APACHELAND

In May of 1938, when Michael Paul Summers was 8, his mother, Maggie, and his godmother, Natalia Shane, drove him to the White Mountains in Maggie's black coupe. Mikey would spend the summer with his father. The route was paved from Nogales to Tucson, but mostly unpaved for the rest of the journey through Florence and Globe, across the bridge in Salt River Canyon and over the Mogollon Rim to McNary. They arrived in McNary late and roomed in a boarding house that belonged to the Southwest Lumber Mill. Mary Bell Summers, Mikey's new stepmother, came for him the next morning. Maggie stayed only long enough to stow Mikey's gear in Mary's car. She then gave Mikey a peck on the cheek without looking at him, turned away, loaded Natalia and headed home. Natalia never got to within 50 yards of Mary. Mary told Mikey that she needed to run an errand and could not take him with her. She drove him out of town, stopped under a pine tree, told him to get out and wait, made a U-turn and drove away. An Apache jacal, a shelter, sat back in the timber about 50 yards away. Mikey sat down to wait under the pine tree. Maggie had not wanted to eat at the boarding house that morning. She left town so fast to get away from Mary that Mikey missed breakfast, too. Every now and then he turned toward the jacal to see if anyone would come out. Smoke rose from its stovepipe. Finally, an Apache woman came out to sweep the ground in front of the door. She wore a calico dress with a high collar. The hem was ankle length, and she wore teguas, the same kind of rawhide-soled, high moccasins that Mikey knew the Yaquis wore. She'd combed her hair straight and shiny to the waist. She smiled at Mikey and said something to someone inside the jacal. A gray-haired lady came out and looked straight at Mikey. She nodded to the younger woman, laughed, shyly covered her mouth with her hand and went back inside. A boy Mikey's age came out and car-ried a tin cup and a rolled tortilla to him. Mikey did not know Apache, but he sus-pected that the boy knew Spanish. "¿Que hubole?" he said. "How's it going?"

"Quehubo," the boy said. "Toma, take this." He handed Mikey fried beans with melted cheese wrapped inside the tortilla. The tin cup carried sweet, hot coffee and canned milk.

"Thank you. What's your name?" Mikey asked.

"Juan Bueno. You?"

"Michael Paul Summers."

"Your father is El Pol?"

"Paul Summers."

"He's my friend."

"How do you know him?"

"He works the Haystack cattle with my father and grandfather. I cowboy, too, but not today. Here, you can have this." He handed Mikey a shiny steel ball bearing, a steelie. Mikey gave him a stick of gum. Juan Bueno took out a broken-handled pocketknife and dug a hardened drop of resin off the pine tree for Mikey. He dug off another for himself and chewed it up with his new gum.

"Chew that pine rock," he said. The resin was brittle and broke easy, then turned soft and blended with Mikey's gum. He took out the wad and looked at it. The pine drop tasted good and made a bigger wad to chew.

Juan Bueno led Mikey into the jacal to shake hands with his mother and grandmother. They also spoke Spanish. His mother's name was Filomena, and he called his grandmother Nana. Both gravely shook hands with Mikey and looked straight into his eyes. Their hands were warm, soft and water wet.

"How do you know Spanish, Polito, Little Paul?" Nana asked.

Mikey laughed self-consciously. "They said I would grow up to be a wizard."

"Your father told us. My daughter and I believe it. Your cat eyes discover you. Is that how you knew to speak to us in Spanish?"

"I only guessed you would understand me. I don't know Apache."

"Few of us speak Spanish now. Apaches don't go to Mexico as they used to. My Apache husband also speaks Spanish. Juan Bueno's Apache father does, too. They were with Jeronimo. Do you know The Haystack Ranch headquarters lay in an open, grassy draw. Pine-board corrals dominated the place. They were connected by alleys that made it easy for a few hands to cut and work thousands of cattle at a time. The saddle house was made of pine logs, and the main house where Paul and Mary lived was a one-room log cabin with an outhouse in the back. A veranda with a pine floor shaded the front door. The stove and kitchen were just inside the door. Paul and Mary's bed was near the stove. Mikey unrolled his camp bed on a cot in the main room.

He sat on the board top of the tower and watched. Paul looked slim, hardtwisted and brown. His hat was near full destruction. His boots were tiny, and he moved with a lot of muscle.

Who Jeronimo is?" The old woman smiled.

"Did he run from the soldiers through the Sierra de San Juan with the Yaquis?"

Both women laughed. "No," Filomena said. "He was anciano, an ancient one of my husband's and father's time. Americans call him Geronimo."

"Juan Bueno's father ran with Geronimo?"

"Yes, and so did his father and his father's father." Filomena laughed again.

The women promised Mikey that he would meet Juan Bueno's father and grandfather at the Haystack, where they worked with Paul. Paul was the stockman hired by the government to help the Apaches with their cattle. Mikey had heard of Geronimo, but he thought he was only a movie opponent of Roy Rogers, Tom Mix and Gene Autry.

"From time in Mexico with my father," Mikey said.

"Are you Mexican?"

"Arizonan and Sonoran. And you?"

"The same."

"You know Sonora?"

"I was born in the Sierra Madre near the Sonora pueblo of Mulatos."

"I only know the Sierra de San Juan of Magdalena."

"My mother is Yaqui."

"Yaquis used our trails to leave Mexico through the Sierra de San Juan when I was little."

"Were those the Yaquis who said you were titiritero?" Nana asked. "Your father told us."

Mary came back for him hours later, and Juan Bueno told Mikey to give him back "our" steelie, because Mikey might lose it. Mikey knew it would be safer with Juan Bueno. He could not promise that he would not lose anything that precious before bedtime. He never saw it again, but he and Juan Bueno had become friends and he could have anything Mikey owned.

Mary told Mikey to stay outside while she prepared supper. Mikey put his saddle, blankets, chaps, spurs and bridle in the saddle house. A windmill pumped cold water into a storage tank that stood on a tall stanchion beside the saddle house. The windmill was shut off. Mikey climbed the tower and looked around. Smoke rose from a group of jacals and tents a quartermile away, and he figured it must be the camp of Juan Bueno's father, grandfather and the other cowboys.

Saddle horses grazed in the draw a quarter-mile away. The afternoon was cool. Thin smoke rose from Mary's stove. Meadowlarks sang in the big draw. Chipmunks chattered in the timber. A flock of noisy blue jays swooped on the corral to water in a trough. The big draw was bordered by ponderosa-pine forest. Cedar and oak grew there, too, but the pine trees overshadowed them. Mikey could taste the heavy smell of pine on his tongue. He was still on the tower at sunset when Paul arrived in a pickup.

He sat on the board top of the tower and watched. Paul looked slim, hardtwisted and brown. His hat was near full destruction. His boots were tiny, and he moved with a lot of muscle. Mikey had never seen his father with whiskers on his face. Every dark, early morning, even in their wild-cow camp in Sonora, the man used hot water, brush, mug and razor. His face was saddle leather in color and texture. The lines in it could have been made by the tool of a saddle maker. The lines were caused by his smile when he played and his squint against the sun when he worked. The smile and the squint used the same territory and did not conflict.

Mikey was about to climb down out of the tower when he heard Mary's voice rise in anger. He settled back on the platform. "How long is that kid going to stay?" she demanded. "I hope you don't think I'm going to put up with a brat all summer. That's all I need for this Godforsaken place to put an end to me." She banged heavy metal on the stove. Mikeydidn't want to hear it. He could not hear what Paul said, because he was so softspoken, but he couldn't miss anything Mary said. He stayed on the tower and did not listen. Paul did not call him until after dark. Mikey climbed down from the tower before he answered. "Where were you, son?" Paul asked when he hugged him.

"Way on over there in the draw with the horses," Mikey said. "Well, what do you think of our camp?" "I like the smell of the pines and green grass." "Wait until you see the rest of the meadows, the elk and the bear, son. We have a lot of good horses, too." AH