The Grave Robber by Western

The Grave Robber
by
� Western_Drifter

Page 2

Reservation life at the turn of the previous century was not easy. Most of the families of Wolf Post had lost at least one child at one time or another, through disease, malnutrition, or accident. The Haske family had already been grieved by the untimely death of young Maria -- and now, it seems, they had lost their son Ned as well. Richardson had been the one to deliver the sad news.

�I don�t reckon I know exactly what happened,� the trader explained. �Ned come a-riding into my place late last night, barely pulled his pony up to the front door, then collapsed out of the saddle. I carried him around to that old hogan out back and put him in the bed, then I went back inside to see what I had in the way o� smellin� salts or some such, to try and bring him around. By the time I got back, the boy had done passed on.� He then added, in the Navajo language, �I share in your sadness, my friends.�

Bernardo Haske remained silent, but he knew in his heart what had killed his son. Someone must have sent a chindi -- a demon -- against young Ned. Why, he was unsure; but for the past few weeks the boy had been up to some strange goings-on. Frequently out all night, then this long unexplained absence -- he had suspected the worst. Now those fears were realized and his son was dead.

�The worst part of all this,� Richardson continued,�is that I have to make a trip into Tuba City right away -- official guv�mint business that can�t wait. I boarded up the old hogan to keep the varmints off of Ned�s remains, and I�ll give him a decent burial soon�s I get back.� Then, again switching into the Haske�s own tongue, �Your son shall be well taken care of, this I promise.�

Despite his apparent urgency to get to Tuba City, Sid Richardson made it a point to stop at just about every household and gathering place in the entire area on his way out of town. By the end of the day, it seemed as though every family in Wolf Post had been informed of young Ned�s untimely death, and the fact that his body was boarded up in the old hogan behind the trader�s home. Finally, as the sun began to sink behind the mesa, Richardson�s buckboard was on the road to Tuba City.

His surroundings were very dark, very quiet, more than a little stuffy and not exactly pleasant to the nose. The physical discomfort of the boarded-up old hogan, combined with the psychological discomfort of knowing his parents thought him dead, did not put Ned Haske in the best of moods. Yet it was the only way that he and Richardson could think of to lure the grave robber in once more.

Like most of his people, Ned considered lying to be a serious moral offense, and it had been only with the greatest of difficulties that he had been convinced to carry out the plan they had contrived. He took a slight relief from the fact that HE hadn�t actually done the lying -- Richardson took care of that part -- but being a willing party to the deception still gnawed at him. Only the terrible memory of little Maria�s headless body beside her open grave had given him the strength to do what he was doing -- commit an immoral act in order to put an end to an even worse one. It seemed like such a long time ago that Ned had been a carefree youth without the weight of decisions like this bearing upon him; in reality it had only been a month or so. He had grown considerably older recently -- perhaps not on the outside, but definitely on the inside.

A day and a night and another day were spent sitting quietly in the dark, waiting for the arrival of an enemy who may or may not actually show up. Directly across from the boarded-up doorway was a bunk with a roughly Ned-shaped pile of brush under an old blanket -- the decoy which anyone forcing his way in would see first. And in the corner, with a clear shot at the entrance, sat the real Ned, his bow and arrows at the ready. Intermittently dozing and stretching, eating a piece of jerked mutton now and then, the young warrior waited. And waited. And waited yet a little more.

It was several hours past sundown on the second day of his ordeal that Ned heard it -- a careful scratching at the boards of the doorway. Oddly, he felt no fear this time; it was more a sense of relief that something was actually happening to break the horrible stalemate. He quietly picked up his bow and fitted the notch of a silver-tipped arrow to the string. �Only one of us will leave this hogan alive,� he thought to himself. The scratching became louder, and a hairline of moonlight became visible between the boards. Then all was quiet again.

Had the witch somehow sensed his presence? Or had it not been the witch at all -- maybe it was just one of the recently-evicted pack rats, trying to reclaim his former lodgings. Then, with a sudden creak and a snap that seemed deafening to Ned�s silence-attuned ears, the middle board was gone. Moonlight flooded into the hogan.... And then was blocked by a shadow....The shadow of a man-sized creature with a coyote�s outline.

Judging from the position of the hideous shadow, the witch was looking in through the doorway. It seemed an eternity to Ned, crouching in the darkness with his bow drawn -- would the creature never enter? Once again a number of doubts raced through his mind. Was the blanket-covered brush pile convincing enough? Did the witch hear him breathing? Did the coyote skins his enemy wore confer upon him the coyote�s acute sense of smell as well, so that he could detect Ned�s presence? The hand holding the drawn arrow began to shake -- partly from the length of time he had been holding it at the ready position, and partly from his own nerves, drawn every bit as taut as was the bowstring itself.

For a second or two the witch�s shadow disappeared; it was all Ned could do not to jump up and give chase. Somehow he knew that this was to be the last confrontation; if the grave robber escaped this time he would be gone for good. Then the remaining boards of the doorway began to be pried off. The monster had fallen for the bait, and Ned felt a rush of relief -- as well as more than a little pride in the accomplishment. �So you would take my head for your evil purposes, would you?� He thought victoriously. �Now we shall see whose scalp is lifted!�

Finally the last board was off and the witch was in the hogan -- at this near distance, an even more appalling sight than the first time. The thing seemed neither man nor coyote, but an unholy mix of the worst characteristics of both. Then the bowstring twanged, the monster started in surprize, and the silver-tipped arrow was buried in its chest. The foul creature stood there stupidly, perhaps still not comprehending what had happened. Ned fitted another arrow and fired again, and this time his enemy went down -- crumpled upon the bunk, its evil blood seeping out onto the ragged blanket. Ned shot the last of his arrows into the witch�s unmoving body.

Suddenly he was scared again. What to do now? He had never killed a person before; he knew that the warriors of old had known songs to sing, and special actions to take, to keep their victim�s ghost at bay. Why had he not thought to ask about this? And even so, would these be effective against the ghost of a witch? Suddenly the ramshackle hogan seemed even smaller; there was no room in it for both Ned and the ghost. He dropped his bow and ran, ran with no direction, ran only to put as much distance as possible between himself and the dead coyote-thing. Something rose from behind a bush and grabbed him in his flight -- something which seemed, in the darkness, to have the shape of a man....But was it a man? Or was it a chindi in human form?

As had seemed to have happened so often lately, Ned�s mind was a mad whirl of instincts, reactions, and conflicting ideas. He really didn�t know whether what had grabbed him was man, or chindi, or something else entirely; and at that point he really didn�t care -- he was going to put up maximum resistance against it. What little �hand to hand combat� experience he had gained in his young and largely uneventful life was forgotten as he simply responded like a roped mustang -- he kicked and flailed and made loud incoherent noises.

�Ned Haske! Little Brother! Calm yourself! It is John Daw!� And so it was. Ned�s violent thrashing stopped as suddenly as it had come upon him -- and then, for the second time in recent memory, he broke into sobs. The story of what had happened in the old hogan poured out of him in disjointed sentences; Daw listened carefully, breaking in to clarify a detail when needed. Ned Haske�s major concern at the moment seemed to be escaping the ghost of the slain witch, but John Daw soothed his fears.

�At the time of his death, the witch was cloaked in the coyote skins?� Ned nodded in agreement. �Then you have nothing to fear, Little Brother. When a skinwalker takes up his animal identity, his human soul is not with him. You have no more to fear from the witch�s ghost than had you slain any other troublesome animal. It cannot harm you.� This explanation, although perfectly reasonable, seemed almost TOO easy at first. Ned wanted, with every fiber of his being, to accept it, but there was still a lingering bit of doubt.

�Elder Brother, are you sure of this?�

�Quite sure. Come, I will go with you to the hogan. There is no danger now.� The two men began to return to the scene of the grave robber�s demise.

�Tell me, Little Brother, do you know a man called Mando Begaye?�

�Yes -- an old man who lives alone some miles north of here.�

�I suspect, very much, that we will find what was once this man beneath the coyote skin. One of those in league with him gave me a full confession -- WITH the proper encouragement.� John Daw casually tapped his gnarled fist against the palm of the other hand.� Towards the end of our conversation, he actually became quite talkative.�

Ned remained watching from the doorway as John Daw examined the corpse in the old hogan. It was, in fact, Mando Begaye�s body -- and now, in death, he looked to be simply a foolish old man in a homemade coyote costume rather than the horrible monster he had been in life. He had soiled himself when he died, which made him seem all the more pathetic.

�Although you have nothing to fear from the ghosts of the dead, Little Brother, there IS one more problem now.�

�What is that, Elder Brother?� Daw�s statement had put a bit of a damper on Ned�s rapidly returning good spirits.

�What you have done here is worthy of a great warrior -- an act of true courage and true justice, and as a Dine I praise you for your actions. But, remember, I am also a policeman. And by the law of the land, what you have done is called....� he paused a moment, and shifted into English. �Premeditated murder.�

Ned had never heard the word �premeditated�, but he knew what murder was. Those whom the authorities found guilty of murder were hung by the neck until dead, or, at best, sent to Yuma to rot away their lives in a small stone room. One of these fates was to be his reward for delivering Wolf Post from the desecrations of the witch? This thought devastated him -- he didn�t cry this time; he didn�t panic; he didn�t even protest. He hadn�t the energy left within him for any of these things.

�As a policeman, I have no choice but to make a true report of what has happened,� John Daw continued emotionlessly. Meanwhile he had picked up the body of Mando Begaye in both of his hands and was holding it in front of him at arm�s length. Ned shied away as the big policeman carried the dead grave robber over to the doorway and leaned it against the frame. Standing there, it reminded Ned of a scarecrow in the fields.

�I had heard the report of your death, Little Brother,� Daw went on. �As I suspected foul play, I came to Wolf Post immediately. Upon learning that you were supposedly lying dead in this hogan, I made my way here.� While talking, the policeman had picked up an old 30-30 carbine which Begaye had apparently leaned against the outside of the hogan while removing the boards from the doorway. He propped the rifle against the grave robber�s lifeless body, still standing in the doorway. Then he turned and walked a few yards away, Ned following.

�When I arrived, I found you alive -- and running away from the hogan. Is that not true, Little Brother?� Ned nodded.

John Daw suddenly turned back towards the hogan with its macabre sentinel in the doorway. �Drop that rifle or I will shoot!� He shouted. Ned was confused. Had the policeman suddenly lost his senses? �Drop the rifle! This is your last warning!� He then drew the Colt revolver from the holster on his hip and shot the dead man, the force of the heavy bullet knocking the corpse back inside.

�A while after stopping you and hearing what had happened, I saw Mando Begaye, dressed as a skinwalker, standing in the doorway of the hogan -- with a rifle. Is this not the truth, Little Brother?� Suddenly Ned broke into a grin. He now understood what was happening. His neck would not be stretching a rope after all.

�I warned him to drop the rifle or I would shoot. In fact, I warned him two times in succession. Did I not?�

�This is the truth, Elder Brother. I heard you do so.�

�However, he did not do as ordered. I then shot him with my pistol, did I not?�

�Yes, this is also true. I saw this.�

�And, I am sure,� Daw went on, �that I will find Mando Begaye dead inside the hogan. All of these things must be put into a report to be filed with the government. It�s a shame that I was unable to question the suspect, but, as you saw, he ignored my warnings. Wait here, Little Brother, while I search the hogan for anything you may have dropped during your exit -- perhaps you may have left some arrows in there, and no doubt you want them back."

The rest of the story? Well, the tribal police did a thorough search of Mando Begaye�s hogan and the surrounding area. Several scalps were found in a leather bag beneath his bunk -- one of them the scalp of a young girl, and in its hair was tied an oddly-shaped chip of turquoise on a string.... The ornament which had been buried with Maria Haske.

Investigating a freshly-disturbed spot in the earth behind the building, a cache of skulls was uncovered -- one of them the skull of a child about twelve. The skull and scalp were reunited in the grave with their owner (Sid Richardson did the burying) and the soul of Maria Haske could once again rest in peace.

Ned Haske�s father Bernardo succumbed to �stomach pains� -- most likely appendicitis -- later that year, just a few days before his wife delivered another daughter. Unfortunately, the mother also passed away before the child had seen one year of age. The baby girl, Aurora Haske by name, was raised by her brother Ned.... AND his recent bride, who happened to be the niece of Police Officer John Daw. Ned also joined the Navajo Police, and was well on the way to a fine career -- but volunteered to fight for America during the First World War, and died a hero�s death in the trenches of France.

Aurora grew into a beautiful young woman and became a teacher, eventually taking a position at the Indian School in Farmington, New Mexico....She married a local rancher of French/Spanish/Irish extraction.....They had a daughter, every bit as beautiful as her mother, who fell in love with a dashing young Texas cowboy....And they had a fine handsome son. This boy, as boys will do when given the chance, grew into a man....He also married and had a number of children....One of whom has just been given the pleasure of sharing this story with you. And that, my friends, wraps up the tale -- I can only hope that you have enjoyed the hearing of it a fraction as much as I have enjoyed the telling.