by Justin Hoffman
Katy Chaser leaned against the side of the Union Pacific engine. The only light was that of the moon, which shined down as if a spotlight onto Katy Chaser and his glorious buffalo kill. He was the lone being, just the way he liked it. No one else could be trusted to keep this mission a secret. If his mother and father heard Katy Chaser was up to grandpa’s old tricks, he would likely be sent away to the white man’s school again. School wasn’t for him; his grandpa, Wise Trail Stopper, had taught him all he needed to know.
“Reading, writing is for white fools,” Grandpa used to say with Katy Chaser perched on his kneebefore the camp fire. When he was young, his grandpa filled his mind with stories from when he was a boy.
He gave Katy Chaser his ceremonial name, even though his parents protested against the traditional teachings. They would drive into the hills together, where grandpa could tell him whatever he wished. “Don’t forget your past. Past is all we have now.”
“Hold it right there!” someone yelled at Katy Chaser.
He took up his bow and strung an arrow. His first and middle fingers held the arrow perfectly still while he drew the bow back. He flared his nostrils and sniffed the warm desert night air.
“I said. Hold it right there!” the voice repeated loudly.
Katy Chaser squinted and searched for the white man’s outline. He could smell him but not see him.
“I claim this iron buffalo in the name of the Tranobie tribe.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” another voice faintly drifted to him.
“Come on, put down the weapon!” the first voice commanded. “Surrender. You are surrounded.”
“I am Katy Chaser, brave Tranobie warrior. I will die before I surrender.”
“Okay, kid. Whatever you want. We’ll shoot.”
He heard the kick of the sandy dirt almost straight ahead, just a little to the left, perhaps twenty feet away. He pointed the arrow at the noise. “I can see you now,” he bluffed.
“Put the weapon down, kid. Or we’ll shoot!”
“I won’t surrender. I am a brave Tranobie warrior.”
“I am Officer Paul. We just have to ask you some questions about the train.” The police officer joined Katy Chaser in the moon light, with his gun pointed at the warrior.
Katy Chaser pulled his elbow back farther; the arrow tip almost on the concave side of the bow. This startled Paul, and he shot the warrior twice. Once through the wrist of his aiming left arm and the other through his drawing hand. The arrow and bow fell to the ground. Paul holstered his gun and cuffed Katy Chaser before the other officers left their hiding spots.
“Why did you not kill me?” the warrior asked.
“Huh?” Paul asked, as he pushed his captive towards a police car.
“I cannot face my tribe again. I have been shamed as a prisoner.”
“Yeah, okay, son. You’re gonna get treatment at the hospital and then you’ll be jailed for hijacking a freight train. How old are you?” Paul held his head under the door frame.
“I have been a warrior for one year. I am seventeen now.”
“You got some parents?” the officer asked as they drove to the hospital.
“Yeah. Lauren and Steve Peterson.”
“Your name?”
“Katy Chaser.”
“Your real name, not your tribe name.”
“Ken.”
“Ok. Another officer will stay with you here and bring you to the station when you’re fixed up.”Paul smiled.
Katy Chaser sat on the thin fluff, referred to as a mattress by the deputy, wondering what the tribe would do after they learned of his capture. Wise Trail Stopper had once been taken prisoner early in his life, too. He often stopped the wagons full of settlers from reaching the west coast. The explorers all stopped when they reached Tranobie land, or diverted some way to the north or south at the eastern most borders. He had been a legend among the white men known as the Hatchet Man, because he would throw a hatchet into the side of the wagon as a warning when it crossed the invisible border.
In an effort to begin a Spanish city in the then beautiful Los Angeles valley basin, a troop of Spanish soldiers managed to ambush Wise Trail Stopper and capture him. The Tranobie were sent a letter of blackmail, demanding the valley. The tribe refused and sent a raiding party to free him. The small battalion of Spanish soldiers and settlers were murdered by the Tranobie warriors, and Wise Trail Stopper was returned home safely. One soldier was sent back to Mexico to tell the Spanish of the terrible massacre and to warn them to never return. Thus, the valley was named, the angels, for the fallen Spanish soldiers. Eventually the Spanish retaliated against the tribe and won their beloved valley. It was this story that fascinated Katy Chaser the most about his grandpa. He only wished to make his father’s father proud.
“Goddamn it boy. Why did you do this again?” his father’s voice boomed through the steel bars.
Katy Chaser shook and slowly raised his head. He looked at his father with pure hatred, but contained his anger by not speaking.
“Honey, you know you can’t do this,” his mother said sweetly.
“This isn’t, I repeat, is NOT the Wild West. Your grandfather is dead. The land has been lost. It was lost long ago.”
“But ... I ...,” Kate Chaser started unsure, but finished in one blurt of anger, “I only wanted to make him proud.” He looked at his mother, trying to plead with his eyes alone.
“Honey...” She sobbed softly, briefly, and then controlled it. “I can’t help you this time. Your father is right.”
“Just how many times did you expect us to put up with this...these forgotten Indian ways,” his father thundered.
“They’re not forgotten!” Katy Chaser stated and stood forcefully. He faced his father as a brave warrior would face his enemy. They had never gotten along. His father had been scarred by grandpa’s stories and dreams.
“You’ll understand someday. It’s all gone,” his father shook his head. “I wish it wasn’t. But it is.”
Tears made clear mounds on Katy Chaser’s lower eye lids. “Get away from me! I’ll stop a thousand trains if that’s what it takes. I’m going to make the Tranobie proud. I will prove I am a brave warrior.”
“Hi, I’m Officer Paul.” A deeply tanned hand extended toward his father. “You must be the boy’s father. Steve, it is?”
“It’s Mister Peterson.” He shook the officer’s hand twice and pulled his away to point at his wife. “My wife, Lauren.”
“Hi, Missus. Is your boy always into trouble?”
“He’s mostly a good boy.” His mother looked at him. Katy Chaser glared back at her.
“We need to keep him here over night, for observation.”
“What? Why?” she said, overwhelmed by her concern.
“For the gunshot wounds. Can’t keep him in the hospital, though. Too much chance of him running away.”
Katy Chaser studied the adults as they talked about him. His tribe was deciding his fate, but it didn’t sound promising. There was a pause as they turned to look at him. He sat back down on the bedding. He faced the cell’s back wall. There was a small window near the ceiling with five bars vertically separating the sky into orange rectangles.
The glow of the campfire shined through the barred window, creating four unique quadrangular shapes on the adobe ceiling. Wise Trail Stopper lay on the cool dirt floor listening to the partying Spanish soldiers. He wondered if he would be rescued, or if he would die a forgotten, captured warrior. The laughing and strange, wild cries stopped. He could feel a cold breeze blowing in from the ocean. He stood, stretched skyward, and grasped the bars of the window. Slowly pulling himself up, Wise Trail Stopper peered out into the night.
The fire still blazed brightly, but no one was in the light. Psing! He dropped from the window and pushed himself against the wall. A rifle was pointed through the bars. The small entry room of the prison was packed with soldiers. A few peeked through the open doorway into the darkness. Wise Trail Stopper sensed their uneasiness and felt brave because of it. He knew he was being saved. Arrows flew into the light from every direction. All the soldiers were killed except for the one sent to report to the Spanish government. Three horses were needed to pull the iron bar wall down.
“It’s up to Union Pacific if they press charges.” Paul tried to smile, but pressed his lips together when he looked at Steve. “You know, we have a program for problem children to ride around with us police once a week. Helps them stay out of trouble, and it helps us with the community.”
“I don’t think that’ll – ” His father started to say. Katy Chaser couldn’t believe what he was hearing; his mother interrupting his father.
“Steve.” Her eyes glazed over and stopped blinking. “It will be good for Kenneth.”
“Fine. If you can talk him into it, then do it.” His father turned to his mother. “We need to go, dear.”
“Yes.” She glanced at her watch. “We will be late for our dinner.”
“It kills me to watch him go through what I went through, dear,” Katy Chaser heard his father say to his wife as they walked away from the jail cell.
“Have a good evening.” Paul turned to Katy Chaser. “Hey, Ken.”
He refused to answer to that name. It wasn’t the one he had chosen.
“You want me to call you Katy Chaser, I take it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to do the ride along program?”
“No.”
“Hmm. I bet I can talk Union Pacific into forgetting about this if you agree to ride with me once a week.”
“No.” Katy Chaser looked at the officer. “My tribe will come for me.”
“Who is left from your tribe? Do you know anyone?” Paul challenged him.
He looked at the concrete floor and chewed on the inside of his lower lip.
“I’m from the Tranobie. I bet you didn’t know that.”
“No,” Katy Chaser whispered, disbelievingly. He searched for some native sign on the officer’s body, in his face, and in his hair. The man’s stature didn’t fit, and neither did his face. It was fat like a white man’s. His skin though was slightly too dark, too red.
“My grandmother was Tranobie. She was captured and kept as a slave. My father was the same way as yours. He hated that he was not fully white because he grew up being hated.”
“Why are you not like me? Why do you live like a white man?”
“I didn’t want to end up on the street. That’s where you’re headed, Katy Chaser.”
“What is your Tranobie name?”
Paul smiled, showing several white teeth. “I never had one.”
“You are no Tranobie.”
“My grandmother wasn’t able to give names,” the officer pleaded.
“No.” Katy Chaser turned his back to the white man. He looked out the window, and listened for the approaching Tranobie warriors. “I am a brave Tranobie. They will come to rescue me like they came to rescue my grandpa.” He listened to the officer’s clicking shoes walk into the distance until they faded completely. View blog authority
