Montana Madness: A Novel. Sioux Dallas

twenty years. Let me get dry and dress and I’ll be down to tell you all about it. Do you have hot mint tea and some of your delicious egg toast?”

      “You know I do. I’ll get everything ready. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

      Ginger was thankful for Juanita. She had been with the family since her birth because her mother had been the housekeeper for the grandparents and then for Ginger’s parents. Juanita’s mother had died three years ago at age ninety-one. Juanita was considered a family member. Ginger knew she loved her and was concerned for her safety. She was only six years older than Ginger but they had grown up together.

      In about twenty minutes, Ginger was back in the kitchen gratefully accepting the tea and egg toast. She told Juanita all that had happened.

      “Oh, did you know Tokala Deerhunter is home?”

      “I knew he had come home to help his mother. He is a very good man. He only had an older sister, Marlene, who is now an ADA (assistant district attorney) in Iowa. She’s married and I can’t remember when she’s been back here. She’s fourteen years older than Tokala.”

      Ginger had too much on her mind to go back to sleep. It would be time to get up and start working in about two hours. Six o’clock came around whether one was ready for it or not.

      She wanted to do her chores as quickly as possible and then ride out in daylight to see where the thieves had come on her property. Too, she wanted to check on the mustangs and assure herself that they were all right. Some of the very old might have been hurt. The very young could have easily been hurt crowded among the frightened larger horses.

      Hank had ridden out before dawn. He and two ranch hands had found the cut fence and repaired it. They also checked the favorite watering hole of the herd to make sure there was no trap set. He was angry because of the careless treatment of the innocent animals and what the end results might have been. He felt that Ginger didn’t deserve the aggregation.

      Ginger decided to let War Shield rest, so she saddled Dakota Joe and took him out. She was ashamed of herself to be annoyed at Hank for getting out in the mustang pasture before she did. She knew she should be grateful, but she hoped to find a clue as to who was on her property uninvited. Hank was a welcome sight as she quickly rode to him.

      “Hey, Hank. Find anything that will help us?”

      “No. It’s strange how they can come all over the property and there are no clues anywhere.”

      “We’ll keep searching and hopefully come up with something in a few days. Was there anything in the barn that would give us a clue?”

      “No. My guess is they’re wearing gloves and plastic bags on their boots to leave no prints in the barn. These are men who have had some well-thought out training and I bet there’s a big boss in the picture.”

      “Shades of the old west. Grandfather will be turning in his grave. I’m going to report this to the sheriff and to the BLM. I know you don’t want me to be involved, but this property has been in my family at least one hundred years. I owe it to my ancestors to do all within my power to protect it and all that’s on it. I’m sorry my mother lost three babies before they were born. I sure could use a sibling to help me now.”

      “I’m going to assign night patrol for a while. In the meantime I’m going to think of some way of identifying stolen mustangs. I know you don’t approve of branding, Ginger, but we need to mark the mustangs in some manner so they can be identified.” Hank was so angry he was gnashing his teeth.

      “Yes, you’re right,” she said with a sigh. We’ll have a planning session about this later when we both have time. In the meantime, I’ll contact BLM and discuss it with them. I’m going back now and train some of the boarder’s horses. After all, I’ve gotta earn what they’re paying me. See you later. Thank you, men,” she called to the hands as she rode off.

      Ginger worked and trained four horses for boarders. When she broke late for lunch, she had to admit how tired she was. Instead of riding in the afternoon, she decided to work some of the young horse on a lunge line. She not only taught voice commands but hands signals as well.

      She was working with a very obstinate two year old when she saw a movement in her peripheral vision. With a startled gasp, she whirled around and was relieved to see James Deerhunter.

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I don’t want to interfere with the training of that beauty. He’s Quarter Thoroughbred isn’t he. Is he one of yours?”

      “No, he’s a boarder, but I would gladly claim him any day. He has a determined mind of his own, but, when he’s completed his training, he’ll be worth a fortune. Look at those lines. Have you ever seen a better put together horse?”

      “He has great lines. Do you know his breeding?”

      “Sure. He’s by Rocking Fellow out of Affectionately Mine and is a direct line of Top Deck. He’s going to be great at halter and conformation as well as performance. I hope to take him in halter next month in the Horse Show and Rodeo at St. Ignatius. I have about half a dozen that I’d like to make the show part of their training. I’m going to have to find some young people who are willing to learn how to care for horses and show them properly. I can’t afford to pay a large sum, but I’ll give free riding lessons and a nominal salary.”

      “More power to you. I think you’re a woman of the future. Is there something I can do to help? And you won’t have to pay me. St. Ignatius? When did they start having shows and rodeos?”

      “Not too long ago. They’re a surprisingly very modern city even though they are mostly on the Flathead Indian Reservation. I love going there to shop because it’s only seven miles from my house and I can usually find all I want or need. Otherwise, I go to Billings.”

      “Okay Ginger, help me out here. I’ve been there, of course, but not in several years. What’s going on there?”

      “Well, it is in Lake County and was established in about 1854 in Mission Valley by Jesuit Priests. The town was named after Saint Ignatius Loyola. In it was the first residence school for Native American children, the first hospital and the first saw mill. Indians and missionaries worked together to build the beautiful mission church which is a tourist attraction. Friar Joseph Carignano painted some gorgeous murals on the interior walls. They are worth a trip just to see them.”

      “Is the population only Indian now?”

      “The majority is. It’s about eighty per cent Indian with Salish, Kootenal and Flathead Indians. There are a lot of German speaking Amish farmers who make excellent neighbors. The horse show and rodeo is to earn money to support a retirement and nursing home for seniors. There is a Senior Citizens Community Center for social gatherings and meetings. Tim Ryan, the country singer, is a resident and Diane Sands in House of Representatives, was born there.”

      “Fascinating,” he said with a grin. “No, seriously, that’s wonderful. So it’s a small but growing town. I understand.”

      “Grandfather was active in the Cattlemen’s Association that met in St. Ignatius and everyone knew him and liked him.”

      “I can believe that. He was a man worth knowing; honest, hard-working, reliable, and determined to make this a better place for everyone.”

      “James, since you left, there have been some farmers trying the new organic farming. They even have a farmers’ market now. People come from all around to buy and sightsee.”

      “I’m glad to hear that. This is a thriving community then.”

      “Oh, yes. The Indians on the Flathead Reservation are much better off than those on other reservations because the soil is great for raising crops and feeding animals on the natural grasses. They are not poverty stricken as others are. There are lots of trout in the waters for food.’”

      “So there’s plenty to eat and work to do.’

      “That’s correct. A source of amusement for the tourists is