Spirit Horses (14 page)

Tory was already tired from the unexpected workout
at the ranch. Even though the horse was still tough at sixteen years old, Shane
knew he needed to be careful about overriding him.

They headed down a trail just off the main road
across from the ranch entrance. Shane had only ridden about a mile when he
spotted a nice place to stop and rest his horse. He dismounted and sat down on
the top of a high hill where he could see for a long distance. This country was
still just as raw and untouched as God had made it eons ago. Here there were no
buildings, roads, or power lines to ruin the view. He was sorry he couldn’t
show his kids this land and began to feel regretful that he hadn’t done much
traveling with them. He and Jen had always planned to, but it never happened.

Tory exhaled a relaxing snort before lowering his
head to graze lazily on the rich summer grass that carpeted the surrounding
area.

Shane twisted the cup off a thermos he’d brought
along, then poured it full to the rim with strong, black coffee as he began to
think about what his life had become over the last couple of years. Being in
this tranquil place made him yearn to try harder to finally make his peace with
God, and, somehow, accept His will for what had happened.

He took a sip of the steaming brew and spoke to his
family as he often did when he was alone. “Damn, I miss you guys. No matter
what, you’ll always be a big part of who I am.” He filled his lungs with fresh
mountain air and gazed out across the wild, open landscape then continued. “I
wish with all my soul that it was me in that car instead of the three of you.”
He paused for another second and swallowed hard before he finished what he had
to say. “I have to
believe that we’ll all be together again someday. Sometimes, it’s the only
thing that really keeps me going.”

Shane had made a decision before he left for Wyoming
that he would
 
only allow himself a short
time each day to dwell on his family. He hoped this would help him maintain
some peace of mind. So, after a few minutes, he dumped out what was left in his
cup and began the ride back to the ranch.

As he rode into the complex, Sloppy, who was grazing
in one of the turnout pens, raised her head and greeted them with a soft
whinny. Shane unsaddled Tory and put him out with the mare to graze.

It was now approaching noon, which meant he had
about an hour to get cleaned up before he was supposed to meet Tara so she
could show him around the reservation.

As he walked back toward his temporary quarters, he
looked across the yards and noticed Tigee sitting on his front porch steps. The
old Indian was holding out some meat, trying to get two young dogs to eat out
of his hand. The dogs were being very cautious, and even though they wanted the
food, they kept their distance. As Shane walked closer, the dogs trotted away
with their tails between their legs.

Tigee smiled at Shane and waved him on over.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare them off.”
        

Tigee explained, “I leave food out for the two pups
every morning, but they still won’t let me touch them.”

Shane had grown accustomed to Tigee’s heavy native
accent, and he appreciated that the reserved old guy was now talking to him
more.

“Are they wild dogs?”

“They have grown up at the ranch. Their mother is
one of our cow dogs. She was lost during a roundup last year. About three
months later, they found her with a couple of half-wolf pups at her tit. Now
the two get a lot of their meals by hunting as a team in the woods around the
ranch.” Tigee grabbed hold of the railing so he could stand up from his seat on
the porch steps, then continued. “The two are good watch dogs so we don’t mind
them staying here. I’ve been trying to get them to come up to me for the last
several weeks, but so far with no luck.”

Shane visited a moment longer and then ambled toward
his cabin. During his short walk, he noticed the two half-wolves were shadowing
him from a distance. This bothered Shane somewhat, but before he reached his
porch steps, he lost sight of the two and promptly put them out of his mind.

After showering, he still had some time to kill
before meeting Tara so he walked around the compound to introduce himself to
several of the Indians working there. They were neither friendly nor unfriendly
toward him; they seemed courteous, but in a cold sort of way. Shane figured
they would loosen up after they realized they could trust him.

He estimated that there were about one thousand
brood cows on the ranch and about twenty to twenty-five Indians working here.
There were several families living on the ranch, so he assumed that the rest of
the crew must have places nearby. Shane had noticed about eight kids who lived
on the compound with their folks. He thought them to be between five and
thirteen years old. The oldest was Tommy, whom Shane had helped with the bronc
earlier. All of the children seemed well mannered and playful.

Later that day, as promised, Tara came by the cabin
for the
afternoon they had planned. He was beginning to feel a connection with the
Shoshone woman and hoped they could become friends.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing the rest of the
reservation this afternoon. Thanks for your time.”

She raised her eyebrows as she smiled and looked at
him, “Since it’s over two point two million acres. I doubt we’ll have time to
see it all today.”

Shane shrugged his shoulders, “Ma’am, I really don’t
have a clue about this reservation. I have heard that there is a lot of history
wrapped up in this land, your people, and the mustangs.

Tara nodded her head. “The Wind River Reservation is
home to both the Shoshone and the Arapaho tribes, although the two tribes live
separately for the most part.

“I think the best place for us to start is at our
Shoshone cultural center in the town of Fort Washakie. This community has been
in existence since the mid-eighteen hundreds. There are some of the original
buildings from the old fort still standing. The whole area is set up to educate
people about Shoshone history, which goes back long before the white man came
to America.”

“Do you have a lot of tourists?”

“We do have some. My people have tried to promote
and build tourism on the reservation to some extent. Without the advertising
dollars to put behind it, there just doesn’t seem to be much interest. Since
our land is not far from Yellowstone and Grand Teton
National parks, we have even tried to bus tourists from those parks to visit
here. We have our powwows, museums, white water rafting, and our incredible
scenery in our ads and brochures.”

“I suppose it’s hard to compete with the famous
national parks nearby.”

“Yes, it is, but the truth is, as much as we would
like to build tourism, it conflicts with one of our most important
responsibilities, that of keeping our land wild and untrampled. We feel
strongly about preserving this land just as it was when we first arrived
hundreds
of years ago. I wish we knew how to bring in the tourist money
without jeopardizing our ancestral land. I guess you can’t have the best of
both worlds, can you?”

“No, ma’am, I reckon not. Too much of America has
been sacrificed in the name of progress and profit.” Shane took a deep breath
as a serious look came over his face. “There used to be so much open land
around my farm in Tennessee. Now most of it is being developed for housing and
strip malls. Soon, it seems, there won’t be any wilderness left unless people
like yours, who have control over large tracts of land, care enough to stop
it.”

“You don’t think much like a white man,” Tara stated
laughingly.
 

“There are a lot of people who think like I do.
Unfortunately, big money seems to speak louder than we do in our society. A few
years ago, I turned down a pretty good offer from a builder for my farm. I
refused his offer because of my love for the land. I felt good about what I had
done, but the truth of the matter is, I was just putting off the inevitable. I
envy you and your people having all this open territory to live on.”

A short drive later, the two arrived at the old
fort. As they stepped out of the truck Shane immediately grasped a sense of the
history which surrounded them.

Tara gestured for him to follow. “This place was
originally built in eighteen seventy-one, and at that time was the only fort
established to protect, rather than to fight, the Indians.”

Shane was surprised to see there were no walls
surrounding the compound. “This actually looks more like a small town than a
fort.”

“It was more like a military outpost,” Tara replied.
“See, over there are the old officer quarters and the soldiers’ barracks.” They
took time to walk through the remaining one-hundred-thirty-year-old structures,
many of which were still in good condition. Tara pointed to the middle of the
parade yard. There, standing guard, were a couple of old cavalry-style cannons
still mounted on their original wooden wagon wheels. Shane paused to get a
closer look at these relics before they made their way across the street to the
museum. He politely opened the door, then followed her inside.

“Here, you will be able to see for yourself how my
tribe’s history is so connected to our mustangs.”

As he stepped through the entrance, he felt as
though he’d walked straight into the Shoshone’s past. He slowly scanned the
large room and marveled at the many well-produced exhibits showing everything
from a miniature ancient village to a life-sized wax figure of Chief Washakie.
The door gradually closed itself behind him, shutting out the afternoon’s
bright glare. He knew the dark, tinted glass was necessary to shield the
interior of the building from any harmful ultraviolet rays, which could
accelerate the deterioration of the abundance of ancient artifacts and
photographs within its confines.

Tara continued, “Unlike other reservations in the
United States, the Wind River Reservation was chosen by the Shoshone
themselves. In fact, long before the whites came to the area, this valley had
served as my tribe’s winter home and ancestral hunting grounds.”

The room suddenly filled with sunlight again as the
door was held wide open by a young, smiling woman. She sternly reminded a group
of elementary-age children as they filed excitedly through the museum’s foyer,
“Okay, kids! You know the rules. Let’s all stay together and keep your voices
down.”

The last person inside looked to be a middle-aged
Indian man with a long gray pony tail. He was dressed in a pair of neatly
pressed jeans and a bright western-style shirt. Tara moved close to Shane’s ear
and whispered, “The man in back is James Bearclaw. He’s the curator of the
museum, so he often gives tours to schools from neighboring towns.”

James winked at Tara as he motioned for her and
Shane to join his group. “Come on, we’ll follow them through an exhibit or
two,” she whispered.

The kids were all well behaved and eagerly listened
to Mr. Bearclaw. “As I already told you, my tribe has lived here since way
before it was part of the United States of America. This valley is very unique
for many reasons. It’s location between two mountain ranges allows it to have
mild winters and comfortable summers. It has plenty of water with an abundance
of wildlife, which many years ago we hunted for our food. Because of all this
the other tribes would sometimes try to take our valley from us.”

A little boy piped up from the middle of the group.
“Did your tribe ever have to fight to keep your land?”

“Yes, we did,” James answered. Then he led the group
over to an exhibit that displayed many of the old weapons including spears,
knifes, and tomahawks that the Shoshone used to defend their
valley.

“Wow!” another boy blurted out. “Can I hold that bow
and arrow?”

Mr. Bearclaw smiled, “No, I’m sorry, all of these
weapons are very old and priceless to my people. No one is allowed to handle
them.” Then he pointed to a specific spear and shield that hung nearby. “I’ll
tell you a story about these,” he said.

“A long time ago the very fierce Crow tribe decided
to try to defeat my people and take our homeland for their own. A violent
battle raged for several days, with each side losing many warriors. In order to
stop any more braves from being killed, it was finally decided that Chief
Washakie of the Shoshones and the chief of the Crows would fight each other to
determine the winner.”

Shane leaned over and said quietly to Tara, “The
leaders of our countries today would never have the guts to do this.”

Tara smiled as the curator continued, “These two
brave warriors met to fight each other, knowing that the future of their tribes
depended on the outcome of this contest to the death. Each of the chiefs showed
up mounted on his favorite horse carrying a sharp lance and a shield.” He
pointed to the exhibit on the wall, “These are the actual weapons Chief
Washakie carried in that battle. When the bloody fight was over Chief Washakie
had won, meaning the Shoshone were able to retain the home of our ancestors.”