Coyote blue

days the mortality rate had been so high for young plains warriors that a woman might have three or four husbands in her lifetime, and have children by them all. Sometimes one of the husbands was a white man, yet since they all traced their kinship through their mother's line, the white ancestor could easily be forgotten.
    Billy said, "I'll bet you got a few whiteys in your wigwam you don't even know about, Broken Dick."
    Samson laughed and the others shushed him. The security guard was making a pass by the monument's high wrought-iron gate. They ducked their heads. A flashlight beam passed over them, paused, and moved on as the guard turned to walk up the hill toward the Custer burial site.
    "You going to do it?" Eli asked.
    "Once he's past the grave he has to go check on the Reno site. He'll take the jeep for that. When we hear the jeep, we'll go."
    "Sure you will," said Eli.
    "You coming?" Samson asked. He was more than a little afraid. The monument was federal land, and this was a time when an Indian causing trouble on federal land was something the government was going to great lengths to discourage after the Alcatraz takeover and the killings at Pine Ridge.
    "I don't have to go," Broken Tooth said. "My people put him there. I'll just sit here and twist up a doobie while you girls do your thing." He grinned.
    "The gate will be the bitch," Billy said. They looked at the fifteen-foot iron spears suspended between two stone pillars. There were only two cross members they could use as footholds.
    They watched the guard amble the hundred yards down the hill to the visitor center. When they heard the jeep fire up, Samson and Billy took off. They hit the gate at the same time. The gate swung with the impact and clanged against the chains and padlock that held it closed. They scrambled up the bars, then hung over spearpoints and dropped to the asphalt. As they let go the chain sent a loud clang ringing down the valley. They both landed on their butts.
    Samson looked to Billy. "You okay?"
    Billy jumped to his feet and dusted off his jeans. "How come the Indians in the movies can do this shit in complete stealth?"
    "Vocational training," Samson said. He started running up the hill toward the monument. Billy followed.
    "Snake ahead," Samson said as he ran.
    "What?"
    "Snake," Sam repeated breathlessly. He leapt into the air over the big diamondback rattler that was lying in the road, warming itself on the asphalt. Billy saw the snake in time to pull up and slide on some loose gravel within striking distance.
    When he heard Billy's shoes sliding he stopped and turned.
    Billy said, "You were saying 'Snake,' right?"
    "Back away and go around, Billy." Samson was so out of breath he could hardly talk. The rattler coiled.
    "I thought you were saying 'Steak.' I was wondering, Why is he yelling 'Steak' at me? "
    "Back away and go around."
    " 'Snake.' Well, I guess this explains it." Billy backed slowly away, then once out of striking distance ran a wide arc around the snake and up the hill.
    Samson fell in beside him. The monument was still a hundred yards away. "Pace yourself," he said.
    "Did you say 'Snake' again?" Billy said between pants.
    Rather than answer, Samson fell into a trot.
    The monument was a twenty-foot granite obelisk set on a ten-foot base at the top of a hill that overlooked the entire Little Bighorn basin.
    "Let's do it," Samson said, heaving in breaths. The hill had been longer and steeper than he'd thought.
    Billy unzipped his pants and stood beside Samson, who had already bared his weapon. "You know," Billy said, "it would have been easier to gang up on Eli and beat the shit out of him."
    "I think I hear the jeep coming back," Samson said. A long yellow stream arced out of Billy and splashed the side of the monument. "Then you better get going." Samson strained. "I can't."
    Billy grunted, trying to force his urine to run faster. "Go, man. That's headlights."
    "I can't."
    Billy finished and zipped up, then turned to face Samson. "Think rivers, think waterfalls."
    "It won't come."
    "Come on, Samson. He's coming. Relax."
    "Relax? How can -"
    "Okay, relax in a hurry."
    Samson pushed until his eyes bugged. He felt a trickle, then a stream coming.
    "Push it, Samson. He's coming." Billy began to back down the hill. "Push it, man."
    The jeep's headlights broke over the hill and descended toward the monument. "Duck!" Billy said.
    Samson squatted by the base of the monument and managed to stream urine down both pant