James J. Hannon
THE SAVAGE AMERICAN tells the story of Victorio, an Apache Indian, a Vietnam decorated war veteran and the last living member of a Willow Creek Reservation family.
His anger builds as he observes the continuous erosion of their Treaty rights and suffers the abuse of Dumbroff, a San Vicente County Deputy Sheriff.
Tribal efforts to build an earth fill dam to serve their cattle, all within reservation boundaries, is dynamited with the loss of many Indian lives as well as loss of agriculture property bordering Willow Creek. Elected Chairman of the Tribal Council, Victorio calls a Tribal Meeting and delivers a passionate plea to close the reservation to all non-residents until their rights are recognized by law enforcement and governmental authorities, Treaty rights established for more than a hundred years. He creates barriers on highway entrances to Willow Creek, pulls up railroad tracks and closes the Federal dam that services off-reservation ranchers.
The reaction explodes in a series of brutal killings. When the National Guard occupies the reservation Victorio leads his squads in a series of counter moves that receive international attention.
THE SAVAGE AMERICAN, with an appealing hero, plenty of villains and non-stop dramatic action is a gripping and shocking story of a wonderfully authentic Native American drama. Interwoven in the crisp, tight action is a poignant love story.
James Jess Hannon has authored an extensive inventory of novels following a near fatal accident outside the U.S. that demanded many years of therapy and recovery. He has written original story concepts and treatments for John Wayne, Batjac Productions, Paul Donnelly, Universal Studios, Marlon Brando Sr., Pennebaker Studio and others.
He and Marlon Brando Sr. were associated in an endeavor to construct a motion picture 'back lot' on an Indian Reservation in Arizona. Mr. Brando's untimely death ended the venture.
During these months, Hannon developed a compelling interest in the history of Southwestern Native Americans and worked with Indian leaders to create a meaningful story based on actual events that would reach a broad section of book lovers. His first effort in years past brought enthusiastic response from Indian leaders.
'... Many people tend to see the Indian and his problems, but do not perceive ... you have gone beyond the periphery ... may you walk in beauty ...' Hotana Roebuck, Choctaw, University of California.
'The depth of your knowledge of the Indian and his regard for the land is overwhelming ...' Totus Watson, Chairman, Yakama Reservation.
'... The frustrations and anger exhibited by Victorio could well be written in my own biography ...' Ronnie Lupe, Chairman, White Mountain Apaches.
'... The Savage American could not have been written by a white man ...' Marvin Mull, Chairman, San Carlos Apaches.
Twenty paces from Victorio he turned and looked back; hardly discernibly, his right hand moved - Victorio caught the signal, throwing himself down and sideways into the hole.
Rifle shots ripped and echoed across the meadow when a burning sensation blazed in his left shoulder. Cursing as he lay in the bottom of the hole, he knew every move by Beals had been planned.
He risked a look - Beals was sprawled, face down, across the ties, a wet, red patch glistened between his shoulders; his troops were starting a confused retreat until a tall miner turned them around.
Scrambling out of the hole, Victorio dashed to the barricade and hurled himself over the top. Congratulations and curses intermingled as Holden, Paul, Corey, Matt and other defenders gathered around him.
'You're hit.' Matt examined his shoulder.
'Not as bad as Beals, his troops shot him in the back.'
'There's a white flag--'
'Tell 'em to move out four, hands in the air and pick him up.'
'There's four of 'em, unarmed.'
The miners reached Beals, rolled him on his back, picked him up and carried the limp body until the curving walls took them out of sight.
'Think they've given up?'
'I don't think so.' Leaning on the barricade, he stared thoughtfully at the deserted right-of-way.
'Tonight, Victorio, they're waiting for cover.' Holden, out of character for him, displayed a trace of nerves.
'We'll be ready, we have floodlights zeroed in on the track. Let's get a sandwich.'
Darkness came quickly after the sun dropped behind the western range. Victorio displayed his grasp of tactics as he instructed the squad leaders.
'They'll come straight at us, full of booze and scared to death.'
They came on in darkness, a stumbling, cursing mob, and were caught in the floodlights when they reached the blast hole.
The tall, skinny Lambert, in the forefront, shouted, 'Get that bastard, Victorio.'
They were a vulnerable, close packed mob, destroying their advantage in numbers by crowding together, and trying to stay on the right-of-way. Floodlights made the ground underfoot and in front of them visible, it also blinded them to what was ahead and waiting.
Disciplined and eager, more than a hundred Willow Creek Apaches struck from the meadow.
As Beals' troops closed the interval on the run, tripping and stumbling over railroad ties and sprawled comrades, the massed force of their attack was lost when they bunched up at the barricade. They broke and ran, singly and in small groups, with Apaches in relentless pursuit.
Victorio drove a lunging miner to the ground, shrieking in pain as the impact of a pick handle smashed his shoulder. He took the next man from his blind side just as Carrol's reserve squads closed off the way into the railroad pass. It became a series of one-on-one assaults for Victorio; he was in his element, validating a reputation kindled in those angry years when frustration and law enforcement officers made him their special target.
He struck at sitting men, kneeling men, not caring where blows landed, wanting to hurt, to drive them out of his life. When fighting on the right-of-way ceased, he worked his way past the blast hole. They found him there straddling a huge man's middle; Carrol and two others dragged him off the unconscious enemy.
Bloody and raging, he was incoherent as they struggled with him to the barricade and doused him with a bucket of water. Reviving instantly, he fired three rapid shots, then repeated the pre-arranged signal to break off and reassemble. Some were out of range or too involved to respond.
