Rock with Wings by Anne Hillerman Read Free Book Online Page A

Bernie.
    When he got there, he fixed the People Mover by flashlight. The repair didn’t take long—it was just a matter of reconnecting loose battery cables. He was thankful that old engines didn’t require computer analysis.
    Chee wasn’t usually an early riser, but before sunrise he and Paul went to work making burritos. Chee cooked the filling, and Paul wrapped the tortillas, sealed the burritos in foil, rolled them in towels, and put them in an insulated bag. Chee set up the coffeepot and placed it over the fire in the fire pit. Paul had found six cups, theold-fashioned kind their grandmother had used. Because this was Paul’s first time guiding a tour, Chee agreed to come along as an observer. He could suggest improvements for the next time.
    The guests—two couples from Norway—were ready at the visitor center at 6:00 a.m., bright-eyed and excited. They seemed amazed and a bit intimidated to find themselves in the big, open, nearly waterless landscape with a real Indian as a guide. Paul further wowed them when he told them that Chee, his assistant for the day, was a genuine Navajo Nation policeman.
    The visitors nodded and introduced themselves: Filip, Emma, Emil, and Nora. They spoke rusty high school English.
    â€œYou came here on holiday like us?” Emma, a woman in a long-sleeved hiking shirt, asked.
    â€œYes, but I’m going to be working here, too, helping with a movie.”
    The woman looked at him with more interest. “You are in this movie?”
    â€œNo, ma’am.” He tried to explained the situation, which led to more questions about the Navajo Nation police and how they operated. He wished he’d kept his mouth shut; he knew from experience that talking more than necessary only led to trouble.
    He helped the visitors into the People Mover and they bounced along to Paul’s place, where they toured the hogan, admired the ramada, and praised the coffee. They gobbled up the burritos once Paul showed them how to scrape off most of the green chile and explained that they could do so without hurting his feelings.
    After breakfast, Paul pulled the People Mover keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Chee. “You drive so I can concentrate on giving out the information. I’ll tell you where to turn for the photo vistas.”
    The tour went remarkably well. To Chee’s amazement, Paul knew quite a bit about photography and had a jovial way of sharingadvice without being pushy. He told Chee to stop at all the right places for pictures. Paul also explained the geology of the park and talked about its plants and animals without going overboard. The customers knew enough English to understand the essence of the narration and ask questions. They took dozens of photos of horses on the sand dunes.
    Chee enjoyed driving the big vehicle and revisiting places he’d loved years before. When Paul discussed the area’s human history—ancient Pueblo people, Spanish and Anglo miners, and the Navajo families who lived in the park today—he thought about Bernie’s theory, that the dirt from her traffic stop might be tied to archaeology. He reached no conclusion.
    Chee steered them out of Mystery Valley and onto the main Monument Valley road, a rough dirt track that looped back to the Visitor Center. The sun warmed the midmorning air, which blew in through his open window and buffeted the guests on the People Mover’s bench seats. Ahead a sightseeing van, fully packed with customers, churned up a red cloud of dirt. The suffocating dust left him two alternatives. The first was to slow down to a crawl for the long miles back to the visitor center to stay well behind the van, while the passengers in the back baked, got sunburned, and grew bored.
    The second, more manly option? Ignore the painful speed limit, pass the van, and let them decelerate or eat his dust.
    He sailed by the vehicle smoothly, but a giant pothole lay just beyond it. He