Warning: This chapter contains brief adult language.


Bum's boots clomping on the tile floor stir JR awake in his new hospital room on the fifth floor.

"Sure is good to see you, JR….alive, that is."

Bum removes his hat and smiles a crooked grin.

"Oh hell, it takes a lot more than a little heat to bring ole JR down," JR says, sitting up with some difficulty.

"A little heat?" Bum says. "I guess you haven't seen your car. Burnt all to hell, JR. It's a miracle you survived, it really is."

"A miracle or a curse, depending on who you ask," JR laughs and gives himself a coughing fit.

"You alright?" Bum says. "Should I buzz for help?"

"I'm fine," JR chokes out, "just fine. But I tell you what, I'll be a whole lot better when you find out who lit that fire under my ass. You got anything for me yet?"

Bum stares at JR for a few seconds.

"Bum?" JR snaps his fingers. "What's this? I still got smoke comin' out of my ears or something? You're looking at me funny."

Bum laughs, sighs and sits down for this defining moment. He wants to tell JR everything, the gambling, Sue Ellen's threat, the whole humiliating story.

"No, JR, I got nothin'. I'm sorry."

"What did you say? Nothing? You got nothing for me?"

Bum nods his head, looking at his boots.

"What's the matter with you?" JR says, smiling. "You getting too old for this line of work? Losing your edge?"

"Now hold on," Bum says, "I never come up empty before. It ain't easy digging dirt. You think information just falls into my lap? It don't."

"Take it easy, Bum," JR says. "What's got you all twisted up?"

"No one. Nothing. And I ain't twisted up. I just don't have any leads yet, that's all. Don't mean I'm losing my edge. Maybe you're the one losing the edge, letting this happen to yourself. Ever think about that?"

JR's sharp glare hits Bum right between the eyes.

"I'm sorry, JR, I…..I don't know what I'm saying. I just…I guess I'm just shook up by what happened. Real shook up."

JR doesn't speak for what feels like hours to Bum, just stares at him then finally shows a tight-lipped smile.

"Well," JR says, "I sure do appreciate your concern. Why don't you get some rest. Come back when you've got something for me."


At 15 minutes past 8 o'clock Monday morning, Sgt. McKinney dials on his desk phone.

"Crime Lab, Lewis."

"It's McKinney, Internal Affairs. We were expecting Candy Wells at 8:00. She there?"

"No sir, she didn't show up today. Didn't call neither."


Detective Grady is so absorbed in Harris Ryland articles and photographs online he misses his weekly lunch date with his retired partner at the The Prospector diner. He answers his buzzing cell without looking at the incoming number.

"Hey mother fucker! How much longer you gonna keep an old man waiting, huh?" his partner says.

"Oh hell, Richard. Sorry buddy. I'm swimming through a sea of shit with this here case. Forgot the time. Catch you next week? On me?"

"What case?"

"The Ewing attempt murder. The more I learn about the man, the easier it is to see why someone wanted to smoke his ass. But you know how it is, justice for all, right?"

"Don't I know it. You got anything yet?"

"Maybe. Some character named Harris Ryland's caught my special attention by way of a pissed off house maid who overheard something."

"Ryland? I know that prick. Yeah. Real sly fucker lives in a goddamn castle up on Knob Hill, or used to anyway."

"Still does. Watchoo know?"

"Well his daughter gave us grief years back. She was a drinker and a tweaker, cocaine if I recall. Skipped out on warrants, stole shit, crashed cars. The usual activities. Hogged our resources until the Major Crimes lieutenant said fix her or else. Few weeks later I tied her to a pretty big identity theft ring and we got a felony warrant for her arrest. Next thing I know she's made some sweetheart deal with the D.A. and gets off with 30 fuckin' days and probation. She walked in 15 and she was in the wind. Disappeared."

"What was her name?"

"Hell I can't remember every damn detail. I will say this though. Ryland pocketed a judge for that deal. I know it. And I think he and the Mayor are bedfellows too - "

"Richard, stay right there. I'll be over in 10. Don't move buddy. I need to empty your brain but I'll fill your fat belly with apple pie in return."

Grady rushes out of the station, passing two Homicide detectives on the front steps.

"Better slow down before you hurt yourself, Grady! We ain't seen you move that fast since…well, ever. Where you going?"

"Meeting Richard for lunch. I'm late."

"Oh shit you better not keep Big Dick waiting! Tell him we said hey."


Christopher parks his car behind Bobby's and walks quickly across Southfork's back drive, the brisk night air stinging his face. Carmen is already serving Ann and Bobby dinner.

"Sorry son, we tried to wait but Ann was famished. We both were, actually," Bobby says.

Ann continues sipping her soup.

"Oh no problem, Dad. I'm pretty hungry myself," he says walking into the kitchen. "Smells good, Carmen."

"Thank you, Christopher," she says filling a bowl of soup for him. "You know, I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, about being on the Ewings' side. Remember?"

Christopher laughs nervously. "That? Yeah - "

"Maybe you should take your own advice," Carmen says walking out of the kitchen.


Sue Ellen passes the Wichita Reservation sign at dusk. Houses with unkept yards are on either side of the road, some trucks on cement blocks in driveways. Two young men sit drinking bottles of beer on a worn red couch in the middle of a front yard as she rounds the bend, the traction of her Porsche's tires stirring up a big dust cloud on the dirt road. She might as well be driving on Mars. She wishes she'd accepted Mark's offer to go with her.

What she sees up ahead makes her stop the car. A man in an Indian headdress sits atop a white horse holding the reigns of a riderless brown one. The man sits perfectly straight and his horse does not move. His black glistening braids extend past his shoulders, his brown leather regalia adorned with turquoise and red coral. He nods his head at Sue Ellen and dismounts his horse, tying the two reigns together.

"Sue Ellen Ewing?" he asks at her window.

"Yes."

"Thank you for coming. I am your greeter, Hopping Foot. Our tribe welcomes you."

Sue Ellen resists the urge to look at his feet.

"Thank you so much," she says, unsure if she should shake his hand.

He offers his.

"Do you ride?" he asks.

"Ride? Horses? Well…yes…if the trail's not too steep."

"Good," he says. "Leave your car here and follow me."

Sue Ellen is glad she wore jeans and boots. Hopping Foot is already mounting his horse by the time she secures her car. She strides over to him confidently, hoping her hesitation doesn't show. She grabs the saddle horn when he raises his hand for her to wait.

"This is Broken Arrow," he says of the brown horse, "a fine stallion, a good hunter, a trusted companion."

She smiles, not sure what to do. She reaches out and strokes the horse's head.

"Well, Broken Arrow, not too fast now, alright?"

She reaches for the saddle horn again, this time allowed to do so. Up she goes in one swift movement, boots tucked in stirrups and legs firm round the animal as if she'd ridden yesterday. She feels exhilerated.

She follows Hopping Foot's lead at a good clip, treated to the special sounds of the trail at sundown. Crickets chirp loud and rhythmic, an eagle screeches overhead, a breeze rustles the trees gold with sunlight and the deep green chaparral. Sue Ellen feels lifetimes away from Harris Ryland and all sinister things right now. She inhales the fresh air.

The closer she comes to their destination, the stronger she smells cedar and sage. Half a mile further down the trail, four elders and Jackson Arrow stand in a half circle awaiting their arrival. A small fire burns in front of them, revealing the source of cedar aroma. Jackson holds a large stick of smoldering sage and he steps forward to corral Sue Ellen's horse.

"Welcome, Sue Ellen," Jackson says as she dismounts.

"Hello Mr. Arrow, what a surprise the horseback ride was. I'm glad I dressed the part."

"Thank you for being willing," he says. "You may find our ways unsettling at first. That is not our intention. We are pure of heart and hold tradition sacred."

"Well, my ex-husband would agree with you on the tradition part, not so much the pure heart," Sue Ellen says, laughing lightly.

Jackson gives her a warm smile. The elders remain expressionless.

"By participating in our rituals, you show trust and good faith. This bodes well for our meeting and the elders will recognize your effort. May I smudge you?"

"What me?"

"Pass this white sage around you, for clarity," Jackson says.

"Oh, alright," Sue Ellen says.

Jackson quickly moves the smoking white sage around Sue Ellen, from her right boot, up along her leg, arm, over her head and down her left side. She coughs a little. He then brings the smudge stick around to her front, pausing briefly in front of her heart.

"Thank you," he says and passes the sage to Hopping Foot who leaves with both horses.

Jackson presents Sue Ellen to the elders from other Texas tribes of Comanche, Kiowa, Apache and Tonkawa. They each present her with a simple handcrafted gift and she is grateful Mark urged her to take some trinkets along for them. She gives them each a small knife in a hand carved leather sheath. The group enters a wood cabin where a female tends to the fireplace. She leaves after they walk in but stops at Sue Ellen.

"Thank you," she says, taking Sue Ellen's hands.

Sue Ellen smiles, unsure what all the fuss is about.

"Please, sit," the oldest elder says to Sue Ellen.

"Does it matter which cushion?" she whispers to Jackson.

"No, during this meeting we are equal."

She sits on a bright turquoise and red pillow at the far side of the circle on the cabin floor. The men all sit down after her, Jackson on the cushion directly across. Once everyone is seated, Sue Ellen is struck by this surreal experience; Miss Texas 1967 sitting on the floor with Indian elders to talk about her campaign for governor.

"Silver Arrow, will you open the meeting please," the Comanche says to Jackson who says a brief and simple blessing.

"You have shown wisdom, trust and courage by coming here to meet with us," the Comanche says to Sue Ellen. "We are thankful and begin to see why Silver Arrow chose to ask you for help."

"I'm honored, truly," Sue Ellen says, "but I hope I won't disappoint you. I haven't even gotten the party's nomination yet, so I don't see why you have so much confidence in me. I just want to be clear about where I stand so you're not mislead."

"The western man lives too much in the future," he says. "Natives exist with all our being in the now, and at this moment you are here to listen to our story. What you will do when you are governor or what you will do one hour from now is beyond our time together. We will not let the future, or the past, steal the present."

Sue Ellen sits in silence for a few moments letting those words sink in.

"Our tribes are under attack," says the Kiowa elder, "and the enemy is hard to fight. It is powerful, cunning, deceitful. It seduces our young men into lazy, idle lives worshipping false gods. It breaks our women's hearts, leaving them hopeless and bitter. It snatches peace from our old ones who see the young generations failing and the future of the tribe in jeopardy. Worst of all, it disrespects our ancestors, slowly erasing their honorable legacies."

Sue Ellen waits for the revelation of this mighty enemy but the Kiowa stops talking. Should she guess what he is referring to? She feels pressure to give the right answer.

"Is it….alcohol?" she says. "It's the meanest demon I've ever fought. And I'm no stranger to demons, human or otherwise, trust me. If you'd met my sister you'd know what I mean."

"The drinking is only an invitation to the misery the enemy conceals with illusions of happiness and power," says the Tonkawa. "The evil we are fighting is money."

"Money?" Sue Ellen says. "You mean the casino revenues? I thought that agreement was a victory for your people. All the infrastructure projects, the new schools built on the reservations, the monthly checks for families who were barely making it before, how is that evil, as you say?"

Silent until now, the Apache stands.

"Why do we share our shame with this woman?" he says. "Who is she but a sympathetic ear, at best? You are not of our ways, or our world. We can tend our troubles ourselves. And we should."

The Apache sits down with his back to the group, showing his disagreement. The oldest elder of the five, his braids are nearly white with streaks of black towards the ends.

"Thunder Hawk, the Council has decided," the Tonkawa says. "We are messengers of their request, nothing more. The time for debate has passed. Please show our guest respect and face forward."

The Apache does not turn around.

"Thunder Hawk, I insist - "

"Leave him be," Sue Ellen says. "It's not the first time I've spoken to the back of a man's head and it won't be the last. You certainly live up to your name, Mr. Thunder Hawk."

Jackson Arrow winces slightly across from Sue Ellen.

"I came because I was asked to by Mr. Arrow here who seems a kind and wise gentleman concerned for your young people. I realize well enough I'm an outsider, I don't need you to explain that to me. But I worry for my child's future just as you do yours. As for the shame you speak of, there is nothing shameful in wanting to protect your family. No shame in taking action however difficult or uncomfortable the solution may be.

"Perhaps if I share something about myself we'll find ourselves on more common ground," Sue Ellen continues. "I drank through most of my son's childhood. His father and I fought, a lot. I can only imagine what you would have named JR had he been an Indian."

No one laughs. Sue Ellen clears her throat.

"Anyway," she says, "we used our son to hurt each other, JR and I did. And the one that behavior hurt most was him."

Tears welling in her eyes catch Sue Ellen by surprise. She lets them flow but her voice stays steady.

"You may think less of me now that you know this and that's just fine because I'm finally able to do what you said, not let the past steal the present. I'm a better person now, a better mother. Not perfect but better. I'm honest about my mistakes but I'm not begging the sympathy vote. I have ideas. Good ones. I can make Texas a better place to live for all its people and if y'all have something in mind along those lines then you better tell me what it is or stop wasting my time until you agree on whether you want my help or not."

Jackson looks at Sue Ellen with wonderment and a bit of fear. What a magnificent creature. He has never heard a woman speak this way, breathing fire as tears run down her face; mindful of loss but determined to overcome it. When Jackson looks back at Thunder Hawk, he has turned around facing the group again.

"We want a new provision in the agreement between the State and our people, a condition for the monthly casino payment: a felony conviction disqualifies any native from eligibility, permanently," the Comanche says.

"We need a new reason to behave honorably, since pride and self respect are no longer enough," the Kiowa says. "DUI is a felony though it takes many to see real jail time, most offenders receive probation and time served if there is no injury. And the casino checks keep coming. So the irony for us becomes using the very cause of our trouble as a weapon, money."

"I don't see how the tribes would ever approve such a condition," Sue Ellen says

"That is our concern," Thunder Hawk says with a slight edge in his voice, his initial resistance fading but still under the surface.

"The revision will get tribal approval," the Kiowa says. "In return for your support, we will deliver the Union vote to you from thousands of casino workers across the State. And the tribes will endorse you as well. Do not forget Natives vote in State and local elections just like other citizens. Do we have an agreement?"

"I need to check with my campaign attorney to make sure this isn't a form of discrimination."

"It is not," Thunder Hawk says. "In many Texas counties, subsidized housing is taken away from those with felony convictions. Our idea is the same only we impose it on our own people, not the government."

"All the same, I won't agree until I check with my legal advisor. Seeing as how you didn't trust me when I arrived, Thunder Hawk, I am sure you can understand that," Sue Ellen says, "I need to verify it for myself."

Thunder Hawk sits perfectly straight on his pillow, his dark brown, deeply lined face expressionless but for a faint smile spreading across his lips.

"That is a fair response," the Comanche says, "and we accept it. Brothers, we are in agreement. Let us give thanks and ask the ancestors to protect and guide this woman in her work."

The elders suddenly begin singing something in their own language to the beat of a drum Jackson Arrow produced out of nowhere. The emotion behind the sounds and words Sue Ellen cannot understand still moves her. She wonders how many problems these humble men have solved with this kind of respectful discussion. Politicians should take a lesson.

She hears shuffling and female voices on the other side of the rawhide curtain covering the cabin's doorway. When the victory song is over, Jackson rises and tacks the curtain aside. A large group of the tribe's women stand at the door, peering inside for a look at the Western woman who commanded an audience with their wisest men. Sue Ellen looks at them and waves, unsure what else to do. Some smile at her. She stands to go and the women part for her, standing in two long lines on either side of the path to the door. Sue Ellen steps out of the cabin and a very old woman bent and crooked with age walks slowly to her holding a cedar cane in one hand and something silver in the other.

"Many thanks," she simply says. "Many thanks from our wives, mothers and daughters."

She gives Sue Ellen a huge silver belt buckle with two turquoise bears inlaid, a mother and cub. The solid silver buckle is heavy and warm in Sue Ellen's hands and the beautiful artistry takes her breath away.

"Mama bear," she whispers and holds the buckle to her heart.

The old woman places her hand on Sue Ellen's head and says something she doesn't understand.

Jackson Arrow brings the horses around. Now he sits atop the brown stallion Sue Ellen rode in and offers her a handsome black one with an ornate leather saddle, beautiful hawks carved on either side.

"Thunder Hawk's horse," Jackson says. "He offers him to you for your departure."

Sue Ellen has a sassy comment ready but she denies it, choosing not to diminish this kind gesture with her own pride. She mounts the horse and rides to the trail beside Jackson under a black sky punctured with bright stars.

"Thank you for talking with us," Jackson finally says. "I hope you were not badly offended. The elders are guardians of the old ways. Sometimes it makes them seem mistrusting or rude."

"Don't worry," Sue Ellen says, "it takes more than a little pushback to rattle me. That was mild by my standards. And I think it's lovely how your people respect tradition, and each other."

"And I'm sorry for your tears," Jackson says, catching Sue Ellen off guard.

"Oh, well….don't be. Thank you, but don't feel sorry for me. Everything I've been through has brought me to this point in my life, running for office and meeting the most interesting people. I appreciate this experience tonight, I really do."

They ride in comfortable silence. As Sue Ellen recognizes the end of the trail, she wishes it were longer.

"May I ask you a personal question?" she says.

"Of course."

"Your name, they called you Silver Arrow but you call yourself Jackson. Which is it?"

"Both. I was struck by lightening in the plains on my father's ranch when I was five and rendered mute. My mother…she was a nervous person, a restless soul. I made her uncomfortable by not speaking. My father was a cold man, a good provider but worked to the bone with little patience for emotions. He dropped me at this reservation one day where I was learning leather working and never came back. The Wichita let me stay, cared for me and never pressed me to speak. A few years later I opened my mouth and my voice came out."

Sue Ellen wants to know what made him speak but she doesn't ask, yet.

"Jackson is the name my parents gave me."

"And you keep it even though they abandoned you?"

"They gave me life and for that I remain thankful."

"And your horse, Broken Arrow? Why is he called that?"

"He was born early and his mother rejected him. She began to kick whenever he came near. He was a small colt and she pinned him to the corral a few times too. The adults wanted to slay him as it's seen as an omen when a mother animal rejects its young but I begged them not to. 'Look at me', I said. 'My mother rejected me of no fault of my own. Let me care for the foal. I know his pain. We're brothers.' They called me a wise child and gave the horse my second name. He was broken but now he is a strong and brave hunter, a prized stallion."

"Why do you think his mother rejected him?" Sue Ellen says needing to know the answer more than she wants to admit.

"My guess is that the birth pained her, he was early, like I said, maybe she wasn't ready. I can't say for sure. But it's all come around right. He helped me take my first stand against something and I helped him survive. Sometimes pain is a gateway to great joy."


Back in her fancy Porsche driving on the highway again, Sue Ellen feels transported to another place and time. What an amazing experience she's had. If it weren't so late she'd call Mark and tell him all about it. She thinks about the huge empty house awaiting her and turns off the highway to head in the other direction.

She arrives at Forth Worth Memorial at nearly 11 p.m. Walking quietly into JR's room, she sits down and watches him sleep.

"I had the most incredible evening, JR," she whispers without waking him.

About an hour later she kisses him on the forehead and drives home.