James Doss - The Shaman Laughs

"This ain't just talk," Gorman said. "The Economic Development Board's workin' on a deal with the government. Want to put some kind of garbage in Canon del Espiritu ."

"Garbage? In the sacred canyon?" She refilled his cup. "They'd never do that."

"It's not exactly garbage," Benita said, obviously proud of her knowledge, "it's well… waste. Radioactive waste from nuclear power plants."

Daisy paused and looked blankly at the greasy propane stove. "Why would the tribe want to do something like that… in my canyon?" She slid the tray of biscuits into the preheated oven, then lit a burner with a butane cigarette lighter.

"It's not all that bad," Benita said. "They put worn-out nuclear fuel elements into big tanks of water, then they put concrete slabs on top of the tanks. The water and concrete stops the radiation. You could sleep right beside it every night for your whole life, no problem." She watched doubtful expressions spread over the faces of her elders. "It shouldn't be any danger to our cattle."

Her father squinted at her. "What did you say that stuff was?"

Benita repeated her words slowly: "Nuclear… fuel… elements."

The old man added a pinch of tobacco to the brier bowl and relit his pipe. "If them knuckle filaments is so damned safe," he asked, "then why don't they just keep 'em where they're already at?"

Benita opened her mouth to reply, read the combative expression on her father's face, and thought better of it.

"You two need some breakfast," Daisy said quickly.

Gorman put on a sad demeanor as easily as some men slipped into a coat; it was carefully designed to generate sympathy. "Don't know if I can eat. What I seen in the canyon kinda took my appetizer away." He glanced at the black iron skillet and sniffed hopefully at the fetching aroma of the ham slab swimming in the popping grease.

Daisy played his game. "I made enough cheese omelet for all three of us. And there's a big slice of sugar-cured ham. And hot biscuits with maple cream." She paused to give him time to think about it. "But I expect you'd be better off to go home and have some oatmeal. They say oatmeal's good for old men's bowels. Cheese and eggs, they might stop up your plumbing."

Gorman sighed. "Well, if you're gonna keep after me, I guess I might as well have a bite."

"Maybe," Benita asked, "you have some cereal?"

"I got ham and I got eggs," Daisy replied sharply. Her tone said take it or leave it .

Charlie Moon, a half cup of coffee in his fist, was standing outside the police station. Away from the crackle of the short wave radio, the incessant ringing of telephones, the whining complaints of a drunken prisoner who insisted that he was a very important man in Denver and a "damn good friend of the governor." Moon sniffed at the pungent scent of pine in the air; he squinted at a half dozen ravens gliding in a wide arc through the pale morning sky. How could a Ute ever leave this place? But many of the People had.

Before he saw it, Moon heard Gorman Sweetwater's pickup pass the Sky Ute Motel and turn the corner at KSUT radio. The old GMC lurched into the tribal police headquarters parking lot. The policeman was not particularly pleased to see Gorman's pickup truck until he noticed Benita sitting next to her father. So she was back from college for the summer. For the past two years, he had wanted to say something. He had planned a dozen artful ways of letting her know that she was always on his mind, but he never knew quite what to say to this pretty girl. In her presence, Moon always ended up playing the role of uncle.

The big policeman leaned on the door and grinned at the rancher. "Gorman, you still didn't get that tail pipe fixed.

And worse than that, you're parked in Homer Tonom-picket's spot."

The rancher snorted. "I'll worry about the tail pipe if it falls off, and you can go piss on the game warden."

Moon touched the brim of his hat. "Mornin' Benita. It's a good thing you inherited your momma's sweet disposition." He wanted to add "and her good looks," but the words hung in his throat.

Benita smiled and glanced uncertainly at her grumpy father. Charlie Moon was the best catch on the reservation. Maybe in Colorado. "How's your new house coming along, Charlie?" Maybe he'd ask her to come out and see it.

Moon avoided the old man's suspicious glare; he pushed a gravel pebble with his toe. "Still a lot of work to do." Maybe he should invite her over to have a look at the place. But what if she didn't come? He took a deep breath. "Maybe, sometime when you have some time to kill…"

She was about to accept this unfinished invitation when her father interrupted.

"I got me some trouble."

The policeman backed away as Gorman opened the door and slid to the gravel surface. "What kinda trouble?"

"The bad kind. Something… somebody's killed Big Ouray."

The policeman thought hard and came up with nothing. "Who's Big Ouray?"

"My registered Hereford bull, dammit. And don't tell me I shouldn't give my stock names. They're my cattle and I can damn well do whatever-"

"Now don't lose your water." Moon gestured toward the station door with his cup. "Let's go inside and have some coffee. You can tell me all about it." Gorman lost a beef every year or so, and he always waved his arms and yelled until he was hoarse.

"Don't need more coffee. We just had breakfast at your Aunt Daisy's. That woman pushes greasy food at me every time I stop by; I won't be able to eat nothing again before suppertime. All them eggs and pork is gonna cause me to have," he thumped his chest, "… one of them cor-uh… cor-oll… ahhh… coronations."

"Well now that'd be the day," Moon said earnestly. "I expect the whole tribe and half the town would show up to watch it happen."

Benita clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. Gorman cocked his head and blinked curiously at the big policeman. Charlie Moon was supposed to be so damn smart but sometimes he said things that didn't make no sense at all. "What're you gonna do about my dead bull?"

Moon adopted his official tone. "Tell me what happened."

Benita watched them through a sand-blasted windshield. She barely winked at Moon; the big Ute ducked his head shyly.

The old man pushed his hands deep into his overall pockets. "Not much to tell. Big Ouray was dead when I got there just about sunup this morning. Ears and balls gone." Moon felt the hair stand up on his neck. "And," Gorman added quickly, "don't say it was coyotes; it wasn't no coyotes-somebody done it with a knife." He looked glumly toward the place where the sun comes up. "A razor-sharp knife."

"You see any tracks?" Moon knew what the answer would be.

"No tracks." Gorman lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "I heard a noise, though, from up on the mesa. Kind of a… a wail." No point in mentioning he'd shot at the sound, that would only bring a stern lecture about gun safety from the big policeman.

Moon nodded. Gorman had probably heard a cougar. Maybe. "How about the rest of your cattle, they all right?"

"Didn't find 'em. Expect they're holed up in them little draws way up the canyon." He scowled at the policeman. "I sure as hell can't afford to lose no more beeves so you better see it don't happen again! In the meantime, I'm gonna go over to Arlo's place and file a claim on the bull. That animal," Gorman sighed with bitter regret, "cost me a fair pile of money."

"Arlo Nightbird carrying the paper on your animals?" Moon's tone was just critical enough to irritate the rancher.

"That's right," Gorman snapped, "and I don't want no lip from you about who I buy my insurance from. I already had a belly full from your Aunt Daisy. She thinks I should go up to Durango and buy insurance at one of them matu-kach agencies. Arlo ain't no saint, but," Gorman added in a virtuous tone, "he's one of the People and I try to give the People as much business as I can." Arlo was cheap.