Chapter Seven
It was Grandpop who woke first or he’d stayed awake all night. He had made coffee, biscuits, and fed the dogs and the horses the last of the grain we brought. I rolled over and rubbed my weary eyes, digging the gunk out of the corners. He was watching the sunrise and singing a soft chant under his breath. I was surprised, he was speaking Iroquois and I automatically translated.
House made of Dawn
house made of evening light
Screaming the night away
With his great wing feathers
Swooping the darkness off;
I hear the Eagle bird
Pulling the blanket back
Off from the eastern sky.
Invitation Song. (Iroquois)
He had never sung the morning in before and it worried me. “Grandpa?” I asked sitting up. I did not remember getting into my sleeping bag; he must have put me there. He looked tired. Frail, his color more washed out than I remembered. “Grandpa, are you okay?” I ran through my list of warning signs and did not like the conclusion to which they pointed. I got up and hovered anxiously over him.
“Grandpa?”
“You will be fine, Lakan,” he said quietly. “No matter what happens, you will be okay.”
“Grandpop, don’t talk like that,” I said in near hysteria. “I can’t do this without you.”
He smiled and said, “you can, Lakan. You will.”
I cried and bolted upright, my body still inside my sleeping bag. Disorientated, I stared around and Grandpa was sitting calmly by the fire, a soft smile on his face. “Grandpa?” I said, afraid, my heart thumping in my chest. A spark leaped in the fire pit and he didn’t move. Rising, I went to him and touched his shoulder. Blinking he turned his head to me and stroked my cheek.
“Grandpa,” I said gladly.
“I am close to the Spirit World, Lakan,” he whispered. “Not much longer will I be in this world with you.”
“No!”
“I am not afraid to go, Lakan. I’m only afraid for you. Come on, I caught some fish for breakfast. You need to eat.”
I followed him to a stump near the fire and sitting on two tin plates were baked fish. Trout. He had wrapped them in parchment paper with wild onion and garlic; the aroma made my mouth water.
I had eaten two of the trout before I noticed he had not. He was sitting cross-legged on the grass, his hands resting on his knees, a cup of cool coffee between his legs. His eyes were open but he did not see.
“Grandpa?” I asked and did not get an answer. When I touched him, all I felt was a cool slackness in his muscles and a curious rushing sensation under my fingertips – as if the last wave of his life’s force was retreating from me. His body released one last whisper of air and I knew he was gone.
“Grandpa,” I said helplessly and bawled. My cries echoed off the small valley’s walls and mocked me.
It took me the whole day to prepare him for burial. In accordance with his beliefs and wishes, I dressed him in his ceremonial buckskins which was not an easy task for a slender 12-year-old. It was impossible for me to lift him up onto the burial platform that I built of slender aspen poles and set up 12 feet in the air.
So I used the horses and made a pulley lifting him using his sleeping bag as a harness. Once upon the platform, I unzipped it so that his face was open to the sky. As night fell, I sang the death chant for him and wished his spirit safe journey knowing that mom would be there to greet him. And because I was only 12 years old, I cried the rest of the night, mourning the last member of my family
When morning came, I woke stiff, cold and heartsick. I had spent the whole night sitting underneath his grave and crying my heart out. Now, I had to decide what to do. I could not stay here in this valley and survive the winter on my own. Nor could I go back to the reservation. The tribal Elders would see to my care but the moment I resurfaced, Dr. Cameron would be there to snatch me.
I looked at Zig and Zag, the horses and knew I couldn’t do anything but find them some place and someone who would care for them. I couldn’t leave them up here to starve or be killed by predators.
Once I had made a decision, it was easier to act on it than think about why I had to do what I was doing. Having a set task occupied my brain and kept me from dwelling on my loss. I packed up my gear and Grandpop's, tying most of it on the extra horse.
It wasn’t until I’d mounted and ridden halfway through the valley towards the far end that I realized the gravity of the situation.
I had to scout around before I found a way out; the trail was hidden in a maze of washes and ravines that interconnected like a maze. I finally tied the horses to a smoke bush and used my footprints to track my path. It was the bees that showed me the trail, I followed them onto a ledge I would’ve sworn wouldn’t hold a lizard but it was wide enough for a careful horse and rider if you didn’t mind getting rubbed by stone. Once I was sure it was the way out and not another dead end, I led the one horse and the other followed. The dogs politely waited for their turns.
It was with an echoed sigh of relief that all of us stepped onto the trail that deer hooves had made and turned back into the woods. I recognized a few peaks, guessed we were close to Silverton and Dolores. I let the horses pick their own way, gave them their heads and soon we were nearly jog-trotting down a logging road that hadn’t been driven on in years.
The trail switched backed, taking advantage of the easy areas of the slope but still, we made a good time. I had a vague sense of urgency pushing me and I didn’t stop for lunch but ate sandwiches that Grandpa had taken the time to make and pack in my backpack. Peanut butter and jelly, something I knew would keep longer than rabbit stew or baked fish. Not that there was any left, the dogs had finished off the leftovers.
They ranged ahead of me and to the sides never falling behind so when I heard them barking, I pulled up and kneed Tango into the brush and off the trail where we were hidden from view. Presently, I heard voices cajoling the dogs and two hunters in Day-Glo orange vests, caps, and camouflage coveralls stepped into sight. They carried rifles but both were packed in scabbards along with their gear. On their chests in a plastic sleeve were their hunting licenses. Both were from the eastern part of the state, I could see their names and addresses.
“Holy Christ, boy,” the man named Klingemann said. “Wasn’t for your dogs, we might have shot you thinking you were a bear. What are you doing out here by yourself?” He scanned the empty saddle, the two packs and the .22 long rifle hanging on Grandpa’s horse. “You from town? Or do you live around here?”
“I’m headed to the Res,” I answered. “My grandfather died.” I choked back a sob.
“Aww Jeez, I’m sorry. Can we help? I have my cell phone. Want me to call the Ranger station?”
“No. I’m heading home.”
He stared at me. “Son, the only thing in this direction you’re heading is a million square miles of trees. The nearest town is back up that way and over the ridge.” He pointed to me, in the direction from which I’d come.
“How did you get up here?” I asked.
“Four-wheel-drive, four wheelers and we hiked the last two days. Our guide fell and broke his leg but we’ve been hunting here for 10 years and know the area. I know this stretch of woods and there ain’t nothing this way but wilderness.” He paused. “You’re welcome to join us. We can give you a ride back in.”
“My horses?”
“We can turn them loose; they’ll head for the ranch nearest the drop-off point. The Lazy S Bar. That’s where we parked our vehicles. It’s a two-hour drop off from there to Dolores.” I hesitated and then thought I’d be safer in their company than by myself. I asked if either had a cell phone but was told that there was no service out here just GPS on their compass.
I offered the one a ride on Grandpop’s horse and Klingemann took me up on it. The other man told me to call him Pete and handed me his coat and pack to tie on my own mount saying he preferred to walk. I showed him how to tail a horse and he was grateful for the help Tango gave him climbing the hill.
We backtracked, or I did and the afternoon passed pleasantly. They told me about their hunting trips, their families, and their jobs. Klingemann owned his own auto repair shop that serviced high-end luxury cars and Pete was a Corrections Officer in a big prison in Denver. Both of them had kids my age but neither was into hiking, camping or hunting with their fathers.
“Excuse me for asking but are you Native American?” Pete asked. “You don’t really look it with those blue eyes and red hair but your skin is that color.”
“My mom was. I don’t know who my father is,” I answered.
“What’s your name?”
I hesitated torn between telling the truth and endangering myself or lying and causing them to mistrust me. “Lake,” I said finally. “Lake Strong.”
Pete shook my hand. “Nice to meet you, Lake Strong. We don’t get a signal out until we go over the ridge and it’s intermittent at best. We’re a long way from the cell tower.”
“I don’t need a cell tower,” I shrugged. “Just a battery. My phone died and I haven’t figured out how to make a solar battery small enough for it.”
“What are you some kind of computer genius?”
“Something like that,” I muttered. The shadows were growing longer, we had long since passed the place where I had emerged from the hidden valley. In fact, I wasn’t sure where it was except for the faint marks of the horses’ hooves to indicate where we’d emerged from what looked like a small ravine.
They stopped at a small clearing no bigger than a bedroom but it had been used before as a campsite. An old fire ring marked the center near a log lean-to, there was a nearby spring with frogs piping and grass for the horses. I reined in behind Klingemann and we waited for Pete to catch up. Both men told me to dismount while they set up camp yet I tried to help them only to get in their way. Frustrated, I stood aside and let them do their thing. In 10 minutes, they had erected a two-room tent, had coffee brewing and freeze-dried meals cooking.
Ingenious PVC poles opened up to form two cots with sleeping bags rolled inside. You could tell they had done this many times, enough to be rote.
“Throw your bags inside,” Pete smiled. “Go rest. We’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
“I want to help,” I protested.
“Take care of your animals then,” he suggested but I had already unsaddled and turned the pair loose to graze. The dogs were off hunting rabbit and squirrel; they would return when they caught something or were hungry.
I sighed and dragged my packs into the tent picking a corner out of their way. Spreading both sleeping bags on the drop sheet, I lay down on one and pulled the other over me. Just like that, I was out in seconds and didn’t wake until I felt the two dogs crawling under the covers with me. Their glorious warmth encircled me and I rolled over covered in dog fur and goose down.