My father hurled the empty bottle

 Page 3.

My father hurled the empty bottle at one of the soldiers feet and uttered, “Indian lover” in a drunken slur and stormed off in the direction of the store room in an unsteady gate. Our outpost was nothing more than an abandoned pueblo in a mesa surrounded by a deep gorge that snaked it's way toward a series of cliffs once occupied by an unknown race of Indians. These people lived in caves carved by nature and made their homes in cliff dwelling hundreds of years ago. On one occasion while my father recovered from whiskey poisoning several of the soldiers brought me along to explore the area. It was early summer and the land below the cliffs was covered in sand sage and dove weed with Mexican sunflowers dotting the horizon providing flashes of yellows against a cloudless blue sky. We had to use ropes just to reach the lowest of the cliff's and the soldiers made sure it as safe before they pulled me up.

Once I reached the top I was astonished by ancient drawings on the walls of deer, elk and men with bows and arrows that overlooked a view that allowed nothing unnoticed for miles. We discovered broken pottery and animal bones and then the skull of a child. Death was no stranger to all of us in this world we now lived but the men laid the tiny skull carefully back where it was found and we all stood silent as a covey of scaled quail began to call out from a stand of blooming Apache Plums. We left this place the way we found it but I knew someday or somehow I would return. Captain Thompson assembled the men from the fort while standing next to Bacho and instructed the troop that Bacho would be serving as an interpreter for the post. The old Indian stood quietly with a new army blanket tucked under his arm and slowly walked toward his pony who lifted her head and whinnied as he approached the corral.

The men offered Bacho some tobacco which he immediately gave to his pony lifting her head in approval and stomping her right hoof on the ground.  They were part of the outpost now and I got to know them both quite well as time went on. The post had it's share of animals with an occasional stray dog or two looking for a handout. Generally they were shot for fear of madness or the possibility of injuring our horses or stealing our chickens.  Shortly after Bacho arrived an old mogul dog appeared just outside rifle shot from the post. Clearly she had pups but they were no where to be seen, however; the dog appeared to be watching us for some unknown reason and over time she inched her way closer to the fort. My father saw her too and warned me to stay away from the dog mentioning his plans for loafers and beggars were settled out the barrel of his hog leg pistol that lay within arms reach cocked and ready.