Mystic Horseman by KATHLEEN EAGLE

Author:KATHLEEN EAGLE
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks Inc.
Published: 2016-11-11T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

SHORTLY BEFORE noon the next day, the caterers served the first full meal under a huge tent that reminded Dillon of a big summertime church meeting he’d attended with his grandfather. He wasn’t sure how old he’d been, but he remembered a big white tent pitched in the middle of a sun-dried field, with cars lined up on one side and more people milling about than he’d ever seen at church. He remembered how electrifying his expectations had been, and how disappointing his discovery of a tent full of folding chairs. No performing elephants, no clowns, no girls on big swings, and not much air.

Moving from sun to shade and breathing air scented with barbequed beef and fresh-baked bread took him back, but when he saw Vincent Many Wounds and Bobby Big Eagle edging along the buffet table, filling their plates and jawing with the cooks, Dillon decided that this time there would be clowns. He claimed a table at the back of the tent, where he felt a cross breeze, and waved his friends over. They gave him full credit for a good spread and persuaded him to join them when they returned to the buffet for refills. By that time, somebody up front was fiddling with knobs, testing a microphone, trying to get enough sound out of the portable speaker so that a show could go on. Introductions were on the agenda, but making them heard over the roar of the bulldozer and the rumble of the backhoe threatened to be a challenge.

There were more titles than you could find in the library. The director of photography—an upbeat black guy named Darius Bird—got to run the meeting and maybe the whole show. At least part of his title was “director,” and Dillon hoped that meant somebody was actually in charge of all these people. The camera handlers and sound recorders barely rated a mention, probably because they worked behind the scenes. It seemed as though there were people in charge of real work, like painting and carpentry, and people with titles like set dresser and technical supervisor, who were in charge of fantasy. As Bird repeatedly pointed out, “We’re building two things simultaneously—a fabulous facility for Mr. Black’s wonderful Mystic Warrior Horse Camp, and a fabulous TV show for Mr. and Mrs. America.”

There was no mistaking the stars of the show. Monica Wilson-Black, the decorator, was given credit for bringing Who’s Our Neighbor? to the South Dakota prairie and, more specifically, the reservation. But Dillon was relieved to see that she wasn’t vying for the spotlight, which was too small for the two bodies already contending for it. The biggest cheers and applause had been saved for “hot carpenter” Tate Fox and “designer hottie” Zooey Farmer. To Dillon they looked like brother and sister—streaky blond hair, blue eyes, teeth, skin and shape all picture-perfect. Fox was bouncy. Farmer was cool. “Our shining stars,” Bird called them.

Dillon leaned toward Vince. “Remember, it’s hot for a man and hottie if it’s a woman.

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