’.
“But I’m tellin’ ya, it ain’t no use askin’ Yella Knife t’ let up,” Tommy continued. “He’s good an’ riled an’ ’e’s gainin’ more followers every day. It’s men my age mos’ly—the ones who were kidnapped by the missionary schools, before you came an’ put an end t’ thet.”
John Patrick waved away Tommy’s thanks. The practice of rounding up the Navajo children and forcing them into missionary schools had angered him immensely. There was no logic he could see for telling them their gods were invalid, force-feeding them Christianity and English, and forbidding them to speak their own language or keep their own customs. Then, for good measure, the children were dumped back on their villages at the age of sixteen, where they were considered outcasts. The girls were laughed at for trying to maintain the white man’s standards of purity, while the boys were scorned for their lack of life skills. The three R’s were worthless in the Navajo world, but a good hunter could save his tribe from starvation.
John Patrick had seen the same abuses suffered by the native Irish at the hands of the English, and he’d tried to stop it by argument and persuasion. Finally, he’d traded with the tribe for the land between the river and the foothills. The only way to the children now was through Donovan land, and he’d made sure both the army and the schools knew they weren’t to trespass. Conflict with the schools’ bounty hunters had almost become physical at one point, but the family and the village had stood together against them.
“Only made sense,” John Patrick now said. “If the children will live with their families, they should be raised with their families. Still, we’ve not addressed the issue at hand.”
“What about the old ways?” Daniel asked. “How did the tribe handle internal problems then?”
“Depends on the problem. Could be anythin’ from some extra chores—woman’s work, mos’ly—t’ makin’ restitution. Shunnin’ if the problem was bad enough.”
“Shunning? What’s that?”
“Well, everybody in the tribe agrees t’ ignore ’em. Not speak to ’em, not do anythin’ with ’em—not hunt or even eat with ’em. It’s us’ally jus’ for a few days. But sometimes, if it was bad enough, it’d be permanent.” Thoughtfully, Tommy added, “Mos’ the time, the ones who got shunned jus’ left on their own. They couldn’ stand havin’ nobody pay ’em any mind.”
“What do you think?” John Patrick asked. “Would it work?”
“Wal, it’d be up to Runnin’ Wolf an’ the elders.” Tommy screwed his face up for a minute. “I know Runnin’ Wolf won't take it on hisself t’ run ’em out—he’d hafta have the other elders in on it. But I tell ya they’re sure mighty embarrassed by this whole thing.”
“What have we to lose?” John Patrick asked. “If they refuse, all we’ve invested is a bit of time.”
So they went together, the two Donovan men and Tommy, to sit and talk to Running Wolf and the elders. Most of their conversation was couched in an English-Spanish-Navajo patois, with subtle words that offered neither insult nor recommendation. No decisions were made, but they’d expected none. The elders would take action, or not, after a private discussion.
***
ON A DREARY AFTERNOON that threatened rain but didn’t deliver, Daniel stopped at the livery stable and found Tommy whistling as he worked at his forge.
“Hey, Dan’l. How ya doin’?” Without waiting for an answer, Tommy continued, “Me an’ Doc went up t’ the camp yestidday an’ saw Blue Deer. He’s real happy with ’is new leg. Said ‘e can do all the things the other boys can. They make a li’l fun of ’im, but ’e don't really care.”
“That’s great. Any news about the newcomers?”
“Nothin’ solid.” Tommy stopped to select a rod of raw iron. “Coupl’a people objectin’ to the shunnin’, but I think Runnin’ Wolf’ll make ’em come around eventually.
“Oh, an’ Small Cloud said you’re t’ come up an’ have supper with ’em one o’ these days. Feel like goin’?”
“Sure. Wednesday work for you?”
“Anythin’ works for me, son, when there’s food t’ be had.”