Five years later
****
Reason Nelson was nine going on ten when Nate Holland shoved a gun in his face. Nate, who stood two heads taller than scrawny Reason, outweighed him by at least ninety pounds. One punch would level him. Reason kept his arms crossed in front of his chest. Nate offer him a wicked grin. He yanked a .22 pistol from the waistband of his jeans. Cocking the Ruger with one thick thumb, Nate planted its muzzle beneath Reason’s chin. “Know what a .22 slug does,” he growled, “once it enters your head? It bounces around through the brain!”

Scrawny little Reason’s defiance disorder kicked in. He snarled, “Do it! Shoot me, Nate!”

Vince, seated on his bike nearby, said, “I’ll do it. Just let Reason go, and I’ll go tag the Emerald Pub, okay?”

Nine-year old Vince had tried to get Reason to tell Boone about Nate’s threat, but Reason knew that nothing he did would eliminate the threat
Nate posed. Not until he did as Nate commanded him to in order to
join his small mob of wanna-be-gangsters. Nate was the president of
the little thugs who called Havelock home. His dad’s reputation as a
skin-head was well-known. His legendary beating of a black drug dealer
in T-town had sent Jack Holland to prison for a second time. At thirteen,
Nate, was brawny like a bear. When he landed a punch, it carried a lot
of muscle behind it. Small, shaggy-haired Reason had suffered Nate’s
punishment, especially since his mouth usually got him punched on
a weekly basis. He obstinately defied Nate every chance he had. It wasn’t
in his nature to follow the leader on account of his defiance disorder,
which he was taking meds for. But all the meds in the world could not
fix nine-year-old Reason’s problem when it came to his mouth.

Vince looked over to the playground sixty feet away. A dozen little
kids from Saint Pat’s elementary school had all stopped playing. Tiny
eyes were now locked on the scene taking place before them. Their
teacher, Sister Valerie, did not witness what happened next. Reason
hissed, “Take this damned gun off my face, lunatic!”

The collision of two human disorders could only result in one outcome.
Neither boy was wired right. During conception, both had been
rendered a few genes short of the normal structure in their DNA. Reason’s
defiance disorder had caused him plenty of trouble through his earlier
years. It didn’t help that he also had ADHD to jump-start his bad behavior.
But with Nate’s sadistic nature keeping his rage in overdrive, he and Reason were bound to clash. And despite the fact that Nate was two times as big as wispy Reason, it didn’t keep Reason from sticking to his obstinate nature. The bullet exploded from the muzzle of the gun, passed over Vince’s head, zipped past two kids from Saint Pat’s, then plowed into little Katie Brant’s chest, killing her instantly.

In the sudden silence that followed, Sister Valerie started freaking
out. Screaming at the kids she was in charge of. Screaming at Nate who
stood there frozen. Screaming at Reason and Vince, who stood there,
staring down in horror at the fatally wounded Katie. Screaming at God,
who seemed to be a million miles away.

Reason and Vince rode double on Vince’s moto-cross bike to the
Nelson house, four blocks from the park. As they pulled up next
to the front porch, Vince skidded to a halt, dumping Reason off the
handlebars. A few seconds later, Reason’s sixteen-year-old brother,
Boone, stepped out onto the porch. “What are those sirens about?” he
said, puzzled by the distant echo of the sirens. Boone, tall and dark-haired,
was a good kid, and unlike most of his peers there in Havelock,
he’d never been in trouble with the law and he didn’t do drugs. Although
he was just 16, he had become a father-figure to Reason since their father
had been killed in a motorcycle accident five years ago. If he wasn’t
playing the heavy when it came to Reason’s problem behavior in school,
he was keeping him in line when it came to taking his meds.

Boone said, “Those sirens are coming from the park. Do you guys
wanna head down there and check it out?”

“No!” Reason and Vince answered simultaneously.

Boone started down the sidewalk, but Reason and Vince remained
rooted to the yard. They knew Boone would grill them when he returned
from the park, and while Reason could lie his way out of anything, Vince
wasn’t wired like that. No, three minutes into Boone’s grilling, Vince
would spill his guts. An hour later, a police cruiser pulled up to the Nelso
house. Inside it was Officer Tory. Beef was tall, broad-shouldered,
and had thick, sandy hair. He was a cop that most kids in the small suburb
of Havelock liked fairly well. Reason knew that Beef once rode with
the Outlaws, the biker club his dad had started. He also knew that Beef
had a falling out with his dad for some unknown reason. Instead of riding
with the club, he had joined the Lincoln Police force.

Beef guided both boys over to the porch swing. “There was shooting
at the park. A little girl was killed there on the playground. The eyewitness
said that a red-haired boy was trying to shoot a skinny, little
scarecrow of a kid with wild strands of shaggy hair. Who does that sound
like to you, Reason?”

Reason said, “Is this legal? Don’t you need permission from Mom?”

Beef said, “Out of courtesy, I stopped by Saint Pat’s for your mom’s
permission. This doesn’t have anything to do with this HVK thing that
Nate Holland has been recruiting for, does it?”

Reason snorted, “Nate’s nothing but a schoolyard bully, which is
what most cops were when they were kids! You think we ran from the
park because we saw some stupid girl get shot!”

Beef quietly said, “I didn’t mention you two running from the park.”

Reason glared at Officer Tory. It usually worked, too. If he found
himself boxed in by his mom, his older brother, teachers, or even cops,
he could throw a road-block of anger in their path and divert their attention
if he could put them off their game by defying them with a snidely
outburst. He had learned how to manipulate his way out of some tight
spots in the past. But Beef Tory was no rookie. Five years on the force
working at Youth Aid had taught him how to shift his way past the scams
some of the slickest, deviant delinquents tried to pull on him. Beef said,
“I can see your code of silence is kicking in. If one of you gets a conscience,
you could call Crime Stoppers to solve this little girl’s murder.”

The two boys watched him walk slowly back to his cruiser.

As he drove away, Reason said, “That was easy.”

Vince muttered, “He’ll be back.”
26

Four massive Harley Davidsons rolled off the highway and came
up the street leading to the General Store. Rain said, “Jessie? Run
home! Ferg, Truck, and Big Mo were there working on bikes an hour
ago. Better go get them!”

Jessie darted away up the alley, cradling his cast against his chest
as he ran. Rain and Beef tried to act casual as they seated themselves
on the bench situated against the front wall of the old store. They both
wanted to be at eye level, instead of forced to look up at Daws and his
three club members. The four bikers of the Elder’s Den pulled up in
front of the store and killed their engines. While the three motley bikers
glared at the two boys before them, Daws climbed off of his bike and
put the big stand down on it, before mounting the porch steps. The big
biker president then peered intently at Rain. “Because of you, my boy
may go to prison. For that, you are going to suffer. It’s gonna hit you
when you least expect it, too. Your little brother will hurt too. It’s so
sad to be an orphan in this world. Jack lost something the day of that
bus crash. Do you have what I’m looking for? If so, I might show mercy
when it comes to you boys and postpone the day of reckoning.”

Rain sat there, trembling as he faced the biker. “Don’t have a clue
what you’re talking about, Daws,” he said, pleased that his voice didn’t
crack halfway through his sentence.

Daws said, “On October 7, 1876, a buffalo hunter named J. Wright
Mooar killed a white buffalo in Texas. He kept the hide his entire life,
despite Teddy Roosevelt offering him $5000 for it. Big Medicine was
born on Montana’s Flathead Indian rez. The name Big Medicine was
chosen due to the sacred power attributed to white bison. Following
its death in 1959, its body is now displayed at the Montana Historical
Society. Miracle was born at a farm in Wisconsin. Medicine Wheel
was born on May 9 on Pine Ridge. Medicine Wheel escaped his pasture
and was shot by a tribal police officer. Spirit Mountain Ranch donated
a herd of white buffalo to the Sacred World Peace Church, and has bred
six generations of white buffalo. Their herd includes 17 white buffalo. I suppose someone could take one of these hides and fabricate that peace
treaty that the Cheyenne marked on that white buffalo robe in 1833,
but that would be a fraud. No, what I want is the real deal, boys, the
white buffalo robe of the Cheyenne—”

Before Daws could finish, Jessie came out of the nearby alley, stumbling
as he sprang onto the porch of the store. He flailed clumsily with
his cast and drove it directly into his brother’s belly, knocking the air
out of him. “Dad’s coming!” Jessie gasped breathlessly.

At a signal from Daws, the Den members started their bikes and
all four of them went roaring down the street and out of town. Seconds
later, Chase and four Outlaws went thundering past the general store,
revving their own monster machines as they pursued the Elder’s Den
down the nearby highway.

It was the next day that Rain found Chase sprawled on their front porch
with a long-bladed hunting knife driven into the center of his chest.
It appeared he’d just sat down, his chin resting on his chest, his eyes
closed as if he were fast asleep.

“Dad?” Jessie heard his brother cry. “Dad?”

He burst through the screen door and stood there staring for long
moments at Rain kneeling down next to their dead father. He reached
out and stopped him from pulling the knife out of Chase’s chest. He
had to latch onto his brother’s wrist to keep him from drawing that knife
out of the bloody wound. Tears streaming down his face, Rain glanced
back at Jessie, at last giving up on trying to remove the knife. Both
brothers then broke down, sorrow overwhelming them as they kneeled
beside each other inches away from Chase’s prone form.

Beef discovered them there, so grief stricken that neither could talk.
Jessie bawled openly while Rain sobbed quietly. Unable to console
the two brothers, Beef ran down the street to get Pops. Big Mike Tory,
a brawny man with a Marine-style buzz cut, ambled onto the Nelson
porch like a bear, his large, meaty hands lifting the two distraught brothers
onto their feet. Mike called the sheriff’s department in Crete and reported
that Chase had been murdered. Sheriff Baxster spent one week on the investigation and yet, he never connected the dots that would lead him
to the murderer.

Days after Chase was killed, Mike took the two boys into his home and to remove them from the Outlaw culture, he moved them and his
son, Beef, into Havelock, an Irish Catholic suburb of Lincoln, Nebraska.
Despite all of Mike’s efforts to keep the three boys from reconnecting
with the club, Rain at the age of 17, formed his own chapter. Jessie
became VP. Beef served as warlord. The three of them signed on with
the notorious Irishman Billy Connors, who owned the Emerald Pub
in Havelock. During the Vietnam war, Billy had been a gun-runner,
supporting IRA patriots back in Ireland. But when the war ended, he
tragically lost his wife to a drunk driver. Her death changed the Irishman.
He not only ceased his gun-running, he took a hardline to those bringing
drugs into Havelock, and he paid the Outlaws to enforce that.

It was the map, however, that led to tragic events that Rain could
not help but stumble his way into. After his dad’s murder, he’d kept
that metal cigar tube in a drawer in his bedroom. Rain opened it quite
often, to study the drawing and try to decipher exactly where the map
would lead him. It haunted him that his last words with Ben Black Bull
had been in reference to the map. He wished many times over that he’d
just told Ben the truth about discovering it. He knew he was playing
with fire when it came to Native relics, figuring if Indians did have gods
of any kind, they were going to see to it that Rain reaped what he’d
sowed by wanting to discover the treasure himself.

He married Rose, Billy Connor’s daughter, and had two sons, Boone
and Reason. On the night of his twenty-sixth Birthday, Rain rode out
to Quarry Oaks outside of Lincoln. It was riddled with underground
tunnels with openings surrounding the blue waters of the pond at the
center of the quarry. Rain found the tunnel designated by the map. Five
minutes after he entered the dark mine shaft, he found himself staring
down the barrel of a double-barrel shotgun. “I’ll take that map, now,”
Daws said.

Keeping the gun trained on him, Daws said, “I sent Black Bull on
his way to his happy hunting ground. So, don’t let his death be in vain.
Let’s recover those relics. Whoever claims them is gonna be a rich man.”

Rain harshly whispered, “You killed Ben?”

“Daws Holland is a fool,” said the tall man with twin stags tattooed
on his face, stepping out of the shadows of a side shaft. The man wearing
a long, black duster and a black bandana over his head, raised his silenced
pistol. The Nomad then aimed his pistol at Daws. “Lower that shotgun.”

Daws nodded silently, his eyes darting to the dark shaft connecting
with the one they were all standing in. “What game are you playing?”
The Nomad grinned. “Your life is needed to negate the curse.”

Daws asked, “What’s this gibberish? What do you mean, you need
my life to negate this curse? Any one ever tell you, you’re just weird?”

The Nomad said, “Once the blood price is paid, they can be sold
at auction and I will inherit the benefits of that act of contrition.”

It was then, Sheriff Baxster, who had accompanied Daws into the
quarry as backup, appeared there in the dark shaft. A second later, Beef,
who had ridden out to the quarry with Jessie as backup for the Outlaws,
stepped out of the shadows behind Baxster, placing the muzzle of his
pistol against the back of his head. Beef smiled, then turned his gun
on the Nomad standing across the corridor from them. “Now, you.”

The Nomad raised his gun and fired.

The shoot-out that followed left Sheriff Baxster and Daws Holland
dead. The Nomad managed to escape. Even as bullets flew down the
tunnel, he raced away into the inky blackness of the mine shaft. With
sirens in the distance, Jessie argued against running from the scene of
the shooting. Beef had already mounted his bike and started it, so that
over the roar of his engine, Rain could barely be heard holding a heated
debate with his brother. Jessie latched onto the front of Rain’s jacket.

“We’ll get Pops to testify how crooked Baxster was! Remember how he covered for the Hollands when Ben was being charged with motor
vehicle homicide? Big Mike will be the key to a self-defense plea!”

“If not,” Rain said, sadly. “Look after my boys for me, will you?”

Silently then, he started his machine and steering out around Beef,
he ripped at his throttle and went roaring out of the quarry.

Ten minutes later, Rain Nelson rode his Harley at 60MPH directly
into the police roadblock he didn’t see until it was too late.

By the end of that week, Sheriff Baxster was forced to arrest Jack Holland. Judge Riley, overseeing the investigation, called for a special session with all the students involved in the crash. Chase made sure Judge Riley knew that Rain and Jessie appeared as hostile witnesses, but from everything they told the judge it was quite obvious Jack Holland had veered in front of the bus and caused the wreck. Although the Morris family, who had lost their son, still blamed Ben for being intoxicated, the court of law there in Crete dismissed all charges against the Lakota man. As a stipulation of the dismissal, Ben quit his job as a bus driver. Rumor was, he was going to move his base of operations and devote himself full-time to the rescue of large breed dogs. Before he left, he asked Chase to allow him to say a proper good-bye to his two sons.

Rain and Jessie approached Ben’s geodesic dome home, which sat on his ranch near the kennels of the dogs they worked with. Each triangular
piece making up the forty-feet in diameter dome was painted with colorful images of dogs and horses, dominated by the skull of a buffalo, hanging above the doorway. As the boys reached the steps, two children emerged from inside the dome. The first was a young Native boy of
ten, his long black hair finely braided and hanging down his slim back.

He said, “Welcome to my father’s home. I am Benjy Black Bull.”

Jessie shifted his cast about awkwardly so that he could shake the
boy’s hand. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Jessie Dalton and this is my brother—”
“We know who you are,” the 13-year-old raven-haired girl said. “I
am the Black Rose, daughter of the Irish Godfather of Havelock. He
tricked Ben into championing his cause. My father is a trickster worse
than the Coyote. His ancestors hail from the Emerald Isle, but Billy
Connors is the Devil dressed in white. He’s garnered a vow from Ben
to serve as my protector.”

Having no idea who this Billy Connors was, Rain said, “Our dad told us Ben wanted to meet with us before he left. So, here we are.”

Benjy smiled. “Despite biker protocol to never talk to cops, you sure
did help clear my dad of serious charges. For that, I thank you.”

Jessie said, “We just told Judge Riley the truth.”

Rose said, “Ben needs to ask you guys a favor. He’s leaving here at the end of the week to a new rescue ranch outside of Havelock. The
place has an appropriate name, Wounded Arrow, since Ben’s going
to be rescuing some of the most angry dogs on the planet. In the 1800’s
there was a Lakota camp there. One of the braves rode to steal horses
from the nearby Pawnee. When he returned to the Lakota camp, he fell
dead at his mother’s feet, riddled with many arrows. In memory of her
son, this mother insisted the camp be called, ‘Wounded with Many
Arrows.’ It is there that Ben shall rescue many dogs. What he wants
from you boys is to take care of the twenty dogs already housed here
for at least two more weeks until he can transport them to Havelock.”

“Sure,” Rain said. “We would be glad to.”

Rose and Benjy followed the boys inside the dome. Ben was seated across from them at a wood stove in the center of the floor. He pointed at a pile of thick buffalo hides, indicating that they should seat themselves before the stove. Sitting there on a small stool, Ben said, “What comes to your mind when I say ancient relics?”

Rain said, “King Arthur’s Excalibur—”

“The Spear of Longinus,” Rose said, interrupting Rain. “The Shroud of Turin. Longinus was the Roman soldier who pierced the side of Jesus
with a spear called the Holy Lance when he hung on the cross. The
Shroud of Turin is the cloth Jesus’s body was wrapped in when he was
removed from the cross. It’s stored in the Vatican, with the images of
his face, body and hands on it created by his blood—”

“But,” Rain said, smirking at Rose, “You mean Indian relics, right?”

Nodding, Ben said, “One of the greatest meteor storms ever seen
took place over the United States on Nov. 13, 1833. The skies were
lit up by thousands of shooting stars every minute for four hours. It was
marked by several nations of Native Americans: the Cheyenne established
a peace treaty and the Lakota calendar was reset. Harriet Tubman and
Frederick Douglass noted it. The New York Post ran stories on it. Abe
Lincoln spoke of it years later. Founder of the Mormons, Joseph Smith,
believed the falling stars were a sign that Christ was coming back. In
other words, it was big medicine. The Night the Stars fell from the Sky
a band of Cheyenne marked a peace treaty on a white buffalo robe. Some
say the Treaty of 1833 marked on this robe was a turning point for the
Cheyenne. My people, the Lakota, joined them during Red Cloud’s
War. The Comanche, Kiowa, and Apache became allies of the Cheyenne
at the end of the Indian wars on the plains. When such fierce enemies
suddenly find peace it is also big medicine.

“To find such a robe after all of these years would be a significant
thing. When I went to the Hollands’ last week to get Molly and her pups
out of the hands of the Den, the Nomad was there at their fight barn.
Daws claims he’s an enforcer, who carries out contracts for the Memphis
mob. A Creole Indian who came to the Elder’s Den with the map placed
in a cigar tube. He gave it to Daws, saying a geis had been placed on
this treasure. He claims it is cursed. The Nomad told Daws he would
negate the curse if he retrieved it for him. Curses are known to be placed
on pirate treasure. Black Beard’s curse. William Kidd’s curse.”

Rain asked, “How could this white buffalo robe be cursed?”

Ben said, “It’s two other items that are cursed by wanagi, a spirit
among my people. The Lakota are of the Seven Council Fires, the tribes
of First Nations people. The term ‘Sioux’ is a racist term meaning ‘Snake’
and is derogatory towards the Nation, who live on reservations, Rosebud,
Pine Ridge, Cheyenne River, Standing Rock. One of those cursed items
is a .50 caliber Sharps rifle used by Buffalo Billy Cody when he killed
4000 buffalo in a two-year period. The other is a Colt .45 pistol used
by Custer when he shot himself at the Little Big Horn. During the Battle
of the Rosebud, the Cheyenne and Lakota led by Crazy Horse, retreated,
leaving behind the wounded Chief Comes in Sight on the battlefield.
It was a 15-year-old Cheyenne girl, Buffalo Calf Road Woman who
rode out onto the battlefield, grabbed up her brother, carrying him to
safety. She also fought at the Battle of Little Bighorn. During that fight,
Custer was shot in the chest by White Bull and knocked off his horse.
He remounted and rode to get away when Buffalo Calf Road Woman
rose up out of the grass and struck the blow that knocked Custer off
his horse. Seconds later, fearing a gruesome death by torture, Custer
used his pistol to shoot himself in the temple. The girl’s war-club makes
the fourth ancient relic hidden in this treasure trove. If only I had that
map, I could return the buffalo robe and the war-club to Pine Ridge.”

Rain asked, “What would you do with the rifle and the pistol?”

“Destroy them,” Ben said. “Despite the fact that the last Colt pistol
recovered from the Little Big Horn sold for $275,000, and the Sharps
would bring in three times as much at auction, both need to be released
from the evil forces that inhabit them. Yes, Bill Cody was good friends
with Sitting Bull, but he also slaughtered 4,000 of our buffalo brothers.
The instrument of that senseless slaughter needs to be destroyed.”

“What about the robe?” Jessie asked. “How much would it be worth?”

Ben said, “Doesn’t matter. If I reclaim it, the buffalo robe would be returned to the Cheyenne.”

Rain said, “How much, Ben?”

Ben said, “Ten million for the robe. Another three for the war-club.”

****
“Why didn’t you hand this over to Ben?” Jessie asked in astonishment
as he sat there on the porch of the general store, looking wide-eyed
at the cigar tube he held in his hand.

Beef said, “Because your brother has himself a case of gold digger’s
fever and it’s gonna eat him up until he seeks out that treasure.”
Jessie held the tube up, saying, “But it’s not right to claim Native
artifacts. They are religious and sacred. It would be like trying to make
money on the crown of Christ or trying to get rich off of that Shroud
of Turin that Rose was talking to Ben about.”

Rain snorted, “Quarry Oaks is what is written on this section of the
map. Beef, you even said the quarry is outside of Lincoln. All we gotta
do is find out which tunnel the stuff is hidden in.”
Jessie removed the rolled up slip of paper from the tube, being careful
not to rip it as he spread it out on the floorboards beside him. “But look
at these arrows. They fade away and then stop halfway down this page.
You can even see where the last arrow is supposed to meet up with
another one, like maybe there’s another section. Let’s just turn this over
to Ben and help him recover those artifacts.”

“Gold fever,” Beef said,“won’t let him. He won’t be free of that fever
until he finds those relics. And when he retrieves those two cursed guns,
a demon will take over him and he’ll be royally screwed.”

Rain said, “Demons? Ghosts? Geis? Curse? Get real, Beef. How can an object be possessed by an evil spirit?”

Jessie shared a worried look with Beef. “I don’t know, but Ben was dead serious about this wanagi. I’d never want to release an evil force
into the world. And it sounded like he was way more than serious about
this Sharps rifle that was used to kill four-thousand bison. And this
pistol? If it was used in Custer’s suicide, don’t you think it might be
loaded with evil spirits?”

At the sound of Harleys rumbling along on the highway a block away
from the porch, Rain scrambled to his feet. Snatching the map out of
Jessie’s grasp, he replaced it in the cigar tube, then stuffed the tube into
the top of his left boot.
Four massive Harley Davidsons rolled off the highway and came
up the street leading to the General Store. Rain said, “Jessie? Run
home! Ferg, Truck, and Big Mo were there working on bikes an hour
ago. Better go get them!”
Jessie darted away up the alley, cradling his cast against his chest
as he ran. Rain and Beef tried to act casual as they seated themselves
on the bench situated against the front wall of the old store. They both
wanted to be at eye level, instead of forced to look up at Daws and his
three club members. The four bikers of the Elder’s Den pulled up in
front of the store and killed their engines. While the three motley bikers
glared at the two boys before them, Daws climbed off of his bike and
put the big stand down on it, before mounting the porch steps. The big
biker president then peered intently at Rain. “Because of you, my boy
may go to prison. For that, you are going to suffer. It’s gonna hit you
when you least expect it, too. Your little brother will hurt too. It’s so
sad to be an orphan in this world. Jack lost something the day of that
bus crash. Do you have what I’m looking for? If so, I might show mercy
when it comes to you boys and postpone the day of reckoning.”
Rain sat there, trembling as he faced the biker. “Don’t have a clue
what you’re talking about, Daws,” he said, pleased that his voice didn’t
crack halfway through his sentence.
Daws said, “On October 7, 1876, a buffalo hunter named J. Wright
Mooar killed a white buffalo in Texas. He kept the hide his entire life,
despite Teddy Roosevelt offering him $5000 for it. Big Medicine was
born on Montana’s Flathead Indian rez. The name Big Medicine was
chosen due to the sacred power attributed to white bison. Following
its death in 1959, its body is now displayed at the Montana Historical
Society. Miracle was born at a farm in Wisconsin. Medicine Wheel
was born on May 9 on Pine Ridge. Medicine Wheel escaped his pasture
and was shot by a tribal police officer. Spirit Mountain Ranch donated
a herd of white buffalo to the Sacred World Peace Church, and has bred
six generations of white buffalo. Their herd includes 17 white buffalo.
20

Chase drove the old Chevy Impala station wagon out of their small town of Sprague, population 110. The town’s business district consisted of five buildings, three situated on the main street, and the other two sitting on two adjacent corners. The hub of community activity took place at The Saloon, where the local farmers jawed about their crops and the war being fought in Viet Nam. Bob, owner of the tavern, had a black and white just beyond the bar, and the moment any news announcer came on its screen, patrons would hush up and listen to reports about the war taking place thousands of miles away.

Chase said, “George Kramer, Rusty Hicks, and Hob Nash all had sons drafted into that war. George and Rusty were proud fathers, too, bragging up their sons fighting for the US Marine Corp. Hob, however, does not condone a war that has nothing to do with America. He was not pleased that his son was being made to serve in the jungles of an Asian country. Thirty-thousand lives so far, and for what? How many more boys have to come home in body bags?”

Chase gunned the old wagon. The rolling farm fields passed by in a blur. With summer fast approaching, those fields were dotted with farmers planting seeds on their John Deer tractors. They passed by the place of the accident. The school bus had been hauled away and someone had hauled Jack Holland’s mangled Harley out of the ditch. Rain figured that the Den took it so that someone could repair the damaged beast. Five miles down the road they passed by the Bluestem, a favorite fishing spot for most locals. Rain and Jessie had camped out there many weekends during summer breaks. The lake made Rain think of his little brother and he said, “You should have seen Jessie, Dad. He hardly cried at all with that bone sticking out of his arm. It must have hurt him something awful, but Jessie sucked it up and didn’t lose it like most kids would have done. You would have been proud of him.”

Chase glanced over at Jessie. “I want you to be honest with me, boys. Baxster locked Ben up in jail for driving intoxicated—”

“No, Dad!” snapped Rain. “It was Jack Holland who caused that wreck when he swerved over in front of us! Ben lost control when he tried to avoid running him over! Jack attacked Ben with a knife. Before he disappeared in Miller’s field, he poured a bottle of whiskey all over Ben to make it smell like he’d been drinking. That’s the truth.”

Chase said, “Keep that truth to yourself. If Jack was to blame, Daws is gonna be gunning for anyone who can testify about what you just told me. Outlaws have enough trouble right now. Hell, one wrong word to the Guardians of Omaha, and the Elder’s Den will crush the Outlaws.”
He drove in silence for several moments, a troubled look on his face. “Things are tense right now, boys. I have to be careful how I tread. As president of the Outlaws I drew a line that has us crossways with the Den. We certainly don’t need to set off any sparks to ignite the mess.”

Rain stared at his dad. “So, what am I supposed to do? Keep quiet about Jack Holland while Ben takes the blame for the crash?”

Chase slowed for the light ahead marking the first intersection into the small town of Crete, population 1500. He said, “I know you and Jessie consider Ben your friend. In the past two summers, that Indian taught both of you boys a lot about dogs. But I’ve always thought Ben
a little off balance the way he talks to those dogs while breaking them.”

“He doesn’t break them,” Jessie said. “He repairs the wild in them, inviting them to reinvent themselves, using powerful medicine to still the whirlwind within them.”

“Oh, I get it,” Rain said. “Let the drunk Native take the blame, right? Because everyone will believe that story! That just ain’t right!”

Chase stopped in the parking lot of the Crete police department. Before the car engine died, Sheriff Baxster approached the station wagon, his beer gut causing him to waddle his way up to Chases’s side of the car. Baxster gruffly growled, “Maybe on account of your boys I can sort
this bus crash out, Chase.”

“My boys,” Chase said, “aren’t here to give you no report.”

“What the hell’s the problem?” Baxster asked. “Biker protocol got you going silent? Ben is facing some serious charges! Motor vehicle homicide. The Morris boy? The one who broke his leg? The bone in his leg pierced his artery and he bled to death!”

Rain felt dizzy. The same sick feeling that overcame him back on the bus when he’d seen Jessie’s bone sticking out of his arm stole up over him. He reeled to one side of the backseat. “Little Bobby Morris bled to death? And Ben is taking the blame for that, as well?”

Ignoring Rain, Baxster said, “All I needed was information from the kids, Chase. So far, I’ve got Black Bull being responsible for the crash due to his intoxication. If your boys might testify that Jack Holland was a victim of a drunk Indian, Judge Saunders can throw the book at Ben Monday morning in court!”

Chase snapped his fingers, causing Rain to lean back in his seat, removing himself from the range of his dad’s fists. Chase started up the station wagon and drove them out of Crete. Rain admired his little brother then, for only Jessie dared getting smacked when he snapped, “What the hell, Dad? Last summer you wanted us to work with Ben, and now you’re refusing to help clear him of any wrong doing? Why?”

Not one word was spoken by any of the three on the drive back to the small town of Sprague. The two brothers sighed in relief when Chase stopped the car in front of the driveway and gestured toward the wraparound porch of their two-story house. Rain climbed out of the car, opening the front door for Jessie. He helped him out, being careful not to bump his cast on the door as he exited the front seat. “Do your chores,” Chase said. “I’m heading to the pit to prepare it for church tonight.”

Rain said, “Dad, could we sit in on church? That way we’ll understand why we have to keep our mouths shut about the bus crash.”

Chase said, “Church is club business. See to your brother’s meds.”

Chase then drove the car into the driveway, past the Nelson house, and continued down into the wide, open field beyond. As Rain joined him on the porch, Jessie said, “That was ballsy, asking Dad about us attending church, my brother.”

When they entered the kitchen they found Molly and six of her pups sprawled on the floor next to Jack Holland, who sat there in a chair, aiming a .22 pistol down at Molly. Jessie bolted forward, but Rain stepped in front of him and blocked his path. He used one arm to keep Jessie
in place. Jack said, “Fix that attitude or I’ll shoot the dog. Understood?”

Jessie sobbed as he leaned into Rain for support. Jack said, “You boys need to keep your mouths shut about this damned wreck. So far, the blame for this crash has settled on that Indian. Since alcohol was involved and that Morris kid died, he’s gonna be nailed to the wall.”

Rain glared at the tall, skinny kid and said, “We haven’t told Baxster about your involvement. Our dad refused to let us.”

Jack said, “It’s not him I am worried about. It’s you two punks that could sink my ship. Let me give you boys a history lesson on Chase Nelson. At 16, he started the Outlaws here in Sprague. He built a solid crew of five members until they branched out with chapters in twenty small towns throughout Nebraska. Chase ruled his club members with an iron hand, too, dealing harshly with any who beat their old ladies. He also rode solo into Guardian territory up in Omaha to have a sit-down with the president of the Nebraska chapter. Chase asked him to leave Sprague and Crete out of his network. While marijuana was the cash cow of the day, Chase argued that coke, heroin, speed and acid posed a danger. The president of the Guardians wouldn’t agree to his terms. So, Chase had a sit-down with Billy Connors, owner of the Emerald Pub in Havelock. The leader of the Irish granted that the two small towns would be deemed a no-man’s land for the sale of these stronger drugs. Since the Vietnam war started, drugs have been making the mob very rich. Drugs spread like wildfire through the states. I am a major player in these sales. For me to stay in that position, both of you need to keep your mouths shut. Trouble started when Fat Ferg and Bear beat the hell out of a dealer who had the backing of the Elder’s Den. Daws called up to Omaha to speak with the Guardians. They told Daws one more interference with drug deals, they would send some maniac down here to clean house on the Outlaws. They call him the Nomad. To keep the peace between the Outlaws and the Den, you boys should know about the trouble your dad’s club could be facing if you talk.”
Rain glanced up over Jack’s shoulder, his eyes focusing on the back screen door. Jack glanced back, alarmed by the look in Rain’s eyes. It was at that moment that Rain snatched up the cast-iron frying pan from the nearby stove. He brought it around in a full swing, catching Jack in the side of his head with the heavy pan. Jack collapsed in an unconscious heap in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Leading Molly and her pups outside to the front yard, Rain took them over to the barn, placing them in her kennel. He then led Jessie to the field where the council fire burned bright against the night sky. The boys crept along the hedges there blocking them from the view of the crowd in the field. The two managed to remain unseen as they took cover behind a stockade fence. There, only twenty yards from the fire, they found peep holes in the rotten boards of the fence and settled onto their knees to watch and listen as the Outlaws attended church. Chase stood between the fire and the gathering of sixty club members seated in lawn chairs. Many were angry as Chase explained the very threat Jack had just shared with the boys. Unnerved by the fact that a cold-blooded psychopath might be stalking them, Fat Ferg and Bear got into an argument. As the shouting match continued, Chase spoke in cryptic tones that soon resulted in a complete and respectful silence. “There are rumors about this Nomad. Some say he’s a ghost, striking down unruly members of clubs across the country, with all the deadly skills of a Ninja. Others claim he bleeds his victims out, leaving them incapable of moving, while he slowly drains them of blood. The fact is, he is a hired assassin, who has killed over sixty bikers in his career. We don’t
need him here.”

He tossed his head like a startled deer as loud thunder came from the road leading into town. Hidden behind the fence, Jessie and Rain peered in alarm at Daws Holland and a dozen bikers coming up the road toward the Nelson. Chase and several Outlaws came from around the side of the house, not pleased to see members of their rival club rolling up in the street. Daws and his Den members parked their bikes and killed their engines. “I am looking for my son,” Daws told Chase. “He came to talk to you about that unfortunate bus wreck that took place.”

Chase had just opened his mouth to respond when suddenly from inside the house there came a loud thump. Chase and the rest of the Outlaws wheeled around to see Jack hobbling toward the front screen door, struggling to free himself from the rope that Rain had tied him up with. He gave one clumsy lurch forward, hurtled himself into the door, and he and the screen came exploding out onto the front porch. Daws leaped off his bike and passed through the crowd of Outlaws to reach his son sprawled on the porch.

“He broke into the house, Dad!” cried Jessie, stepping forward to approach the porch. “He had a gun! He was going to kill Molly!”

Chase growled, “Is this true, Jack? You threatened to kill their dog?”

Untangling his hands with the help of Daws, Jack staggered to his feet, saying, “It wasn’t like that.”

“You’re a liar!” Rain cried. “And you lied about Ben Black Bull being drunk! It was you who caused that damned crash!”

Daws and Jack stood frozen as the Outlaws closed a tight circle before them. In desperation, Daws said, “Chase? You best call off the dogs! This goes one step further, the end of the Outlaws will be soon to follow!”

The twelve Elder’s Den placed their kick stands down, preparing to back their president. Things were about to turn ugly. And later the Outlaws would pay the ultimate consequence. If it didn’t happen after this, it would somewhere down the line. Chase decided to shift the blame for what was going to happen in the near future on him. Only on him. “Stand down!” he thundered. “Let Daws and Jack walk off that porch!”

Daws sighed in relief. The big golden-haired biker president led his son off the porch and wove his way in between the enraged Outlaws. It was just as the Hollands passed in front of him that Chase reached out and latched onto the front of Jack’s blood-stained T-shirt. Chase struck so fast that Jack found himself landing hard on his back, blood running from his busted nose. Chase then let loose with a flurry of punches that sent Daws catapulting off his feet. He landed heavily, falling on his tail bone and then sprawling flat on his back. Jack grunted, “You’re
gonna pay for this, you cold-hearted bastard!”

To which Chase said, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“No,” Rain said, lowering his gaze. He gestured toward the ambulance pulling away from the scene of the accident. “Jessie got a busted arm. There was a bone sticking out—”

“They’ll take him to the Crete clinic,” Chase said. “We’ll drive to Crete to give Jessie a ride home in the old wagon.”

The sound of more thunder filled the air. Chase looked off down the highway, where a large bike flew past the ambulance on its way back to Crete. “Not good,” he said.

Daws Holland rode his Harley up behind Baxster’s cruiser, placing Sheriff Baxster between him and Chase Nelson. Daws, father of Jack and president of the Elder’s Den, was a large man in his early thirties. He had long, blond hair and was built like a tank, with broad shoulders, thick chest, and muscular arms. Daws and Chase had once fought, and Rain had been there to watch. It had been brutal, each of them trading blows like well-swung hammers, battering away at each other. Rain cringed through the first ten minutes of their bloody brawl, determining he did not ever want to be at the receiving end of either of the two bikers. They went toe-to-toe, both of them giving as good as they got. In the end, Chase had dislocated Daws’s jaw, and yet after delivering such a brutal blow, Chase cradled his mangled hand against his chest.


The President of the Outlaws, let loose with a string of curses at the five bikers who had ridden there with Daws. He challenged anyone of them to stand in the gap for their fallen leader. Instead, they had picked up Daws from where he had fallen. The big biker, dazed and in pain, had climbed on his hog, trying his best to look pissed off. But Rain could clearly see that Daws barely managed to kick his bike over and wove his way out of Sprague unsteadily. It was Rain’s first lesson he learned
about brutal fist fights: Not all of them ended well for either fighter.

Daws killed his bike. He said, “Got a call from my son, Sheriff. He survived this wreck and managed to get to a farm house over this hill here to call in for help. Another ambulance is on its way here. Jack was even thoughtful enough to call Grady’s tow service. He’ll be along shortly to haul that bus out of Miller’s Pond, Sheriff. Jack claims the Indian was swerving all over like he’d been drinking.”

“Oh, hell, too!” burst from Rain’s lips.

“Rain?” came from Chase. “Shut your mouth. Got it?”

“But that just ain’t true,” Rain said.

Daws focused his attention on Ben leaning against the patrol car. “Should be ashamed of yourself, Chief. Not a lot of folks around here take to kindly to a drunken Indian putting their kids at such risk. I’d say you’ve got a lot to answer for. And you smell like a tavern.”

Rain was regretting the fact that he had so boldly defied Chase. He had no doubt that Chase would deal with him later. And so, he kept his mouth shut, while Baxster arrested Ben for driving while intoxicated. Rain had known Ben Black Bull ever since he’s started school in Crete back in first grade. He knew him as the first friendly Native he had ever met. Of course, he had never met an Indian before that, but Ben had such a way about him that he put him at ease with his soft spoken words. When the Lakota was not driving the bus for the Crete district, he worked as a dog handler at his rescue ranch west of the small town of Sprague. The past two summers, Rain and Jessie had seen the magic of Ben Black Bull, who had spent all of his life around dogs back on Pine Ridge where he was born. He had learned the secret of how to work with the most challenging dogs. Ben was a dog whisperer, and Rain and Jessie had been fascinated with his ability to correct and tame each dog who passed through the ranch. That the Lakota man took the time to share his secrets with the two brothers was considered an honor to them. To sit there and listen while Daws convinced Baxster that the bus crash had been due to the fact that Ben had been drinking, was causing Rain much distress. He groaned inwardly when Daws crossed the ditch and picked up the empty whiskey bottle.

Rain’s stomach churned as Daws held the bottle up for Baxster to see. Daws said, “Ben, you shouldn’t drink and drive. Now we gotta fish your bus out of Miller’s Pond all because you’ve been drinking in Whiskey River!”

Chase pulled up beside the Sprague general store and Rain leaped off of his dad’s bike and strode over to the dusty porch. While the thunder of the Harley slowly faded, Rain planted his butt on the rickety wooden bench situated there. He looked squarely at his dad. Chase slipped his kick stand down, dismounted his Harley, and walked over to the porch. Rain shook back his raven hair and stuck out his chin in a show of obstinance. “You gonna hit me for not backing down from Daws?”

Chase said, “I am gonna hit you for not shutting your mouth when I told you to.”

Reluctantly rising from the bench, Rain snapped, “Go for it, then!”

Chase let loose with a swift round house, his fist slamming into Rain’s startled face. Staggered by the blow, his boots slid out from under him and Rain landed hard on his butt. Slapping him upside his head, Chase doubled up his fist to deliver a solid punch to his face. “Chase,” a voice
came from beside the store. “Rain got the point. Back off.”

Chase froze, holding Rain up by his chin. “You’re a wise ass, Beef Tory! This is club business!”

Fifteen-year-old Beef flicked his long, blond bangs out of his eyes. “Yeah, but Rain doesn’t even belong to the Outlaws yet. Pummeling him, would not sit well with Pops, Chase.”

Chase flung Rain away, sending him stumbling, his palms creating furrows in the gravel-covered street. Rain pulled himself to his feet, staring at his dad in disbelief. Chase was president, and not one of the sixty members of the Outlaws ever defied him and he was clearly out of line and drawing a line in the sand for some odd reason. Rain knew there were reasons his dad kept his cool with Beef stepping into club business. One, Chase and Mike Tory had grown up together and their friendship meant something to them. And number two, Big Mike was a deputy of Gage county and he didn’t like domestic abuse one bit.

“You’re just pissed,” Beef said, “over the dog, ain’t you, Chase? Now that Daws threatened to make the phone call, he’s got all the clubs on edge. Outlaws. Elder’s Den. Gladiators. Screaming Eagles.”

Chase looked over to the female Pitbull waddling up beside Beef. She was a brute, with her stocky chest, thick muscular legs, and her Brindle markings covering her bulky head. Beef said, “Just giving Molly a break. Her puppies have been gnawing on her all day.”

Chase patted his leg and the dog sidled up to the Outlaw president. “Beef, you’re taking a chance by letting her be seen. Best way to keep her safe is to keep her hidden in the barn. Word gets to the Den that we’ve got Molly here in Sprague, her and her pups are dead.”

Chase Nelson was a bear of a man, standing six-foot-five and weighing285 pounds. Beef had to look up into his piercing blue eyes. He could feel the burn from his seething glare from where he stood five feet away. Chase said, “You two take Molly back to the barn. I’ll pick up the wagon
to pick up Jessie from the ER.”

Rain waited until Chase kicked over his bike before wiping blood from his bottom lip. He didn’t want to give his dad the satisfaction that he’d hurt him. He spit a stream of blood onto the dusty floorboards of the general store. He forced a grin at Beef with his split lip.

Later that night, Beef shared the porch of the general store with Rain and Jessie. Sheltered by the overhanging roof with its ancient shingles and lulled by the falling rain, Beef and Rain smoked cigarettes, watching the puddles swell in the streets on either side of the old store. A cast on his left arm, Jessie groggily leaned against Rain, then snuggled his head into his lap and fell asleep, the pain medication kicking in. Rain said, “The rug rat’s fallen asleep. If Dad seen this he would say, ‘How gay.’”

“Right,” Beef had said. “Chase is hard that way. Me? I’ve always been proud of the fact that you never pick on Jessie, unlike Chase who always picks on you.”

Rain said, “Dad once told me it was only to make me tough. Jessie ain’t built like that. He cries if Dad even looks at him wrong. Besides, I think Dad likes it when he sees me being cool to Jessie. Just probably not like this. If he’d see this, he would definitely make a fag comment.”

For long moments, the two of them sat there listening to the patter of the rain on the shingles above them. Rain looked over at his friend, his face illuminated by his cigarette as the cherry glowed bright red. Rain said, “He got hurt before he even got his first Harley. And it wasn’t
due to the fact that his first and second wives ran off. Teresa, my mom, took the Nelson name, and yet Jessie’s mother, Krystal Dalton, never made their marriage official. That’s why we are always explaining that we are brothers with different last names. Losing both wives hurt him,
but my dad’s carried another pain for a long, long time.”

Beef flicked away his cigarette butt so that it flitted through the air like a firefly. Rain said, “My dad’s little brother was gay. In an attempt to change him, Dad made Josh’s life a living hell. He even beat him up one night. Two nights later, Josh took their dad’s gun out into a field
behind their house and put a bullet in his head. Now you know what sorrow plagues Chase Nelson, and makes him the man he is today.”

Changing the subject, he withdrew the cigar tube from the top of his boot. “Check this out. Jack Holland lost it today when he caused our bus to crash.”

Beef took the metal tube, removing the cork topper sealing it at the top. He removed a badly yellowed page that had been rolled tightly to make it fit into the tube. “It’s a map. Looks like something valuable is buried at Quarry Oaks outside of Lincoln. Those words are badly
faded, but it looks like they say Indian artifacts. To a relic collector, ancient artifacts are worth millions. You say Jack dropped this? What in hell would he be doing searching for Indian relics?”

Rain rolled the map back up and slid it back into the cigar tube. “Don’t know, but finders keepers, losers weepers. As far as I am concerned.”