THE SUN ROSE late on a winter Sunday morning, and Johnny wanted nothing more than to stay in his warm bed and sleep. His muscles ached from Saturday’s work at the construction yard. But, he knew it was Sunday and soon Minatare shook his arm.
“C’mon, Johnny. Time to get up or we’ll be late for Mass. I don’t like to be late.”
They made it on time and sat in the pew next to Richard Amos and his mother. Father Shannon gave a brief eulogy that Johnny paid little attention to. He had spotted the Pretty Feather family sitting on the other side of the aisle and tried to catch Sarah’s eye but she never looked his way.
After Mass, his mom made sure to thank Mary Pretty Feather for the food, telling her how delicious everything was. They hugged for a moment. Johnny decided to take his chances. After shaking hands with James, he gave Sarah a quick hug. She looked pretty in her blue dress, although it was mostly hidden under her winter coat. Sarah hugged him back and they said their goodbyes.
When they got home, Johnny changed shirts, putting his best blue dress shirt on a hanger. He didn’t really have many dress clothes, and the suit for his father’s funeral was too new to wear to church.
Minatare sat at the table drinking tea. “Sit down, Johnny, eat your breakfast, and tell me all about your day yesterday. And thank you for giving me the six dollars you earned. Here’s a dollar from your pay yesterday. You deserve it.”
Johnny took it. “Are you sure Mom?”
“Yes, I’m sure. But those five dollars will help us a lot. So buy yourself something fun.”
They talked about working at Miles City Construction and then dinner at the Pretty Feather’s house. Minatare wanted to know all about how big it was, how it was decorated, and how much land they owned. After talking for an hour, they sat quietly for a few moments.
“Mary asked us to come for a Thanksgiving dinner even though it’s already past. With your dad’s funeral, we just didn’t celebrate the holiday. I told her yes but that I didn’t think Gray Man would be there. You know, he hates Thanksgiving. He thinks it was the start of the end for all Indians, including the Cheyenne. We have to work out when we can do it. What do you think?”
“I think it’s great, Mom. And I think you are right about grandfather not wanting anything to do with it.”
They sat quietly for a few more minutes.
Finally, Johnny spoke. “Where is Grandfather? I haven’t seen him all week.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “At first I didn’t worry but it’s been almost a week, and I’m afraid he might be lying frozen somewhere on the reservation. Would you go look for him today?”
“Sure. I’ll start at Logan Badger’s house. He usually knows where Grandfather is.”
After helping his mom clean up the breakfast dishes, Johnny put on his sheepskin jacket and walked the short distance to the horse shed. He greeted Thunder and then stroked his father’s horse. “I know you miss him, Little Girl. I haven’t been good at riding you but I’ll try to do better.”
One stall stood empty. Wherever Gray Man was, Wakah had taken him there. Johnny put hay into the stall feeders, refreshed their water, and waited until Thunder whinnied that he wanted to go.
He put a saddle on Thunder, who jumped around, ready to run. Johnny walked him out of the shed and climbed onto the saddle. “Let’s go see the Badgers,” he whispered into Thunder’s ear. “But go slow down the driveway.” The horse walked slowly down the snow-covered driveway. Reaching the road, he found the well-used horse trail on the far side and started trotting toward the Badger’s house.
They soon arrived and Johnny felt some anxiety when Gray Man’s horse was not there. He dismounted and climbed up the wooden steps onto the porch just as Estelle opened the door. An orange cat slipped into the house, jumping over her foot.
“Damn cat,” she said. “Come on in Johnny. You are always welcome here.”
Johnny smiled. The orange cat had lived with the Badgers for years. Estelle wouldn’t admit to it, but she fed the cat and, on really cold winter nights, she let it in to the warmth of their house.
Logan Badger, wearing faded red long underwear, sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee from a tin cup. “Hey, Johnny Hunter, nice to see you. Have a seat and Estelle will bring you a cup of coffee. It will warm you up.”
Not wanting to be rude, he slid his coat on the back of a chair and sat down. Estelle brought him a steaming mug of coffee, spilling some as she sat it down on the wood table.
“Darn shakes,” she muttered. She sat down and took a sip of coffee.
“What brings you out here on a cold winter’s day?” Logan asked. He wore a sweater over his underwear and a washed-out green scarf.
Johnny took a sip, scalding his tongue with the hot coffee. “Wow, that’s hot!” He blew in the mug and sat it down. “I’m looking for Grandfather. Have you seen him? He hasn’t been home for several days and Mom is worried about him.”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Logan answered. “He’s spent a few nights here. We talk about the old days a lot, when we were young and strong. Then he gets on his horse and rides around the reservation visiting other old timers like us. Sometimes he sleeps in a cave out by the cemetery. I think he might be avoiding your house a little, too. Even though Gray Man and your father argued a lot, he still felt sad when Billy died. He’s angry too because Billy’s drinking problem probably killed him.”
“We are sorry about your father’s death,” Estelle said. She placed her bony fingers on his hand. “It’s just so sad what alcohol does to the Cheyenne.”
“Thanks,” Johnny said, taking another swallow of the strong black coffee. “I’m glad Grandfather’s been here and is safe. Mom will be relieved. Do you have any idea of where he went today?”
“To the Northern Cheyenne cemetery,” Logan said. “He said he wants to make sure your father has gone to meet our ancestors. I think he might still be there.”
“More coffee?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Badger. I’m going to go find him and get him to come home.”
Johnny stood up, put his mug into the sink, and slipped on his coat. He hugged them both, opened the door, and mounted Thunder. “Let’s go, boy,” and they headed for the cemetery.
Johnny and Thunder trotted through the iron gate but Gray Man was not there. He then rode up to the highest hill in the cemetery. Below him lay the entire Cheyenne Reservation. The white hills and valleys, the agency buildings, and the silver ribbon of the distant Tongue River were spread out in front of him. The sun reflected off the ice and snow, looking for all the world like a giant Christmas card. A hundred yards below, in front of a cave, he saw a horse grazing and smoke rising from a fire. In the clearing, Gray Man danced and chanted in a circle around the small fire.
Johnny slowly rode Thunder down the snow-covered hillside and stopped next to the cave. He slid off Thunder and ran breathlessly to Gray Man. “Grandfather, what are you doing?”
The old man looked at him but did not speak. Instead, he stood and started dancing, throwing off the white buffalo robe he had wrapped around him. The old man was naked, except for a breechcloth and moccasins. “Maheo-o-o-o,” he shouted, dancing to a non-existent drum. “Vosta-a-a-a.”
Johnny found a tree branch and started pounding on a pine log. The thumping seemed to enhance the chant and Johnny started singing, too. “Maheo-o-o-o.”
Gray Man danced in small circles, closer to the fire. He took the magic sand and tossed it in the flames, making a puff of smoke flash into the blue sky.
The dance went on and on, growing intense and then easing up. Sometimes Johnny danced with Gray Man until he grew tired. The old man’s bony chest heaved for breath, but still he danced, circling the fire, stomping his moccasins in the wet earth. During the dance, he did not speak.
An hour passed. The winter sun rose above them and cast long afternoon shadows.
Gray Man suddenly started shaking. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backward on the snow. His whole body shook for a minute and then he lay still on the ground. After a moment, he sat up.
“Ho, Hunter,” he said, licking his lips. “Your father is okay now. Grandmother came in my vision and took him by the hand through the dark places on the Hanging Road to the Sky Country. All the whites’ firewater left him and his tasoom is with his fathers. His soul is safe with our ancestors.”
Johnny picked up the white buffalo robe and covered the thin shoulders of Gray Man. “You really saw him safe in heaven?” His grandfather nodded in affirmation. “That makes me feel a lot better. But it scares me when you start to shake like that,” Johnny continued. “It’s like you’re not in this world anymore.”
Gray Man smiled. “I’m still here, but I’m also far away.” He pulled on his ear for a minute. “I couldn’t come to the funeral. Did the priest say the prayer words over your father?”
“Yes. I think he was actually sad.”
“He should be sad. He helped kill your father by making him a little white man.”
“Don’t say that, Gray Man. Father Shannon is not my favorite but don’t say that.”
The old man studied his grandson, his eyes dark and perplexed. “Okay, okay. I understand how you feel. It just upsets me when a red man dies from too much whiskey.”
Johnny stood and stretched. He suddenly felt cold and realized the water had soaked through his boots. The air was turning colder as the sun lowered in the western sky. “Grandfather, will you go back and visit Dad’s grave with me? They might have his gravestone in place by now.”
Gray Man stood stiffly. “That is a fine idea. A lot of my friends are buried there, and wherever our people’s bones are, it is a good place to be. We can draw strength from them.” He wrapped the robe around himself and picked up his bow and arrows and a long stick out of the snow. Using the stick, which was decorated with two eagle feathers, to support him, Gray Man started walking up the hill toward the cemetery.
“What about the horses?” Johnny asked.
“Leave them here. It is a short walk that will make us warm.”
Walking behind him, Johnny thought the old man looked like a painting from a scene one hundred years ago. His gray hair was braided, hanging over the buffalo robe. Skinny bare legs hung out of the robe, only a pair of deerskin moccasins protecting his feet from the cold.
They climbed steadily; the steepness and the snow seemed not to bother Gray Man. When they were near the top, a large black crow flew toward them cawing and diving. Gray Man studied the bird. He moved his finger to his lips. “Shh, we are not alone.”
Crouching down, they crept below the ridge line until they entered a large stand of trees. The sound of breaking and smashing rocks carried across the hills. Gray Man stopped in the pine tree shadows and pointed. “White boys are destroying our ancient ones’ burial sites,” he whispered.
Johnny looked below, his eyes wide in disbelief. Three teenage boys, wielding sledge hammers, were smashing the headstones and grave markers in the Cheyenne cemetery. Hammers swung wildly, cracking the ancient marble and concrete memorials. The chunks of concrete and marble flew across the graveyard. The boys laughed and ran from tombstone to tombstone.
“Look at this one!” the largest boy yelled. He was about sixteen, large-boned with dark red hair under a sock cap. “It says old Elk Calf Woman was buried here in 1932. Well, nobody wants to see an old Elk Calf Woman anymore.” He swung the steel-headed hammer into the marker and it exploded into dust and splinters.
Another boy pulled a small marker out of the ground and smashed it onto another gravesite. They had already broken over a dozen tombstones.
“What are we going to do?” Johnny asked between clenched teeth. He felt the anger warm his body and face.
“It is a good day to die,” the old man said with a smile on his lips. “We must stop those evil white boys and teach them a lesson.”
“Good. Are we going to charge them?”
“No, I don’t want to scare them off. We’ve got to take them prisoners and punish them ourselves. The white man’s courts won’t do anything to them for wrecking a few Cheyenne graves.”
“Okay,” Johnny said, his heart pounding wildly. “Whatever you say.”
“Good,” Gray Man said, sitting in the snow. “Do you see their car?”
Johnny pointed toward the cemetery entrance. “Yes, it’s parked below the gate.”
“I know, Hunter. You must make a large circle around the cemetery, staying out of sight, like a mountain lion sneaking up on a small deer. When I see you reach the car, I will make noise so you can let the air from their tires. White men of all ages are helpless without their cars.”
Johnny grinned and shook his head. He was scared, but it still sounded like fun.
Gray Man raised his hand. “Go quickly. They are smashing our graves.”
Johnny slipped off his coat and hung it on a tree branch. He slid lower on the hillside and tried running through the snow. It was too deep. He slowed to a walk, and in ten minutes he was lying on the ground below a new Chevrolet El Camino. Crawling to the tires, he lay quietly, waiting.
A voice called out from the hills above the cemetery.
“Help me, white boys! I’m dying. Help an old Cheyenne who’s dying.”
Johnny watched the three boys. They stopped swinging their hammers. “What the hell was that?” one yelled at the other two.
“I don’t know,” the red headed youth answered. “Let’s go see, and bring your hammers. It might be a trick.”
“Maybe we should just take off,” the smallest boy said.
“Don’t be such a chicken. It ain’t cops or they’d be in here chasing us all over the place.”
The three boys began walking up the hill, swinging their hammers as they went.
“Help me, white boys!” Gray Man shouted again. “I have money. I can pay you for helping me.”
Johnny could tell the old man had moved.
When the boys were halfway up the hillside, Johnny removed the valve stem cover. His hands shaking, he turned the pointed cap over and pushed into the valve stem. The air hissed loudly from the tire. Johnny looked up the hill, but the boys did not turn around. Gray Man was making too much noise for them to hear the air escaping from their tires.
The right front tire went flat quickly. Johnny crawled to the back tires and drained the air from them. His part finished, he stood up and ran into the trees. What comes next? he wondered. His answer came quickly.
Gray Man suddenly appeared on the ridge above the white boys. He was naked except for his breechcloth and moccasins. An arrow was stretched across his bow. “So, white boys, you have come to wreck our graves. Well, perhaps I will send one of you to your own.” He aimed over the head of the boy in the center and let the arrow fly.
“Holy crap!” the red headed boy shouted as he dove to the ground. The other two landed in the snow next to him as the arrow sailed past them.
“He’s crazy. Let’s get the hell out of here.” They ran down the hill, leaving their hammers lying in the snow.
Johnny laughed as he watched them tumble helter-skelter down the hill. They had never run faster in their lives.
Gray Man chased behind them, shouting, “Ya, ya, ya! Run little rabbits! Run!”
The boys flew across the cemetery and out the gate. Without stopping, two of them jumped into the El Camino’s bed while the redhead hopped into the driver’s seat. The Chevrolet’s engine turned over and the boys’ faces lit up in smiles. The truck started down the gravel road, thumping on the flat tires.
“Oh, man!” one shouted. The El Camino stopped. “Dad’s gonna kick my tail end for this.” The three climbed out of the truck, ran around to the flat tires and stood there, shaking their heads. Suddenly, an arrow whistled past them and sunk into a tree with a loud thud.
“Oh, no, that crazy Indian’s still after us,” the smallest moaned. “Get inside the truck and lock the doors.”
Gray Man walked through the gate and slowly circled the Camino. An arrow lay across the bow. The old chief smiled. “So, you ran into your burrow, small rabbits. We Cheyenne have ways of smoking our dinner out of their rabbit holes.”
He turned to his grandson. “Hunter, go and get one of their hammers. I want to use it on this fine white man’s truck. Surely a truck is no better than our grave markers.”
The redhead rolled down the window slightly. “Hey, old man, you better be bluffin’. My daddy just bought this El Camino less than a month ago. He’ll put you in jail for wrecking his new truck.”
Gray Man rubbed his chin. “I suppose you could tell him about me, but there is the little matter of those broken tombstones to explain when the BIA police come to investigate. It seems to me that you might have a hard time explaining what this fine new truck was doing here in the first place.”
The window went back up and the boys talked hurriedly to each other. Johnny had reached the hammers and ran back down the hill, waving one like a tomahawk. He felt like a young warrior on his first pony raid.
“Here, Gray Man!” he shouted. “I’ve got one. Where should I start?”
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” the redhead shouted. “Can’t we talk? Make a deal?”
“Sure,” Gray Man said. “Throw your boots out of the car window and we’ll leave you alone. We’ll take the hammers with us.”
“You’re nuts, old man! We’d freeze to death walking back to town. No deal.”
The words were barely spoken when Gray Man grabbed the hammer and swung it at the side mirror. The chrome-plated mirror ripped cleanly out of the door and spun wildly through the air, landing in the snow alongside the road. The boys sat silently in the truck, mouths agape.
“Okay,” Gray Man said, “the windshield is next.”
The window cranked down and a boot flew out. Then another and another. Soon, six boots lay in the snow. The window rolled back up quickly.
“That’s good, little rabbits,” Gray Man said.
“Wait,” Johnny said, peering into the truck’s interior. “It’s okay. I thought maybe they had a CB radio and could call for help as soon as we left.”
“No, they are going to have to walk home in the snow or ruin the tires on this fine truck.” Gray Man bent over and picked up a pair of boots.
“Come, Hunter, get the other boots. We’ll let these baby rabbits free to run home to daddy and tell him why they are walking.”
He turned to the boys. “Both my arrows missed because it was my wish that they miss you. If I ever see you in our cemetery again, you will feel the sting of my bow. This is sacred ground to the Cheyenne people. Stay out.” His eyes burnt like coals of fire.
The two Cheyenne walked slowly across the cemetery and into the trees. When they were out of sight, Johnny started laughing. Gray Man joined him. “Oh, Grandfather, you were great.”
“I was pretty good, wasn’t I? It has been a long time since I was in a fight. Come on, I think there’s more fun to watch.”
They stood silently in the trees and observed the El Camino. After a couple of minutes, the driver’s door opened slowly. The redheaded boy put his sock-covered foot into the snow and quickly pulled in back into the truck. The other door opened and a boy hopped out, barefoot.
“Look how they walk,” Johnny whispered. “It’s like the ground is hot, not cold.”
Gray Man chuckled, his face alive with wrinkles. “It will be a long walk home for them.”
“Will it hurt them?”
“No, I do not think so. Someone will pick them up on the highway soon enough. There are always white men cutting across our lands.”
“I’d love to hear their story to their father,” Johnny said. “It should be a dandy.”
As they watched, the boys hopped down the road and disappeared around a bend. They could hear the boys cursing long after they were out of sight.
“Take the boots and put them in the truck bed,” Gray Man said. “They will be punished enough by the time they return to their homes. See if the mirror is okay and put it with the boots. We must be heading back soon. It is rapidly growing dark. I know a little used path for our horses that will quickly get us back to our house.”
Johnny’s heart felt full of love for Gray Man and his ways. This must be what it feels like to be a Cheyenne warrior, he thought.
They slid down the hillside on the snow. “On the way back, Grandfather,” Johnny called, “see if you can think up a good excuse for me to tell mom. She’s going to kill me when she sees me. I’m soaking wet.”