Previously on Jake Hammer:  After his hair-raising ride with Penny to the Ranchers’ Ball, Jake learned that his well-heeled acquaintances were trying to exploit the current political unrest resulting from the Depression by helping to finance a military demonstration by the Mexican government.  Jake knows it is not the answer, but he is powerless to stop this senseless plan.  Now,

 

     Jake Hammer thought it would be a routine job.  “All I had to do,” he thought, “was take a set of soil samples for analysis to a lab in San Bernardino.  With a bit of luck, I could’ve been home by now.”  But Jake’s luck didn’t hold this time.  The labels on the test tubes didn’t quite match up with the paperwork he had been given, and hashing it all out required a series of phone calls from the scientists at the US Agriculture Department in LA and the analysts in San Bernardino.  It was late afternoon before he was able to crank props.  Aloft again, Jake immediately saw something he didn’t care for at all:  Huge thunderheads towering to 20,000 feet were rising over the San Bernardino-Pasadena highway, the road he had planned on using for pilotage to make his way home.  Flying over them was probably out of the question.  Jake knew he could turn south, but usually it was the moist air blowing in off the water that fed the thunderstorms in the first place.  That left one direction:  Diverting to the north, over the San Gabriel Mountains.  Not the easy flying he wanted.  But there was nothing else for it, he thought, as he banked right and climbed to make sure he would get over Mt. Baldy’s 4200 feet.  “I’ll leave Mt. San Antonio to starboard and I should be ok,” he reasoned as he glanced at the 10,000-foot peak on his right.  But Jake’s luck ran out again:  The snarling thunderheads chased him maliciously into the mountains, and before long the dark skies were streaked with lightning, as the sun directly in front of him said goodbye.  Flying in the gathering darkness, violently tossed by cross winds, lashed by driving rain and dodging lightning bolts, even a pilot of Jake’s ability knew he would have to put the plane down, and quickly, before it became too dark to see below.

     But where?  And that led to Jake’s final problem:  He was lost.  “I might be able to find a mountain pasture up here somewhere,” Jake muttered to himself, “Or else?  Well, I don’t want to find out what else.”

     And then Jake finally had the one stroke of luck he needed:  Up ahead, through the gloom, he made out a narrow draw through the hills.  The bottom looked basically flat and mostly grassy.  Jake throttled back and lowered his flaps as he came down.  Through gaps in the hills, the fierce wind was buffeting him from seemingly every direction.  Jake gingerly brought the plane down a few more feet.  Lady Luck’s landing gear was now almost in contact with the wet grass; just another foot might do it.  Jake cut the power, and the aircraft settled into the wet, yielding turf, almost immediately cutting its speed in half.  And that was a good thing:  the narrow valley wasn’t nearly as long as Jake thought it was; he was already almost out of room.  He hit the brakes hard:  “I’ve got it,” he thought.

     But Jake had rolled the dice one too many times:  Just then, Lady Luck’s landing gear hit a rock embedded in the valley floor.  The gear’s main spar immediately bent back and the plane pivoted crazily on the broken gear.  Inside the cockpit, Jake’s body was flung against the instrument panel, his head hitting the windscreen’s metal framework with an audible crack, opening a gash.  As the plane came to rest, the storm abated suddenly, creating an eerie quiet.  Jake touched his forehead, and, looking at the blood on his fingers in a dazed state, put his head back and passed out.

                                                                                *      *     *

     Jake’s eyes tried to focus, but every detail was swimming in circles before him.  “This is how it is in the movies,” he thought.  Slowly, he came around.  He was lying in some sort of a basket of branches in the shade of a small grove of trees.  Before him, a beautiful Native American girl was kneeling and wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a cloth.  Even in his condition, Jake couldn’t help but notice her striking appearance.  Her high cheekbones extended almost to the corners of her almond-shaped, deep brown eyes.  Her skin was bronzed.  And she was completely clad in leather:  jerkin and leggings.  Over the jerkin, she wore a warrior’s beaded breastplate.  A single black feather angled downwards from the leather thong that captured her black chin-length hair.

     Jake tried to rise.  “Where am I?  And how long have I been out?  And who are you?”

     The Native American girl’s soft laughter was accompanied by a gentle gesture as she nudged him back down.  “So many questions!  You are with us; my people are called the Tongva by your people.  It is now morning.  It was the day before yesterday when your airplane came down during the storm.  My name is Rising Moon.  When I saw you were about to wake up, I sent a messenger to our camp.  Soon, my grandfather will be here to explain everything.”

     Jake had a lot to absorb.  The day before yesterday!  He was sure his family feared the worst when he didn’t return.  And the plane!   “Do you know where my plane is?”

     “It is not far; we moved you just a short distance out of the storm.  We placed a poultice on your wound; it is already healing nicely.  I will help you to get up now.”

     She guided Jake to his feet.  Jake stretched and looked around.  Lady Luck was at the edge of the mountain meadow 100 yards away.  She looked none the worse for wear, he was relieved to note, other than the leaning caused by the bent landing gear spar.  He turned around to see a senior Native American man accompanied by four younger men approaching them.  The senior man extended his hand.  “Good morning, I am glad to see that you are on your feet.  I am Moon-in-the-Water, the eldest and leader of our people here.”

     “Hello, my name is—“

     “Jake Hammer.  Yes, we have gone through your belongings.  We also informed the National Forest Service Rangers of your whereabouts when they checked our encampment after the storm.  One of their doctors examined you yesterday.  He determined, and we agreed, that it would be better if you were not moved.  Your family was very worried, but they also agreed with that decision.  So did your mechanic, I was told.”  The Chief stifled a grin; Jake noted the four younger Native men didn’t bother to stifle theirs.  Jake let it pass.

     “I don’t quite understand.  Is this land a reservation belonging to you?”

     “No,” the Chief frowned.  “This land is owned by the United States.  We have lived here forever, although we were more numerous in days gone by.  Because our numbers are small, we are permitted to roam these mountains, our mountains, with our grazing stock.”  Then the Chief returned to the present:  “Your aircraft was damaged in landing, but not too badly evidently.  You should be able to take off and land safely.”

     “I am so thankful for everything that you have done, and I will see that you are rewarded.  But now, I really need to be on my way.”

     Chief Moon-in-the-Water held up one hand:  “No, you have just awakened; you are not yet ready to fly.  In one more day, you will be.  And besides,” he glanced skyward, “It is not yet time.”

     “Not time for what?”

     “I will explain it tonight.  And now, you should continue your rest.”  And with that, the Chief turned and departed.

     Jake was left with his thoughts:  Tribal Natives still roaming the hills?  He hadn’t heard of that.  And what did the Chief mean when he said it was not yet time?  He and Rising Moon were silent as they ate the food they had been given.  And then the wisdom of the Chief’s suggestion came home to him.  It would be good to rest.

     That evening, he and Rising Moon walked the short distance to the Natives’ camp where they enjoyed their meal around a fire.  After the meal, the Chief signaled to Jake to sit by him.  He spoke:  “As I told you this morning, we are a very old people.  And like many old people, we have stories about ourselves and others that we have passed down from one generation to the next.  Whether these stories are true or not, I cannot say.”  He glanced at Jake, his large and liquid eyes glowing as they reflected the fire’s embers.  Now the Chief’s gaze returned to the fire.  “There is a prophecy among us.  It says that one day a man who is not one of us will fall out of the sky.  And yet, the man does not die.  It is the destiny of the Tongva to bring this man back to health.  And after we do so, this man will rise into the sky again to become one with the sun.”

     “How can a man become one with the sun?” Jake asked.

     “I cannot tell you the answer.  But,” the Chief added, “We will find out soon.”