Chapter Twenty-Seven

It’s a beautiful snowy day out West at a lovely ski resort. Skiers swish down the slopes near a large grand hotel.

Inside one of the hotel rooms, skis and ski clothing are askew on the floor as Governor Dill and a sweet young thing cavort in a hot tub. The telephone rings. The Governor is irritated but answers.

“This better be important!” he snaps. “... Oh, hello dear... No,” he replies, looking at the young woman’s cleavage. “Just helping warm some buns... Turn on the television set?... Now?... Okay.”

The Governor hangs up and uses a remote to turn on the TV. He sits dumbfounded as Jesse and Carl, along with some white men in suits and Indian dignitaries, stand behind Secretary Lewis, who is speaking into a bank of news microphones.

“... on such short notice,” the Secretary is saying. “We are nevertheless pleased to announce that we will locate and build the dam at... ”

Watching, the Governor’s eyes widen and he begins to shake his head.

“... the little town of Forked Knife, in your state’s northernmost section. And, although this will destroy the village and make the land above it worthless,... ”

The Governor begins to shake his head more and more rapidly.

“... it will allow the land below the village... ”

The Governor sinks deeply into the hot tub.

“... to become fertile, making it some of the most sought after land this side of... ”

“Hell!” says the Governor, in shock. He turns off the TV set.

“Oh, how sweet,” says the young woman. “Who says the government never gives a dam!”

A short time later, the Governor has a hushed meeting in his executive office with Nickels, Running Fever and the Gofers.

“Gee, Governor,” says Running Fever, “I just don’t think my sister would be the type to, quote, appear to have led her people into mass extinction, unquote. I just don’t think we could get away with it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” says a bewildered Gov. “But what can we do?”

Nickels presents an idea.

“You’ve got to stall ‘em,” he says. “Call a news conference. Get support. – You’re a politician: Throw some bullsh-”

He wisely stops himself.

“Ahem,” says the Governor to Nickels. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“Until we can get the only copy of the Contract and destroy it,” notes Nickels, “we’re in trouble. You got to do something to buy us some time!”

“I see what you mean,” says the Governor. “And just where is the Contract?”

Nickels looks out the window at the distant mountains.

“It’s up at the ranch. In a safe,” he says.

Everyone lets this sink in for a minute.

“Up there with those idiots?!” says Running Fever, shaking his head. “And the Doctor? Right where the entire government is about to cone in on? – We better get there first!”

“Those clowns are still there?” asks the Governor.

“Yeah,” says Nickels. “And them three are the only ones who can link us all.”

Nickels looks around at the Gofers. This is serious. This is heavy. He nods to them.

The Gofers nod back as they “pat” their concealed weapons. They scramble out the door.

Governor Dill stands atop the steps leading into the magnificent state capital building. Reporters, along with white and Indian supporters, surround him. Gofers and other Underlings mingle about, carrying hastily written, amateurish placards reading: WE SUPPORT RODES AND SHOPPING MALES and DAM IS A FOUR LETTER WORD.

The Governor adjusts his tie and readies himself to speak. Standing just off to his side is the requisite “Signer For The Deaf.” She intently scrutinizes the Governor, her arms raised like a choir director, ready to pounce on every word. She signs mightily in the background as the Governor begins speaking.

“Ladies and Gentlemen – and Reporters: Our nation has a long history of those who should stall, er, stood tall in the paddle of sodgress – saddle of progress.”

The Signer’s eyes have crossed. She keeps signing. The Governor continues his pontification.

“We used to have great leaders in this country. Why, you can count on the fingers of one hand... ”

The Governor holds high an outstretched hand. The Signer follows suit. To keep pace, she adds some contortions, elbows flying, shoulders hunching.

“... the first five presidents of this country... ”

Dramatic pause. “But you can’t do that with the last six!”

Two reporters look at each other, confused by the logic of this comment. They shrug and continue taking notes.

The Governor now raises his other arm, too. The Signer again follows suit. Now, she’s flailing her entire body like some crazed juggler, desperately trying to keep up the signing.

“Anyway,” Governor Dill continues, “as Native Americans would say, in their language, ‘Gashunka, gotabi, mortizzi.’”

The Signer faints.