Thunder on the Plains Page 5

  “I’m glad to hear it, Danny. Your mother and I are very pleased with the reports we’ve been getting back from Robert on your improved attitude. Keep up the good work. We’ll see you at the end of the summer.”

  “Bill?”

  “Yes, Danny, what is it?”

  “Thanks for making me take this trip,” I said.

  “You’re welcome. I know things are going to be better now, for all of us.”

  I hung up the phone. I felt that I had taken the first step toward connecting with my stepdad.

  The next day my cousins and I went back to our summer routine. We fixed elders’ houses in the morning and did chores at home in the afternoon. We squeezed in a little TV watching and computer time in between.

  One day blurred into another. Summer days do that. I began taking a daily horseback ride. I liked it a lot. It was better than riding a bike back home. And I got to practice helping Robert, Crow, and Rabbit round up their little herd of cattle. I was becoming a real Indian cowboy.

  One night, we watched TV with Grandpa. A TV news report came on that made us all pay attention.

  The reporter said that last winter several hundred buffalo from Yellowstone National Park had been slaughtered when they roamed outside the borders of the park. Nearby ranchers were afraid the animals might be carriers of a disease called brucellosis. This illness could infect their cattle herds and make them sick. The news report showed images of the buffalo being killed. Their bodies were loaded onto tractors and hauled away.

  “Robert! Amanda! Come in here quick!” Grandpa yelled toward the kitchen. “You’ve got to see this.”

  Uncle Robert and Aunt Amanda came into the living room.

  Yellowstone Park’s head ranger came on camera. His name was Jasper Perkins. “It was too bad that so many of these fine animals had to be put to death,” he said. “The ranchers of Montana complained to the governor about the bison. And the governor complained to the park service. There was nothing I could do.”

  “Bison?” I asked as I watched.

  “That’s another name for buffalo,” my uncle said.

  The TV newsman asked Mr. Perkins another question. “Were the bison tested to see if they actually did have brucellosis before they were slaughtered?”

  “The state laboratory did a random test of a small number of animals,” Perkins replied.

  “And what did they find?”

  “One of the five bison had the disease.”

  “And on the basis of that one small test the government killed more than one thousand untested animals?” The reporter was astonished.

  “I’m afraid so,” Perkins replied. You could see the park ranger didn’t like it. “What’s worse is that more animals will probably be put to death this coming winter unless someone does something about it.”

  Then an American Indian man named Martin Two Bulls was shown. He spoke for an organization called the Inter-tribal Bison Cooperative. Several Indian tribes with their own buffalo herds belonged to this group.

  “The buffalo of Yellowstone that roam free are a symbol of American Indian culture, history, and economy,” he said. “We must stop this slaughter from happening again. I ask for the help of people who are watching this news program. Please don’t let them murder our brothers, the Buffalo People, again. The army did this in the 1800s to destroy our food supply and our way of life. Please don’t let it happen again.”

  The news report ended on a close shot of Mr. Two Bulls. He had a single tear rolling down his cheek.

  Grandpa was shocked. “We’ve got to do something,” he said to Robert.

  “What can we do?” Robert asked.

  “Maybe the tribal council can do something,” Grandpa suggested.

  “Maybe,” Robert replied.

  “You know those guys,” Amanda said. “They won’t stick their necks out for something like this.” She went back to the kitchen.

  “It can’t hurt to try,” Robert said. “I’ll see if the tribal council will listen to us at their next meeting.”

  The next day Robert called the tribal office and got us a slot on the council agenda. Their next meeting would be in two days.

  Our whole family went to the tribal council chambers that day. There were eight men on the council. They were elected by the members of the tribe every four years. The council made decisions about tribal business.

  Grandpa told me that tribal councils were created in 1934 by something called the Indian Reorganization Act. This way the U.S. government has a group within each tribe to do business with.

  When it came their turn, Grandpa and Robert stood in front of the council. They told the council about the news report. Robert said they could use the tribe’s cattle trucks to go to Yellowstone and pick up fifty bison to start the tribe’s own herd.

  “Many other tribes have begun their own herds,” Robert said.

  My uncle and grandfather made a good presentation. I was sure that once the council heard the story they would take some action. Instead, the council members made a lot of excuses for why they couldn’t do anything right now.

  “Just the other day, Barney, our tribal cattle manager, was telling me that the fences need mending” the tribal chairman said. “Our cattle transport truck is still broke down, too.”

  “I thought we voted to have that fixed,” another council member replied.

  “Yeah, but we never set aside the money to make the repairs,” the council treasurer reminded them.

  “Well, let’s check the minutes,” the tribal chairman suggested.

  “We could, but I left them at home,” the council secretary said. “I can go home and get them if you want to wait.”

  The council voted not to make a decision until more information could be gathered. I couldn’t believe it. My own people wouldn’t take action on such an important matter!

  “Amanda was right,” Robert said. “They are afraid to stick their necks out.”

  “They’re a bunch of—” Grandpa started to say, but my uncle stopped him.

  “We all know what you think of the council,” Robert said. “No need to repeat it.”

  Robert wanted to stay for the rest of the meeting. There was another topic the council was discussing that Robert was interested in. I decided to take a look around the tribal offices.

  Most of the offices were closed, but I noticed one open door. The sign on it said “Tribal Chairman, Buddy Spotted Horse.” My curiosity got the better of me. I went in to take a look around.

  The tribal chairman had a nice big office with a lot of stuff hanging on the walls: Indian paintings, awards, plaques, and certificates. Who knows what they were for. On his desk were many stacks of papers. I moved in closer to get a better look.

  I noticed a stack of papers with the tribe’s official seal stamped at the top. I picked up the top sheet from the stack and looked at it more closely.

  It was the chairman’s official stationery. Next to the stack were some letters that the chairman had signed.

  Then I got an idea! In my mind, I flashed back to school in L.A. I remembered the little prank I pulled with the principal’s stationery. I thought this time I could do something important.

  Quickly, I glanced toward the door to make sure it was safe. No one was around. I took five or six sheets of the stationary from the stack. I grabbed one of the signed letters and quietly slipped out of the room.

  I stepped back into the council room just as the meeting was ending. After the meeting, I showed the papers to Crow.

  “What are you going to do with those?” Crow asked.

  “Give Yellowstone National Park a reason to release fifty buffalo to us,” I answered.

  Crow’s puzzled look told me he didn’t understand what I was saying.

  “Never mind now,” I said. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, I need you to do something for me. Can you find that list of phone numbers of the kids from survival camp?”

  “I guess so,” Crow said. “My dad has that somewhere
at the house.”

  “Tomorrow, get on the phone and call them all to a meeting for next Saturday afternoon.”

  “What for?” Crow asked.

  “We’re going to rescue us some buffalo.” I could hardly believe what I was saying. “But don’t tell anyone else. It’s our little secret for now.”

  I was able to sneak the papers home without Robert or Grandpa seeing them. The next day I began my buffalo rescue project. Using my computer and a scanner that was small enough to hold in my hand, I started creating a letter. The tribal chairman didn’t know it, but he was about to write to park ranger Jasper Perkins at Yellowstone National Park. The letter asked the park to release fifty head of buffalo to Danny Wind and his “associates” on behalf of the Rocky Point Tribe.

  On Saturday, Ben, Charlene, and a couple of the other kids made it to the meeting site: the Pizza Hut in Buffalo Gap. I revealed my plan to them.

  “We’re going to ride horseback for two days across the country to rescue a herd of buffalo and bring them back here to Buffalo Gap.” Everyone looked shocked.

  “You’re nuts,” Ben said. “What makes you think we can pull off a stunt like that?”

  “A week in the wilderness with you guys,” I said.

  Charlene looked straight into my eyes. “If Danny thinks we can do it, then I say let’s go for it.”

  I blushed. But it felt good to have her support.

  After a few more minutes of discussion, the kids agreed to help out. This would be great. I was on a roll.

  The next step in my plan called for a real leap of faith. I needed to ask Grandpa to take the forged letter to Jasper Perkins in person. This would make our story more believable.

  I took the risk and laid the whole plan out for Grandpa. It was like lighting a match to a pile of gun powder. When I was finished, Grandpa whooped and hollered until I thought the whole house was going to come crashing in. He hugged me close and said, “When do we start?”

  The next day, Grandpa took the letter to the park ranger. Mr. Perkins was pleased that someone wanted to do something for these animals. He said yes to the request.

  Meanwhile, I began planning our rescue route. To do this, I used my laptop to access something online called the “geographic information system.” I was able to find 3-D maps of the land we would have to cross. I plotted a route over the hills and through the area from Rocky Point Reservation to where the buffalo were kept in Yellowstone. That was about two hundred miles. Any way I looked at it, I realized this wasn’t going to be easy.

  Chapter 10

  The Race Begins

  In the early dark hours of the next Saturday morning, our rescue team gathered. Ben, Charlene, and two other kids showed up. Each had brought a backpack filled with food and clothing for the trip. My cousins and I brought enough horses for everyone.

  Then Grandpa showed up. He had more supplies and a horse of his own. In his hand was a sack.

  “What are you doing here, Grandpa?”

  “You can’t just herd buffalo around like you can herd cattle,” Grandpa explained. “They’re much too independent and willful. I know the prayers and songs to offer to the spirits of the Buffalo People to get them to cooperate. You need me.”

  I looked to the other kids. They all nodded.

  “I guess you’re in,” I said. “What’s in the sack?”

  “War paint,” Grandpa smiled. “You can’t go on a dangerous mission like this without the proper preparation. Our ancestors painted themselves and their horses to bring courage, strength, and hope at times like these.”

  He opened the sack and spread out his paints. Then he marked each of our faces with a different design. He sang a Cheyenne prayer song for our protection.

  Finally, he painted his own face. I saw pride fill my grandfather’s eyes. When he was finished, Grandpa nodded that he was ready.

  We mounted our steeds and headed across the country. We had food and supplies to last several days.

  Uncle Robert and Aunt Amanda probably panicked when they found out we were gone. But Grandpa left a letter explaining what we were doing. The letter said everything would be all right.

  “This is a journey into their own adulthood,” Grandpa wrote in the letter. “This is what tribal youth did in the old days. Please don’t let anyone try to stop us. These kids want to do this. I need to do this.”

  “This is foolishness,” Robert said when he found the letter. “One old man and a bunch of kids out there alone. Someone could get seriously hurt or even killed.” He crumpled the letter and threw it on the floor. Amanda hugged him and tried to calm him down.

  “I think you’re overreacting,” she said. “We should talk about this.”

  He broke away from her hug.

  “It’s not that simple,” he explained. “There are other factors to think about here.”

  She reached out and brought him back to her.

  “Have a little faith,” she urged. “You’re the one who’s always talking about staying in touch with our Indian roots and Mother Earth. Well, they believed you. Now they’re willing to put those words into action. And you have to support them in this. Otherwise, your words mean nothing.”

  He thought about what she said and calmed down.

  “All right,” he said finally. “We’ll try it your way. But I need to let the other kids’ parents know what’s going on.”

  He picked up the phone to call the first set of parents.

  Meanwhile, out on the trail, it was a hard trip. We had to use everything we had learned at survival camp. We made it to Yellowstone in two days as planned. We were guided by my maps and Grandpa’s stories.

  On Sunday night, we made camp on a ridge overlooking the park headquarters. That night Grandpa told us a story he’d been saving. His story went like this:

  When the Creator made the earth and all its creatures, two-leggeds and four-leggeds lived together in peace. That means the people and the animals. After many seasons, the Buffalo People began to think they were the most powerful beings in the world.

  They also came to believe that this gave them the right to kill and eat all the others. But the people said, “This isn’t fair. We humans and you buffalo were created equal. But if someone is going to be the most powerful, it should be us!”

  The buffalo said, “We must settle this argument. Let’s have a race to see who eats who.” But the people didn’t like this idea. A race would be unfair because the buffalo can run much faster than people. “Let the birds race in our place,” said the people. “That would make it fair.’”

  The buffalo agreed. The buffalo chose their fastest runner. The people picked four birds for the race—Hummingbird, Hawk, Meadowlark, and Magpie.

  They chose a place called Buffalo Gap as the starting and ending point of the race. It had a hill in the distance as the halfway mark for turning around. Then a signal was given. The race began.

  Buffalo took off in a flash! For a little while, Hummingbird kept up with him but soon fell back exhausted. So Meadowlark took over. But Buffalo kept far in the lead. At the halfway mark, Meadowlark fell behind and Hawk came on strong.

  Suddenly Hawk got a burst of speed and flew out ahead of Buffalo. The people cheered. But he didn’t last long at the front. Hawk’s sudden burst of energy failed. He fell back as Buffalo took the lead once again.

  It seemed that Buffalo could run forever. Then, from way in the rear, came a little dot of black and white. It was Magpie! She was slow but strong of heart.

  As they neared the finish line at Buffalo Gap, Magpie steadily gained on the mighty Buffalo. But Buffalo was finally getting tired. She gathered all her strength for one last push. The humans and the buffalo were cheering at the finish line, calling out and jumping up and down.

  At the last possible moment, Magpie shot ahead of Buffalo and won the race! The people went wild with happiness.

  So the buffalo lost. The humans won. Ever since then, people have been considered more powerful than the buffalo and t
he other animals. And people have hunted the buffalo for food. But the Cheyenne remember what the magpie did. They never hunt or eat that special bird. And we never forget that the buffalo are our brothers. Their spirits strengthen us. And we treat them with respect, too.

  Chapter 11

  A Magical Journey

  On Monday morning, we presented ourselves to ranger Jasper Perkins and the park officials. We told them we were ready to pick up their buffalo.

  To our surprise, Robert and the tribal chairman were waiting for us in the ranger’s office. Uh-oh. We all feared this meant the end of our plan. All that planning and riding for nothing. I thought we might spend the rest of the summer locked in leg irons working on a chain gang.

  Grandpa went into the office and spoke to the men alone. In a few minutes, the four men came out of the office. The tribal chairman spoke first.

  “Danny, I was extremely upset when I found out that you had forged my name on official tribal stationery to make this happen. That’s a very serious crime, as far as I’m concerned.” He paused.

  “But your grandfather told me that what you and the rest of the kids were doing was for the good of the tribe. He said the tribal council should be ashamed for not taking any action to protect these animals. He’s right. They represent part of our history and culture.”

  He looked at Robert. “And your uncle, who I respect very much, agreed. These were harsh words, but sadly true,” the chairman continued. “So I’ve asked Mr. Perkins here to release the buffalo to you. He has agreed. Bring ’em home with my blessings.” The chairman smiled.

  I was so relieved! I shook the chairman’s hand and hugged my uncle. The rest of the gang jumped for joy and hooted and hollered. Then Mr. Perkins stepped over to me.

  “Danny,” he said, “because of your efforts, I’ve contacted Martin Two Bulls of the Inter-tribal Bison Cooperative. We’re going to start a tribal bison program that will allow other tribes in the area to take some of our excess animals to build up their own bison herds.”