by Peter Bowen
Du Pré snorted.
“You ask that Foote, the satellite maps?” she said. She lit a cigarette. Someone had left a pack of long brown filter tips on the bar.
“Yah,” said Du Pré, “that Hulme kid, he knows where this is. Don’t want anyone else to know.”
“His place,” said Madelaine.
Du Pré nodded.
“Go and talk to him, Du Pré,” said Madelaine. “You find it on your own, maybe he go crazy, put a bullet in you.”
Du Pré nodded.
“Yah,” he said. He got up.
“They fire that Parker cop,” said Madelaine. “I didn’t think it was bad enough, do that.”
Du Pré shrugged.
“Be back, dinner,” said Madelaine. “Last dinner you get, a while.”
Du Pré leaned far over the bar and they kissed. He went out the door with his ditch in his hand.
It took forty minutes to get to the Hulmes. There was only one pickup by the house. Du Pré got out and looked around.
Somebody was grinding something in the machine shed.
Du Pré walked over and looked in. A stream of sparks fell from a whirling carborundum disc. Billy Hulme was working on a big part. The air stank of welded metal. Du Pré waited until Billy put down the grinder and flipped up his mask.
“Billy,” said Du Pré.
Billy did not start and he did not look at Du Pré.
“I need your help,” said Du Pré.
Billy looked at him then.
“I don’t want nothing from there,” said Du Pré.
“You were already there, you son of a bitch,” said Billy.
Du Pré shook his head.
“Not me,” he said.
Billy pulled off his heavy leather gloves and slammed them down on the workbench.
“No,” said Du Pré.
“Somebody was,” said Billy. “They came on a dirt bike.”
“Eides maybe,” said Du Pré. “Bud and Millie, I saw them, they are part of that Host of Yahweh.”
“No shit,” said Billy.
“You take me there,” said Du Pré. “I find it anyway someday, but it is yours, you found it first.”
Billy looked at Du Pré.
“OK,” he said. “It’s hard. It was mine and no one else knew about it.”
Your mother know about it, thought Du Pré. Them women they know everything.
“Come on,” said Billy. He walked out of the machine shed, tossing his long leather welder’s apron on a barrel.
He got in the pickup. Du Pré got in, too, and Billy started the truck and drove down toward the back pasture to the gate where the badlands began.
Billy picked his way expertly through the maze, through places Du Pré wasn’t sure that the truck would fit. He worked the truck south and east. A couple of times Du Pré could see the lands of the host ranch in the distance.
“This was their old cart trail,” said Billy. “They made charcoal up in the mountains and brought it down here to roast the ore.”
Long time gone, Du Pré thought. Early 1600s?
Billy parked the truck and they got out. They were in a hidden hole, a place where the earth seemed to have sunk in a circle as though it had been cut by a knife. The walls around the circle were only ten to fifteen feet high.
Water belled nearby.
“Spring over there,” said Billy, “so they had water. The water runs about forty feet and goes back into the earth. Mine’s over there.”
Du Pré looked at the far side of the hole. There was some scrubby sagebrush and a single juniper writhing up out of rock.
Billy began to walk.
Du Pré smiled.
A door. Weathered the same pale gray as the rock it was set against.
So dry here the door had lasted for centuries.
Billy went to it and lifted it and set it aside. It was so dessicated that it was light as Styrofoam.
The mine shaft was only the size of a door on a house. Billy turned on a flashlight and he went in.
There was a room twenty feet back, perhaps thirty feet across.
Billy put the light on some rusty metal.
Du Pré squinted.
Rusty armor.
“Four of ’em,” said Billy. “Most of the bones are gone. Coyotes took ’em maybe. That bastard was here at least didn’t take anything.”
Billy put the light on a flat slab of rock. Four swords lay there, the leather fittings on the scabbards dried to dark twists.
“That’s the vein,” said Billy. “The raster wheels are outside, but they were cracked, so frost busted them up.”
Du Pré nodded.
He took a spool of yellow plastic tape from his pocket.
“I put this over the entrance,” said Du Pré.
Du Pré pulled off a few feet of the tape. DO NOT ENTER POLICE INVESTIGATION said the tape, over and over.
“I liked it better when it was just me,” said Billy.
“Yah,” said Du Pré.
CHAPTER 22
IT BEGAN TO RAIN as Du Pré walked up the path to the top of the butte back of Benetsee’s cabin. He could drive to the base of the formation on an old logging road and then scramble up the steep path. The rocks and soil got slick and his bootsoles slipped and he cursed and grabbed for handholds.
The rain fell in sheets and Du Pré was soaked through. Runnels of water ran down his back and his ass and slid down his legs. His feet squelched in his boots.
“Good cold wind now I die up here, you old prick,” said Du Pré to the water, air, and earth.
He sat on a rock and watched the silver rain fall from all the low points on his clothes. Rain ran off the end of his nose. It itched.
He felt in his shirt pocket for the little pill bottle. He took it out and smelled the bitter contents.
Fuck, he thought, and he drank it.
It smelled bitter but tasted sweet, like balsam.
He tried to roll a cigarette but the rain was too much and the papers shredded in his fingers.
“Man here in this, pret’ stupid man,” said Benetsee. He had come and he sat not six inches from Du Pré on the rock. He was soaked, too, but he grinned happily.
Du Pré glared at him.
“Come,” said Benetsee. He walked to the edge of the butte and stepped down a path that Du Pré had never seen before. It was easy to walk on even in the rain, and soon they were on level ground and near Du Pré’s cruiser.
They got in.
Du Pré burped. The sweetish taste was pleasant, woody and thick.
“Old man,” said Du Pré, “one day I just shoot you. I do that.”
Benetsee laughed for a long time.
“You be lost then,” he said.
Du Pré nodded grimly, started the car and drove off to Benetsee’s cabin. He had to go out to the county road on one track and back to the cabin on another. The rain sluiced down very hard and Du Pré could barely see out the windshield even with the wipers set at their fastest.
He stopped the car and shut it off and then ran toward the cabin. There was a warm yellow light inside. The stove was hot and the air warm and dry.
Pelon was sitting at the little table.
Water was running in a small stream down from the board ceiling into a bucket on the floor.
“No good,” said Benetsee. “You miss something.”
Pelon nodded glumly.
“Our good friend brings us wine, tobacco, meat,” said Benetsee.
Du Pré clenched his teeth. It was all in the trunk of the car, out in the driving rain. His clothes had already begun to steam.
He went back out and stomped angrily to the cruiser. He got the trunk open and fished out the plastic bags with the wine and food and tobacco in them. He got his whiskey from under the front seat, and a change of dry clothes in another plastic bag.
He squelched back to the house in his sodden clothes and boots. Benetsee was sitting on the chair that Pelon had been on. He looked perfectly dry and comfortable.
/> Du Pré set down the bags. He reached for the big jug of screwtop wine, opened it, and poured Benetsee a quart jar full. The old man grinned and took the jar and drank it all in one long swallow.
Du Pré looked around the tiny cabin.
“Where is Pelon?” he said.
“Up on the roof fixing the leak,” said Benetsee.
“In this shit?” said Du Pré.
“He do it first time up there he not be there now,” said Benetsee.
Du Pré looked at the silver thread of water running from the ceiling to the bucket.
“Pret’ hard to tell where that is, this,” he said.
“Pelon got to learn,” said Benetsee, “see things that are hard to see.”
Du Pré had some whiskey. He stripped off his soggy clothes and hung them on a cord that stretched across the room near the stove. He stood naked with his back to the heat until he was dry. The fire in the stove crackled and popped and the air whistled through the little cracks where the pieces of cast iron joined.
Du Pré put on his dry clothes. He put his boots on some long pegs near the chimney. They began to steam.
He sat at the table and got a package of tobacco and rolled a smoke for each of them. His shepherd’s lighter was so wet it would not work. He took a match from a saucer on the table and struck it and lit his smoke, then held the flame out to Benetsee. The old man bent his head to the light.
They smoked.
“Good tobacco,” said Benetsee.
Du Pré looked at the package. Holland.
“Dutch,” said Du Pré.
“Good people,” said Benetsee.
“I am supposed, have a vision,” said Du Pré. “I go like you say, the butte.”
“Pret’ lousy weather,” said Benetsee. “Me, I would have it here.”
The silver thread of water slowed and stopped.
Pelon had found the leak.
“Him,” said Benetsee, “got to learn things.”
“Him, manage to stay alive around you,” said Du Pré, “he learn plenty.”
Benetsee laughed and laughed.
“Dumb shits,” he said, “both, you.”
“What is that stuff I drank?” said Du Pré.
“Peru balsam,” said Benetsee.
Balsam of Peru, Du Pré thought. My people are a long way from Peru.
“Spanish mine,” said Benetsee.
Du Pré nodded.
“I go there this afternoon,” said Du Pré.
“What you need a vision for then?” said Benetsee.
Du Pré rubbed his eyes.
This old man is always telling me something, won’t tell me anything.
Pelon came in, water streaming from his clothes. He looked at the place in the ceiling where the leak had been.
“There,” said Pelon.
“Get dry,” said Benetsee.
Pelon stripped and put his wet clothes on nails and the cord and he fished some dry clothes out of a box under the bed. He was shivering. He went to the stove and stood next to it.
Du Pré started to offer him the whiskey but remembered that Pelon didn’t drink alcohol. Pelon made himself some tea. He stood close to the stove sipping the hot liquid.
Benetsee drank more wine.
Du Pré rolled them two more smokes. He lit both and he handed one to Benetsee.
“What am I not seeing, old man,” said Du Pré.
Benetsee grinned.
His brown stumps of teeth showed just above his lower lip.
“What is the blue jay?” said Du Pré.
Benetsee grinned.
“What I do about this Host of Yahweh?” said Du Pré.
“Bad people,” said Benetsee. “Lots of guns, explosives.”
Du Pré looked at him.
“Who is the White Priest?” said Du Pré.
Benetsee looked away for a long time. Then he nodded.
“Why they give that woman a shot, her tongue don’t work?”
“Shit,” said Pelon. He was looking at the ceiling.
Water was dripping from the place it had leaked from before.
Benetsee laughed.
Pelon shrugged.
“I don’t go up there again,” he said.
“You smart,” said Benetsee, “you don’t go up there the first time.”
Pelon nodded.
“I am angry,” he said. “I go up there because I am angry.”
He sipped tea.
“Help me, old man,” said Du Pré.
“Spanish mine,” said Benetsee.
Du Pré looked at him.
“I been there,” said Du Pré.
Benetsee put out his smoke.
“No, you haven’t,” he said. “You go the wrong one.”
“Shit,” said Du Pré, “there are two, them?”
Benetsee nodded.
CHAPTER 23
“HIM DON’T KNOW,” SAID Du Pré.
Old man, he knows the riddles but sometimes he doesn’t know the answers.
At least he knows the riddles.
“Benetsee sees farther,” said Madelaine, “things they are not so clear then.”
Du Pré coughed. His mouth still tasted of balsam of Peru.
Catfoot once had a bad cut got infected, he put that balsam of Peru on it, all the proud flesh went away. Like using sugar on a wire cut on a horse or a cow.
Them Spanish miners, they carry it, pack bad wounds with.
Long time gone.
Madelaine ran her fingernail over Du Pré’s chest.
“You pret’ good in bed, an old fart,” she said.
Du Pré snorted.
The window in the bedroom was open and the thick scent of lilacs poured in. There had been a hard frost when they first bloomed, and so they grew and bloomed again.
“Wonder why they do that, that woman’s tongue,” said Madelaine.
“They are mean bastards,” said Du Pré.
“They are smart mean bastards,” said Madelaine, “can’t speak can’t yell pret’ well ties you up.”
Du Pré nodded. He yawned and got up and went to take a piss.
When he got back, Madelaine was sitting on the edge of the bed in her flowered robe, combing her long black hair. She had silver streaks in it. Bright silver.
“Ripper he is back today,” said Madelaine.
“Where he go?” said Du Pré.
“California,” said Madelaine. “He tell me let you know but nobody else.”
“So you let me know he is back?” said Du Pré.
“You got other things, your mind,” said Madelaine. “Me, I think you maybe notice he is gone. It is quiet, then, maybe you say, hey, why is it not noisy? Oh, that Ripper is gone, is why.”
Du Pré laughed.
“They got guns,” said Du Pré. “They got them hid someplace.”
“So?” said Madelaine.
“Automatic weapons,” said Du Pré, “military stuff.”
“So do you,” said Madelaine, “so do lots of people. Old Henry Wyrie him got a cannon.”
Du Pré nodded.
Yeah, old Henry him have a 20mm cannon, rapid-fire. Everybody know that, but no one want to drive up, his house, say, “Old Henry, you are a bad guy, bring out your cannon, we arrest you.” Old Henry, him don’t like nosy people.
“That Waco,” said Madelaine. “There are children, mothers there. It is so dumb, they send in that tank. All they got to do, is wait. Like them dumb Freemen, just wait.”
“Yah,” said Du Pré.
“Ripper,” said Madelaine, “him don’t like to wait.”
“Ripper,” said Du Pré, “he is pretty crazy. Not stupid. Them FBI, Waco, they are stupid, is all.”
“Them children, mothers, people, are dead, is all,” said Madelaine.
“I make us coffee,” said Du Pré.
“I tell you, Du Pré,” said Madelaine, “you don’t get mad this time. You have plenty reason, get mad. But you don’t do it.”
“OK,” said Du Pré.
> “Bullshit, OK,” said Madelaine. “You think about that Waco and you don’t be stupid. You are pretty smart, for a man.”
Du Pré laughed. He put on his clothes and boots and walked to the kitchen. He put on water to heat and filled the French press with coffee. He set put two cups and filled the creamer with milk. He put a spoon next to Madelaine’s cup. She liked milk and sugar in her coffee.
The shower went on. It wasn’t on very long. Madelaine had raised four kids in this little house, with one bathroom. She was very clean and very fast at it.
Girl in college in California and all three boys in the military.
They don’t come back much, like my Maria.
Du Pré grinned, thinking of his daughter.
He drank coffee.
“That Maria she is coming, you know,” said Madelaine. “She call, I forget to tell you.”
“Maria,” said Du Pré.
How the hell she know I am thinking of my daughter.
“You get that one smile you are thinking of her,” said Madelaine. “You got another, Jacqueline. One for me, too.”
“That is good,” said Du Pré.
“Yah,” said Madelaine, rubbing her hair with a thick cream towel, “it is ver’ good, that.”
Du Pré laughed.
“That Parker cop, she is fired, pulling a gun,” said Madelaine. “It is fake. She work that out, Pidgeon.”
Du Pré was drinking coffee. He was startled, and some ran down his chin and dripped on the front of his shirt.
“Sorry,” said Madelaine, “I forget you shock so easy.”
“What, this?” said Du Pré.
“Them Host of Yahweh,” said Madelaine, “they can get a cop, join, she is fired, they like that, think they got something.”
“They are pretty smart,” said Du Pré.
“Yeah,” said Madelaine, “they know it, too, makes them foolish. Thing I like about you, Du Pré, is even when you are being smart you don’t piss yourself you are so pleased.”
Du Pré laughed.
“How you figure this all out?”
“Parker, she is five foot, blond, pretty,” said Madelaine. “She got to be one tough smart lady, get to be a Highway patrol officer. No way she is stupid enough, pull a gun got no reason.”
“I am driving too slow,” said Du Pré.
“Cause the Pidgeon she is bitching,” said Madelaine, “she and that Parker, they talk.”
