Dyed in the Wool

Chapter One

Fear rippled through Pat Chumseh’s gut. He snapped his eyes shut, willing it gone, then slitted them open and watched the tall Navajo in his long, beaded cloak turn and walk through the wall as if it were a door. Pat lay paralyzed in the small bedroom, his breathing shallow, heart pounding. If a Yei came to him, it must know. He threw off the covers, put his bare feet on the cold wood floor, and hauled himself up. The clock on the table glowed 4:30 a.m. He groaned and reached for his clothes.

Getting into his old Ford pickup, he drove through the tunnels of headlights along the dark reservation road that ran east toward the mountains. After nearly an hour, he turned off the main road and began a steep ascent on unpaved roads so deeply pocked and rutted they reminded him of the tank traps in ’Nam. At his usual vantage point, he pulled the truck into scrub juniper by the roadside and killed the engine. If Max was operating tonight, Pat should be able to see him from here. He pulled his binoculars from the glove box and set them on the passenger seat.

Pat knew that Max couldn’t maneuver the big truck on the canyon roads until daylight, so he settled in to wait. He groped his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, put it into his mouth, and leaned back against the worn upholstery without lighting it. His dog, a big black and brown mongrel, hunkered in the truck bed.

Pat woke with a start as the sky slipped from coal black to gray and listened to the low, labored growl of the approaching truck before he saw the pinpoints of its headlights in the distance. He grabbed his binoculars and stepped out, pushing the door shut with a click. The dog pranced and whined to be let down. Pat raised his fist; the dog flattened its ears and cowered.

With the binoculars, Pat picked out the shape of the heavy dump truck as it made its slow way down the opposite canyon. He watched the truck ease its bulk around the sharp mountain curves, heading for a spot that Pat had identified. Almost black on black, without the headlights he probably couldn’t have seen it. Pat felt his rage rise. That sonofabitch wasn’t keeping his part of the bargain. He was making more runs than he paid for, getting rich while Pat wasn’t. On Pat’s land. Navajo land.

The landscape emerged as dawn progressed, revealing the rough crags and peaks of the Chuska Mountains etched against the dark pearl sky. Pat lowered the binoculars. He had to leave before Max stopped his truck. He couldn’t risk Max knowing he’d been seen. Max might be his partner in crime, but Max was willing to stop anyone in his way. Pat had no illusions about that. And Max would use the canyons to dispose of anything—or anyone.

The dog whimpered as Pat carefully opened the door of his truck and slid behind the wheel. He pulled the door shut and watched until the heavy truck disappeared around another curve. He’d have to call off the deal. No question. He’d confront Max and let him know he was on to the cheating. Then he’d demand his money.

Pat released the hand brake and let his truck roll onto the rough road. He listened again and heard it moving deeper into the canyon; then he turned the key in the ignition and headed down the mountain.

While the truck lurched and bucked through the sage, juniper, and stunted pine, Pat reviewed how he would do it. Maybe confront Max when he came by for a new location. No. He’d meet him off-reservation. Pat reached the base of the steep grade and turned onto the empty blacktop highway that stretched to the horizon in both directions. He could feel the sweat under his shirt and jacket. Teeth clenched, he reached for another cigarette. This time he applied flame with a dented Zippo. He inhaled deeply, then lowered the window a crack to suck the smoke out. Who was he kidding? Yei, or no Yei, crossing Max was dangerous. More dangerous than Vietnam. He’d have to bide his time.

Chapter Two

Damn! Steam billowed from the car’s hood, fogging and splattering the windshield and blinding Annie. She flipped the windshield wipers on high. The empty two-lane road through the desert stretched toward the distant mountains and mesas. No one in sight. The slap, slap of the wipers and the hissing steam were almost deafening. Where to pull over? She spotted a dirt side-road ahead on the right and carefully steered the erupting car onto it, pulling up under a bushy piñon pine tree. She turned off the engine and released the hood latch.

Wow. Look at that! Walt’s young voice pierced the racket. He and his brother Dylan had already jumped out of the back seat of the Volvo. What do we do now, Annie? He looked at his stepmother anxiously.

Shoving the hood to a full open position, Annie McLeod stood back, her five-foot-eight-inch frame half hidden by the swirling steam. Her auburn hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail, a few strands glued to her forehead and cheeks by the escaping steam. She shook her head in disgust while jamming her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

We’re going to have to wait for this to cool.

This wouldn’t have happened if Dad was here, muttered Dylan, his face sullen. He tossed his head, shifting the lock of dark hair that fell over one eye. His car never broke down. He kicked the roadside gravel with his tennis shoe, his skinny frame sulking from the soles of his shoes to his nearly handsome fourteen-year-old face.

Annie cocked her head at the surly boy, wondering how long she could stand his attitude. At the same time, he so strongly resembled his father that it always took her aback. He was growing tall and rangy like Jason, with fine and unmanageable hair, and to cap it off, Dylan’s nose showed the beginning of Jason’s distinctive high bridge.

Walt’s shoulders slumped. It’s not a big deal, Dylan. It’s just a hot radiator. His voice was placating, as if he were trying to find a middle ground between siding with his older brother or with his stepmother of less than a year. He stood apart, looking off in the distance. Only a year younger than Dylan, Walt, at thirteen, was shorter and stockier. His face was softer, with wavy, light brown hair and gray-green eyes. Jason said Walt resembled his mother, Sunshine.

Annie looked from one boy to the other. She tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice. Why don’t you guys go for a walk while this cools, she said, indicating the still hissing car. Once it’s cool, we can refill the radiator and be on our way. Don’t go far, though. This is Navajo land, and I don’t know what the rules are. She reached into the cooler in the back of the car, grabbed two bottles of water, and held them out to the boys.

Dylan took the water reluctantly and handed a bottle to Walt. Where do you want us to go? His voice was insolent.

Annie forced a smile. I see cottonwood trees over that way, not very far. She pointed. It must be cooler over there. I’ll stay here with the car.

A whisper of a breeze stirred the shimmering leaves. Walt followed Annie’s pointing finger with his eyes, while Dylan kept his belligerent back to the cottonwoods.

It looks nice and shady over there, said Walt. I’m going. How about you, bro?

Dylan looked surprised. He turned to face the grove of cottonwoods. Why not, he said. It couldn’t be any worse than here.

They stepped over a broken barbed-wire fence and headed across the desert, zigzagging between shrubby sage and stunted juniper, feet crunching in the rocky soil. Then they started loping like young animals, bumping shoulders, lightly shoving each other. Annie heard Dylan laugh.

She turned back to the overheated car and peered through the steam at the hoses, searching for any breaks. What a bad beginning, she mumbled. She turned, impatient for the steam to subside. What the hell was the matter with the car? She had taken it in for a tune-up the week before Jason left, and in the ten years she’d driven it, it had never overheated. She palmed her hands to her eyes to wipe away the tears of frustration that squeezed out, then tried to make her ragged breathing normal by deeply inhaling the sage-scented desert air. She dropped her hands to her sides and rested her gaze on the tufted grass that glowed golden in the sun and merged with the gray-green sage and darker juniper. The distant flat tops of the mesas floated on the horizon under a cobalt sky. The stillness was immense.

She could feel despair rising in her like a black presence. All her army-brat life she had wanted a real home with a real family, and with Jason, she thought that at last she had made it. Only eight months ago it seemed perfect. Annie and Jason and the boys were becoming a unit. Even before the wedding, they hiked together, ate meals together. . . had fun. And Jason was so confident that just before he left for Uruguay, he started the process that would make Annie the boys’ legal mom. She wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans and turned back to the still hissing car.

Okay, Einstein, she murmured. It’s just an overheated car, not the end of the world. Fix it and move on. She glanced quickly around to be sure she had not been overheard. The highway behind her was quiet, and she couldn’t hear the boys’ voices from over the rise.

She shook her head in frustration. Why had they changed so completely after Jason left? Everything seemed fine until this new assignment took Jason out of the country on a three-month assignment for his company, Transat.

She knew that Walt and Dylan’s mother had walked out on the two boys seven years ago when they were seven and six. This was the first time Jason had been gone for more than a few days since then. He’d only been gone a month, but it was long enough for the fragile relationship she had started to build with her new stepsons to unravel.

A jackrabbit, long ears up, stopped a few feet away in the stony desert to watch her. Jackrabbits are good luck, Annie thought. I hope this one changes our luck today.

She heard shouts and turned to see the boys jogging toward her. She waved and tried the radiator again, while waiting for them to draw close enough to talk. Their faces were sweaty and dusty, but they looked excited. They stomped their feet to shed some of the dust. Annie smiled involuntarily at the change in them. What’s up?

We saw goats and sheep over there, said Walt.

And a river, Dylan finished.

Annie twisted off the radiator cap and jumped back as the last of the pressure released with a burst of hot steam. Was anyone with the animals?

No, but . . . Dylan hesitated, watching Annie, since there’s a stream there, we thought maybe we could try out that water tester thing you invented. He pushed some rock with the toe of his dirty tennis shoe. We saw it in back by the sleeping bags. He indicated the car with a twist of his head.

This was a new wrinkle. Annie glanced around to hide her surprise and to see if they were as isolated as it seemed. She walked around to the back of the car to retrieve a jug of water. The boys followed.

The stand of pines hid them from the road, and she saw no sign of life other than the reported sheep and goats. I guess there’s no harm, she said thoughtfully. She set the water jug on the ground and reached again into the car’s trunk to pull out the compact, black waterproof case for the MetalMan—a field instrument designed to detect heavy metals in water. It was Annie’s baby, and even though it was still a prototype, the Environmental Protection Agency, the EPA, was interested. She lifted the instrument from its case and held it in her hand.

Watch carefully, Dylan, and I’ll show you again how to use this. Annie demonstrated the power button and how to use the calibration vial, then she handed it to Dylan. You try it.

He hesitated, then pressed the first button to begin the procedure. Annie coached him as he continued, step by step. He went through the process again without help and made no mistakes. Dylan looked conflicted—his pleasure at his success competing with embarrassment at Annie’s part in it. He smiled at Walt, who beamed back at him. He’ll probably be an engineer like his father, Annie mused as she repacked the instrument in the case’s molded Styrofoam lining.

I’ll stay here and mark the location on the map so we’ll know where we took the sample. She handed the case to Dylan, sensing that he wanted to try the instrument without her presence.

She watched the boys argue their way over the rise again, Dylan holding the case carefully, while Walt bounced along beside him. She took a deep breath and let a shred of new hope relax her stomach.

Reaching through the car’s open window, she grabbed the road map off the seat to try to pinpoint their exact location. Satisfied, she pulled her lab notebook from the glove box and noted the presumed position. Next she sketched the site, including the highway, the unmarked side road, the piñon, the rise, and the stand of cottonwoods. Looking around for other markers but seeing none, she closed the notebook and dropped it with the map on the driver’s seat.

She was sure the boys would be okay with the instrument, since it was designed to be used by workers wearing heavy gloves on messy job sites. From her own field experience, she knew they wanted simple techniques and displays that compared contaminant levels with legal limits and stored the results. With this first look at waste sites, any company could decide what steps to take on the tested site, or if any were needed at all.

Annie picked up the jug of water and tipped it to fill the radiator. She hoped the boys would hurry. The reservation was huge, and she wanted to find their motel before dark.

Chapter Three

Walt ran stumbling through the desert brush toward Annie. She dropped the water jug and started toward him. What’s wrong? she called as she ran. Where’s Dylan? Is he all right?

Walt stopped, gasping, almost in tears. Dylan’s afraid he broke the instrument, and that you’ll be really mad.

The flood of relief made Annie feel lightheaded. Oh, Walt, she reached out and grasped his arm, leaned toward him. Whatever has happened to it, I’m sure it will be all right. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Let’s go have a look.

Walt hesitated, his voice had a tremor. I told him you wouldn’t yell at him. You won’t, will you, Annie?

She looked at Walt’s eyes round with fear in his young face and saw she wasn’t the only one having a hard time. She almost hugged him. Instead she said, No, Walt. I won’t yell at him. She gave his arm a squeeze, and they turned and picked their way across the desert toward the stream.

From the top of the rise, she spotted Dylan standing in the dappled shade of the cottonwoods looking like a man condemned, hands hanging at his sides, eyes fixed on the ground. The only sound was the splash of water coursing over the rocks. Sheep and goats grazed on the other side of the stream.

Dylan looked up as Annie and Walt approached. His bravado had evaporated. I think we did something wrong, Annie, he said in a voice so soft she could barely hear him. It was my fault.

Why don’t you show me exactly what you did. She walked toward Dylan, who cringed as she came closer. She pretended not to notice.

With shaking hands, Dylan opened the case and set the instrument on a rock. He stooped to demonstrate. We dipped the vial into the water like you showed us. Dylan slid his eyes toward Annie, but did not look directly at her. Walt nodded. Then we put it in the instrument, he demonstrated as he talked. Then we waited and . . . He pushed the button. A harsh buzz sounded as black characters on the green background clearly showed the results.

Oh my! Annie sucked in her breath. The reading showed a high level of arsenic in the water sample, and the chromium-six level was almost as bad. Both were toxic metals, and both readings were well over the EPA’s legal limit.

She bent over and looked directly into Dylan’s troubled brown eyes. You did everything right, Dylan. The buzz is an alert when levels are too high. You didn’t break the instrument. She straightened, her brow furrowed as she puzzled over the unexpected readings.

While Dylan packed the instrument in its case, he allowed himself a quick, grateful glance at Annie.

I’ll take these samples back to the lab with me and recheck the results, she said, pocketing the two test vials. If they don’t match, we have a bad prototype. If they do match, the Navajo people living here may have a problem."

A serious problem, she told herself.

Chapter Four

Trudging back to the car, the trio watched a truck with Navajo Nation Police markings pull up beside the Volvo. A tall man in a tan uniform stepped easily from the cab, the glint of a badge on his chest. As he reached up to close the truck door, dark moons of sweat at his armpits showed that he had been out patrolling in the heat for a while. He wore a light Smoky hat and black boots and watched the three approach through regulation sunglasses.

He waited until they were face to face, then nodded toward the car. Problems? His tone was neutral.

Annie faced the policeman squarely. His name badge read ‘John Tsose.’ He was nice looking—tall, trim, and fit, with the dark hair and tan skin of the Navajo. He looked to be about Annie’s age, mid-thirties, maybe a little older. His stance was erect and easy, like someone trained in the military. He was waiting for an answer.

Annie removed her sunglasses to eliminate any hint that she was less than forthcoming, and her smile showed embarrassment. She tucked an escaped lock of hair behind her left ear. Yes, she gestured to the Volvo. The car overheated, and we were waiting for it to cool.

John Tsose nodded toward Dylan, who still carried the small black case containing the MetalMan. And what’s that?

Dylan drew back almost imperceptibly. He swiveled his eyes at Annie, as if by not moving he wouldn’t be noticed.

Annie invented it. It’s a water tester. It was Walt’s voice that burst forth before Annie could say anything.

And what were you doing with it?

This time Annie drew a breath and spoke. It’s only a prototype, but the boys wanted to see how it works. She indicated the stand of cottonwoods. Walt and Dylan were walking and found the stream. She sounded lame.

May I see it? His glance assumed permission.

Of course. Let me show you. Annie took the case from Dylan, stepped up beside Officer Tsose, set the case on the car’s warm fender, lifted the instrument out, and handed the MetalMan to the policeman. She showed him the vials and explained its use. Anticipating his next question, she said, Remember, this isn’t a finished instrument. The readings we took may not be accurate.

What did they show? Tsose handed the instrument back to Annie, watching her while she answered.

Annie told him the levels of chromium and arsenic found in the stream were higher than the EPA allows and that she planned to take the samples back to the lab to be retested. She also explained that it was impossible to tell anything with a single reading.

How good is this instrument, and how sure are you of the results? he asked sharply.

Annie bristled; Tsose seemed unnecessarily hostile. She repeated that the instrument was not yet in production. The readings showed possible problems, but all the results would have to be checked.

He thanked her and stepped back to let her pack the instrument. Annie looked at Dylan. Maybe you could do this, Dylan, she said casually. I’d like to confirm with Officer Tsose exactly where we are and how far we have to go before we reach Chinle. She reached through the driver’s window to grab the map again.

While she spread out the map, Tsose asked her what she and the boys were doing here. She told him they were to meet her colleague, Lottie Yazza, and her mother to talk about weaving and that she had promised the boys they would visit Canyon de Chelly. I’ve only been there once myself, but I remember it vividly. I’m sure they’ll love it. Her eyes sparkled as she finally relaxed a bit at the memory.

As John Tsose studied the woman from behind his dark glasses, his glance took in the wedding ring she wore and the traces of grease from the car’s engine on her hands.

I know the Yazza family. Elizabeth’s weaving is well known. If you’d like, I can show you how to get to their settlement. He bent over the map to show her. When he had marked the turn, he said, I know you and your boys did no harm, but where you see fencing, even if it’s down, it’d be good to get permission before going on the land.

Annie felt her face redden. Of course. She bit back the explanation that wanted to rush forth.

John Tsose handed her his card. If you have any problems, you can reach me at this number. He turned and climbed into his truck. They watched him check his radio and then pull slowly out onto the highway and drove back in the direction he came from.

The boys were quiet as Annie pulled the Volvo back onto the main road. After a moment, Dylan said, I wonder what happens if you break a law on the reservation?

I don’t know, Dylan. It’s kind of like another country, but I never thought much about it. Maybe we can ask Lottie tomorrow when we see her, Annie replied.

None of them saw the flash of light from a nearby ridge when the sun glinted off the lens of a pair of binoculars.

f f f

By the time they reached Chinle, the shadows were long and the day cooling. The Volvo nosed down the narrow, winding road to the old Thunderbird Motel, a rustic landmark lodge nestled in a grove of huge cottonwoods. The line of low, dark brown cabins with shake roofs extended farther than any of them could see. They drive another quarter mile to the Holiday Inn, which appeared to be a newer version of the Thunderbird. Annie pulled up to the front, stepped out, and stretched. Five hours, even with many stops, was still a long drive. She was glad it would be a four-day weekend. The boys looked dazed from sitting so long.

Why don’t you two explore while I check in? she suggested. Fifteen minutes! They were gone. She watched them cross