The Grey Pilgrim (25 page)
Authors: J.M. Hayes
J.D. stuffed his hands into his pockets as he walked back. A pair of the army bombers that were becoming increasingly common at Davis-Monthan droned by overhead, skimming the bottom of clouds that hung as cheerful as lead. The crowds of Christmas shoppers seemed equally joyous, their faces down, concentrating on puddles, hidden by turned up collars and turned down brims. The afternoon was becoming colder, hinting that even Tucson, in spite of claims by the chamber of commerce, couldn’t avoid winter forever.
The collection of recruiting posters by the entrance to the federal building looked more festive than downtown’s Christmas decorations and suggested conflict might prove similarly enjoyable. J.D. knew better.
He went briskly up the stairs and though he only went to the second floor, he was breathing a little hard by the time he got there. He walked down to the end of the hall and into the office that housed the only FBI agent a backwater like Tucson rated. He waved his badge at a secretary who made a desperate attempt to intercept him before he could disturb her boss, but was through the second door without benefit of knocking before she could get there. He closed it in her face as the startled agent looked up from a desk full of paperwork.
“You still owe me one,” J.D. told him.
“Shit, Fitzpatrick!” the agent complained. “It’s not my fault the old bastard tried to make a break for it. Jesus! What do you want from me now?”
“That’s right,” J.D. said enigmatically. “That’s exactly who I want, only you’ve got the pronunciation wrong.”
On October 16, 1940, an attempt was made to arrest a
Tohono O’odham
Chief named Pia Machita. He had refused to allow his people to be registered for the newly instituted military draft. A beaten and bloodied posse was run out of his village, after which the recalcitrant Papago and his people disappeared into the desert. Despite the best efforts of tribal and federal authorities, they remained at large, and in what was effectively a state of war with the United States and the Bureau of Indian Affairs, until they were captured in May 1941.
The concept for
The Grey Pilgrim
is based on that incident, chronicled by Elmer W. Flaccus in his article, “Arizona’s Last Great Indian War,” The Journal of Arizona History, Vol. 22, No. 1, 1981. Though an attempt to capture the mood of the people, places, and times in which Pia Machita’s rebellion occurred may have produced other similarities, this is an imaginative work, not a fictional account of historic events.
I would like to apologize to the Tohono O’odham for having created a fictional rival to a fascinating and complex individual who steadfastly followed the dictates of his own grey pilgrim, and for any misrepresentations of their culture inadvertently made.
I owe so much to Kathryn A. Munday, George Michael Jacobs, and Dr. Gary Orin Rollefson, special friends who allowed themselves to be imposed upon for reaction to and assistance with various phases of the original story. My pilgrimage might never have begun but for Dr. Karl H. Schlesier, who first introduced me to Jujul (under many other names). The first version of the novel could not have been completed without the guidance of Martha Gore and Peter Rubie, and the suggestions of Thomas J. Riste and David Yetman.
Not many authors have the opportunity to revise a novel after it has been published. Most probably wouldn’t want to. Perhaps they are wiser than I.
Barbara Peters, owner of the Poisoned Pen Mystery Bookstore in Scottsdale, reviewed the original and liked it well enough to feature it at her store, despite feeling it was out of balance. She is now Editor for the Poisoned Pen Press, and with her kind assistance, I have been given the opportunity to restore some material cut from the previous version. This edition combines what I believe are the best of both, with a little polishing and a few minor additions and deletions—lessons learned in the subsequent decade. I hope it’s a significantly better read.
Along with Barbara Peters, thanks also to Robert Rosenwald, Louis Silverstein, and all the folks at Poisoned Pen Press. If they hadn’t loved good mysteries so much that they had to begin publishing the ones that, otherwise, might be out of, or never in, print, this pilgrimage might have ended long ago. And, I would have missed some great reading.
Thanks to Paige Wheeler, my agent, for believing in, and putting up with, yet another quirky author. Many friends and family, including some who may not think so, were invaluable to the process.
Finally, special thanks to my wife, also a Barbara, but for whom the support of all the rest would have been insufficient.
For any errors or failures in the novel, I alone am responsible.
J.M. Hayes
Tucson, Arizona
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