Bitter Creek (22 page)

Chapter 43

DUHOUX NODDED TO DU PRÉ
as he came into the saloon. He wore his black leather coat and his dark glasses. He got a beer and he came over to Du Pré's table.

Pallas had her eyes on her computer screen, a brightly lit and colored other universe.

“Sit down,” said Du Pré.

Pallas gave a half smile, without looking away from the screen.

“I don't know what that thing is,” said Du Pré. “Don't want to.”

“Don't need to,” said Pallas. “You got me.”

“I found out some things,” said DuHoux, pulling out a chair. “I suppose that you have, too … ?”

Du Pré nodded.

“So it all goes back to Henry Hoeft and his bad temper, his mean nature,” said DuHoux. “He comes to Montana, while it's still a territory, makes his fortune by the usual ruthless means, becomes a powerful man. But his children are sickly or unlucky. All but Oscar, the apple of his father's eye …”

Du Pré nodded.

“Oscar is a boy, fourteen years old. He travels with his father and mother to Helena, as his mother is ill and Helena has the best hospital and the best doctors in Montana. They will find treatments for her, and perhaps they will do some Christmas shopping. Oscar's sister Gertrude had died in October, of scarlet fever, leaving him an only child. Then, on the sixteenth of December, Oscar, restless, bored, rides his horse out east of Helena, where there is a camp of Indians and Métis. Late that afternoon, the horse shies, Oscar's foot goes through the stirrup, off he goes, he is kicked, and he dies. The horse drags the boy for quite some distance. …”

Pallas tapped something into the keyboard. She looked at the screen.

“Hoeft's wife is sinking, there is nothing that can be done for her. Hoeft is beside himself with grief and rage. He can contend with anything, his power is immense, but he cannot save his wife or his son …” said DuHoux.

“So he blames the Métis,” said Du Pré.

“So he blames the Métis,” said DuHoux. “The Republicans have the White House, William Howard Taft sits there, all four hundred pounds of him, and Hoeft's power does reach that far. He demands that the Métis be arrested and deported …

“So Pershing and his soldiers are sent. They are hard men. They have been chasing Mexican bandits, ignoring the fact of the border. They fight the first of seven pitched battles with the Yaquis, October 1909.”

“There!” said Pallas. “Look here, Granpapa. …”

She spun the computer around so Du Pré could see the screen. DuHoux didn't try to look.

“Before that they are in the Philippines,” said Pallas, “where U.S. troops killed maybe a quarter of a million Moros and Igorotes.”

“Theodore Roosevelt, he liked them doing that,” said Du Pré.

DuHoux nodded. “But one Métis band gets away and has the bad luck to run right past Hoeft's home ranch. The man is both crazy and powerful. He gathers a posse, neighbors who owe him, and when they find the Métis, they disarm the soldiers and they kill all in the band but the little girl. …”

“Amalie,” sail Du Pré. “She dies ver' young, tuberculosis. Another young woman, gets out of jail for assault and theft, takes her name.”

“Amalie Montagne,” said DuHoux. “Takes her story, lives her life, and when she is old, and very bored, why here comes Gabriel Du Pré, who busts her out of the old folks' home, brings her down here, and causes Homeland Security much embarrassment. …”

“That is my granpapa,” said Pallas.

“The Canadians, at least, are amused,” said DuHoux.

Du Pré got up, went to the bar. Madelaine was beading, keeping her eyes on the little doeskin bag she was holding in the good light. Du Pré made himself a drink.

“How 'bout me, Granpapa?” said Pallas.

“You are fifteen,” said Du Pré. “You drink that rotgut Hervé and Nepthele are making out of worms and bugs. …”

“I am amazed,” said Pallas, “you remember how old I am. …”

“Lucky guess,” said Du Pré. He came back and sat down.

“It would be a fine book,” said DuHoux, “but the whole thing makes me so sad now I don't know if I want to write it. …”

Du Pré nodded. He drank half of his tall glass of whiskey and water.

He rolled a cigarette, lit it, blew smoke at the ceiling.

There were ancient dollar bills stuck to the lapped wood.

“You put those in a fold with a quarter and a thumbtack,” said DuHoux, “and toss them up there …”

Du Pré laughed.

“My father, Catfoot, he used to come in here with Roland and Black Jean, and they would do this, try a hundred times, finally one of them would stick. Then my maman would come out, the kitchen, with a mop handle, pound them in,” said Du Pré.

“Ah,” said DuHoux.

“Then she would say ‘Crazy Métis, always gambling. So I make sure there is no gambling, when they will fall off,'” said Du Pré. He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray.

“So,” said DuHoux, “the Métis are slaughtered, and then … there was a good deal of shame—and some fear—I expect. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“Hoeft had nothing to do with moving the bodies,” said DuHoux, “did he?”

Du Pré shrugged.

“So some group of them takes all the bodies to the dry creek and knocks the bank down on top of them. …” said DuHoux.

Du Pré nodded. “Drop the hayhooks, there,” he said. “They don't want, use them again. …”

“And there they stay,” said DuHoux.

Du Pré nodded.

“I went to the old man's cabin,” said DuHoux. “Benetsee. Took the wine and the tobacco. He didn't come. …”

Du Pré laughed. “Take more,” he said, “he know you were there. …”

“This comes back to him, doesn't it?” said DuHoux.

Du Pré shrugged.

“Granpapa,” said Pallas, looking up from the computer screen, “these people, they try to block information but they are no good at it. …”

DuHoux stood up. “I can go and try Benetsee again, I suppose,” he said. “That's really all I can do? You can't help?”

Du Pré shook his head.

“Old man will talk,” he said, “if he wants to. …”

Chappie and Eleanor came in.

She was laughing. Chappie was looking down and shaking his head. They stopped by the table where Du Pré and Pallas sat with DuHoux standing, who nodded to them.

“He is going, try to see Benetsee,” said Pallas, “take wine and tobacco. …”

Chappie laughed. “If you see a coyote,” he said, “that is him. …”

“I did see a coyote,” said DuHoux. “He was just there, one moment, like he popped out of the ground. …”

“Scar on his face?” said Du Pré.

“Yes,” said DuHoux, “come to think about it. …”

“He is writing, a book about Bitter Creek,” said Du Pré.

Chappie nodded.

“Goddamn!” said Madelaine. She squinted at a finger where the needle had stuck.

“I don't suppose that you would come with me?” said DuHoux, looking at Du Pré.

Du Pré shook his head.

“Him, Benetsee,” said Du Pré, “if he want me, he will let me know. …”

“Granpapa,” said Pallas, “these people are idiots. …” She tapped at the computer keyboard. She returned to peering intently at the screen.

“Just who is Benetsee?” said DuHoux. “I mean, has he always been here?”

“Long time,” said Du Pré.

Chappie and Eleanor walked on, took seats at the bar. Madelaine smiled at them.

“Anything but wine and tobacco I could bribe him with?” asked DuHoux.

Du Pré shook his head.

Pallas tapped at the keyboard.

“Ah,” she said, “there. Pret' amazing. …”

She stretched.

“What are you looking for, anyway?” said DuHoux.

“Granpapa,” said Pallas, “him, ask me how many Congressional Medals of Honor were given out, one battle. …”

DuHoux nodded.

“Seven,” said Pallas. “Twelve were recommended, but seven awarded.”

“Gettysburg?” said DuHoux.

“Oh no,” said Pallas. “Wounded Knee. …”

Chapter 44

FATHER VAN DEN HEUVEL LOOKED
with distaste at the fancy vestments. “What is wrong with my good old cassock?” he said. “Better yet, jeans and a nice comfortable sleeveless shirt. …”

“You are talking crap,” said Madelaine. “There will be hundreds of people here. It is
showtime.
…”

“This is the sort of thing the bishop should be doing,” said Father Van Den Heuvel.

“The bishop, the rest of them, off molesting children,” said Madelaine. “Besides, they send you here to forget about you. They are not going to remember you now. …”

“I should have run up into the Wolfs,” said Father Van Den Heuvel, “and hid out.”

“I just send Du Pré,” said Madelaine.

“Here they are,” said Father Van Den Heuvel.

Two of the big pickup trucks from Bart's ranch pulled up near the churchyard.

Father Van Den Heuvel and Madelaine went out to the six sawhorses set beside the open grave, a wide deep hole. The dug earth had been piled on one tarpaulin next to the grave and covered with another.

Du Pré and Bart and Booger Tom and Chappie got out of the vehicles. They pulled down the tailgates and they slid out wooden coffins, plain pine, the pale wood gleaming in the sunlight.

They set six coffins on the three sets of sawhorses. A TV crew walked toward them, the cameraman peering through his lens, the sound woman flicking the microphone on her short boom with a finger.

Du Pré and Madelaine, Booger Tom, Chappie, Bart, and Father Van Den Heuvel ignored them.

“Could you answer a few questions?” said the reporter, a young redhead in a suit and heels.

Du Pré shook his head, pointed back in the direction they had come from.

“Go,” he said, “or the deputies will take you. …”

They turned their backs on the TV crew then, and Madelaine set a pie tin on each of the coffins. Du Pré pulled sweetgrass twists, thick ropes of the stuff, out of a canvas bag. He lit the ends of the twists. Benny Klein and four deputies showed up and they put down posts set in steel bases and then they ran yellow plastic tape between them. The TV crew approached Benny.

The reporter said something and Benny shook his head. “You folks behave,” he said. “Nerves are a bit raw here and it won't take much fer you to find your teeth are missing and your faces ain't put together like they was. …”

The TV crew retreated.

Benny turned and winked.

Cars and trucks pulled as close to the church as they could get and parked, and people in Sunday dress, some in black, got out and waved to each other, formed knots, talked.

“Danged good thing we had to postpone this,” said Booger Tom. “Want to have all the gawkers able to come here, a hunnerd miles around. …” The old cowboy narrowed his washed-blue eyes.

“And so they should come,” said Father Van Den Heuvel. “You old bastard, you're gonna tear up later and you know it. …”

“Danged lie,” said Booger Tom. “I got no senniments.”

“Shut up, both,” said Madelaine, “or I get mad.”

They both shut up.

A motor home with a news logo on the side pulled in, blocking the road.

Benny walked over.

A nationally known talking head got out and he began to yell at Benny, who backed up a few feet and waved his right hand,
come on
.

The talking head kept talking.

Wilbur's tow truck backed up to the rear of the motor home. It was the big truck, the one used to right logging trucks and eighteen-wheelers. Wilbur got out, hooked chains, stuck his thumb up. The talking head quit talking when his mobile studio moved off, backward.

“Why don't somebody shoot that little prick?” said Booger Tom.

“Why do a kindness, him?” said Madelaine, sweetly.

A big drum started throbbing, off in the thick grove of cottonwoods across the street. Several drummers were at work. Then the singing began.

… hair on my neck stands up, I hear that … Du Pré thought.

… feel it in my blood, heart of the people …

The talking head sprinted after his motor home, shouting. The noise faded into the sound of the drums.

A huge man dressed in black got out of a Cadillac, as did some others. Rudabaugh waved to Du Pré. One of the men with him was Bonner Macatee.

More cars pulled in, more trucks, all with the license plates of Bitter Creek's county.

“We'll do Communion after the burial,” said Father Van Den Heuvel.

“These people are not all Catholic,” said Madelaine.

“They all came here to bury the Métis,” said Father Van Den Heuvel. “What lot of superstitions they prefer doesn't concern me.”

“Bishop have a stroke, him, hear you say that,” said Du Pré.

“If I thought he would,” said Father Van Den Heuvel, “I'd say it in his office.”

Hundreds of people stood, heads bowed, hands clasped, while the big priest spoke.

“Let us pray,” he said, his voice very loud, “that the hate and fear that caused these deaths be cast out, and that we remember one another in the love of Christ. We commit these bones to the earth, and may their souls rest. …”

Father Van Den Heuvel motioned to Du Pré, who with Booger Tom and Bart and Benny and other men standing nearby lowered the six coffins into the grave, letting them down on ropes, carefully, and quickly. The people formed lines, passed by, throwing flowers into the graves, Du Pré tossed the ropes of sweetgrass, still smoldering, down on the pine coffin tops.

The priest set up his bread and wine on a trestle table and offered it.

Some people came, others did not. The drumming and singing went on.

The crowd shifted, broke apart, headed back to the cars and trucks they had come in.

They broke around an old man in a wheelchair, pushed by General La Salle. The crowd thinned, and then La Salle pushed the wheelchair forward.

The man in it was black and ancient.

La Salle brought him to the side of the grave.

The old man put his hands to his eyes.

Du Pré and Madelaine went over to them.

“This is Sergeant Boden,” said La Salle. “Tenth Cavalry. …”

They stood silently while the old man wept.

Then he fished a handkerchief from his coat, dabbed his eyes, and blew his nose. He straightened up in the wheelchair and put his old clawlike hand to his forehead, saluting.

Du Pré knelt next to him.

“Sergeant,” said La Salle, “this is Gabriel Du Pré. I told you about him. …”

The old man turned to look at Du Pré. A fierce intelligence burned in his old eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “My daddy told me this story and hasn't been a day since then I didn't think about it. We was good soldiers, we never would have done this. … Tenth Cavalry, my daddy was in it too and he was here when them people was killed. It haunted him. … It haunted him bad.”

Du Pré nodded.

“Lieutenant Albert, he was a good man,” said Sergeant Boden. “When them crazy white men was all pointing their guns at them, my daddy's soldiers, they would have fought 'em. Lieutenant Albert, he said no, put your rifles down, we don't want to get in a fight with these people. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“Crazy people,” said Sergeant Boden. “Daddy said about all you could see of their eyes was the whites. Like sometimes in battle. They was that hopped up. …”

“Hoeft?” said Du Pré. Sergeant Boden nodded.

“He was yellin' how the Indians killed his boy,” he said, “and any man didn't do his duty, Hoeft would ruin him. I guess he owned most everything round there. …”

Du Pré nodded.

The old man looked down at the coffins. He inhaled deeply. “What is that,” he said, “smokin' there?”

“Sweetgrass,” said Du Pré.

“I smelled that time to time,” said Boden. “Never knew what it was. I'd dream about that day and I'd wake up and smell that. You don't smell in dreams, not usually. …”

“They took the soldiers' guns?” said Du Pré.

The old man shook his head.

“After the shootin' stopped, that crazy Hoeft come back and said they had to go and shoot too. Lieutenant Albert ordered his men on in. They come to the place, them people was all dead. He set the men to firing at the bodies. They was out in a skirmish line. …”

… the piles of .30-40 shells …

“They was all already dead,” said Boden.

“One little girl lived,” said Du Pré.

The old man nodded.

“They rode through after they were done shootin',” he said, “and my daddy saw her crouched down in the brush. 'Course he just went on. You say she lived?”

“Yes,” said Du Pré.

The old man nodded.

“They was good soldiers. …” he said.