Leaning Land by Rex Burns

Author:Rex Burns [Burns, Rex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-4798-3
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

RAY SAT IN the pickup truck’s sun-heated cab and did not start the engine right away. Luther’s mother had not been able to add anything about either Rubin’s death or that of Walter Lawrence, and she had nothing to tell them about the Constitutional Posse or anything else of what she called “white man’s politics.” After a while the tribal policeman said, “I’d like to talk to some other people before we go see Luther again.”

“Why?”

“This land that belonged to Rubin, it’s the first I heard about it.” The sunglasses swung toward Wager. “Who told you about it?”

Wager repeated what Rosemary Morris had mentioned. “But I don’t see what its importance is. It can’t be sold or lived on by anyone off the reservation.” A thought struck him. “Or is the law going to change? Will Del Ponte’s wife be able to sell it?”

“The rules can always change. This new tribal sovereignty plan means the rules probably will change. In fact, that’s its purpose: to get rid of the reservations, let the tribes fend for themselves without any more government handouts. Some of the people see it as America’s ‘Final Solution to the Indian Question.’“ He started the vehicle and slowly swung around in the street. “Four hundred years of solutions and still trying. But whether or not it means people off the reservation will be able to sell reservation land to nonresidents is something else. I can’t see any of the tribes agreeing to that. I mean, the whole idea of restricting tribal membership to half-bloods was to consolidate the tribe—to give it closer unity. That, and so the royalty payments from gas and coal wouldn’t have to be split among so many claimants. And to keep the ‘Made by Native Americans’ labels from being used by anybody who said they had a drop of Indian blood in them.”

Driving slowly, Ray gave himself time to talk and to think. “Native American artists! We used to have all these people moving to Santa Fe and Taos and claiming their great-grandfather had some kind of Indian blood, and then setting themselves up as Native American artists. Crap!”

“What’s to stop them now?”

“Federal law—truth in packaging, believe it or not. Law now says you can’t claim you’re making Native American handicrafts unless you’re a registered member of a tribe. Pissed off a lot of whites and Hispanics who were running around wearing headbands and feathers and selling their pots and rings and rugs as Indian-made.”

Wager steered the man back to what he figured was more important. “So if it’s not likely that Sharon Del Ponte can do anything with the land, what’s important about having it?”

“If Rubin was killed, it must have been for some reason. And the land is the only thing he had that maybe was worth anything. His truck, sure, but his wife won’t get much more than a few thousand out of a used semi.” He nodded thoughtfully. “And nobody mentioned his land to me. That’s kind of weird—I think maybe people didn’t want me to know about it for some reason.

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