Chapter 4

So, I got treated to a pretty fair meal at a Tex-Mex place in Fort Worth. My hand to the Great Spirit, it was called ‘Rosa’s Cantina.’ Like in the old song. I don’t remember the name, but it started:

Out in the west Texas town of El Paso

I fell in love with a Mexican gal¹

I’m getting myself side-tracked. Anyway, Rosa’s put together a real tasty pollo con arroz, which I proceeded to gobble down. And then Mrs. D took me to the group house, which was run in the best Baptist tradition, by a starchy old(er) woman named Mrs. Windt and her daughter (or daughter-in-law) Susan Windt. They spent fifteen minutes explaining the rules. Seeing how I was under doctor’s care – and had to go back tomorrow for a check-up – they gave me a private room. Only it wasn’t so private. All the girls in the house – which was about six of them – came in once the Windts went away. They were okay, but I was really tired and turned in early. My broken ribs hurt a lot, but I took a pill I got at the hospital and was out in a trice.

The next morning, Mrs. D showed up with three guys. One was Detective Martίn. One was an Assistant D.A., ... a strapping young buck (I have always wanted to say that). He looked to be about thirty with sandy hair, a good complexion and wore a fawn-colored cowboy hat. He had a western suit in tan – everything he had was tan, except the pale blue eyes. Of course, he wore cowboy boots, with fancy embroidery. He was, in every sense a ‘pale face.’ The hat had that new look, but it might have been an old hat that was well cared for. The third guy was about eleven feet tall and had shoulders that were about eleven feet wide. Full head of hair, pulled back into a shoulder-length ponytail. He was an Indian ... no doubt about that. And he didn’t like cops or ADAs. No doubt about that either. His body language screamed at them. But he was on his best behavior.

We met in the kitchen, me with my trash bag/luggage. Can’t tell about group homes – it wasn’t much, but it was mine and it might get stolen.

Mrs. D introduced them all. “Hello again Lexi. Did you sleep well?...” I started to answer but she plowed over me. “You remember Detective marTEEN. And this is Assistant District Attorney Thornton. And this gentleman is Crying Wolf. He’s a Medicine Man of the Navajo nation. He lives in the area and has expressed an interest in your case.”

Detective Martίn took me through the story, AGAIN. The ADA paid attention, “We’re going to have to get you to give a deposition. It’ll be at your convenience. We are cooperating with the U.S. Attorney, who is preparing a separate case, based on your Native American heritage, and the alleged abuse your mother planned ... We’re going to put that woman away for a long, long time.”

“That’s good,” was all I said.

Red?

[I’m here, as always.]

I hate to bother you with trivialities. But can you give me a read out on Crying Wolf, please?

There was a pause in our communication, during which Mrs. D checked her watch. “Mr. Crying Wolf? Do you wish to add anything?”

“Yes. May I have a moment to speak with Miss Lexi alone. It will be only for a second or two.” His voice was soft, but with the deepest of deep tones. In my other life, I’d heard it described as a ’basso profundo.’

[I have the information you asked for. I shall make it available in your memory. You can access it at any time.]

“Certainly,” said Mrs. D. “Lexi, you have a doctor’s appointment at the hospital, for a follow up. Please don’t be long.” She wrangled the other two guys out, leaving me with Crying Wolf, and a bowl of cereal.

The big man spun a kitchen chair around, straddled it, and sat. He leaned over my cereal and spoke in a very quiet voice. I suppose it was his way of whispering. “I am Shoshone, not Navajo. We’re going to the Navajo first, so I told a white lie to the white-man.” He smiled. “I feel that you spoke with the Spirits.” He capitalized ‘Spirits’ with an emphasis in his voice. “I have met one other, long ago, who did likewise. The Spirits have spoken with me but a few times ... I would offer you a safe place on my ranch, instead of the place that the white eyes will suggest ... It is your choice ... Now we must go to the doctors. But I feel that you are already well – improved at least.”

I listened VERY carefully to what he said. And I ‘looked him up’ in the files that were now in my memory. He must have stood Harvard Law on its ear. Red said that he was full-blooded Shoshone, and a Medicine Man, all right.

In my own whisper, I said, “I accept your offer.” I pushed back from the table, waited ‘til he stood (and filled the entire kitchen with his bulk) and led the way out to find Mrs. D alone. “The others have gone back to their offices. I’m to arrange an appointment with the ADA ‘soon,’” she said.

“With your approval, I will drive Miss Lexi. We will follow you to the hospital,” said Crying Wolf. Clearly, he was used to getting his way. Mrs. D nodded an approval. He must have some pull to get such cooperation from a state functionary, at the drop of an Indian feather. He took my ‘luggage’ in his large hand.

We got into his Range Rover, with Wolf’s help. I wasn’t up to such a high jump at the moment – remember I was only thirteen in this edition of my life. I could see the level of the Rover’s seats – just barely. Anyway, I eventually got in, smoothed my skirt, and sat. The seat belt was uncomfortable, and I wedged it away from my body with my good hand. When Crying Wolf saw that, he jumped out of the truck again, ran to the back, and returned with two good-sized blankets; folded-up they made a sizable cushion. He waited before starting the truck. I put the seat belt outside the blankets.

“Much better. Thank you,” I said to the man. “What can I call you?”

“The white-eyes know me as David Darkfeather. The Indians not of my tribe call me Crying Wolf, or just Wolf. The Shoshone know me as (he made a series of sounds that may have made some sense to a Shoshone, but not to me).”