Chapter 11

Twenty minutes later, Malik, his brother, Andy, along with Morton Quincy and Wil Bream, were all standing at the table which had served Monday’s meeting, but now stood under a window on the back wall. They were bent over two maps. One was Quincy’s map of the Sonora reservation; the other was the plat map Andy had received from the state land office some nine months prior. The two maps differed in the detail of the reservation’s eastern border as it passed near Dorado Springs. The reservation map showed both the mineral hot spring and the sweet, or fresh water spring, both on the reservation. The state plat map only showed the sweet water spring on the reservation, with the reservation’s boundary line passing between the two springs, and west of the hot spring, excluding it from the reservation.

Furthermore, the state plat map was decidedly more accurate as it was based on survey markers and chain measurements, with the survey monuments annotated. The reservation map had no such notations and placed the two springs closer together than they actually were, as well as farther from the only structure indicated on either map, the old Franciscan mission church, which subsequently had been converted to the Sonora County Courthouse.

The men’s exclamations of consternation drew Blue Maize, Walks-On-Sand, and everyone else to the table.

Blue Maize said, “Shadow, tell me.”

“Blue Maize,” Malik said, “this map shows that the hot spring does not belong to the reservation.”

The chief looked first at the shaman, then at Long Hand. Then he looked at Moccasin Woman, who was still seated on the floor near the far corner of the room. None of the Sonora showed any sign of surprise. Finally, Blue Maize turned back to Malik. “Shadow, this we knew. Many winters ago, before Friend Quincy came here, our eyes had told us that the Indian Affairs map did not hold true.”

Moccasin Woman asked, “It is on white man land?”

Andy looked down at the map. “Near as I can tell, at least the last time I was in the state land office, this section is still state land.” He ran his finger over the map. “Most of town looks to be on state land. But the town, itself, isn’t shown, just the old Franciscan church. Even the railroad isn’t shown. This must be from the pre-statehood army survey. The only thing that’s been added are the county lines and the reservation boundaries.”

Andy and Malik traded glances, then Malik asked his brother, “What do you think the chances are of buying this section from the state?”

Andy looked at him for a few moments, then said, “I wouldn’t try to purchase it from the agent here, in Sonora County. He’d recognize it right away and want to consult with his bosses. I think I’d go up to Shepherds Crossing. That agent only thinks about price. He’s the one that’s always insisted on a higher price than the agents here and in Waypoint and Cleveland. But he’ll want double because of the water access.”

“That would still be cheap, for buying a town and a possible tourist spa,” Malik replied.

Andy was quiet, again, as he looked at the map. “Maybe, though ... maybe if he knew the water was undrinkable and no good for irrigation ... yes, it would give me a legitimate bargaining position and, if nothing else, provide further distraction.”

“How will you prove that, without him coming here?” Malik queried.

Andy thought for a moment. “I’ll fill an empty beer bottle, one with a lever-top cap. After I fill it from the spring, I’ll put it in a box and get Sheriff Ulney to seal it with the county seal and have him sign a certification of the source.”

“Yeah,” Malik said, “that might work. Let’s have the Lake Manuela Partner-- no, better the Sonora Mining Corporation purchase it, as long as it’s less than, say, three dollars an acre.”

Emmet Quincy asked, “Does Sonora Mining have any cash on hand?”

Andy answered, “The Malik-Sonora Lease Trust has loaned it ten thousand. Emil has power of attorney from the elders council for both the mining company and the lease trust. It’s that cash that’s bought your mining equipment and provided payroll.”

Malik waited to see if there were any more questions, then asked one of his own. “Moccasin Woman, would you like to go to my Inn at Waypoint and see how we do our trade there?”

She looked at Malik for a moment. Then she stood, gave a beckoning nod to her husband, and walked out the door. Walks-On-Sand followed.

Andy said, “You should ask Juanita to come over and accompany her.”

“Good idea. I’ll send a wire after Moccasin Woman decides what she’ll do.”

Blue Maize said, “Shadow, will it...? I do not know what this will be for the People.”

Long Hand caught Malik’s eye with a nod and Malik said, “Can you explain it to the chief, Long Hand?”

“I think I can, Shadow.

Long Hand turned to his chief. “Blue Maize, you know that white men think they can make the earth their own. This town is on land owned by the Arenoso state fathers in Meseta. It is the same with the Dry Valleys. The state fathers own those lands, too. But the state fathers want money and they will trade the land for money.

“The state fathers use Yellow Hair Brother’s map to mark what land they want to sell. This land, where the town rests, is on that map. But the state fathers did not show this town on their map, so the map shows it as empty land, just like in the Dry Valleys.

“Shadow and Yellow Hair Brother think they can trick the state fathers into selling the land to the mining corporation and the mining corporation would own the town, except for the railroad tracks.”

Blue Maize nodded slowly, then asked, “What of all who live here?” Blue Maize and Long Hand looked at Malik.

“I would not disturb them. I would advise we let them live as they are now.”

The two Sonoras looked at each other with affirming nods.

At that point, Walks-On-Sand and Moccasin Woman came back in and everyone sat back on the floor. Blue Maize nodded at Moccasin Woman. She, in turn, looked at her husband.

Walks-On-Sand said, “Moccasin Woman thinks it is a good idea to visit your inn, Shadow. She thinks that Runs Ahead and Fawn Rising should also visit your inn.”

Malik asked, “Who are Runs Ahead and Fawn Rising?”

Blue Maize replied, “Fawn Rising is the wife of Stream-In-Winter and Runs Ahead is one of four sisters who run the, uh...,” he leaned toward Walks-On-Sand and there was a brief conversation in Sonora.

Then, both turned to Long Hand, who said, “Lunch counter.”

Blue Maize continued, “Yes, the four sisters who run the lunch counter.”

“Four sisters?” Malik queried. “I thought it was three sisters. That’s what everyone calls it.”

Blue Maize and Walks-On-Sand both looked toward Long Hand. That younger man said, “Three sisters work at the lunch counter and one sister watches the children, sometimes one sister, sometimes another sister. Always three sisters at the lunch counter. Runs Ahead is the elder sister.”

“Ah, thank you. I hadn’t realized that there were four sisters involved. In any case, I would be glad for Moccasin Woman, Runs Ahead, and Fawn Rising to go the Inn to see how it is run.”

Long Hand said, “Stream-In-Winter will go with them.”

“Of course. Will they take the train tomorrow, when my Inn partners return to Waypoint?”

Moccasin Woman said, “Yes.”

“Very good. Thank you, Moccasin Woman.”

Then Malik turned to Andy. “I think I’ll forego having Juanita come here. Besides, they’ll need someone to manage while the other two come down here.”

“Can Mitchel spare the time from the courthouse?”

“I hope so, at least for half a day.” Malik looked at the chief. “Blue Maize, I have no more to say, today.”

Blue Maize looked at Morton Quincy, who said, “I have no more, Blue Maize. Perhaps we should end this meeting for today.”

Blue Maize asked, “Meet tomorrow?”

Quincy asked Malik, “Shadow?”

Malik looked around the group, getting a shrug from Bream and a slow head shake from his brother. “I think that we should do those actions that we have agreed on, show my Inn partners the hot spring tomorrow, then meet again after Moccasin Woman return to town, which would be...,” he looked at Andy and continued, “Friday afternoon at the earliest, after the southbound arrives.” Andy nodded in response.

Malik said, “So Moccasin Woman and the others can stay two nights.” Then he hurried to say, “They can stay longer, if that would help them.”

Blue Maize said, “We will meet in three days.”

The following afternoon, Blue Maize and Long Hand had joined Malik at the depot to see off the two visiting innkeepers, Mitchel Anderson and Joe Collins, along with Moccasin Woman, Runs Ahead, Fawn Rising, Stream-In-Winter, and Walks-On-Sand, who had decided to accompany his wife after he heard the description of the flushing commodes. Andy was on board, headed for the land office at Shepherds Crossing. Wil Bream and David Lewin were returning to Waypoint to work on the incorporation papers.

Earlier, while Emmet Quincy had some work to complete ordering supplies for the mine, his wife, June, had joined the Waypoint group when they toured the hot spring site. She was familiar with the spa at Wagon Wheel Gap in Colorado and Mitchel Anderson had visited spa resorts in the east, including the Grand Central Hotel at White Sulphur Springs in West Virginia.

Following the tour, the consensus among the group was that a tourist spa was, indeed, more than feasible. As it would be a location notable for the natural feature of the hot spring and its attendant lore, Mitchel Anderson suggested the buildings be adobe, perhaps in the characteristic hacienda villa arrangement of rooms opening onto a central courtyard. This would differentiate it from eastern spas, which often tended toward colonial or classical European styles with interior hallways. It would also point up the desert setting. However, he suggested a highly refined appeal, with the finished style of the courthouse at Shepherds Crossing, distinguished by its prominent rough-hewn but dark-stained exposed beams and lintels, with arched doors and heavy, wrought-iron hardware. He thought that a two-story building with a center courtyard would work best, with the guest rooms on the second level, and dining and common areas below.

Moreover, he admitted to now being sorry he had committed himself to four years as the Jackson County clerk, because a project like this held much appeal for him. He felt he had at least garnered a consolation prize by suggesting a name for the resort that was unanimously approved, The Hacienda & Spa at Dorado Springs.

The next day, a Thursday, the second day of February, Malik spent the morning working in his office in the business car, which was spotted on the wye, on the east side of the main line, in Dorado Springs.

With the establishment of the partnership with Bream and Lewin, the three men decided to use Malik’s old second-floor apartment for Malik’s and Bream’s law offices while Lewin maintained his accountancy office on the first floor. Lewin and his wife, Sara, had purchased John Gunderson’s former home, on Sunset Avenue, hence had no further need for the apartment space. All three partners alternated using the business car to “ride circuit.”

After a late lunch at the three sisters’ counter, Malik was walking back toward his car, when stationmaster Jesus Sanchez came out on the platform and called to him, waving a small envelope. Malik hurried back across the tracks because the southbound was approaching from the north end of town. Sanchez handed Malik a telegram envelope, then went to prepare to receive any baggage or express shipments from the arriving train.

Malik tore open the envelope, drew out the message form, and read it. Then, instead of returning to his mobile office as he had intended, he turned back toward the plaza and the ramada on its west side, next to the Indian Affairs office.

There he found Blue Maize. He was speaking with several Sonora: two women, a man, and a young boy. The day was cold, but the chief was sitting in the sun near the south-facing wall of the Indian agent’s office. Both the direct sunlight and the rays reflected from the light beige adobe wall behind him was sufficient to warm the chief and he sat there with only a colorful flannel shirt protecting his upper body, with his blanket gathered under his hips and the tan whipcord trousers that he wore.

Malik stood at a respectful distance, so as not to intrude on the tribal business being conducted. The Sonora were conversing in their native language, of which Malik had only astrictly basic facility, but he always went out of his way to show respect for the Sonora’s customs, as he did for any legitimate group.

Eventually, one of the women removed a copper band from her left wrist and handed it to the other women, then all turned and left. The woman who had given over the wrist band was tugging the boy along by his ear, quietly but angrily berating him.

Blue Maize nodded at Malik, who then walked up and sat across from the chief.

Blue Maize was smiling. “Greetings, Shadow.”

Malik said, “Greetings, Chief Blue Maize.”

Still smiling, the chief nodded toward the woman and the little boy, who were just now walking out of sight amid the low adobe structures on the south side of the plaza. “That is Jumping Bird, the wife of Red Salt, and Red Salt’s son,” he said. “Red Salt is on deputy watch at the mine for three more nights. I think his son will have more than a sore ear, upon Red Salt’s return.”

Malik grinned, and was about to speak, when a loud voice could be heard through the glass window of Morton Quincy’s office.

“Get the hell out of my office, you yellow-backed Injun-lover. I’ll be decidin’ what’s best for these stinkin’ savages from now on, and it won’t be the sort of coddlin’ you’ve been dishin’ out. So clean out your turds and spittin’ wads and vacate the premises, you little toad. And that Blue Maize can just come in here and kiss my ass if he wants somethin’.”

Blue Maize and Malik looked at each other. Blue Maize said, “I think Friend Quincy will now take your place at the mining company.”

Malik said, “I think you’re right.”

At that moment, Quincy walked out the front door of the BIA building, carrying a fruit crate with his heavy coat draped across it.

Malik rose and said, “Do you need any help, Morton?”

“No, thanks, Shadow. I just need to carry this to my new home, then I’ll come back and talk with you and the chief. You heard, I suppose?”

“Quite clearly,” Malik said.

“Yes, well,” Quincy said, “I’ll be right back.”

Blue Maize, tipping his head to indicate the building, asked, quietly, “Do you know this man, Shadow?”

“No, Chief,” Malik answered, keeping his voice low. “I’ve heard about him. His name is Edwin Nestor. I heard him give a speech when he was competing against Mitchel Anderson for the county clerk position in Jackson County. He talks as if he knows everything and all other people have no sensible thoughts. If I were you, I might move this ramada and the council circle farther away from the agency building to a place where your talk won’t be overheard.”

“Do you think he knows the language of the People?”

“Ah, I forgot about that. I don’t know if he understands the Sonora language, but I think he would not.”

Blue Maize looked over at the ramada and said, “That may fall down with the next strong wind. It has been there many seasons. The posts are rotted. We should have another.”

Malik said, “You have seen the ramada on the plaza at our ranch. We put clean gravel in the hike under the posts and around them in the holes. It allows the water to drain away from the wood. The wood still rots, but it takes years longer.”

The chief was nodding. “That is a good way.”

Morton Quincy returned and, at the same time, Edwin Nestor -- a man of average height and a close-cropped beard, but noticeable because of his disheveled red hair, prominent freckles, and very white skin -- stepped out of the agency office building and looked around. He walked over to the ramada and said, “I want this pile of garbage out of here,” and he heaved against a corner post with the sole of his boot. The post broke off at ground level and the bottom end slid a few inches across the hardpan. The whole structure -- a ten foot by twenty foot roof framework of peeled saplings held up by twelve, three-inch diameter, peeled-log posts, and topped by a roof of casually intertwined sticks and branches -- groaned and leaned slightly toward the now unsupported corner. That corner was about three feet from the southeast corner of the agency building.

Malik and Blue Maize, who had been sitting out in the sun, on the south side of the BIA building, rose, retrieved their blankets, and walked several feet away. Quincy, who had been walking toward those two, had stopped closer to Nestor. The new agent looked at Quincy and shouted, “I want this out of here. Tell that sheep-shagging Chief Blue Butt to move it out of here today!”

Nestor kicked at the center post on the shorter side of the ramada and it likewise broke off. The primitive shade structure once more shuddered in protest. Nestor stalked to the next post, the last of those supporting the west end of the ramada, and kicked at it twice, before it, too, broke and the end skittered several inches.

The ramada gave one more groan, then began to lean over, this time not stopping. Nestor, apparently realizing that the ramada would fall against the office building, grabbed the post he’d just broken, attempting to pull its base to support the failing structure. All that accomplished, however, was to cause the ramada to tilt more toward the first corner he’d broken -- the corner closest to the BIA building.

Nestor shouted at Quincy, “Don’t just stand there like an ass, give me a hand!” Then he looked over toward Blue Maize and Malik and yelled, “You two, get your asses over here!”

Neither Quincy nor Malik moved. Blue Maize, however, lifted his cigar to his lips and took a puff, blowing the smoke toward the corner of the ramada.

Nestor, cursing, realized his efforts were futile, and backed away before the branch-entwined roof came down on him. As the ramada collapsed, raising a cloud of dust, it struck the corner of the BIA building, gouging out chunks of the adobe block. At the same time a dried-out sapling that made up part of the roof frame at the first corner, broke free from the post and punched right through the window on the east side of Nestor’s new office, shattering the glass and breaking the sash.

Nestor wheeled on Blue Maize. “You damn goat-humpers will pay for this. It’s coming out of your next cattle allotment.”

Malik said, “I don’t think so, Mister Nestor.”

Nestor sneered at Malik, who was dressed in dungarees and a heavy flannel shirt, “Who the hell are you to tell me what’s gone ‘a happen on my reservation, you goat roper?”

Malik replied, “You’re not on the Sonora reservation. The reservation’s a couple hundred yards that way,” and he pointed west.

“Whatever, asshole, this office is still federal land, and these redskins will pay.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, again, Mister Nestor. This isn’t federal land, neither here, where we stand, nor where that building sets.”

“Somebody’s gone ‘a pay, that’s for damn sure.”

“You’re quite correct, Mister Nestor. You’re going to pay.”

“You’re out of your mind. Who are you, asshole?”

“My name is Emil Malik. I’m an attorney from Waypoint. I also happen to be general manager of the corporation which owns this land and that building. By your actions, you have destroyed my ramada, damaged my building, and broken my window.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of you, Malik. I heard other people line up to eat your turds. Well I ain’t one of ‘em. You can take your building and your ramada and shove them up your puckered butthole. You won’t be getting a penny out a’ me.”