--1 Hour of the Hunter (1991)--
AVON BOOKS NEW YORK
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
To Bill, who brought us "the Bone," and to Diana Conway, wherever she is
AVON BOOKS A division of The Hearst Corporation 1350 Avenue of the Americas New York, New York 10019
Copyright C 1991 by LA. Jance Published by arrangement with the author
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 91-6945
ISBN: 0-380-71107-9
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.
Published in hardcover by William Morrow and Company, Inc.; for information address Permissions Department, William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1350 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10019.
First Avon Books Printing: September 1992
AVON TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND IN other COUNTRIES, MARCA RISTRADA, RECHO EN CANADA
Printed in Canada
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THE PAPAGO LEGENDS used in this book are retellings of the traditional oral tales of the Tohono O'othham, the Desert People. These are winter-telling tales, which must not be "told" during the summer when snakes and lizards are out, for if they hear the stories, Wamad, Snake, or Hujud, Lizard, may swallow the storyteller's luck and bring him harm.
There is, however, no prohibition against them in written form.
This book is set in the 1970's, long before the tribal council renamed the reservation to reflect the people's traditional name of the Desert People. References to the Papago Reservation are historically correct, although today's maps will refer to the reservation located west of Tucson as the Tohono othham Nation.
Writing this book would not have been possible without being able to use the works of Dean and Lucille Saxton as reference materiaclass="underline" Legends and Lore of the Papago and Pima Indians and Papago & Pirna to English Dictionary, both first and second editions, all three of which were published by the University of Arizona Press.
I am also indebted to the inspired retellings of some of these stories by Harold Bell Wright in his invaluable and unfortunately exceedingly rare work Long Ago Told (New York: D. Appleton, 1929).
Both the King County Library and Seattle Public, through their wonderfully convenient interlibrary loan systems, supported my research by locating and helping me gain access to rare source material from libraries all over the country.
Of the "committee" who helped me on this book, I'd like to especially acknowledge Dick Sawyer, Carol and Charles Mackey, and Dan and Agnes Russell for their timely, deadline-type assistance.
In addition, I would like to say thank you to the splendid and delightfully humorous Tohono O'othharn themselves, who, during my five years of teaching on the reservation, made me feel both welcome and appreciated, even though I'm really, as Pauline once told me, "a member of another We are all hunters.
--Clayton Savage in A Less Than Noble Savage, an unpublished manuscript by Andrew Philip Carlisle
Prologue
IT IS SAID that after that I'itoi climbed the steps of arrows and went to Eagle Man's cave. The woman was sitting there with her baby. "I have come to kill Eagle Man," I'itoi told her.
"But you can't," said the woman. "He kills everyone."
"He will not kill me," said l'itoi, "because I have power. What time does he come home?"
"At noon."
"What does he do?"
"He eats."
"And after that?"
"He sleeps."
"And the baby?"
"He sleeps, too."
"Today, let it happen just that way," said I'toi. "Let him come home and eat and go to sleep. Let the baby sleep with him with his head facing in the same direction."
"Where will you be?" asked the woman.
"I will turn myself into a fly and hide in that crack over there." It happened just that way. I'itoi turned himself into a fly and hid in the crack. Eagle Man came home, ate his meal, and lay down with the baby to sleep. The baby was so small it had not yet spoken, but now it did.
"Papa, somebody came," the baby said.
"What did you say?" asked Eagle Man.
"Do not listen," said the woman. "You know the baby' cannot talk."
"Papa," the baby said again. "Somebody came." But every time, the woman told Eagle Man not to listen. Finally, she sang a song so the baby would go to sleep.
When they were both sleeping, the fly came out of the crack and turned back into I'itoi. He took a stone hatchet from his belt and chopped the baby's head off. Then he chopped Eagle Man's head off, too.
After I'itoi killed Eagle Man, the woman took him to a corner of the cave where there was a huge pile of bones. These were the bones of the people Eagle Man had killed.
First I'itoi woke up the people at the very top of the pile, the ones who had been dead for the shortest time. When they came back to life, their skin was a rich brown color.
They were gentle and hardworking and laughed a lot.
"I like you very much," Fitoi said. "You will be Toliono O'othham, my Desert People, and live here close to my mountains forever." The next people on the pile had been dead a while longer. When they woke up, they weren't quite so industrious, and they were a little quarrelsome.
"You're all right," I'itoi said. "You can live near me, but not too near. You will be the Pima, Akimel O'othham, and live by the river."
When the newt people woke up, they were lazy and they fought a lot among themselves.
"You will be Ohb, the Apaches," Titoi said. "You will be the enemy and live far from here in the mountains across my desert."
The bones at the bottom of the pile had been dead for such a long time that when they came back -to life, their skin had turned white.
"I don't like you at all," l'itoi said to them. "You will mingle with the whites. I will give you something to write with where you will be far away from me, then I want you to go across the ocean and stay there."
And that, nawoi, my friend, is the story of l'itoi and Eagle Man.
The Indian girl staggered slightly as she sidled up to the pickup.
"Mr. Ladd, are you going to the dance?"
Gary Ladd finished pumping gas into his pickup. He recognized Gina Antone, a young Papago who lived in Topawa, a village on the reservation that also housed the Teachers' Compound where he lived with his wife.
"Hi, Gina," he returned. "My friend and I thought we'd stop by for a while."
"Our truck broke down," Gina continued. She was slender and attractive and more than a little drunk. "Could you give us a ride? We've got some beer."
"Sure," Gary Ladd told her. "No problem." He hurried into the trading post to pay for the gas while a laughing group of young Papagos piled cheerfully into the back of the truck.
it was early on a hot summer's evening in June of 1968.
As they settled into the bed of the pickup, the young people laughed and joked about the coming dance. None of them guessed that before the sun came up the next morning, Gina Antone would be dead, and that death, for her, would be a blessing.
The woman sat in the detective's car. He had left the engine running, so the air-conditioning stayed on. The interior of the car remained cool, even on this overheated June night. The woman listened curiously to the crackling transmissions on the police radio, but she mostly didn't understand what the voices were saying. She didn't want to understand.
Instead of getting out of the car, she sat and listened and watched.
She saw the parade of flashing lights as the ambulances arrived. After that, she didn't want to see anymore. She turned away and focused instead on the luminescent hands of the clock on the dashboard as they moved from 8:00 to 8:10, from 8:10 to 8:15.