the talk of gold

Lately there has bene a lot of loose talk about indian gold, buried
Spanish gold an gold hidden on Indian lands. This remined me of a time
when I was on the way up through Lukachukai, headed North in an old
white Chevy Blazer, one of those old Navajo Police units the tribe
sold a few years ago. There is a cut off on the way to Cove, going on
a dirt road through the Chuskas. The day was warm, you could say it
was kind of hot, had the windows all rolled down and the back one too,
so there was dust drifting in through the back window. The dust was
fine, that kind that sticks to everything, no matter what you do to
try to clean it off it seems to find a spot where it will always
remind you this is the Navajo rez.

Got to thinking about what treasures were left behind in the old days,
when there were no roads, just horses and running across the ground to
get from here to there. A time when rainbows were knew, and Star
Mountain still had it's magic, and there was a sweat where the Twin
Heros rested just back down the road near Wheatfield Lake.
The fluted rocks were dark and new, they hold the stories of those
Dine who travelled along this way. On the west is the headwaters of
Tsaile Creek running West into the beginnings of the Canyon De Chelly
and further beyond that is Black Mountain, Red House Ruins and Round
Top. As I looked in the mirrow I could see the blue of the sky was
stretched way beyond me, even through the rising dust it was a
brilliant blue.


This is the place of legends, the stories of youth, of heros and
monsters, about the time when one was equal to all that was around,
when the animals, insects and us as beings could talk with one
another. How would it be to have seen that.


On the west side is the mountain rising, the Chuska Mountains, a
little beyond what I can see is the place of sheep camps, where our
people have moved their sheep, goats and livestock up the mountain for
the summer. I can see the stories of our beliefs in the remains of
shade houses-ch-ohs dotting the houses I pass, where they have taken
the time to seek restoration, of mind, body and soul. It would be good
to drive up on one and find some good mutton ribs, hot coffee and a
chance to visit with those there, but I must drive on.


I remember to the West on the flat east of the Chuskas, the Spanish
came this way and their column left Santa Fe, to rout out raiding
Navajos, probably some hungry souls needing meet and took it from the
Spanish. I could see them sitting there, thinking, those old time
Navajos looking down on those Spanish cattle, thinking those people
must not want their animals, they leave them alone and they are far
from home, so they should not go to waste and so they went down and
took them, just what they needed. It seems funny that civilized men
would blame the whole of the People for the actions of just a few, but
they did. They them Spanish gathered themselves in the Plaza and
sought volunteers and rode out heading west to the Chuskas seeking any
Navajo they might come across. It was a wild time, any young children
and women would find themselve captured and then sold into slavery.


I often wonder if their children's children think about the stories
spoken in their families that one of their forebears was a Navajo
taken to Mexican country and never was able to return home.


Anyway, the Spanish sought slaves and a the yellow glint, a tiny speck
of yellow, gold. Some where in these mountains, the Chuska or the
Carrizo there was gold. There had to be, didn't Coronado search for it
in the seven cities. Didn't he find Zuni and in the glow of sunset see
that it was truly a city of gold. No, they thought it must be still
here somewhere. They found the springs at Sheepsprings and headed onto
Ford Peak, near Newcomb and were attacked by a few Navajos who killed
two Spanish. They buried them there at Ford Peak, it is still talked
about how their bones bleached yellow instead fo white in the sun,
that is how the Spanish bones look out here. Now they are resting
unclaimed and unknown except to themselves.


When they climbed upwards toward Crystal, some call it Buffalo pass,
some Washington Pass and now as late it is called Narbona Pass, anyway
as they reached it rocky crest they were set upon by the Navajos, who
killed a great many, both horses and me, some say as many as 120 or
so. I can see the Eastern Sky where under it the place it happened
still exists.


Whoa, there is someone in the road up ahead. I can see it is an old
man, walking slowly headed the same way I am. I slow to a stop, and he
looks at me. He is Kiyanni, and comes from Skeleton Mesa way over by
Kaibeto. His hair is silvery white and his face is lined and friendly.
Haago?, he askes me, Where are you going? Natani Nez go, I say, to
Shiprock. He tells me he is going to Red Mesa and gets in. The dust
settles as he sits down. I reach behind the seat into a cooler.
To'dil'chosh? Ayo sikuz hay! Do you want some pop? It is really cold I
say. He smiles at me and takes it from my hand. In the full light of
day I can see it, the gold sought by so many, it lies here in the
foothills not too far from Luckachukai on the way to Cove through the
Chuska Mountains. The glimmer of it is bright, it makes me smile as I
see it twinkle in the sun. The old man tells me of his journey from
Kaibeto, down to Dinebito, then to Kinlichee, Fluted Rock, Sawmill and
then to Red Valley to see his children. He told me he got tired of no
one coming to see him, so he decided to go see them. He laughed
because they were surprised to see him at their door. He carried an
old bowling ball bag and as he smiled I could see reflection of gold.
The fleck and glint of riches so many seek and few find. The sun
shined brightly as we drove down the road, the silver of his hair and
gold in this teeth still shine as I think of him riding with me. Yeah
it was a good day way out on the road from Lukachukai.


rustywire