Page 21 of Dead Mountain

Nora pulled out her cell phone to call Corrie but quickly realized there was no service. She looked at Hawley and—after the briefest of deliberations—decided to call his bluff. “Like Mr. Tenorio said: we’re going up there for as long as necessary. If that’s a problem, Sheriff, then go ahead and take us into custody.” She stared at him. Why was he being so hostile?

Hawley stared back. “Don’t think I won’t make note of this defiance of a lawful order.”

Nora was on the brink of responding but, since it seemed they were going to get their way, decided against it. She gestured toward the ladder. “After you, Mr. Tenorio.”

They ascended the ladder, Nora following Tenorio, and Stan Morrison bringing up the rear. Nora switched on the lights, still set up within the cave’s mouth, and the interior jumped into illumination. After a moment of silence, Tenorio said a prayer in Tiwa, removed a small ceramic vessel from his bag, took out a pinch of what was evidently corn pollen, and sprinkled it around while continuing to chant. Then he put it away and turned to Nora. “Show me what you found.”

She and Morrison went over to the temporary wooden cover and removed it, exposing the two skulls, the fringe of blanket, and part of the micaceous pot. Tenorio came over and knelt. He removed a whisk from his leather bag and brushed away at the ancient blanket, gradually revealing more of the woven black border and a band of red. Then he cleared away the pot, eventually exposing an incised decoration along the side Nora recognized as a geometric lightning symbol.

Tenorio straightened up. “The remains,” he said, “are certainly those of our ancestors. I want to thank you for notifying us so promptly and for your respect in protecting the site.” He walked toward the back of the cave and examined the petroglyphs, running his hand over the gouges and scratches. “These are ours also. What a shame.”

“They were vandalized by the two kids who found the cave. Hopefully, they’ll be prosecuted. The FBI gathered plenty of evidence and turned it over to the sheriff—it’s apparently his jurisdiction.”

“The sheriff will not prosecute them.” Tenorio shook his head. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had dealings with Sheriff Hawley. He has no jurisdiction on Pueblo land, of course, but he’s not exactly made himself a helpful presence outside our boundaries. Fortunately, only a small corner of our pueblo is in Torrance County.”

Tenorio took out his cell phone. “I’ll take some pictures now.”

“Of course.”

Tenorio took a suite of photos from a variety of angles, first of the burials and then the petroglyphs. Just as he was finishing up, Nora heard loud voices outside the cave. The metal ladder rattled, and then a head popped up in the cave entrance. “Hello in there! Incoming!”

Nora stared. The head rose, revealing a man holding a large video camera emblazoned with the logo of a local television station.

“What the hell is this?” Nora asked.

“Press!”

“Stop right there,” said Nora, moving to block his view. “No one’s allowed in.”

“What do you mean? The sheriff granted us access.” He began to shoulder the camera.

Now Tenorio took a step forward. “This is a sacred burial site. Please get down off that ladder.”

“But this is a big story. The sheriff said—”

“The sheriff is not in charge here. I consider this now to be Isleta land.”

“Come on, man, you know it’s national forest land. I’m just going to get a shot from here—”

Tenorio strode over and covered the lens of the camera with his broad hands. “No, you’re not. Please do not profane this place.”

“Jesus! Get your hands off my camera!”

Now Nora could hear the sheriff’s voice shouting from below, raised in anger. Suddenly she understood. He’d arranged for a photo op. Of course—it was November 3, with the election just a few days away. Stepping back to the cave’s mouth, she could see the television crew down in the ravine with their equipment, staring back up at her. It was a small group—for now—but they had a second camera, and it was trained on her.

She took a deep breath. “Ladies and gentlemen, you probably heard Councilman Tenorio of Isleta Pueblo just explain this is a sacred burial ground. As an archaeologist employed by the federal government, I can confirm that. As much as we all believe in freedom of the press, you have no right to violate sacred ground.”

“And you have no jurisdiction here!” Sheriff Hawley cried, and all the cameras swiveled to him. He collected himself and modulated his voice. “As sheriff of this county, I’m in charge. I’ve given permission to KWOW to cover an important news story, of legitimate interest to all citizens of Torrance County!”

Tenorio spoke down to them in a calm, almost gentle voice. “Do you really want to ride roughshod over my people’s religious values and traditions . . . for the sake of a story? What will your viewers think?” He paused. “I know your camera is capturing my words, so—if you do decide to come in here and trample my ancestors’ graves—will you at least have the decency to present our point of view as well?”

A silence fell as the camera crew below shifted uncomfortably. Finally, a woman—evidently the producer—spoke up. “Okay, everyone, pack up. No more shooting. And my apologies, Councilman, for this intrusion. We weren’t—” she shot a glance at the sheriff— “fully informed as to the situation. We didn’t know there were Indian burials here.”

“Thank you,” said Tenorio.

The sheriff said nothing as they began to pack up, but he was clearly speechless with rage. His deputy, Baca, looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

The cameraman went down the ladder, and Nora and Tenorio retreated into the cave. Tenorio gathered up his tools and put them into his leather bag. Then he turned to Nora. “The Tribal Council will take this matter up and make a decision whether to disinter and rebury these remains on Pueblo land or leave them here. In the meantime, thank you for protecting these remains. We might ask if you’d appear in front of the council to answer questions.”

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