Stakes Raised in Long-Running Tribal Feud : Gaming: Money and control of reservation split impoverished Pomo nation, leading to gun battle that has ceased--for now.

The Pomo Indian casino sits in the foothills near California’s wine country, a dank and windowless parlor with 50 video poker games, a cashier’s cage and three bullet holes in the wall.

The gambling hall has become the spoils in a long-running feud that has split the impoverished Pomo nation in two, cousin against cousin. Last week, after months of bickering and recriminations over which elder would control the casino’s unknown profits, the feud turned bloody.

For six days and nights, a ferocious gun battle rocked the 35-acre reservation at the edge of Clear Lake, leaving seven residents wounded, five others arrested and forcing dozens to flee their ancestral homeland.

Even as the county sheriff and Indian mediators brokered a truce Friday evening, sporadic shots were fired and the weary tribal chairman wasn’t sure he wanted to return to the reservation after dark.

Authorities said it was the worst case of intertribal warfare that has ever arisen in California over control of gambling profits. Hoping to quell the violence, federal Indian gaming officials last week suspended the tribe’s license.

“This is about who controls the profits from the casino,” said Michael Yamaguchi, the U.S. attorney based in San Francisco who has made two trips to the reservation in recent months to help mediate the dispute. “But it’s also about the larger issue of who controls the tribe.”

On Wednesday night, at the height of the battle, 75 rounds were fired at state and local police who had encircled the reservation in an attempt to rescue besieged residents. None of the officers was hit. One tribal member was shot as he walked his dog. Another man, the most seriously wounded, was crumpled by a .30-30 rifle blast in the back.

By Friday morning, the two heavily armed sides had come out from behind fortifications on the reservation, or rancheria, known as El-Em Indian Colony. Sheriff’s deputies and reporters making their way inside for the first time found an eerie scene.

Bullet holes were everywhere, riddling the ramshackle houses and cars through and through. In some areas, not a window was left intact. “It’s a wonder no one has been killed,” said Lake County Sheriff’s Capt. Gary Buchholz. “I’ve never seen so many bullet holes. They fired and fired and fired.

“The tensions are still very high. People are arguing back and forth.”

Members of one faction holed up in the casino Friday afternoon said they feared another outbreak of violence. “It’s not over,” said Bonnie Maranda. “The other side doesn’t know when to stop.”

About 125 tribal members live on the pastoral reservation located 50 miles north of Napa and surrounded on three sides by Clear Lake, the largest natural lake in the state. Even though the reservation is a sovereign in most respects, including control over gambling, county authorities have jurisdiction in law enforcement matters.

For more than a year, the district attorney and sheriff have been trying to patch up a bitter dispute over what elder should handle operations of the casino and thus the affairs of the tribe.

Half the tribe had lined up behind Chairman Thomas Brown and the other half behind Vice Chairman Mabel Fourkiller. Last year, the Fourkiller faction accused Brown and his underlings of embezzling funds and using some of the cash to bribe tribal voters--a charge Brown vehemently denies.

Fourkiller then made the unusual move of taking the feud off the reservation and into the outside world by filing a lawsuit detailing many of the allegations. The matter was being heard in federal court.

Authorities said the tribal council reflected the split, with each side essentially neutralizing the other. But that changed recently when Brown apparently succeeded in wooing at least one member from the other camp.

Last week, Brown convened a meeting of the tribal council to flex his new political muscle. With stunning dispatch, he ousted Fourkiller and all executive board members who belonged to her faction, seized control of the casino and fired the tribe’s outside attorneys, effectively dismissing the lawsuit against him.

It was akin to a declaration of war. Both sides hunkered down.

Last Sunday, Delbert Thomas Jr., 32, who belongs to the Brown faction, was watching a professional football game on TV when members of the Fourkiller group allegedly began hassling his sister’s boyfriend.

Thomas said he tried to break up the fight and retreated when he saw a gun emerge from the group, which by then included Latino street gang members from Sacramento. He was shot in the arm in front of his four young daughters.

Soon, more than a dozen armed men from each side had taken up positions behind cars and house trailers near the tribal offices, casino and sweat lodge.

“The two factions went to war,” said Yamaguchi. “About 30 to 50 combatants. And each faction brought in its own hired guns from outside the rancheria.”

Some families were able to flee the reservation but others were trapped in their homes. A dozen residents decided to barricade themselves inside the casino and tribal offices because they felt safer there.

On Tuesday, Lake County Sheriff Rodney K. Mitchell contacted U.S. attorney Yamaguchi and requested the assistance of federal law enforcement, including a team of Native American peace officers from the federal Bureau of Indian Affairs. He appealed to agencies in outlying counties and the state for more manpower.

Late Wednesday, he decided to send in his tactical team but this only caused the combatants to stop shooting at each other long enough to take aim at the police. About 50 to 100 rounds were fired in the direction of the tactical team, which decided to hold fire because of darkness and the difficulty in identifying a target.

On Thursday, about 70 officers from area and state agencies ringed the reservation and set up telephone contact with both sides. They agreed to put down their weapons. At least four people were arrested and nine others evacuated.

On Friday, after a night of tense quiet, representatives from both factions drove to the sheriff’s substation about eight miles outside the reservation to meet with Mitchell and two Bureau of Indian Affairs officers. Another Native American from an outside tribe acted as mediator.

As night fell, both sides reached a truce.

All was quiet Friday night and Saturday, but the blood feud was hardly appeased. Both sides continue to cling to the belief that only they can best manage the profits of the casino.

What those profits amount to, Sheriff Mitchell didn’t know. “But it’s enough to shoot over,” he said.