GHOST DANCER

In August, the South Dakota sun is a devil’s tongue, hot and spiteful to any who dare spend a day or two driving cattle down the dry summer gulches, always looking for grass to feed the beasts. The scorching Midwest desert range is home to prairie dogs, coyotes and cactus with just enough grass to the west to range cattle.

Charlie Red Cloud drove his battered jeep up the ten mile trail between the south range and the ranch gate of the Red Cloud Singletree Ranch. He was a man well acquainted with the out doors. His face was brown and worn from years of wind and sun. He wore his work clothes with comfort. Charlie was a man who seemed born to wear Levi’s. He topped it off with a red plaid shirt covered by a black leather vest. The vest, made of buffalo skin, was soft and smooth, the front lined with silver buttons and fringe around the lapels. His hair was worn straight and long, tied away from his face with a checkered bandana. He chose to wear a bolo for a tie, which he had made himself. His boots were from Texas, the tough short-healed variety made for horse back riding, working in the corrals, or motor biking, Charlie’s recent passion. Charlie gave the impression that he fit his clothes and that his skin belonged in them.

He stopped to gaze at the fl at horizon as the late afternoon sun beat down making small mirages in the sand. Here lived the last remnants of the old Lakota Indian tribes. Charlie’s lineage stretched back to the unwritten time of the Great Teton Sioux Nation, of which the Lakota were a proud part. The name meant “friends” or “allies” in the English language. The tribe had split long ago to produce three smaller tribes: the Nekota, Dakota and Lakota tribe. The Lakota, Charlie Red Cloud’s tribe, was the largest of these. They had been, Charlie recalled, famous for developing the horse culture of the plains.

To the west, near Rapid City was the Wind Cave, now a national park. In the grandfather’s time, the Wind Cave was a sacred place used for ceremonial purposes. North of his ranch the Crow Creek and Lower Brule intersected along the Missouri River. The tribes of the Brule and Crow were famous story-tellers. In the grandfather’s day, many were known to be the last of the majestic tribal warriors and chiefs.

Near his ranch was the Rosebud Indian Reservation. White men believed that these were the poorest of the poor, people who spent their lives between the shadows of poverty and need. Governments, schools, and churches tried in vain to change the nature of Indians. There was in these Indians a link to nature: the sky, the animals, the birds, the insects, the cold, the heat, the wetness, the dryness, the soil, the rivers, the sun and moon—some inner strength which remained true even among hunger and want. Charlie knew these tar-shack people, knew he was just a heart beat from their world, a matter of birth.

There were modern cities scattered throughout South Dakota: Sioux Falls, Mitchell, Pierre, and Rapid City. Charlie fondly recalled towns which no longer existed. Some were now known to have no people at all, only ghosts which wandered aimlessly from the past. Box Elder Creek and Buffalo Gap were two which came to Charlie’s mind.

Box Elder Creek was near Mount Rushmore. Charlie had visited the area with his Pa in 1959 not knowing that Hollywood was near there to film the Hitchcock movie “North by Northwest”. They had wanted a quiet day to go fishing but the movie business had interrupted their plans. The weekend was not an entire bust as they were able to take a side trip to the Crazy Horse Memorial.

This memorial was one of the largest sculptures in the world. Though it hadn’t been completed yet, Charlie was amazed at its grandeur. His Pa had told him that Crazy Horse was killed back in 1877 by an American soldier who bayoneted him as he was taken by force to a guardhouse. The soldier was supposed to protect him. Unlike other warriors of the time, his Pa told him, Crazy Horse never signed a treaty with the U.S. or let his photo be taken. The Crazy Horse stories were repeated at many pow-pows but this was a new slant on the old stories to Charlie.

Returning in the night, Charlie and his Pa found that nearby Mount Rushmore and all its hotels were fi lled with tourists. Charlie’s Pa suggested they camp out near the old mining town of Box Elder Creek. In the days of boom towns, gold and silver had been searched for here, but never found. They passed a railroad, with a few freight cars parked on the side tracks. On Sixth Street, an old cafe and hotel seemed to be open, but the hotel had a “no vacancy” sign on the door. Charlie and his Pa had their camping gear with them and decided to drive out Radar Hill Road. They would camp out doors near the creek. Not far from the creek was an abandoned mining operation, defunct for many years, Charlie was told. Whatever mining operations existed there went bust long ago. The town was quiet, almost too quiet.

Box Elder Creek seemed to be harboring its own secrets. It had been called a ghost town by some and Charlie could believe it. A haunting wind whistled across un-occupied homes. An errant breeze echoed from the empty mine shaft and through the old buildings and into the twilight. It was the kind of place which simply had gone out of favor with the people in the area. As Charlie and his Pa set up the tent, the mist from Box Elder Creek silently wound around their camping site, a reminder at least to Charlie that ghosts did exist, even here.

Charlie found ghost towns to be fascinating. There was also Buffalo Gap. This ghost town made its appearance first as a cattle town. The town succeeded for many years because Beaver Creek provided an ample source of water for grazing. In the old days, Buffalo Gap had at least fifty saloons and entertainment parlors and at least one natural quarry which Charlie knew of where minerals were mined.

On a golden fall day years ago, Charlie had taken a trip north through Custer County to go hunting and had stopped at Buffalo Gap. It was, at that time, still considered a small town. Not many people lived there. Some said it was a ghost town even though there were still a few houses around that were lived in.

Charlie chuckled to himself as he recalled his stay at Buffalo Gap. He had a successful hunt that day, bagging a good sized deer. He checked in at the deer station where all hunts were registered. The deer was cleaned and hung from a tree behind the butcher shop. Charlie was looking for a hotel. Not finding any, the men in charge invited Charlie to stay the night at their home as he was far from his ranch. Charlie agreed and was introduced to a man by the name of Brother Jacob Enos, of the Mormon Church.

The Enos family lived in an old log structure which had been built by one of the earliest pioneers. It had been in Buffalo Gap since settlement days. Charlie was greeted by two women, Caroline and Angelina, who were introduced to him as the wives of Jacob Enos. There were six children ranging in age from an infant, two young girls about six and ten, a girl of sixteen and two boys in their late teens. There were three other men, relatives who had come to visit and hunt. The women welcomed Charlie, even though they hadn’t expected a stranger. The children were quiet and polite.

All of the family members were dressed conservatively, the men in white shirts and black pants worn to dinner; the women and girls in long dark skirts with aprons. Conversations, Charlie noted were between the men, not the women. The men were served their food first, family style on long wooden tables. The children were fed next and the women ate last. Charlie noticed that no cigars, coffee, tea or alcoholic brews were served after dinner.

After the congenial dinner, there were prayers and discussions mostly about Joseph Smith and the journey of the Saints to Utah. They took time to provide Charlie with the Mormon Bible and explain about the Lost Tribe of Israel, whom they believed were the American Indians. Charlie didn’t believe his tribe had ever been lost or a part of the Mormons, who were after all white men, but he nodded in agreement. It was simply not good manners to disagree with a generous host.

The next day, Charlie had anticipated loading his deer up in his pick-up to head home. Instead, Jacob Enos had a different proposal. Perhaps, he suggested, Charlie could stay on and help with the deer season at the registration station. By that time his deer would be aged enough to be butchered and packaged in ice for the long trip home. Jacob asked for a few steaks of venison for his family as payment for Charlie’s use of their meat packing materials. Charlie had some time that season and was in no rush to get home. So he accepted Jacob’s offer. This almost became his undoing. During the stay with the Enos family, Charlie found he was introduced to many young women. He was encouraged to think about settling down in their area. He was urged to read the Mormon literature and consider membership to LDS Church. Each woman seemed anxious to adopt Charlie into the faith. Marriage seemed the ultimate goal and with marriage conversion to the LDS faith was a mandatory pre-requisite. Charlie began to think it was time for him to go. He was flattered, but not interested.

One afternoon, Charlie had loaded his truck to go into town to sell some apples for the Enos family. A co-op market was located there. All he had to do was drop the apple baskets off at the store. It was going to be his last day at the Enos home. He had just left the driveway when, in his mirror, Charlie spotted the face of a girl from the Enos family. He couldn’t even remember her name. She crouched in the back of his truck.

“Christ!” Charlie shouted as he pulled over, “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my truck?”

The girl shrank away. “Nothing,” she murmured, “I mean I want to get away. You have no idea. I will be married soon to an old man. I’m expected to be his second wife. I’m so frightened. I’m only sixteen. Please don’t take me back.”

Charlie considered the alternatives. “Well, where do you want to go? Do you have any friends you can go to?”

She nodded, “Yes, I’ll go to a woman at a safe house. If you’ll just take me to town I can get myself there. You won’t be in any trouble,” she indicated her small suitcase, “I know what I’m doing. I’ve got my things, all I need. If you don’t take me, I’ll only fi nd someone else to help me. I think you are a kind man. I don’t want you to know where the safe house is or you might have to speak of it someday. It’s in a secure location, a place for many women, some are like me.”

Charlie knew he was in for some big trouble with this girl but she looked desperate. He decided that the town police station was the best place for her. He dropped her off at the corner where he thought the station might be. If they saw her she would be taken back, if not, well he didn’t know anything about her. It was hard to tell who was in charge in such a small town. Charlie pulled his truck over to the sidewalk. The girl thanked Charlie anxiously and disappeared down an alley. After she left, Charlie dropped off the apples at the co-op, which he had almost forgotten about. The butcher shop was still open. He left a generous portion of venison for the Enos family and loaded the iced packages of meat he kept for himself in a cooler in the back of his truck. He was due to return to the Enos home. Charlie wondered what he would say to Jacob Enos. He decided to say nothing unless asked.

As it turned out, the two women were working in the kitchen and Enos was in the barn. Charlie loaded his satchel into the truck and went to the barn. He thanked Enos, who seemed more concerned with his sick cow than any goodbyes to Charlie. But they shook hands and Charlie offered to pay for his stay. Enos looked up and waved the request away.

“No, son,” he said, “we were glad to offer you our hospitality. Did you pick up all your venison from the market?”

“Yes, sir, I did,” Charlie said, “I left a side of the venison for you and your family.”

“That’s more than fair, Charlie,” Brother Jacob said, “thanks for helping out.”

“You’ve been a good host,” Charlie responded. “I hope we meet again,” silently Charlie hoped they would not see each other too soon. He was feeling very guilty about the girl, as if he had done something wrong. There was now a missing daughter to think about. Charlie paused long enough to say good-bye to the women and then turned his truck for the nearest road out of town. Charlie shivered as he left Buffalo Gap. It was the last time he frequented the town.

As he passed the old Buffalo Gap cemetery, he observed the ancient grave stones now covered by prairie grass. They leaned ominously. Years of moss and neglect spread over the graves. Charlie had slowed down to have a smoke. He hadn’t had a cigarette in all the time he was with the Enos family. He lit one up as he drove down the lonesome road.

Rain spattered the windows. Suddenly he thought he saw a form of a person in a dark dress pass right in front of his truck. He hit the breaks. His tires squealed and spun against the damp pavement. He stared out the mirrors and saw no one. A whisper of air floated over the hood of his truck and enveloped him. A voice, clear as if it were in the cab beside him, seemed to whistle around him, remember, remember, remember. The hair on the back of Charlie’s neck stood on end. The trees along the cemetery wall cracked as a freak windstorm came up. A poplar branch split in front of him. Charlie accelerated his vehicle and didn’t slow down until he was far down the road.