Elmore Leonard - Gunsights

Interview Dana Moon.

When Maurice Dumas arrived at White Tanks he didn't know what was going on: all these Apaches, about a hundred of them out in the pasture near the agency buildings and stock pens, sitting around campfires, roasting chunks of beef while others were chanting and a line of women were doing some kind of shuffle dance. Like it was an Indian Fourth of July picnic or some kind of tribal powwow. Some of the men wore hats and parts of white men's clothes, a pair of trousers, a vest; though most of them still wore skirts and high moccasins and thick headbands wrapped around their coarse hair.

Maurice Dumas found out it was Meat Day. When the beef allotment provided by the government was delivered, the Apaches always butchered a few head on the spot and had a feast. They would stuff themselves with meat, eating it straight, drink some corn beer, or tulapai, as it was called, spend the night here in the agency pasture and, in the morning, drive their skimpy herd up into the mountains to their rancheri´as. Maurice Dumas remembered being told that Apaches always camped high and wouldn't be caught dead living down in the flats. It was part of the problem in this land dispute which he wanted to discuss with Dana Moon-if he could find him.

Well, it seemed he was getting luckier all the time-just by chance arriving on Meat Day-dismounting his hired horse in front of the Indian Agency office, a one-story adobe building with a wooden front porch, and there was Moon himself sitting in a straight chair tilted back, his boots up on the porch rail, at rest. Perfect, Maurice Dumas thought. The Indian agent in his seat of governmental authority, while his charges performed their tribal rites.

Moon looked exactly as he did in the C. S. Fly photos, though not as buttoned up and strapped together. He did not appear to be armed. His belt buckle was undone and he was smoking a cigar. When Maurice Dumas introduced himself, Moon asked if he would like something to eat. The news reporter said no thanks. He handed Moon a paper bag saying, “A little something for you,” and watched as Moon took out the bottle of Green River bourbon whiskey and read the label unhurriedly before placing the quart on the plank floor next to him. “Thank you,” he said.

“I just wanted to talk to you a little,” Maurice Dumas said. “Ask your opinion of a few things.”

“Ask,” Moon said.

“I didn't think you lived here at the agency.”

“I don't. I'm a few miles up that barranca,” lowering his head and looking west, beyond the pasture and the gathering of feasting Indians. “I'm here for Meat Day and will leave soon as I'm able to.” He seemed full but not too uncomfortable.

“Do you live up there alone?”

“My wife and I.”

“Oh, I didn't know you were married.”

“Why would you?”

“I mean nobody's mentioned it.”

“Does it make a difference in how you see me?”

“I mean I'm just surprised,” Maurice Dumas said. “If there's gonna be trouble and all-I was thinking, having your wife there could make it harder for you.”

Moon said, “Do you know how many wives are up there? How many families?”

“I guess I hadn't thought of it.”

“You call it a war, you like to keep it simple,” Moon said. “These men against those men. Line 'em up, let's see who wins. Well, to do that we'd have to get rid of the women and children. Where should we send them?”

“As I said, I hadn't thought about it.”

“What do you think about?” Moon asked. The front legs of the chair hit the plank floor as Moon got up and went into the agency office.

Now what? Was he offended by something? No, Moon came out again with two glasses, sat down and poured them a couple of drinks.

Maurice Dumas pulled a chair over next to Moon's. “I'm only an observer,” he said, sitting down and carefully tilting back. “I don't take sides, I remain objective.”

“You're on a side whether you like it or not,” Moon said. “You're on the side of commerce and, I imagine, you believe in progress and good government.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Copper is progress and the land has been leased to the mine company by the government.”

Maurice Dumas didn't like the insinuation. “That doesn't mean I'm on the side of the company. But if we're talking about legal rights, I'd have to say they, the legal right, are. The company owns mineral rights to the land for a hundred years.”

“You feel that's long enough?”

“I don't know how long it takes.”

Moon took a sip of whiskey and drew on his cigar. “You happen to know what the mine company's doing up there?”

“Right now they're surveying,” Maurice Dumas said, “trying to locate veins and ore loads that look promising.”

“And how are they doing that?”

“As I understand, they set off dynamite, then pick around, see what they've got.”

Moon waited.

“So far, I guess they haven't found anything worth sinking a shaft in.”

“But they spook the herds, scatter 'em all over, kill what they want for meat,” Moon said. “They've blown up stock tanks, ruined the natural watershed, wiped out crops and some homes in rock slides. They tear up a man's land, clean him out, and leave it.”

“It's theirs to tear up,” the news reporter said.

“No, it isn't,” Moon said, in a quiet but ominous tone.

The whiskey made Maurice Dumas feel confident and knowledgeable. He said, “I'd like to say you're right. Good for you. But the fact remains your Indians are off the White Tanks reservation by several miles. And the other people up there, whoever they are, are living on land without deed or title. So LaSalle Mining, legally, has every right to make them leave.”

“You asked my opinion,” Moon said. “Are you gonna print it in the paper?”

“I hope to, yes.”

“You're not writing anything down.”

“I have a good memory,” Maurice Dumas said.

“Well, remember this,” Moon said. “The Mimbre Apaches were hunting up there before Christopher Columbus came over in his boat, and till now nobody's said a word about it, not even the Indian Bureau. There's a settlement of colored people, colored soldiers who've taken Indian wives, all of them at one time in the United States Tenth Cavalry. You would think the government owed them at least a friendly nod, wouldn't you? The Mexicans living up there have claims that go back a hundred years or more to Spanish land grants. The Mexicans went to Federal Claims Court to try to protect their property. They got thrown out. I wrote to the Indian Bureau about the Apaches up there-it's their land, let 'em live on it. No, they said, get your people back to White Tanks or you're fired. You see the influence the company has? Generations they've hunted, roamed through those mountains. Government doesn't say a word till the big company kneels on 'em for a favor. Yes sir, we'll see to it right away, Mr. LaSalle-”

“Is there a Mr. LaSalle?” Maurice didn't think so.

“I went to Federal District Court to get an injunction. I wanted to restrict the mine company to certain areas-they find ore, O.K., they pay a royalty on it to any people that have to move. They don't find any ore, they clean up their mess and get out. The judge held up my injunction-cost me fifty dollars to have written-like it was paper you keep in the privy and threw it out of court.”

“Legal affairs get complicated,” the news reporter offered.

“Do you want to tell me how it is,” Moon said, “or you want to listen.”

“I'm sorry. Go on.”

“All these people I've mentioned number only about two hundred and sixty, counting old ones, women and young children. Fewer than fifty ablebodied men. And they're spread all over. By that, I mean they don't present any kind of unified force. The mine company can send a pack of armed men up there with guns and dynamite to take the land, and you know what will happen?”