take long for Alex to become aware of and involved in the civic movements headquartered in Casa Grande. Midway between Tucson and Phoenix on US Highway 10, it was both a waypoint for illegal immigrants and a convenient shopping community for the small towns nearby, including Dodge.
In recent years, it had also become home to residents of both Phoenix and Tucson wanting to escape the larger cities, representing a commute of about an hour in either direction. The nearby Gila River Indian Reservation boasted a casino, and the area was rife with National Parks, Monuments and other interesting destinations, so it was also a popular tourist destination for a relatively low-cost vacation.
To Alex, it was a major metropolitan area, more than ten times the size of Dodge and with many more times the opportunities. In no more than three or four weeks, she’d found two organizations that interested her more than any other, because both of them had an indirect but major impact on her blog. Wanda recommended Alex look up the first group, an organization dear to Wanda’s heart and one in which she’d been active as a young woman. Alex called the contact number right after Spring break, in late April.
“I’d like to speak to Dawn Redbird.”
“Speaking,” said the soft voice on the other end of the line.
“My name is Alex Ward. A friend of mine, Wanda Lopez, suggested I call you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a conversation in person,” Alex said. She was proud that her rehearsed line sounded professional. She was disarmed when the other voice warmed.
“Oh, yes, Alex. Wanda speaks highly of you. Sure, let’s get together. How about a Coke at the student union?”
“Perfect. What time and how will I know you?” Alex had never been in this position before, since she knew everyone in Dodge by sight, if not by name.
“I’ll be there at four. Don’t worry, I’ll know you. I’m a fan of your blog.”
That was a surprise. Alex knew she had a following, from the analytics on her host account. Somehow, she’d imagined they were from distant places. Although now that she thought of it, there was no reason to believe that. It gave her a queasy feeling that people may recognize her and she wouldn’t know.
Maybe her dad, Lt. Wells and Rick Englebright had all been right when they cautioned her about putting her photo on the blog. At the time, she’d only been thinking it would be good when she eventually applied for investigative journalism jobs. She’d figured that putting her face out there and having her own following from her blog would be an advantage. Now, she wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea.
She entered the student union cafeteria at four with her hobo bag slung over her shoulder, and looked around uncertainly. She didn’t have to wait long. A short Native girl, with beautiful eyes and long, glossy black hair approached her. “Hi, I’m Dawn. You’re Alex,” she stated, as if Alex didn’t know her own name. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Alex was already off balance. She’d asked for the meeting, but the girl before her was taking the lead, and she didn’t know how to take it back. Truthfully, she didn’t even know what Wanda expected her to accomplish. With a feeling of inevitability, she let Dawn lead her to a secluded table in a corner, where several other students sat, all Native as far as Alex could tell.
Alex knew more about the demographics of the southern Arizona Native tribes than most whites did. Especially the fact that the Tohono O’Odham, of whom both Dylan and Wanda were members, had seen their ancestral lands cut in half by the border with Mexico. Wanda and others had been waging a quiet war with the governments of both countries to allow passage of their people freely across tribal lands.
Furthermore, she knew that these circumstances resulted in disgruntled young tribesmen who were easy prey for the drug cartels. The cartels recruited them with promises of wealth so they could care for their families, as well as immunity from the laws of both US and Mexico. It was taking a terrible toll on the tribe, and Wanda was part of a movement to resolve the issues.
These people must be activists, too, though she thought they were probably Pima, from the Gila River reservation. The Pima, or Akimel O’odham, were related by ancestry to the Tohono O’odham. They were also related by language, although the dialect