Page 36 of Dead Mountain

Hawley’s eyes came alive in his face as he saw what seemed like an opening. “That isn’t what I asked you. Did they specifically authorize you to remove them?”

“Not specifically. But like I said, I was given general authorization to do what I thought was correct.”

“In other words, they don’t know what you’re up to. I thought so!” He waved the governor’s letter, which Baca must have given him, triumphantly. “This is just some Indian gobbledygook! Listen to me: this is federal land, and those bones are federal property. You leave them right here.”

Nora stepped forward. “Sheriff Hawley,” she said, “NAGPRA law—a federal law, by the way—gives the Isleta people every right to repatriate their remains from federal land.”

“Bullshit. You drop those bones, and drop them now.”

“I’m sorry.” Nora turned to her brother. “Skip, let’s get this in the van.” She took a fresh grip on the handle, but Hawley was still blocking their way.

“Are you going to arrest us?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t you activists just love to get your asses arrested? I’m not going to give you free publicity—but I’m ordering you to put down that federal property, now.”

“Federal property?” Skip burst out. “This is a sacred Native American burial! These people were here when your ancestors were still drinking poteen in some damp bog halfway around the world!”

“Whoa, Skip—” Nora began.

The sheriff turned savagely on Skip. “Just who the hell are you, sonny?”

“Skip, can it,” Nora said. “Let’s go.”

She tried to go around Hawley, but once again the sheriff blocked her path. She hesitated, realizing that if she so much as touched him, he’d claim assault. And that, it seemed to her, was what he hoped would happen.

“Are you going to step aside?” Nora asked.

“Not while you’re stealing federal property.” The sheriff was about to say something else, but then he suddenly pointed at Skip. “Hey, you, cut that shit!”

Nora turned to see Skip shooting the scene with his cell phone.

“Stop that!” the sheriff cried. He lunged forward in an effort to grab the phone, roughly shoving Nora aside in the process. She stumbled backward on the slope, lost her balance, and dropped the body bag as she fell.

“You motherfucker!” Skip cried as the sheriff charged him. He seized the sheriff by the shoulders and, using the man’s own momentum, grabbed him with one hand, checked him with his shoulder, and threw him to the ground. The sheriff fell with a loud grunt, landing sideways and rolling onto his back in the mud and snow.

“Skip!” Nora cried as she got up. “What the hell?”

Skip, realizing the implications of what he’d done, froze with horror, phone still in his hand.

With a second grunt, this time of effort, the sheriff staggered up, drew his weapon, and pointed it at Skip. “You’re under arrest!” he bellowed, the gun shaking in his grip. “Show your hands!”

Skip, terrified, raised his arms.

“Drop the phone!”

He dropped the phone.

For a moment, Nora thought Hawley might shoot Skip, and she scrambled to throw herself in front of him. But the sheriff was more interested in the phone. He snatched it up, holstered his weapon, and then grasped Skip’s upraised arm, spun him around while yanking the arm behind his back, grabbed the other arm, and slapped a pair of steel cuffs on him.

“You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer of the peace,” Hawley bawled. “And . . . and attempted murder!”

“What are you talking about?” Skip cried.

“My head grazed that rock, there, after—after you decked me.” The sheriff pointed to a small rock protruding from the snow and dirt. “I could have been killed.”

“Skip didn’t ‘deck’ anybody!” Nora said, while the sheriff, one shoulder and part of his face covered in mud, recited Skip’s Miranda rights at high volume. “You didn’t even hit that rock!”

“You assaulted my sister!” Skip cried. “I’ve got it on video! Give me my phone back!”

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