Chapter 7
Rob Jackson's stay brought a ray of optimism into Jody's lonely, struggling existence. Now, six days later she had yet to hear the ominous crunch of gravel on the driveway or hear the banging on the screen door. Beaver's officialdom seemed to be ignoring her, or so it seemed. Rob drove into town to pick up the necessary supplies to last two weeks. He had frequented the reservation every two days, bringing back with him Indians who willingly mended the fences, and looked after the cattle. One was named Sam Eaglefeather and the other George Blackfoot. They stayed in the old bunk house and worked for room and board; and they knew the land well, for they had been under Martin Powers employ some years back.
Lokken, Snyder, Pigson ... none of them made an appearance. And if there was any gossip in town regarding the photograph, none of it reached Rob's ears.
By Saturday pregnant clouds had gathered in the sky but dissipated southward into long fingery strips too high to gather momentum again, and the sun shone hot and commandingly in the clear blue skies. The well was gradually lowering to the dangerous level; already large clumps of muck were sputtering out of the faucets and Jody grew worried. They would have to dig another well if it didn't rain soon. Four more cattle had been found dead, eating away at the herd. Two of these deaths she attributed to foul play and the other two were victims of heat exhaustion.
Later that afternoon, Eaglefeather saddled up the two mares and Rob and Jody rode eastwards over the grazing land toward the lake. The water level was slowly giving way to the banks and it was here under the shade of a tree that Jody unpacked the knapsack lunch she had brought along and they sat down to rest.
"I love it here! I remember as a little girl riding out here to meet Daddy counting the cattle. God," she said clasping her knees and staring absently ahead, "life used to be so easy then."
"It can still be," Rob said, shading his eyes against the sun and staring across the open prairies.
"Poor Papa ... he worked so hard to keep this land. I know it disappointed him that I was born the wrong sex but he nev-" Abruptly her forehead wrinkled curiously and her eyes fixed on something unseen. Rising to her feet, she brushed her hands on the thighs of her dusty levis and strode langoriously toward a white speck in the grass, her steps building tempo until she stooped to snatch it up. Turning it over, she examined it from every angle, then scurried back to where Rob sat with his propped up knees, sipping at a tepid beer.
"A map of my land ... Look there's the house and the barn...." Her lips compressed into a tight line. "What does this mean? We know who but we don't know why they're trying to force me out." Raising her head, she let out a troubled sigh, her eyes scanning the brown prairie lands for an answer. "Why would anybody want this land?"
"There's obviously something there they're after," said Rob scratching his head. "I remember in particular an Indian by the name of Fleetfoot who managed to scrounge together enough money to buy a piece of land somewhere north of here. The Beaver populace harassed him so badly he finally sold out."
"Why did they want his land?"
"Silly, but I never thought to ask," he said contritely. "Poor guy chalked it up to prejudice and high tailed it back to the reservation...." His voice trailed off. "I wonder if...."
"Huh?" She was studying the map again.
"Oh, nothing...."
With the map folded in her back pocket, they rode further east to check on the fences. Choking clouds of dust twisted up under the horses' hooves as the sky gradually darkened to pink ribbons in the west. Suddenly Rob pulled hard on the reins and the horse whinnied from the bite. She reared around on her hind legs, her rider holding her in tow while he hung half out of the saddle studying a freshly dug hole vards away.
"This is odd, don't you think?" Rob gestured towards a shoulder of rock where the surface was scarred and chipped.
"What do you think that means?" asked Jody. "Do you think Eaglefeather and Blackfoot did that ... some kind of Indian ritual?"
"Uh-uh." The young man shook his head. "What's so curious is that this is the second such spot I've seen today."
"The second?"
"Yeah ... back there near where you found the map I saw another one. I didn't mention it at the time. It was in a slope of sandstone, all chipped away like this." the handsome young lawyer pooched out his lips concentrating. "It looks as if they've been taking samples ... for what reason I don't know."
The following day, Sunday, Rob made a telephone call to the reservation then took the jeep out into the pastures while Jody busied herself around the house, washing clothes and straightening up the place. Eaglefeather and Blackfoot, late night marauders to the liquor store, were asleep in the hay barn sleeping off last night's mni wakan stupor.
Beyond the lake where he and Jody had picnicked the day prior, slightly to the left and hidden in a grove of oak trees crowning a sandstone outcropping, a metallic glimmer, like the slender beam of a flashlight, pierced his eye. Immediately he veered off to the right, hiding the jeep behind a sandstone bluff about a quarter of a mile away. The cattle grazing nearby paid him no heed, swishing their tails at horse flies and lolling contently as he made his way over the crisp prairie grass toward the oasis beyond. Treading wearily, he began circling around the pale rock face, the faint whisper of voices growing louder with his appreach.
There were four of them grouped around a litter of chipped rock: Lokken, Snyder, Pigson and a tall, thin man whom Rob recognized as a surveyor. They were all sitting on portable collapsible lawn seats intent on the surveyor. There were rock fragments piled at his feet and he was holding a chisel in one hand, a fragment of rock in the other.
"What does it look like to you, Samuels?" asked Snyder in his heavy voice. "You think she's the same as over there by the lake?"
"Yes...." the clerk said carefully, chipping away with a geological hammer now, gathering samples and putting them in a canvas bag at his feet. "I can't be sure until I run a test on it, but it sure as hell looks the same to me...."
Pigson scratched his bald head and looked stupidly at the surveyor. "I don't get it ... you mean the order of types of rock determines whether or not oil's trapped down under this good for nothin' ground, huh?" His barrel chest shook jubilantly with his laughter.
Hidden under the tree on the nell above from where they were sitting, Rob caught his breath. Oil! So that was why they were trying to run Jody off her land ... the conniving bastards! It explained the dead cattle, the rape, the photograph ... everything! They had been conducting a sample gathering and that explained the small digs of earth near the lake.
Oil ... formed by the decomposition of carbonaceous matter aeons ago, oil that was trapped in the earth just waiting for a drill bit to release the pressure and let her spurt!
The four men below had their backs to him; they were watching the surveyor make his notations on a chart. Rob changed positions to lesson the numbing in his legs and poked a finger into the neckband of his T-shirt to ease the pressure. He was debating whether to stay and watch, hopeful for more conclusive findings, or sneak back to the ranch and get his rifle ... when his sixth sense picked up the scent of danger and swivelling around his eyes settled on a long brown strip of slithering flesh. Rob's throat went tight as his eyes sparred with the black eye balls of a rattlesnake drawing up into a balled coil, its tail vibrating fiercely.
"Oh shit," he muttered to himself. The human instinct for survival took precedence over the fear of his fellowmen and, clawing under his belly for the .38 wedged in his Levi's waistband, he snuck it around underneath his torso, bared his teeth and pulled the trigger.
The bullet whined through the air. A red fizzle of blood splattered the ground. On his belly, his nostrils snorting smoked dust, a second rattle took him by surprise. A few yards away was the dead snake's mate drawing into a coil. Another shot pierced the blue.Sunday afternoon skies and blood and mangled flesh rained over the sandstone.
The four men leaped to their feet, swearing. The scrape of heavy boots digging for toe holds into the sandstone outcropping on the other side took him by surprise and lifting his head, Rob stared into the gloating, piggish face of Beaver's Chief of Police, a Smith & Weston clamped in his steady hand.
"Don't try anything, Jackson," he warned. "I got a plaque on my wall for marksmanship."
Panting, the young lawyer wiped the snake's blood from his face and stumbled to his feet, raising his arms shoulder high. He was furious with himself for being so careless.
"So the Indian lover's turned into spy, huh?" Pigson sneered. "Ain' you got 'nough problems out at the reservation without stirrin' up trouble for other folks?"
Rob remained reticent. With any luck they might believe he had been out walking ... after all it was a Sunday afternoon, that he hadn't overheard any of the surveyor's comments.
"He asked you a question, asshole!" shouted Snyder, his feet crunching on the ground as he assailed the spy and slapped him backhanded across the face. "What the fuck are you doin' out here snoopin' around?"
The force of the vicious blow sent the young lawyer staggering back a pace. There were stars in front of his eyes and his head was buzzing. He licked the blood from his split lip and chose his words carefully. "I work for Miss Powers. I suspected there were trespassers on the land so I came to check." What harm was there in admitting to working for a rancher? If they knew she knew he was on her land, they wouldn't dare shoot him and bury his body.
"Work for ol' man Powers kid, huh? I'll bet you work for her," he said with a coarse chuckle. "It'd take more than a kid like you to keep that cunt's pussy from itching."
Rob flushed and clenched his hands. "As I said, I'm protecting her property upon which you're trespassing-this is an illegal invasion upon private property, mayor."
Snyder turned livid. "Don't give me none of your cock sucking Indian lovin' bullshit, you asshole!" With that he raised his arm and smashed an agonizing blow to Rob's stomach.
Rob spilled over backwards, landing six feet away on the rock with the blood thundering in his ears and breath groaning from his tortured lungs. Lokken and the clerk hauled him to his feet, retching and wheezing. Lokken's crafty eyes were glistening and his mean little mouth was wet with saliva.
They held the young man's arms and Snyder drew back his ham like fist again and slammed another savage punch into the pit of Rob's stomach.
The young man rocketed backwards with the force of the punch, his arms torn out of the men's grasp and cannoned sickeningly against the back beneath the tree. He slid limply to the ground, rolled over on his hands and knees and vomited, his chest heaving in convulsive gasps as animal noises whined from his gaping mouth.
Pigson shuffled uneasily. The barrel of his gun, which had been covering Rob, began to waver. "Hold it, Snyder," he said as Snyder was about to kick the fallen man in the face. "If this guy is employed by her ... it is against the law to...."
"Shut your goddamned mouth, you chickenshit idiot," growled the town's mayor. "If you're too goddamned pussy to watch, then beat your ass back to town."
"But I-" Pigson looked down at the half unconscious man and then back at Snyder.
"Get the fuck outta here, you yellow bellied cocksucker. Me and Robbie here's got some unfinished business to take care of."
Pigson took one last glance at Rob and shrugged his heavy shoulders. "See you later, Snyder," he mumbled. He put the gun back into the holster stretched around his bulbous hips and headed off back to the truck.
Now Snyder was towering over Rob, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. The young man's breath was beginning to whistle in rattling shudder back into his lungs. Snyder jerked his head at the surveyor who had stood by stupefied. "You ... get the cord outta the truck and help Lokken tie his hands behind his back.
"Sure thing, mayor." The bearish little lawyer scurried over to the truck parked near by, behind which Pigson stood nervously smoking a cigarette.
By the time Rob was breathing fairly regularly again, they had dragged him to his feet and bound his wrists tightly together. He stood swaying slightly, his head spinning and his diaphragm and chest on fire, staring up at Snyder through pain-dimmed eyes. "A good clean fight, huh, mayor. An incapacitated man against a crazed man with a gun."
Snyder's mouth twisted sardonically and with a grunt he pistol whipped Rob savagely twice across the face. Rob cried out in agony as the steel sliced open his cheek and then smashed sickeningly against the tip of his nose. Something crunched and a curtain of blood streamed from his cheek and mingled with the stream pouring from his nostrils to jell on his T-shirt. In a high whine of torture, Rob sank down on one knee and hung his head.
"You pulled a gun on me once, you bastard and I warned you then not to cross my path ... and by God almighty I'll beat the bloody pulp outta you!" He nodded to Lokken and the surveyor who pulled the half unconscious young man to his feet for the third time and propped him upright.
Snyder drew back his right arm and piled a murderous blow to Rob's heart, following it with a vicious left hook to the chin that sent his helpless victim reeling sideways. Rob felt as if his insides had exploded and were dribbling out of his nostrils. It seemed from a distance that the punches, cracking and thudding, landed upon his hapless body. The mayor's strength was phenomenal.
Rob would have been face down in the pool of his own blood had not Lokken and the surveyor caught his arms and held him. Snyder was grinning sadistically. He followed up his act with a series of tattoo punches to each side of Rob's temples. Rob's knees buckled beneath him; he was seeing double. At a signal from the mayor Lokken and Paul, the surveyor, let go of his arms and left him teetering on weak legs while the brutal mayor jerked a tremendous uppercut that snapped his head back and burst inside his brain a roar of agony.
This time Rob went down and stayed there, crumpled in a bleeding mass of pain. They dragged him up to the grove of trees and cut the rope binding his hands. Then Snyder used the extra rope to fling over the lower branches of the tree, lashing one end around each of his victim's wrists at the other end. They tied him up, his limp body hoisted into the air to dangle lifelessly about a foot off the ground.
Rob was hanging by the wrists from the branches, his arms spread wide enough so that neigher hand could reach the rope around the other, his head sunk on his bloodied chest, his battered face, bloated and blood-clogged, handing down to his chest.
Snyder brushed his hands, wiped the sweat from his brow with one bloodied fist and stepped back to admire his job. "Let's get this shit outta here, guys and pay a visit to super cunt Powers. I got me some unfinished business to take care of with her, too. If you guys are nice, I might let you chew off a piece of tail for yourself." Then stopping again to glance up at the blood splattered crucifix hanging above, the big man charged up the nell. "Just one more thing, Mr. Jackson," he sneered victoriously. "This one is for Miss Powers." Steeping back to judge his distance, he landed a blow to Rob's groin.
As the fist seared shockingly into his penis and testicles, sending waves of nauseous agony crashing through his loins, the helpless young lawyer threw his head back and uttered an animal growl. His body threshed frenziedly below the swaying branch, his legs jack knifed slowly up towards his brutalized belly and then dropped limply down as he hung unconscious from his tree cross.