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ARRIVING BY FIREI used to travel to Scotland each year—usually in winter.  We flew Icelandair to Glasgow with a brief la...
10/09/2024

ARRIVING BY FIRE
I used to travel to Scotland each year—usually in winter. We flew Icelandair to Glasgow with a brief layover in Keflavik which I affectionately referred to as Ice Station Zebra.

And we would always say to ourselves, “We should come back to this place in the summer.”

Well, Inna and I did. Unlike almost anywhere else on earth with a large international airport, there are no surrounding towns to speak of and very few lights on the ground, giving it a feeling of otherworldly abandonment.

But the night we flew into Keflavik, a volcano blew its top and lit the dawn’s early light landscape with a fiery glow—just like in the movies. Iceland does not screw around. It’s the real deal.

From the local news: “Lava continued to spew from a volcano in southwestern Iceland on Friday — the sixth time since December the volcano has erupted on the Reykjanes Peninsula.
The eruption from a new fissure began shortly after 9 p.m. Thursday following a series of strong earthquakes and within the hour a 4-kilometer (2.4-mile) fissure cut through the Sundhnúkur crater.

“Iceland authorities say the eruption’s effects remain localized with road closures but do not threaten the population.

“Halldór Björnsson, head of weather and climate at the Norwegian Meteorological Agency, told the Icelandic news portal Vísir that, unlike previous eruptions, the lava flow was not heading for the town of Grindavik that was largely evacuated in December when the volcano came to life after being dormant for 800 years.

“As news of the eruption spread, hundreds of curious onlookers drove to nearby vantage points for a view of the stunning natural phenomenon that has become a key tourism attraction.”

“We just thought that it was the northern lights,” said Mahnoor Ali, visiting from Maryland in the U.S. “It’s like the coolest thing I’ve seen in my whole life, honestly.”

"ANTELOPE GIRL" IS NOW AVAILABLE ON AUDIO BOOKS!Just follow the link to Amazon Books, and click on the "Virtual Voice Sa...
28/01/2024

"ANTELOPE GIRL" IS NOW AVAILABLE ON AUDIO BOOKS!

Just follow the link to Amazon Books, and click on the "Virtual Voice Sample" tab to hear most of the first chapter, so you can get a sense of how it reads.

It's AI-generated, so it has its flaws, especially the pronunciation of Indian words. But it would have taken me forever to produce my own narrated version and this was as easy as pie. I like easy.

Antelope Girl

“ANTELOPE  GIRL” IS A FINALIST IN THE 2023 BEST THRILLERS BOOK AWARDS!The results are in, and “Antelope Girl” has been n...
04/12/2023

“ANTELOPE GIRL”
IS A FINALIST IN THE 2023 BEST THRILLERS BOOK AWARDS!

The results are in, and “Antelope Girl” has been named a Finalist in the 2023 BestThrillers Book Awards!

I’m elated to announce that my book is a BestThrillers Book Awards finalist! I’m honored to be recognized among such a great list of authors!

"Antelope Girl” is one of the year's best conspiracy thrillers." - BestThrillers

It’s a great Christmas read!

Antelope Girl https://a.co/d/avxKFhL

ANTELOPE GIRL - Chapter 23Back at Hopi, Juniper followed the momentous news streaming out of Window Rock. First, the Nav...
06/08/2023

ANTELOPE GIRL - Chapter 23

Back at Hopi, Juniper followed the momentous news streaming out of Window Rock. First, the Navajo Tribal Council voted to approve the Esplanade during an emergency session. Then, a young hitherto unknown rebel, Lyndon Za, had orchestrated a potentially course-changing protest rally under Window Rock. Thousands of Navajo had heard Za announce that he was the reincarnation of Navajo mythological hero Dawn Boy. Za—or Dawn Boy—had denounced the Chairman and Tribal Council as witches. Then he thundered the call for a total strike across all of Navajo land. Everything had closed down, and the tribal leaders were nowhere to be found. You couldn’t make this stuff up. Juniper, like the rest of the Navajo, was stunned—but hopeful.

Nobody claiming to be Dawn Boy had made himself known at any environmental protest where she’d been. Nor had such a person—or god—spoken before the Navajo Council.

Juniper had gone digging on the internet to find out who Za was. She turned up nothing but an announcement three years before in the Lake Powell Chronicle about a kid named Lyndon Za who had taken first place in a Page High School computer contest. Now he seemed to have risen from out of the blue—or from the Navajo First World.

Juniper decided to reach out to this mysterious leader of a new indigenous movement focused on stopping the Esplanade. They both seemed to be battling the same demons. Maybe they could work together. But it needed to be done carefully.

She made first contact with Lyndon by sending him an anonymous and encrypted email containing some very incriminating information about the Esplanade that she had uncovered in combing through Vladimir Petrov’s company files.

Less than an hour later she got an email back from Lyndon addressed to her personal email account, asking how she liked the Navajo jail in Window Rock. Lyndon Za had easily discovered her identity.

Juniper was both scared and intrigued.

Who was this clever young man? He must also be a fellow hacker.

She replied to his email, inviting him to come to her house in Oraibi the next day.

Za arrived early the next morning on his battered Indian Chief motorcycle. With the bike’s sputtering engine reverberating between the stacked houses of the ancient village, people came out to see what the racket was about.

They saw a Navajo styled after Hollywood rebels like Marlon Brando, not that they knew who he was. Za wore a black leather jacket, cowboy boots, and wrap-around sunglasses but no helmet. His long black hair was tied in a tight ponytail.

Juniper watched from inside her pueblo while Chuka scratched at the screen door, trying to get out and greet the noisy stranger.

“Stop it, Chuka,” ordered Juniper in a hushed voice.

Lyndon dismounted and stretched his arms to the sky. The man was a tall drink of water. He adjusted his sunglasses and smiled up at the sun. Then he unzipped his jacket, revealing a green T-shirt with a black drawing of a smiling Bob Marley. Above the Marley likeness were the words “GET UP!” Under the headshot were the words “STAND UP!”

Juniper smiled. “This guy’s cool,” she said softly to herself.

As Lyndon walked toward the door, Juniper felt a tingle of excitement. A giant of a woman herself, she favored tall men.

She decided not to make Lyndon knock, instead opening the door and letting Chuka break the ice. The three-legged mutt spun excited circles in the dust and whined to be petted.

Lyndon obliged. As he leaned down and scratched the happy hound around the ears, he looked up and almost lost his balance. Standing before him was the most striking woman he had ever seen.

Juniper had not dressed specially for him. She was wearing her usual Tevas, purple swim shorts, and a red tank top over a black sports bra. Her red hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She stood in a ray of sunshine just outside the door; in that light, her head seemed to give off a soft glow.

Lyndon felt about fifteen years old again, an awkward fool in the presence of an Amazon goddess.

Juniper could see what was happening. It had happened before. It was her height and red hair. She usually got off on wielding such power over stupid little boys. But not this time.

“I liked you better on the motorcycle,” she said with a laugh.
Lyndon, confused, returned his attention to Chuka.

“Let’s start over,” said Juniper. “I am Juniper Hatch. And I don’t bite. Neither does the dog. His name is Chuka.”

Lyndon felt himself relaxing and he extended his hand. “I am Lyndon Za.”

Juniper smiled and shook his hand. “Let’s go up on the roof.” She led Lyndon to the back of the stone pueblo, where they climbed the ladder.

Chuka barked at being left behind. His mistress pointed her left forefinger at the dog and he went silent. “Good dog,” said Juniper. “You guard the front.” Chuka obediently turned around.

“Now that’s a well-trained dog,” said Lyndon admiringly. “Our dogs won’t even come when we call them to dinner.”

“Try cutting off one of their legs,” chuckled Juniper, “that’ll get their attention.”

Lyndon’s mouth opened with alarm.

“Kidding,” chuckled Juniper.

And Lyndon’s heart melted.

Lyndon stared at the San Francisco Peaks with wonder. Though over a hundred miles away, they seemed close enough to touch. “You have an amazing view,” he said.

“Thanks. I made it myself,” Juniper said, sitting in one of a pair of once-white plastic chairs.

“So, you’re like the queen of the one-liners, is that it?”
Juniper suddenly lost her glibness.

“I have an old Hopi friend named Albert—like, I mean he's really old. He says I use humor like a stick, to keep people at bay.”

Lyndon nodded as he sat down in the chair next to Juniper. “Yeah, I usually just run away.”

Looking into the Navajo’s green eyes, Juniper didn’t feel like running away—or keeping him at bay.

For the next two hours, the tall young people strolled together down their separate memory lanes. Unconsciously, they touched each other lightly to make their points—on the hand, on the knee—and with every story, they grew closer. And after hearing about their lonely childhoods, each realized they had a lot in common. Especially both being twins. What were the odds?

When Juniper described her vision quest to Lyndon, and he revealed his Dawn Boy dream, they agreed that it looked like they both just might be working for the gods of their respective tribes. The odd thing was that neither had ever been drawn to their tribes’ religion.

That revelation led to a rambling discussion about how closely tied the Navajo and Hopi cosmology seemed to be, like Navajo Witches and Hopi Two Hearts. When both previous worlds were flooded, they had escaped through a reed tunnel—the Navajo came through one in the sky and the Hopi from underground. Both tribes landed here together on the earth.

The connection they felt was more than sexual. They were finishing each other’s sentences and were like giggling electric wires. There was chemistry between them.

“I know we just met, but I really like you, Juniper,” said Lyndon as he took her hand in his own.

Juniper leaned forward and they kissed softly, and only briefly. There might have been more touching, but a large black raven landed on the stone block wall in front of them, parading back and forth like Charlie Chaplin, screaming its head off.

The Navajo word for raven was Gáagii, so Lyndon started calling out to him "Gáa-gii! Gáa-gii!" It sounded remarkably like the raven’s call.

The raven went silent and then tipped its head to the side as it hopped up and down, looking at Lyndon and Juniper with great interest.

The humans fell into laughter that ended in embraces, their hands tentatively exploring each other’s bodies.

Juniper was the first to come up for air. “Whoah, big fella. I think we need to remember why we’re here.”

Lyndon blushed as he rubbed his crotch with embarrassment. “You’re right, we need to focus on the target. How can we defeat the Esplanade? How can we together use our talents most effectively?”

Juniper brushed back her loose hair. “Did you get to look over the material I uncovered from that creep Petrov’s files?”

“Yeah,” replied Lyndon as he eyed the woman next to him hungrily.

“You did an amazing job. If we can get that information into the right hands, that guy Petrov and the Tribal Council are going to be in hot water.”

Juniper nodded. At the wall, the crow was still sitting quietly like a sentinel. Was he listening?

“I've put a lot of thought into this. I’ve noticed there is one reporter who seems to always be around covering the Navajo Council, and he manages to get the story right most times. The guy’s name is Josh David, and he’s with the Arizona Republic.”

“I’ve noticed that guy too,” said Lyndon. “I never met him, but he’s usually on the right wavelength.”

Juniper pointed downward. “What say we go downstairs and send Mr. David an anonymous message that can’t be traced, with a file attachment, providing him with all of the incriminating evidence about Vladimir Petrov’s crooked business dealings we have found so far.”

Lyndon stood up. “Let’s go fishing.”

Antelope Girl

ANTELOPE GIRL - Chapter 22Who the hell was Lyndon Za?   He was raised near Bitter Springs, not far from the Little Color...
28/07/2023

ANTELOPE GIRL - Chapter 22

Who the hell was Lyndon Za?

He was raised near Bitter Springs, not far from the Little Colorado River, on a small expanse of rocky desert where his family scratched out a meager living raising livestock: some sheep and chickens. They also had a few head of cattle, a couple of horses, and three or four dogs that came and went like wild coyotes.

Lyndon was a Checkerboard Navajo and looked it. His kin had mixed with the Pueblo peoples, and he shared the physical traits of both. He stood about six feet tall and was all shoulders and no hips. His nose was flat like a boxer who had taken too many blows to the face, and his skin was the color of mocha. His shiny black hair extended below his shoulders and was usually tied in two long braids. His hands and feet were long and his mannerisms were steady and deliberate. He also had the quizzical look of a scholar.

Lyndon’s mother’s clan was Kinyaa’aani, Towering House People, the original Navajo Clan. He was “born to” his father’s clan Azee’tsoh Dine’é, Big Medicine People. And Lyndon’s clan was Táchii’nii, Red-Running-Into-The-Water-Clan.

The complex Navajo clan system was primarily a hedge against in**st in a gene pool that was quite small. It also explained one's lineage in a fast and concise manner. It was how strangers quickly figured out who a person was, where their family came from, and whether they might be related in some way to one another.

Indians didn’t associate themselves with Anglo names. They didn’t think of themselves primarily as Navajo. The term Native American was meaningless. They didn’t care a lick about silly labels like Anasazi, or politically correct monikers like Ancestral-Puebloans. If they had to pick, most were comfortable with the ridiculous name, Indians, which white people mistakenly came up with because they were lost but now found offensive. Navajos defined themselves by the clans of their mothers and fathers, and the rest simply didn’t matter.

His musical clan was something else. Lyndon’s earliest memory was hearing Bob Marley, and he considered the Jamaican Rasta musician a god. He grew up listening to Bob’s reggae songs of resistance and justice. Bob Marley shirts were his trademark. His most prized possession was a gold pendant the size of a silver dollar with Bob Marley’s smiling dreadlocked face etched in black. Lyndon carried the treasured medallion in the leather medicine pouch that he wore over his crotch under his pants.

Lyndon had gone to public school in Page, from elementary through high school. He hated everything about school. The whites treated the Navajos like throwaways; they thought they were better than the Indians. It was a constant struggle, and Lyndon never won because the deck was always stacked. Neither of his parents had ever gone to school, so they could not understand what he was going through. The bus ride took an hour each way, and his fellow riders were outcasts like Lyndon from isolated homesteads on the northern edge of Navajo land.

It was hard for him to make friends. He was not an outgoing person, and most of the things his classmates liked—TV, sports, drugs, partying—were not part of his sheltered existence.

Lyndon found his studies equally uninteresting. He barely managed to maintain a C+ average. His teachers found him likable, but they agreed he lacked “proper motivation.” But computers fascinated him, and he excelled at writing code and programming. It was the only thing he was ever any good at. He even won a few awards. But awards meant too little to entice the young man to join the Computer Club or compete against other schools. He liked to sit in a quiet place and dive headfirst into the Web. Plus, he could do it almost anywhere, including the family hogan, which was blessed with a reliable internet connection that emanated from a small cellphone tower behind the nearby Church of the Latter-Day Saints.

Lyndon liked girls but had never had a steady girlfriend. He had kissed a few girls at school, but that was about it. The social life of the high school in a small town like Page was centered on the Friday night football game in the fall or the big basketball game in the winter. Long before those contests started, Lyndon was home with no way to get back to school. He couldn't leave unless someone else was driving, and those options were severely limited. So sports were out, and so were girls. Anyway, none of the girls in school wanted anything to do with the tall, gangly Bob Marley freak.

Lyndon’s school experience resembled a criminal work release program.

He got on the bus in the morning at the end of a gravel road off Highway 89 that was the family driveway. He came back on the same bus in the late afternoon and walked down the same dusty road to his family's hogan above Hot Na Na Wash where he lived with his mother, father, and twin sister Grace.

Twins were rare in Navajo culture, and as with the Hopi, were considered imbued with special powers. Both cultures had mythological Hero Twins. According to Navajo legend, Born of Water and Monster Slayer were the twin sons of Changing Woman. Their mission was to rid the earth of the monsters who were killing the Navajo people. So in one respect, twins were worshiped. But at the same time, they were strange and unpredictable. As in the Hopi culture, twins were not disliked, but they were feared and kept at a distance.

Lyndon’s sister had caught meningitis when she was five. The disease had stunted her growth and left her crippled for life. Grace was being homeschooled by the whole family as best they could with their limited resources. As Grace could only get around in a wheelchair, she rarely left their little ranch.

Lyndon loved his sister.

Over the years, he taught her coding and computer skills, at which, like her brother, she was adept, but without the spark to grow her talents. Lyndon often marveled at how the disease changed the wiring of his sister’s scrambled brain. She was a quick learner and could follow difficult instructions, but she could not show any initiative and struggled to anticipate. It broke Lyndon's heart.

Grace was Lyndon’s closest confidant, though her handicap limited her ability to speak. But she had a lovely smile that always lifted Lyndon’s spirits. Grace blanched the good and the bad in Lyndon’s life.

After graduating from high school, Lyndon worked remotely for a software company that ran shopping algorithms for large department stores. It paid far more than he could ever have earned working some menial blue-collar job in Page or Tuba City. And it allowed him to stay at home and help with Grace and the family chores. Aging, his parents welcomed the help.

Two years before, Lyndon had purchased a used 2012 Polaris Indian Chief motorcycle that he stumbled on one day in Flagstaff. That’s when he began growing into a man of destiny.

He had always liked hiking in the dry washes around Bitter Springs, all ending at breathtaking rim views of the Grand Canyon and Colorado River. The motorcycle allowed Lyndon to expand his horizons and explore canyons farther and farther afield.

During these forays into the isolated tributary canyons on both sides of the Colorado River, Lyndon encountered other kindred spirits—mostly belegana granola types—but occasionally, he ran into fellow Navajos. Slowly, he began developing a casual network of local hiking friends that branched out to include Navajo computer geeks.

Lyndon soon realized that the limited wideband service available on the Rez explained why there weren’t many Navajos proficient in computer science. He had grown up with an internet connection, so he assumed everyone else had one too. But that was not the case.

After a little investigating, he discovered the Navajo government had never put any pressure on the telecommunication companies to provide internet service across Navajo land. They hadn’t even asked.

The more he dug into the affairs of the tribal government, the more incensed he became. There were small Navajo towns like Montezuma Creek, Utah, on the far eastern edge of the Rez whose people lived right next to the San Juan River but had no rights to the water from that river. White ranchers a hundred miles away in Colorado did. How could this be allowed? Water rights were based on first use. The Indians had clearly been there first, so why didn't they have water rights? Where was the Navajo tribal government when the people needed them?

It took a few years for Lyndon to knit together a crew of like-minded Navajo—hikers, bikers, environmentalists, reggae lovers, computer heads, and political advocates. When the Grand Canyon Esplanade came knocking at the Navajo Council door and was welcomed inside with open arms, that had been the final straw.

Chairman Jimmy Greyeyes and his fellow Council members had not seen Lyndon Za coming, but he and his young friends had been building like storm clouds over Navajo for years. When they finally unleashed their fury, nothing could stand in their way.

Antelope Girl

ANTELOPE GIRL - Chapter 21Josh David had spent the past three days chasing his tail from one snafu to the next. It had b...
14/07/2023

ANTELOPE GIRL - Chapter 21

Josh David had spent the past three days chasing his tail from one snafu to the next. It had been quite the ride.

The fun and games started before he got out of Page. The rental car agency je**ed him around because he wasn’t the person who had reserved the car. He went back and forth with the surly clerk, arguing about insurance and payment. In the end, Josh just ended up charging the car on his credit card. He would sort it out later with his editor.

As he was leaving town, he realized he had forgotten to bring along his laptop, so he had to turn back.

By the time he arrived at Window Rock, it was 2:45 with the press conference scheduled for three. Of course, because everything ran on Navajo time, it actually didn’t start until 3:30. At that point, Josh was ready to start breaking things.

The press conference proved to be a total waste of time. Chairman Jimmy Greyeyes stood sullenly at a podium in a room filled with Tribal Council members and their staff, essentially reading the Peabody Coal Company press release. And that was it. No questions. As soon as the Chairman finished, the press conference was over.

When Josh tried to corral Chairman Greyeyes, his path was blocked by a burly Navajo police officer. But Josh was determined not to walk away empty-handed, so he waited in the parking lot at the rear of the Council building until Councilman Peter Etcitty came waltzing through the door. What, he asked the councilman, would the loss of Peabody Coal mean to the Navajo tribe?

Councilman Etcitty was one of the chairman’s most trusted allies. He was a round man in his early sixties with darting brown eyes and rolls of fat under his chin. His nickname was Jabba, after the Jabba the Hutt character in Star Wars. Obesity was rare with the Navajo; it wasn’t in their DNA. Even with all the processed sugar they consumed, Navajos tended to be fairly trim. So Peter Etcitty was easy to see. The last thing he wanted to see was a reporter.

“On the record?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” replied Josh as he stood ready to write down the councilman’s words.

“Well, son, it ain’t good. We stand to lose a lot of jobs and a lot of tax revenue.”

“And off the record?” asked Josh.

The fat man rolled his eyes. “The Council has some tough decisions ahead. And we will have to find some money very quickly.”

“How quickly?”

Etcitty chuckled and his fat belly jiggled like jello. “Look, Josh, you know the Chairman ain’t your biggest fan. And he would tan my hide for even talking to you. But you seem like a good kid, and I know you’re just trying to do your job. So—and you didn’t hear this from me—I think ol’ Jimmy Greyeyes is going to pull a rabbit out of his hat tomorrow. I’d stick around if I was you.”

And the councilman tipped his cowboy hat and waddled off toward his truck.

Josh called Tom Hall to give him a progress report, along with Etcitty’s quote about lost jobs and revenue. Then they discussed what the Chairman might have up his sleeve.

“You need to stay there in Window Rock,” said Tom. “Get a hotel room and the paper will reimburse you. But you need to be there tomorrow when the other shoe drops.”

Josh ended up at the NavajoLand Inn, where he fell asleep by ten, watching a Dodgers baseball game on the in-room TV.

Josh was up the next morning with the sun. He showered and drove his rental to Ed’s Cafe. Over a hearty waffle breakfast with bacon and home fries, he sent Tom Hall his short piece about the press conference the day before. There wasn’t much to say. The Etcitty quote was really all they had.

After breakfast, Josh stopped by Tribal Police Headquarters to see what he could find out about the death of Hunter Maxwell. Josh had hoped he could talk to the first officer on the scene, Dalton Singer, but he was down in Phoenix and could not be reached. Officer Singer’s report had been sealed. No one else knew anything about the case. When he accused the desk sergeant of stonewalling, the always hostile Captain Blackthorn appeared, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and threw him out the front door.

“Go bother someone else, you little worm! And don’t come back here unless invited. You hear me?”

Captain Blackthorn hated the press and especially Josh because he was a belegana. Navajo was a nation unto itself and freedom of the press was often willfully ignored. Josh knew it was pointless to make a scene.

Josh spent the rest of the morning hanging around the Navajo Tribal Headquarters, trying to pin down the slippery Tribal Chairman, who remained elusive. Just before noon, a surprise news conference was announced. No one had seen it coming; Josh was the only reporter there. He said a silent prayer of thanks to Peter Etcitty for alerting him that something was going to pop that day.

This was a vastly different Jimmy Greyeyes. He stood at the podium in the small conference room acting like he was speaking to a throng of supporters. His confidence bubbled over.

“In light of the imminent closure of the Black Mesa Mine, I am calling an emergency session of the Navajo Tribal Council in two hours, so we can vote on the Grand Canyon Esplanade project.”

“He’s got the votes,” murmured Josh to himself.

And at two o’clock, Chairman Greyeyes convened the Council. They were all there, which meant the word had gone out that morning and the deal had been struck in advance.

Josh was the only news person representing a major paper there, but that’s not to say that the chairman’s wheeling and dealing had gone unnoticed. The Council chambers were packed. It was standing room only.

Next, John would later tell his editor, all hell broke loose.

With no discussion or public comments, the final vote was taken to approve the project. As the ayes were counted, a tall, young Navajo man rose to sing in a rich melodious voice a line from the Bob Marley song “Crazy Baldheads”: “We are going to chase those crazy baldheads right out of town!”

As he sang, some fifty young Navajos jumped up and stood on their chairs as they raised their arms to the sky in the clenched fist salute. Next, someone produced a large water drum and the protestors broke into two groups that surged to the front of the Council chambers. No one moved to stop them.

Josh started filming with his phone.

The Navajos stood shoulder to shoulder lined up in two long rows facing one another. A leader from the group on the left stepped forward, singing the words to a Navajo War Dance in a high-pitched voice that almost sounded like screaming. When he finished a verse, his side repeated it in a baritone growl. Then the group on the right followed the same ritual, with their own leader singing his falsetto verse, only to be echoed by his crew. The two lines surged back and forth in time to the drum, and the dancers shuffled their feet in unison.

Josh was blown away by the whole scene that he filmed on his phone.

Chairman Greyeyes and all the members of the Tribal Council were speechless. As the war dance got louder and more insistent, like a pot coming to boil, Jimmy Greyeyes looked like he was going to jump out of his skin. Greyeyes had seen enough. He signaled to his fellow Council members and they all got up and fled for the side door, leaving the warriors the stage.

At that moment, life on Navajo changed forever.

The next day Lyndon Za, the Marley singer, staged an impromptu protest at Window Rock, a natural bridge with a giant hole in the middle, like a red sandstone doughnut. Just north of the Navajo administration buildings, it was one of the four sacred spots where the Navajo medicine men went with their traditional woven water jugs to get the blessed water for the Tóee, the Water Way Ceremony.

Several thousand Navajos attended the rally. That was like a million people in D.C. Nothing like this had ever happened before on Navajo. This time, the Arizona and New Mexico press corps was out in force, including Josh, who had a ringside seat.

Lyndon chose the massive sandstone window as his stage. He was a natural showman. A microphone in hand, he paced from one end of the smoothly weathered rock ledge to the other, belting out a captivating speech the likes of which had never been heard on Navajo. His long black braids swung as he stalked. He was a force of nature.

In less than a day, he had won the hearts and minds of virtually every Navajo alive. The last thing the Navajo people wanted was a huge white man’s resort on their land above the sacred Little Colorado River. No more did they care about Peabody Coal leaving town. Good riddance to the crazy baldheads. It was time for a change in course, for the Navajo to seize their destiny and be more than beggars waiting for scraps from the beleganas’ table. They wanted new vibrant leaders who couldn’t be bribed or intimidated. In Lyndon Za, they heard exactly what they yearned for. They hung on his every word.

Lyndon did not disappoint. He summoned lost visions of the true Navajo way. Against those visions, he contrasted the crooked Navajo councilmen who had sold out the Diné for jobs and money and signed on for a travesty that would defile sacred lands.

The audience nearly cheered themselves into a riot. They were way too much for the few Navajo police on the scene. Navajos did not act like this, so the officers did not know what to do. They did nothing.

Just when Josh David thought it couldn't get any wilder, it did.

Lyndon stopped talking. Every eye followed a silence as loud as raised speech. He looked up at the sky, speechless for long seconds as the crowd watched, rapt. Then he went all in.

“I come to you today as Dawn Boy. I have followed the Rainbow Trail to the house of the Great Chief of All Magic.

Josh had no idea who Dawn Boy was, but it was clear from the audience’s reaction that he was somebody special.

His was one of the most revered legends of Navajo mythology.
The story went like this.

Little Dawn Boy lived in the Navajo First World, where he learned to sing the magic songs from the medicine man of his village. He saw a far-off light on a white tower that rose behind a purple mountain in the clouds. The medicine man knew the bright light was coming from the home of the Great Chief of All Magic.

His home was guarded by four doors. At the first door were two lightning bolts; at the second two fierce bears; two red-headed serpents at the third; and two angry rattlesnakes at the fourth.

Dawn Boy determined he must pay the Magic Chief a visit. The Medicine Man gave him Dawn Pollen to guide his way and gifts of turquoise and emeralds. He told Dawn Boy that when he got to the top of the Purple Mountain, he should sing one of his magic songs. A rainbow bridge would appear so he could walk across the sky to the Magic Chief’s heavenly tower.

Dawn Boy did as his teacher instructed. But when he entered the tower, the Magic Chief was very angry. No person had ever dared come to his house. He was about to kill the young stranger when Dawn Boy pulled out his gifts of turquoise and other shiny stones. The Magic Chief was pleased with these gifts and asked Dawn Boy what he would like in return. Dawn Boy sang:

Gifts for my kindred I wish.

"Give me, I pray, yellow and white and blue corn, and green growing plants, fragrant flowers, and black clouds and thunderstorms with lightning; and also the soft Spring showers and the gentle Summer breezes, with pale mists and golden Autumn hazes."

The Magic Chief granted Dawn Boy’s wishes. They feasted and the brave young warrior sang of magic. Then he returned over the Rainbow Trail to his home at Red Rock Village. From that day forward, his people have sung the magic song of Little Dawn Boy.
Looking over the rapturous crowd, Lyndon sang:

“With soft rains above us,
With sweet flowers below us,
With white corn behind us,
With green plants before us,
With pale mists all around us.
Over the Rainbow Trail we go!
Hither we wander,
thither we wander,
Over the beautiful trail we go!”

It was a moment in Navajo history that would long be remembered.

And Lyndon Za had more. Lyndon pointed at the Tribal Council building and screamed. “Chairman Greyeyes and the Tribal Council have all been bought and sold like sheep. They are all Navajo witches!”

The witch label was a lifelong curse. It was the worst thing you could say about a person.

The audience in front of Window Rock screamed and wailed. Josh had never witnessed such a miraculous display. If Lyndon had given the order, the mob would have burned the Council headquarters to the ground with everyone inside.

But Lyndon took it in another direction.

“I challenge the Navajo nation to stand in defiance of these witches,” he said. “I call for all of my people to go on strike, a total strike. Starting this very minute. Shut it all down! Do not shop. Do not go to work. And do not have any dealings with anything related to this evil tribal government until the witches are all gone for good.”

The Navajo obediently answered Dawn Boy’s call to action, sending the Diné into uncharted territory.

Antelope Girl

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