WELL, THE LIBRARIES AROUND here are not too good,” said Du Pré to Maria. She sounded as if she was in the next room—miracles of modern electronics.
“Okay Papa,” she said happily, “now what exactly do you need to know?”
“The moccasins your grandpapa made, they are a Plains moccasin,” said Du Pré, “and I think maybe the moccasins that the Woodland peoples make are different. I seem to remember something, but I don’t know how and why they are different.”
“Which Woodland peoples?” said Maria.
“Cree, Chippewa, Ojibwa,” said Du Pré.
“I could send these by computer,” said Maria.
“Just tell me over the telephone,” said Du Pré, “and quit your messing with your old father. I don’t like those computers. It is so no one can even use a summer name anymore.”
“What’s a summer name?” said Maria.
“It is the name a cowboy uses when he doesn’t want folks to find him,” said Du Pré.
“Okay,” said Maria, “I will go find out. I’ll call you at Madelaine’s if you are not at home. How is Jacqueline, my nieces and nephews?”
“There are two more of each since you left,” said Du Pré.
“Papa!”
“Okay.” He hung up.
Computers. Christ.
He went outside and stared at his four horses in the pasture.
I don’t even like cars, Du Pré thought. You can’t talk to them when you ride somewhere.
But he got in his and drove out toward Benetsee’s. He parked and got out and went to the front door of the old man’s shack and knocked. No answer. He went around back.
Benetsee was digging a grave for one of his old dogs. The dead animal was on the ground, near a bull pine. The old man was chiseling away at the hard soil.
“Hey,” said Du Pré, “I am sorry about old…”. He couldn’t remember the old dog’s name.
“He was a good dog,” said Benetsee, “but he got old and died.”
“You want some help there?” said Du Pré.
Benetsee stopped digging and put both his hands on the end of the shovel handle.
“When I get old and die, then you can help,” he said.
Du Pré looked at Benetsee; the old man looked back. Then they laughed.
Du Pré smoked while Benetsee dug a hole for his dog.
“All that matters, those moccasins,” said Benetsee, “is that they are very quiet, you know.”
What I get for thinking it is complicated, Du Pré thought.
“This man,” said Benetsee, “he walks like an Indian—toes in, you know.”
“He Indian?” said Du Pré.
“He walks like one,” said Benetsee. He slid the body of his dog into the grave and pushed earth on top of it. Then he began to pile rocks over the turned earth. When Du Pré helped, he didn’t say anything.
The rocks would keep out the skunks and coyotes.
Benetsee whistled something in a pentatonic scale. He put out a hand and Du Pré gave him his tobacco pouch. The old man took four pinches and dribbled them over the grave while he muttered under his breath.
“He was some good dog, yes,” said Benetsee as they walked back to the front of the shack. Du Pré carried the shovel. He saw two nails on the siding about the right height and he hung the shovel up.
“I show you how this man move,” said Benetsee.
And he changed. The old man became coiled and supple. He moved across the littered yard like a stalking fox or bobcat. One foot reached out and gently took the earth, then the other; the old man crouched and his hands were out in front and loose.
He did not spring; he rushed smoothly forward and grabbed his prey rising.
Benetsee had something in his hand—a thong, weighted at the end with a stone.
A garrote.
Benetsee moved his hands a little and a knife appeared in the right one.
“You see?” said Benetsee.
Du Pré nodded. I see plenty good now.
Benetsee walked to Du Pré, like the fox, like the cat. His left hand shot out and grabbed Du Pré’s wrist; his grip was hard, his palm callused.
“You know him now when you see him,” said Benetsee. “Maybe not the first time, but you suddenly know. He will know you know. You better kill him then quick. He sure gonna try to kill you.”
“I hope so,” said Du Pré. He was very angry.
“Don’t be brave talker,” said Benetsee. “You better ask for some help right then.”
“What kind of help?”
“Help for your heart,” said Benetsee. “When fox hunt a mouse, he don’t get mad about it.”
Du Pré nodded.
Benetsee took Du Pré’s arm, led him to his shack, went in, came out with a bundle. He unwrapped the dark brown deerskin. A pair of moccasins with soft, high leggins, soft soles.
“This all I can help you. On that day I sing for you, listen,” said Benetsee.
And then Benetsee was an old man again, bent and weary from digging the dog’s grave.
Du Pré left. He drove back to his house and opened all the windows to air the musty smells out. He found a big can of cinnamon in the cabinet over the stove and put a pile of it in a glass dish, and set it alight. The cinnamon smoldered; the smoke curled through the house.
The telephone rang. It was Maria. She bubbled with excitement.
“I got all sorts of stuff on moccasins,” she said.
“I don’t need it now,” said Du Pré.
“Oh,” she said.
“I am so dumb,” Du Pré said. “I had my answer long time ago, but I couldn’t see it. It is just that the sole is soft.”
“It is that,” said Maria. “Did you know that some Cree use a thong to crisscross-wrap their leggins, that they wore a kind of…bandage of learner from the moccasin top to some way up their calf?”
Du Pré stiffened.
“You find anything maybe they use a little piece of stone on the end of that thong for something?”
“Oh, yes,” said Maria, “a knot stone. The weight kept the knot tight. It had a hole in the middle and the thong was pulled through and then wrapped around to hold.”
“Thank you,” said Du Pré.
“What is this about?” asked Maria.
“Those murders in Washington,” said Du Pré, “I am thinking now that I maybe know who did them.”
“Who?” said Maria.
“I tell you when I really know,” said Du Pré.
“Okay, Papa,” said Maria.
“How you like it there?” said Du Pré.
“I got some way to catch up,” said Maria, “but they have this program, and it’s good. I was whining about how bad the schools were out there and my tutor smiled at me and said maybe I got a lot of something else.”
Du Pré laughed.
“So it will be fine. I am just a little Métis girl from Montana.”
“You are a good Métis woman and smarter than hell,” said Du Pré.
“I love you, Papa,” said Maria. “Be careful.”
They talked a little more and then Du Pré hung up and drove over to Madelaine’s.