Bitter Creek (16 page)

Chapter 31

“THEY SHOULD BE ON TV,”
said Patchen.

“Quite a performance,” said Chappie.

Du Pré nodded.

They all laughed.

Father Van Den Huevel's arm waved out the truck window. The horse trailer shimmied a little, one of the horses had moved.

“I am hungry,” said Patchen, “for actual food, brought to me by somebody, cooked by somebody else, and the dishes washed by somebody else, too. …”

“Me, I would like that, too,” said Chappie.

Du Pré laughed.

“We go the roadhouse then,” he said.

“Who is this guy you're picking up, the one flying here?” said Patchen.

“Jacques La Salle,” said Du Pré.

“Another of them Frenchy Indians,” said Booger Tom. “Gonna play some music, Du Pré?”

“
Non
,” said Du Pré, “him not play.”

Patchen and Chappie got in the big green SUV. Du Pré pulled out his keys and he got in too.

“If your friend's going to stay,” said Patchen, “we should take two rigs, since if he's late, we might want to be able to split up.”

“OK,” said Du Pré.

Chappie and Patchen got out and went to another SUV. Du Pré drove to the gate, got out and opened it, let them through, drove his SUV to the road, and shut the gate.

Chappie and Patchen were long gone, and there was a plume of dust where they had been. Du Pré laughed.

… I am in my car, I can pass them sure, but I am not …

He rolled a smoke, fished a flask out of his leather bag, had a drink. He lit the cigarette, started the engine, drove away.

He passed a couple of trucks headed west on the blacktop but no other cars, and when he crested the last hill before the hidden dell where the Pardoe Roadhouse was set, a sheriff's car passed going the other way. The driver waved and so did Du Pré.

There weren't many vehicles out in front of the roadhouse. A weeknight. Just a few pickups, ranchers who wanted a drink at the end of the day.

Du Pré went past the roadhouse to a big field, which had a windsock made of bright orange material hanging on a tall metal pole and a grass runway a thousand or so feet long. The grass had been grazed down, but there were no cattle in the pasture.

Du Pré sat in the SUV, the sun falling toward the west but still warm.

He looked at his watch, rolled a smoke, lit it, had a pull at his flask.

… it is ver' strange how things are in the world … I wonder who got the military, bury the radioactive waste there …

He saw the flash of metal; the little airplane was coming out of the west and hard to see with the sun behind, and then the plane began to descend.

The pilot passed over Du Pré, tilting the plane and waggling the wings, and then the plane turned and looped wide and slowed and came in for its landing. The ground was rough and the plane bounced a little, then slowed. A light machine, it would have to be tied down.

The wind was weaker now and the sky to the west had a thin black rim of cloud rising.

The plane slowed and stopped and the propeller did a few more turns and then bounced back.

The door slid open.

A white-haired man with a long face, dark skinned and big nosed, got out of the cockpit, dropping lightly to the ground.

He walked toward Du Pré with his right hand out.

“Mister Du Pré,” he said, “good to see you after these forty years or so. …”

“General,” said Du Pré. They shook hands.

“I retired,” said the man, “and am glad of it.”

He and Du Pré pushed the plane to a metal hardstand hidden in the grass and they tied it down with nylon cables.

The retired general got a heavy Filson bag from the plane, a soft hat, a briefcase.

Du Pré opened the rear door of the SUV and the older man loaded his luggage in. “I could have brought a sleeping bag,” he said.

“We have plenty,” said Du Pré. He rolled a smoke.

“Thank you for sending me the journal and the letters,” said the white-haired man. “So after all these years, you remembered our conversation, long ago in a German bar when we were younger. And we were soldiers. I put you up for captain, you know, but you wouldn't stay in no matter how much schnapps I poured down you. …”

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” said Du Pré.

They laughed.

The white-haired man took out a small cigar from a tin box and he lit it.

“And now someone else has been killed over this ancient crime,” said the white-haired man.

“Yes, sir,” said Du Pré.

“We are both out of the army, Du Pré,” said the white-haired man. “Call me Jack or La Salle.”

Du Pré nodded.

“Jackson Pardoe,” said Du Pré, “maybe he is poisoned, maybe he just kills himself, I do not know. …”

La Salle nodded.

“There was a bit on the news last night,” said La Salle. “It seems that Suzette Murphy successfully proved that her grandmother was lying about being the girl, Amalie. She wasn't at the massacre. She took the girl's identity later. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“Made some sense,” said La Salle. “Gave her a clean slate to start over with. She never got in trouble again. …”

“She believed she was there,” said Du Pré.

“Ah, yes,” said La Salle.

They got in the SUV and Du Pré drove back to the roadhouse. They went in.

A half-dozen drinkers looked at them, turned away. Chappie and Patchen were sitting at a table set for four. They had a pitcher of beer. Chappie had a glass of whiskey, too.

Patchen and Chappie looked up as Du Pré and La Salle approached the table.

Patchen stood up.

“General La Salle,” he said.

Chappie scrambled to his feet.

“Sit down, please,” said La Salle. “I'm retired, and so are you. …” He looked at Patchen's artificial hand, Chappie's scarred face, false eye.

“I didn't know you meant … Jack La Salle,” said Patchen.

They all sat. The television murmured over the bar.

Lily came out of the kitchen, saw them, mixed a ditch for Du Pré, and brought it with her.

“And you?” she said, looking at La Salle.

“A ditch,” said La Salle. Lily went off and soon came back with the drink. The four men ordered burgers and fries and salads. The ditches did not last long and Du Pré got up, went to the bar, and set down the empty glasses.

A rancher turned and looked at him.

“The danged woman lied,” he said. “She lied 'bout what happened, wasn't the person said she was. She lied. …” Du Pré nodded.

“So why don't you pack up and git,” he said. He looked angry.

“Bill, calm down,” said the man next to him.

Du Pré looked at the TV. A pretty woman holding a bottle of something.

Lily appeared, fixed two more drinks. Du Pré carried them back to the table.

Chappie and Patchen were looking at La Salle, who was telling a story. “They got rid of anyone who knew anything about Iraq,” he said, “or anyone who said it was going to be terribly difficult.”

“We never had enough men,” said Chappie sadly. Patchen nodded.

“They are a bunch of fools,” said La Salle, “and criminals. They belong in a batch of cells, not where they are. …”

“Soldiers don't get asked,” said Patchen sadly.

“They never are,” said La Salle.

“I want justice for those poor people in that mine,” said Patchen.

“Justice,” said La Salle.

Du Pré sighed. He sipped his drink.

The people drinking at the bar all laughed, too loudly.

“We can only do our best,” said La Salle. He got up then and headed toward the bathrooms.

“Jack La Salle,” said Patchen, “how do you know him?”

“He was my commanding officer, Germany,” said Du Pré.

Patchen nodded.

“He was not a general then,” said Du Pré.

Chapter 32

“SO SHE WAS A FRAUD.
…” said Chappie. He looked baffled.

“Yes,” said Du Pré, “Amalie was not Amalie, but that does not matter.”

Chappie looked at him.

They were sitting at the table.

Patchen and La Salle were up at the bar, talking to three cowmen who had just come in.

“She heard the voices of the Bitter Creek people,” said Du Pré. “She heard them, carried them. The real Amalie died, tuberculosis. In the sweat lodge, you heard many voices …”

Chappie nodded.

“They want to go on,” said Du Pré, “can't. …”

“What matters, we help them, “said Chappie.

The door opened and the giant sheriff Rudabaugh came in. He wore his usual half smile. He was wet on his hat and shoulders.

“Pissin' rain,” he boomed, “case any of you forgot what rain's like in this part of the world, it's happenin' right outside. …”

The people at the bar and Du Pré and Chappie and Patchen and La Salle went outside onto the covered porch.

Rain was sluicing down, so heavy headlights shimmered and faded through the water. The skies rolled with thunder, lightning flashed so close all was thrown in high relief for a brief moment. Puddles formed, danced with rain.

“It's rain, Joe,” said one of the ranchers, “M' grandad tol' me what it was like and there it is. …”

“There goes my first cuttin' of hay,” said another man.

“You kin raise catfish,” said the first rancher.

They all laughed.

The air smelled clean and wet.

Du Pré walked down to the end of the porch and he looked out toward some Siberian elms that lined a little irrigation channel on the far side of the parking area.

… rain … glad we are not in that river bottom … ghost river turns to water …

It was getting colder rapidly.

Du Pré shivered and he walked back inside.

Rudabaugh was standing at the bar, talking to Lily, who was laughing. He laughed, too, and Lily went back into the kitchen and Du Pré walked up.

“Nice rain,” said Rudabaugh.

“You hear anything about Pardoe?” said Du Pré.

“Poisoned,” said Rudabaugh, “sure as hell. Thing was, it warn't rat poison or some stuff you could get by mail. … Warn't nothing any person would much think of, 'less you was a government trapper in the fifties. Last time I heard of it. …”

Du Pré looked at the sheriff.

“What you thinkin', Du Pré?” asked Rudabaugh.

Du Pré shook his head.

“Thallium's what killed ol' Pardoe,” said Rudabaugh. “Got used killin' coyotes and the like back when, but the trappers up and refused to use the stuff, it did such terrible things. Took a while. …”

Du Pré nodded. “I have read about it,” he said.

“Most folks wouldn't know what it was,” said Rudabaugh. “Thing was, Pardoes've been there for a good long time, and for a while there in the fifties, Jackson's father was a government trapper—ol' Verne—but by then there wasn't much to do. …”

“Killed himself,” said Du Pré.

“Thallium is so danged miserable and slow, takes a couple days, you'd think a feller got it slipped to him would suspect something was wrong. Your arms and legs feel like they are on fire, yer hair all falls out—his had just started—and you shit water, every drop you drink. Feller wasn't expectin' that, you'd think they might just trot off the emergency room and allow as how they didn't feel quite right …” said Rudabaugh.

Du Pré shook his head.

“Yeah,” said Rudabaugh. “Now my eyes deceive me, or was that General Jack La Salle out there?”

Du Pré nodded.

Rudabaugh looked at him. “He here for the Bitter Creek bidness or are you takin' him
fly fishin'
?” said Rudabaugh. “Seems that's what folks come here for.”

“We hunt, gophers,” said Du Pré.

“Seen him on the TV,” said Rudabaugh. “He don't think much of our little war in Iraq there. …”

“He was my commanding officer, I am in the army in Germany,” said Du Pré.

Rudabaugh nodded. “Kept in touch with you,” he said.

Du Pré laughed. “
Non
,” he said, “but he come to visit.”

Rudabaugh looked at Du Pré. “Old woman started this mess was a fake, suppose you know that,” he said.

Du Pré shrugged.

“You ain't playin' straight with me, Du Pré,” said Rudabaugh­.

“I cannot say now,” said Du Pré. “La Salle, he could say but I cannot.”

“Nice boots,” said Rudabaugh. He bent over, looking carefully.

“Old boots,” said Du Pré.

Rudabaugh grinned.

Eleanor Pardoe Macatee came in through the kitchen, dripping, wearing a long riding coat.

She had on a Stetson, broad brimmed, and it ran water down the back of the waxed cotton.

“Howdy, Miss Ellie,” said Rudabaugh.

Eleanor smiled, but her eyes looked faint and faded. She put the hat on a rack and she unbuttoned the coat and hung it from a peg on the wall. Her boots were soaked, and they squeaked when she walked. “Hi, Rudy,” she said softly. She went back in the kitchen.

“C'mere,” said Rudabaugh. He led Du Pré to the little museum off the dining room. Water sluiced down the windows, a skein of golden worms from the light in the parking area.

Rudabaugh flicked on lights.

Du Pré looked at the portrait of Elizabeth Rhodes Pardoe.

Rudabaugh came over.

He nodded to the end of the row of photographs. To one of a tall white-haired man, pale eyed, dressed in a Prince Albert frock coat, holding a cane with a gold knob.

“That's Hoeft,” said Rudabaugh. “What I understand, he would have led the posse. He was said to have hung forty-seven cattle thieves by himself, one time owned a quarter of a million acres. …”

Du Pré looked at the photograph.

The long-dead man stared fiercely back, erect, cold eyed, contemptuous.

“Here's Macatee,” said Rudabaugh.

Du Pré bent to look.

A younger man, insecure enough so he wore both a fancy embroidered waistcoat and a pair of ivory-handled pistols. But his gaze was very level.

“Pinnock. Montgomery,” said Rudabaugh.

Du Pré stood up straight.

“All their descendants are still here,” said Rudabaugh. “Lily is a great-granddaughter of old man Hoeft, Macatee is still a Macatee. That hothead is behavin' hisself because he don't, Judge Bennett will throw him in for sixty days, and Judge Bennett means what he says, unlike most of them judges. …”

Rudabaugh looked at Du Pré.

“Hoeft was a feller,” said the sheriff, “got his land together killin' nesters, or scarin' them so bad they give over their homesteads to him. He sorta specialized in ambush whackin'. Used one of them Sharps Creedmore rifles. Forty-five-ninety. Wait for days in the rain. …”

It was raining harder now.

“You owe me an answer,” said Rudabaugh.

Du Pré shrugged.

The thunder rolled again and the lightning flashed.

There was a commotion out in the dining room.

Rudabaugh looked at Du Pré. They moved out of the museum.

Chappie was leaning against the pool table.

Du Pré ran to him.

“Patchen's dead,” he said. “Shot. I brought him to the porch but it's no good. …”

Du Pré went out the front door.

La Salle was giving Patchen chest compressions. He paused, put his ear to Patchen's chest.

He stood up and shook his head.

“Goddamn,” said Rudabaugh.

“Yes,” said La Salle.