Thunder on the Plains (7 page)

He put the sage back down. “Now I have a special treat for you,” Robert said. “Follow me.”

He led us over a little rise to an open area. There was a beautiful field of wild sage.

“This is a secret field of sage, known only to a very few members of our tribe. It's where the great medicine men and warriors of our nation have picked their sage for generations.” We walked into the field.

“Now it's your turn, as modern spiritual warriors, to pick your own sage to use when you need it.”

We spent the morning picking the plants and relaxing in the field. Charlene stayed close to me as we picked our sage. We helped each other tie the long stems together into bundles.

Robert said we had finished the hardest part of our survival experience. He said that picking the sage was our reward. It was time to head back down the mountain.

On the way down, Robert pointed out Yellowstone National Park. I looked where he was pointing and could see it in the distance. I knew that nothing in L.A. could match this view or give me this feeling.

The rest of the week was downhill all the way. We hiked back to our horses. Then we rode back toward our starting point.

On Saturday, we rode back into Buffalo Gap. Robert said he really felt good about the week's camp. He had been successful in getting another group of Indian kids to see life from a different point of view. And to think about the natural world more. He said the kids in the group had formed a bond that only comes when people face hard times together.

We all said good-bye to Robert and to each other. Then we headed off to return to our normal lives.

Before she left, Charlene gave me her phone number. It was written on the outside of an envelope. Her eyes got misty as she told me good-bye and ran to her parent's car.

I opened the envelope and took out a yellow sheet of paper with a note on it. The note said, “You are a special friend, Danny. I'll always remember you. Hope I can see you again this summer before you go back home. Love, Charlene.”

I had never had a girlfriend before, but this sounded like a note from one. I didn't know what to think about it. And I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I put the note in my back pocket.

As I rode back to my uncle's house, I began thinking about how good one of Aunt Amanda's meals would taste and how I missed her cooking. That was much safer than thinking about Charlene.

The next day I got a phone call from L.A. It was my stepdad.

“Well, survival camp is over,” Bill said. “I promised that you could come home now if things weren't going well.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “I'm having a great time here. There's nothing like it there in L.A.”

“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.