Billy Buckhorn and the War of Worlds, page 8
“I think this man is suffering from ghost sickness,” Lisa whispered to Raelynn, recognizing the symptoms. “He was surrounded by the ghosts of Native American people whose skeletons had been dug up and hidden in his barn, along with hundreds of stolen burial artifacts. That’s the way Billy found him just before my father called the FBI.”
Raelynn had not heard this background information before, and it surprised her. She just nodded and then began the questioning.
“Should I address you as reverend or doctor or both?” she asked the man.
“I don’t care what you call me. I’ve got nothing to—” Suddenly Miller jerked backward and looked up at the ceiling. “Go away and leave me alone!” he shouted up at an invisible threat.
Lisa realized that he might be aware of Billy’s energy presence, but Raelynn tried to ignore the outburst.
“Mr. Miller, you illegally bought a set of ancient Native American human remains from Peter Langford, the director of the Spiral Mounds Archaeological Site,” Raelynn said, drawing the man’s attention back to her. “Who did you sell those bones to, and how much did you get for them?”
“I ain’t answering no questions,” he said. “I didn’t have no bones. I didn’t sell anything to anybody.” He looked over at the guard who was standing near the door. “Get me out of here!” he shouted. “Take me back to my cell.”
“But these nice people came all this way to see you,” the guard said in a mocking tone.
“I don’t care where they came from or why they’re here,” the prisoner protested. “I know my rights. Now take me back!”
Unexpectedly, Lisa shot up from her chair and pointed at Miller.
“Shonkay wahsahpay tatanka nikka wahko!” she shouted. “An Osage curse be on you and your descendants from now and forever for disrespecting my ancestor’s spirit and desecrating his buried remains!”
She turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Raelynn, Miller, and the guard in shock.
“Get me outta here now!” Miller yelled at the guard as he pulled on the handcuffs and stomped his feet. “That redskin witch cursed me!”
Raelynn followed Lisa out into the hall, and the guard shouted at the prisoner, “Calm down or I’ll leave you handcuffed to that table!”
Miller continued to pull against the cuffs, but he calmed down somewhat. Meanwhile, the guard used the radio on his belt to call for assistance with the very agitated prisoner.
As the two investigators headed for the prison exit, Raelynn confronted her companion.
“Why did you do that?” she asked. “I could get in a lot of trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” Lisa responded. “I felt I had to do something to get the guy talking.”
“What did you say to him?”
“All I said was dog bear buffalo man woman in the Osage language,” Lisa said with a smile. “No curse. Just a list of random words.”
“Let’s get out of here before the warden comes looking for us,” Raelynn said.
They headed for the rental car in the prison parking lot.
“I think Billy is going to come back here later today or tonight to pay a visit to that criminal,” Lisa said as they reached the car. “To scare him into telling us who he sold my ancestor’s bones to.”
“Your boyfriend can do that?”
“If necessary,” Lisa replied.
“Well, it’s certainly an unusual interrogation technique,” Raelynn said. “Let’s hope it works. Next stop: the warden’s office at the Louisiana State Penitentiary in Angola.”
Across the country to the east, in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Cherokee park ranger Joseph Saunooke had noticed that the number of visitors to the park had drastically dropped in the last few weeks. And he knew why. It was the Tlanuwa, a creature straight from the legends of the Cherokee people, brought back to life through some unknown supernatural process.
Rumors of an enormous predatory bird snatching up pets in the park spread like wildfire throughout the hiking, camping, and outdoorsy communities. And, of course, the ongoing torrential rains hadn’t helped either.
National Park Service officials tried to dismiss the rumors as merely the fearful fantasies of urbanites unaccustomed to the wildlife in the region. A wide range of predators, officials said, were responsible for the plague of pet disappearances.
“Mountain lions, wolves, bears, and coyotes are all prone to nabbing small dogs and scampering back into the forest,” the director of park communications told a TV reporter. “The best solution to the problem is for visitors to stop bringing their pets with them to the wilderness.”
Joseph Saunooke and his uncle Bucky Wachacha had tried on four separate occasions to perform medicine rituals meant to drive the Tlanuwa from the area. But those efforts failed, because the medicine man who’d conjured the oversized bird kept performing daily rituals designed to maintain the creature’s peak performance.
“We need to find that medicine man, Yonaguska,” Joseph told Bucky. “Billy Buckhorn heard that name directly from the mind of the creature, and even though we thought the man was long dead, he must still be living around here somewhere.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Bucky asked. “Drive up and down every road on the rez until we locate him or someone who knows him?”
“Can’t you use your ‘Finding Lost Objects’ formula to locate a missing person?”
“I ain’t Google,” the elder replied. “It don’t work that way.”
Amos Yonaguska, the medicine man they were discussing, came from a long line of old-school medicine people. Like Carmelita Tuckaleechee, whom Amos had known for decades as Night Wolf, he was over one hundred years old. Most people on the Eastern Cherokee reservation thought he’d died years ago, and he liked it that way.
“Out of sight—out of mind,” he often said.
Some of his ancestors had been founders of the original Owl Clan, and he’d been among those who restarted the modern incarnation of the group. He’d never questioned the legitimacy of the ancient faction, nor had he wavered in his participation in the reformed organization.
However, his commitment began to waver with the murder of Wesley Buckhorn, one of the best-loved healers to ever walk Turtle Island. As far as Amos was concerned, it was a step too far. He was on the fence now about what to do. Should he voice his disapproval of the Night Seers’ actions? Resign? Or should he just ride it out to the end, which was approaching quickly?
If Yonaguska protested the Owls’ recent actions, Two Bears would respond by doing something very unpleasant to him. That was a fact. So this was a hard decision to make, and he was running out of time.
Raelynn, who was still using the economy car she’d rented at the Tulsa airport, now drove with Lisa toward the Angola prison on Interstate 49. The trip would take about five hours.
The two young women joked about that number—forty-nine—both having grown up in the powwow tradition and familiar with the Native American cultural meaning of it.
They knew the after-hours event known as a “forty-nine” was a dance sometimes held informally in a secluded location after a powwow that allowed for flirting between males and females participating in the event. Song lyrics often included English lines, such as the most famous “When the dance is over, sweetheart, I will take you home in my one-eyed Ford.”
As the two continued driving and singing Indian songs, Lisa’s boyfriend did indeed pay a visit to Miller in his prison cell. Billy had first seen this “bone collector” via spirit travel back in the man’s barn in Limestone, Texas. At the time, Miller was haunted by dozens of ghosts of the Native Americans whose skeletal remains he had collected. The reverend doctor had become aware and afraid of spirits due to that experience.
When Billy appeared to Miller in his prison cell, the man acknowledged his presence.
“You don’t scare me none,” the man said, gazing in Billy’s direction. “I seen plenty of ghosts. What can you do to me?”
Billy hadn’t expected this kind of response and decided he needed to produce some kind of physical action to get to the man. Thinking back to events during his amazing Thunder Child initiation ceremony, Billy got an idea. He’d use a supernatural technique he’d learned from one of the members of the Intertribal Medicine Council.
He looked around the cell and spotted a small object sitting on a shelf in one corner. It was the man’s aluminum drinking cup. Using all the focused energy he could muster, Billy forced the cup to fly across the cell and slam into the wall right next to Miller’s head.
The man jumped away and yelled, “What the hell?” He backed into a corner. “What kind of spook are you? You keep away from me, you hear?”
Billy did just the opposite. He quickly positioned himself above the man and then slowly dropped down on top of him. Cold shivers passed through the man’s body. He jumped onto his cot and pulled the blanket over himself.
“Guard! Guard!” Miller yelled as loud as he could. “You gotta get me outta here. I’m being attacked by a ghost!”
Hovering above the man, Billy whispered in his ear, “I’ll be coming back over and over again until you tell them who you sold those bones to.”
“Guard! Guard!” Miller called again. “Help me! Help me, please!”
All the nearest guard did was report Miller’s further mental breakdown to the prison psychiatrist.
While Billy was dealing with Miller, Raelynn and Lisa arrived in the area of Angola, Louisiana, late in the afternoon to look for accommodations. Using her phone, Lisa located a cheap motel in St. Francisville, the nearest town with a motel that fit the federal travel budget. They’d surprise the warden with a visit first thing in the morning.
In the meantime, they decided to take a drive up to the Three Rivers Indian Mounds Park, which they’d seen signs for earlier in the day. Lisa remembered it being one of the mound sites on Augustus Stevens’s map that would be visited during their spring break expedition. Lisa told Raelynn about the upcoming archaeological journey planned by her father and Professor Stevens.
A narrow two-lane paved road took them to the Three Rivers area, a large piece of land bounded by waterways on all four sides. An entrance sign made it clear that this was property owned and operated by the Serpentine Foundation and its executive director, Greyson Greenstone. Lisa snapped photos of everything on her phone while Raelynn drove.
As they got closer to the actual mounds, they passed a large, tacky-looking tourist stop called Serpent World, “home to more reptiles than any other place in North America.” The Serpent World sign featured a drawing of a circular snake that was about to bite its own tail.
The most visible landmark within the collection of mounds was a flat-top earthen platform mound that had obviously been reconstructed. On top, in the center, sat a replica of the chief’s house that once overlooked the entire site.
“This seems like a small version of Cahokia,” Lisa commented. “But that’s a state park, and this is private property. I wonder how many mound sites are still on private property.”
A gate blocked the road leading into the mound park, but there was a marker explaining the history of the site on the side of the road. The two women got out to read the plaque, which said there were originally about a dozen mounds there and pointed out that the round mound closest to the Mississippi River had been reconstructed to include the spiral ramp that originally led from ground level up to the top.
“I’ll have to tell Billy about this place and send him these pics,” Lisa said. “This site is on their list of spiral mounds to visit.”
The next morning the pair presented themselves at the entrance to the Angola penitentiary. Raelynn flashed her Department of the Interior investigator ID to the guard and asked to see the warden.
“Mr. Broussard only sees people with appointments,” the chubby, gray-uniformed man said without looking at the ID. “His calendar is booked with back-to-back meetings and duties all day.”
“That’s okay,” Raelynn said. “If he can’t see me for a few minutes now, I’ll be back later today with a couple of FBI agents and a search warrant for his office. I’m sure that won’t inconvenience him more than a couple of days.”
That got the guard’s attention.
“Uh, wait just a moment, please,” the man said as he picked up the phone on his desk. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
While they waited, Lisa looked around the reception area and found a stack of brochures that boasted of the prison’s Greenstone Rehabilitation Program, which paid a select few prisoners to fashion jewelry from pieces of the greenish serpentine stone. She put a brochure in her back pocket.
After a quick chat with his boss, the guard said, “He’s right down that hallway,” and pointed toward the back of the room.
The pair of investigators walked briskly down the hall and into the warden’s office. After they explained the nature of their visit and showed Broussard the surveillance photos Little Shield had brought with her, the warden began to look worried. He examined the two pictures closely, noting that the van’s side-door panel displayed the Louisiana Department of Corrections seal, as did the license plate.
“I assure you no one from my staff drove all the way to Athens, Georgia, to steal Native artifacts!” Broussard said. “That’s six hundred miles, and we have no authority to drive any farther than nearby New Orleans or Baton Rouge!”
“Those photos were taken by surveillance cameras across the street from the lab’s loading dock, Mr. Broussard,” Raelynn said. “Someone on your staff obviously took the van without your knowledge.”
Raelynn caught a hint of recognition in Broussard’s eyes and on his face when he heard that notion. But he quickly deflected to cover.
“I tell you right now, Ms. Little Shield, I’m going to do a thorough internal investigation into this matter,” he said. “I’m determined to get to the bottom of this.”
“I’m glad to see that you’re motivated in the right direction, warden, but we’ll let the FBI take it from here.”
His face went from bright, hopeful, and determined to sunken and defeated in an instant.
“I’ll leave these copies of the photos to help you with your thorough internal investigation,” she said. “Good day.”
After leaving the prison office, Raelynn and Lisa decided to visit Mr. Greyson Greenstone, executive director of the Serpentine Foundation, before heading back to Tahlequah.
They returned to Serpent World and parked in the asphalt parking lot, which was riddled with potholes and long, meandering cracks. A very large, faded sign, visible for possibly half a mile in either direction, stood on the roof above the attraction’s front glass doors. It announced such features as The Largest Collection of Reptiles in North America and World Famous and Fangs Galore. Drawings and photos of lizards, alligators, snakes, and various other reptiles adorned the outer walls on either side of the entrance.
A young female cashier sat on a tall stool behind a glassedin box office just inside the door. A name tag on her Serpent World T-shirt identified her as Ruthann, and she was busy reading something on her phone.
“We’re here to talk to Executive Director Greenstone,” Raelynn said.
“How many tickets will that be?” she asked, oblivious to what Raelynn had just said.
“As I said, we’re hoping to talk to Mr. Greenstone,” Raelynn repeated more loudly, this time flashing her ID. “We’re NAGPRA investigators with the Department of the Interior.”
“Mr. Greenstone was called away this morning,” the cashier said. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back. But you could leave your name and phone number so he can call you.”
“Well, Ruthann, we won’t be in the area that long,” Little Shield said. “Do you know where he went?”
“There was some kind of problem over at the prison,” Ruthann said. “He had to go see the warden.”
That struck both Lisa and Raelynn as more than a coincidence. Ruthann caught the questioning looks on the investigators’ faces.
“You don’t know about Mr. Greenstone’s prison rehabilitation program?” she asked. “I thought everybody around here knew about that.”
“We just didn’t know that your Greenstone and the prison’s Greenstone were the same, and, if you’d really looked at Ms. Little Shield’s ID, you’d know we’re not from around here,” Lisa said with a touch of sarcasm.
“Oh, sorry,” Ruthann responded. “Why don’t you leave a business card so Mr. Greenstone can give you a call?”
Raelynn pulled a card out from her briefcase and handed it to the girl.
“I’ll give this to him the next time I see him,” the cashier said. “In the meantime, why don’t you two tour the reptile exhibit free of charge?”
“Thanks, but no,” Lisa said. “We’re more interested in touring the mounds. My dad’s an archaeologist who specializes in Indigenous mound sites.”
The cashier reached under the counter and produced two certificates that had Three Rivers Indian Mounds Park printed on them.
“These will get you into the mound park for free,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Greenstone would want you to see the mounds at no charge.”
Lisa thanked the cashier for the passes and stuffed them into the back pocket of her jeans as she and Raelynn left the building. Neither of them spoke until they reached the car.
“You know serpentine is a green stone, right?” Raelynn said as she unlocked the car.
“No, I didn’t,” Lisa said. “I’m not familiar with it at all.”
Then she caught on to what her companion was getting at.
“The name Greenstone must be an alias,” Raelynn concluded. “The Greenstone Rehabilitation Program makes jewelry out of green stones.”
“The director of the Serpentine Foundation is named Greenstone,” Lisa added. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
