Rocky Mountain Justice (The Legend of Camel's Hump) (21 page)

Ike was pushed roughly out of the bus door. He stumbled as he made the descent from the bus and then caught himself. He raised his gaze and, for the first time, realized that there were new faces present. The strangers stared at him impassively and the silence deepened. Ike twisted to look at John with a question in his face. John smiled easily and said, “Ike, these are Annette’s family and friends. They’re Apaches. You are going to live with them for a while – a very long while.” He turned to his southwestern counterpart. “He’s all yours.” Still smiling, he got in the bus and, with his friends, headed for Pablo.

An Indian woman emerged from the pickup camper. She walked directly to Ike and fastened a leather collar around his neck. A long chain was attached to the collar. Using this, she led the terrified Ike into the camper and chained him to the truck bed. Two men climbed in with Ike and the two pickups left on their long journey home.

The three teen-agers stood beside the grave. Dawn knelt to lay flowers against the new headstone. The funeral had been earlier in the day, but they had returned to say a more private goodbye to their friend. At first, all three were sobbing too hard to be able to talk coherently. Finally the taller boy cleared his throat and talked to the mound of dirt in front of him. “My friend, we beat them. There will be no more girls tortured at that sheep ranch and that so-called sheriff will never bother good citizens again.” He paused, sobbing even harder. The shorter, red-headed, boy took up the theme. “Yeah. We won, but the price was too high.” He dropped to his knees, still looking at the new headstone. “You were a better man than both of them combined.”

Then the taller boy, now known as Ray, looked down at the grave, he spoke in a very serious, solemn tone. “My friend, you deserved more from life. From this day forward, I plan to spend my life fighting to bring justice to people who can’t fight for themselves. I will never forget you and I will bring honor to your name until the day that we meet again in Heaven.” Dawn and Red nodded in agreement.

They meant it.

EPILOGUE

T
he afternoon has faded and dark shadows are crawling down the sides of the grey cliffs. Soon the evening air will be too cool for swimming in the lake.

Grampa Ray calls the children. “C’mon, Kids. It’s time to get cleaned up for dinner!” He stands on the little pier and watches as they all climb out of the water.

Jerry, the oldest of the grandchildren, comes back to his questions again as soon as he is out of the water. “Grampa, this place is great. Why don’t you live here all the time?” His Grandfather is busy toweling off the children and getting their things in one pile to carry to the house, but he graciously responds to Jerry’s question. “I would if I could. But no one can live here in the winter. There’s way too much snow. It gets so deep that the road is impassable, so we go to Arizona where we have friends and our other house; the one where you usually visit us.”

But Jerry doesn’t quit easily. “Grampa, do you ever see the people who used to live in the ghost town?” Ray sighs and answers, “Just your Grandmother and one old friend that we call Red.” He chuckles at that. “We still call him Red, but he’s an old bald guy now.”

Jerry isn’t about to stop the inquisition. As the other children leave, racing back to the house, He asks, “Grampa, the people that lived in the ghost town - what were they like?” Ever patient, Grandpa Ray answers, “They were good people, like people everywhere. They lived and loved and enjoyed one another. They struggled and weren’t particularly rich, but they were good Americans. In those days, most of the men were veterans of World War Two and they had seen some rough times. They were good people.”

Finished with the cleanup effort, Grampa Ray stretches to his full six foot four inch height. In a characteristic, unconscious, gesture he strokes the long scar that runs from his right eyebrow to his hairline before continuing. “There’s one thing that I can say for them. They could certainly keep a secret. Yeah, they could really keep a secret.” Then, before the boy can ask any more questions, he changes the subject, “C’mon, Jerry, I’ll race you to the house. Grandma Dawn is waiting for us!”

The End

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 
J
eff Noonan is a Montana native who retired in 2001 as the president of a nationwide corporation. He is married with four children and eight grandchildren.

As a young man, Jeff worked as a paperboy and as a laborer for farms, ranches, lumber mills, and a railroad. He then served in both the Army and the Navy, retiring from the Navy as a commissioned warrant officer.

After leaving the military, Jeff worked his way up from an entry-level technical position to become the executive-vice president of a 900-person corporation with offices worldwide. Then he took over a troubled seven-person North Carolina company and turned it into a solvent corporation with over 250 employees. In recognition of these efforts, a U.S. Congressional Committee officially awarded him their 1999 North Carolina Businessman of the Year plaque during a Washington, DC, ceremony.

Jeff sold his business interests in 2001 and retired to his hometown where he was soon elected president of the Community Council, a position he held for four years. He was also the president of the County Chamber of Commerce for two years. His bright red hair has long since turned white and thinned, but he still lives very happily in western Montana.