The Dark Place

Chapter 19

"Yeah," Big Cheese said, "I’m Dennis Blackpath." The onetime graduate student leaned forward to blow on the dry shreds of moss and bark that had come from the deerskin pouch around his neck, and the crawling spark flickered, gasped, and puffed into flame. In the young Indian’s hands the fire drill had been ridiculously easy to use. Now he added bits of wood, gradually increasing their size. When the fire was going well, the three of them, sitting on the ground, leaned close to it. Julie and Gideon shivered in their wet clothes. Blackpath, with the moisture beaded on his greased skin, didn’t seem cold.

"You’ve been living with them all this time?" Julie asked, not bothering to conceal her astonishment. "Since 1975?"

"That’s right," Blackpath said, adding more wood. "Nobody believed there were Indians, but I found them. And once I found them, I stayed. I’d had enough of the white man’s rotten world. I went to live as my forefathers had lived, in harmony with nature. In tranquillity."

It was the sort of cant Gideon ordinarily found banal and tedious. But Blackpath was another matter. He had committed seven years of his life to it; he’d actually managed to bring it off. Except for the tranquillity.

"I suppose," Blackpath said moodily, flexing a long, thin stick like a fencer testing an epee, "you want some explanations."

"That would be nice," Gideon agreed.

"About the killings." His head down, Blackpath spoke to the stick, as surly in English as in Yahi.

"That seems like a good place to begin," Gideon said mildly, but his hackles were rising. If anyone had reason to be aggrieved, it was certainly he, with two attempts on his life and a painful dent in his head, and not this pampered student- cum -wild Indian. Something in his tone must have given away his feelings, because Blackpath suddenly looked up at him and snapped the stick in two.

Julie cut in. "You said that Startled…What was his name? I don’t want to keep calling him that."

"Their names are private," Blackpath said curtly. "Startled Mouse is good enough." For the likes of you.

Julie did not respond in kind. "You said he had a legitimate grievance," she said quietly.

Blackpath tossed the pieces of the stick into the fire. "You saw his foot?"

"Yes," Julie said.

"It was shot away, a long time ago-"

"In 1913, when he was a little boy," Gideon said slowly, remembering. "And his mother was killed when they rifled a cabin on Canoe Creek. They stole two hard-boiled eggs."

"You talked to Pringle," Blackpath said.

"That’s an awful thing," Julie said, "but-"

"But what?" He was answering Julie, but his stare challenged Gideon. "It’s no excuse for killing people seventy years later?"

Gideon looked at him without speaking. Something sagged inside Blackpath. His gaze dropped to the fire. "Ah, hell," he said, "it’s funny speaking English after all this time." He paused. "You’re right, you’re right. It’s not an excuse." He seemed to be searching for the precise words he wanted, then gave up with a small shrug. The dawn had come; Gideon could see him more clearly and was struck anew by the strange beauty of the mask-like face.

"I really loved the old man. Really loved him." The words could hardly be heard. "He was the first one of them to accept me. He called me Grandson. I called him Grandfather." He cleared his throat. "But, God, how he hated the saltu. I think he’s always been a little crazy." He was, Gideon thought, genuinely close to tears.

"I think he killed some people when he was young," Blackpath went on, "but when I found them he wasn’t any kind of menace. Then they built that damn road right through here-"

"The Matheny trail," Julie said.

"Is that what it’s called?" he asked without interest. "Well, he went wild. Killed the first hiker he saw."

"But he’s so frail," Julie said, "so small-"

"This was six years ago, remember. He was stronger. Besides, he used an atlatl. A spear thrower." Blackpath was picking up moist earth, crumbling it in his palm, and letting it run from his cupped hand. "I talked with him again and again, tried to explain the killing couldn’t do any good. I thought I had him convinced. And then he clubbed someone else."

"Hartman," Gideon said.

"Whoever. I found the poor guy on the trail with his head bashed in. A mess…" H e stopped. Gideon knew he was thinking of Startled Mouse, who lay where he had fallen, covered with Gideon’s poncho, on the far side of the boulder. Blackpath closed his eyes. "I took him back to the village. Back to here. Keen Eagle-that’s a good name for him-remembered how to trephine, and I thought for a while the guy might live. But he died."

Blackpath stared into the fire. "I thought that was the end of it. But then a few weeks ago, after all those years, he must have stumbled on this girl near the summer village. You know about that?"

Gideon nodded.

"That was a bad thing. And now he tried to kill you. Twice." He sighed. "I guess it’s best this way."

"What about the others?" Gideon asked. "They weren’t involved? They didn’t know?"

Blackpath shrugged again. "They knew and they didn’t know. Like you didn’t know about the Japanese internment camps. Like the Germans didn’t know about Dachau. Look, they buried the two guys, didn’t they? But no, they weren’t involved in the killings, if that’s what you mean. They’re good people; harmless."

"What about you?" Julie asked suddenly. "You’ve been here seven years. Did you find what you came to find?"

"Sure," Blackpath said hotly. "Does it seem so impossible? What did I give up that was so wonderful? That world out there is garbage! It’s bad enough for a white man, let alone an Indian." His voice softened. "They helped me to become Indian, honest-to-God Indian. And I helped them."

"You helped them?" Gideon said.

Blackpath stared at the fire, seeming to muse aloud. "When I came, they lived like dogs, on filth, scrounging around camp dumps for food and old clothes. They’d forgotten how to fish, how to make fishhooks, how to cover their huts. They hadn’t made a tool in decades. The old woman hadn’t woven a basket since she was a little girl. They were fighting the eagles for rotten salmon. They’d forgotten how to preserve meat, how to make their clothes."

"And you," said Gideon, looking at him with increasing respect, "taught them the old ways."

Blackpath bristled. "Yeah, I taught them the old ways. What’s wrong with that?"

"Look," Gideon said, "will you get it straight that I’m on your side? We came here to help."

"All right," Blackpath said. "I’m sorry. I know you did. Okay, I taught them the old ways. As much as I knew. Do you know, when I found them they all slept in one big hut? The woman in with all the men?" He seemed honestly scandalized. "Now look at the way they live. Their own tools, their own food, their own homes. I made them Indian again."

Not only Indian, Gideon thought, but indisputably Yahi. Dennis Blackpath had accomplished a phenomenal feat.

"But you’re not Yahi," Gideon said. "How did you know the old ways?"

He shrugged. "Books."

"You’ve done a remarkable thing here," Gideon said.

Blackpath was uncomfortable with praise. "And what happens now?" he asked angrily. "Don’t think we’re going to live in some museum like Ishi all over again."

"There’s a good possibility," Gideon said, "of a reservation-"

"Jesus Christ, can you see that? These people dealing with the BIA? Anthropologists all over the place with questionnaires: ‘And what is the nature of the informal relationship between the mother’s brother and the paternal parallel cousins?’ If-"

Gideon held up his hand, smiling. "I agree with you. All right, what would you like to happen?"

"As far as you’re concerned, nothing. Just leave us alone. Forget us. We don’t want any help. We don’t need any more squeaky turtles."

Gideon flushed, then smiled again. "But the old woman really got a bang out of it, didn’t she?"

Blackpath smiled, too. "Yeah, she did, didn’t she? Look, you two are the only ones who know about us. Can’t we keep it that way? Can’t we just stay here?"

Julie shook her head. "The trail’s going to be reopened. There’s no way of stopping it."

"God," Blackpath said, "do you really need another trail through here? More beer cans…I mean, how much longer can these people live? Can’t you wait a few years-?"

She was shaking her head again. "No, it wouldn’t work."

"Jesus Christ," Blackpath said, "I don’t know what to do. We can’t go back to our summer village. A couple of goddamn kids stumbled on it last week and almost found us. They must have told people, because the next day there were two more poking around-" He looked up suddenly. "That was you, wasn’t it?"

"That was us," Gideon agreed, "and that funny feeling at the back of our necks was you. "

"Wait a minute," Julie said slowly, "there is a place, about twenty-five miles northeast of here, near Hayes Pass." She spoke dreamily, her memory working. "Only about half the rainfall we get here. It was proposed for a trail two years ago and got turned down. Too expensive, too difficult to get to. Hardly anyone knows it’s there. I only saw it once myself. A sloping, grassy valley, five miles long, with a lovely river running down it. There’s a big, blue hanging glacier at the upper end. It was loaded with elk when I was there, and deer…"

"It sounds like paradise," Blackpath said.

"It is. It’s lovely. And there isn’t a trail within five miles. Oh, it’d be perfect!" she said excitedly. "Why didn’t I think of it before? I can show you where it is on the map." She frowned. "Rats. The map’s back at our camp. It’s two hours from here, at least."

"It’s twenty minutes. You were following the old man’s tracks, and he was being careful. That’s one thing they didn’t forget. Let’s go."

"What about the others?" Gideon asked. "They’ll be waking up. It’s light."

Blackpath looked at the dripping, gray sky. "Not for another hour."

"You mean they don’t get up at dawn?" Julie asked ingenuously.

"If you lived in a hut," Blackpath said, "and two out of three mornings were like this, what would you do?"

It took them exactly twenty minutes to get back to their camp. Julie spread the map on the floor of the tent, out of the rain, and Blackpath bent over it while Julie traced with a pen the best way to get to Hayes Pass. He nodded at last and looked up, staring into her eyes for so long that she finally dropped her own. Then he looked hard at Gideon.

The question was unasked, but Gideon answered it. "You can trust us," he said.

"I guess I have to." The veiled eyes studied Gideon longer still. "I do trust you," he said more firmly. "We’ll go there. Now. As soon as we bury Clear Water. That was his name. Clear Water. Not Startled Mouse." It was an offering, a gift to them.

They were startled by a thumping drone and looked through the tent flap to see a helicopter skimming grasshopperlike toward them through the gray rain, coming from Lake Quinault.

"It’s John," Julie said. She saw Gideon’s surprise. "What did you think, they were going to hike in?"

That was just what he’d thought. He’d forgotten this was the twentieth century and had expected to have another five or six hours before John got there. "They won’t be able to see the cave, but they’ll spot this tent right away," he said. "They’ll be down here in five minutes."

He grasped a suddenly distrustful Blackpath by the elbow and hustled him out of the tent, across the small clearing, and into the thick, green forest. Julie ran after them.

"We don’t have much time," Gideon said to Blackpath. "Listen, it’d be better if you left Startled-Clear Water-where he is. We’d have a body to show the FBI, and they could close the case and forget about the rest of you."

"We can’t!" It was the first time Gideon had seen him upset. "He’s got to be buried. He ought to be cremated. His spirit can’t rest until he’s buried. I mean," he added quickly, "that’s what they believe." Agitatedly, he looked up toward the rapidly increasing clatter, but the helicopter couldn’t be seen through the forest canopy.

"I’ll see to it that he’s buried!" Gideon shouted over the noise. "And cremated! I promise!"

Blackpath was irresolute. Gideon had the feeling it was a rare condition for him. Again Blackpath looked up toward the sound. The helicopter was hovering. The tent had been seen. He nodded quickly and stuck the map in his waistband.

"Thank you!" he shouted. Obviously, it didn’t come easily.

He began to turn away. The invisible helicopter was coming down, apparently on the nearby gravel bar. Julie touched the bare arm and leaned forward to speak in his ear. Gideon read her lips. "Tell Gray Sparrow good-bye."

He nodded. "Thank you!" he shouted again, but the words were lost. He turned and darted into the brush.

Gideon wondered how long it would be before he spoke English again, or if he ever would. He glided smoothly among the trees, the rain glistening on his naked back, and melted into the dripping, green forest. Already he seemed to have shed the persona of Dennis Blackpath and left it at their feet, becoming part of the rain forest again; a Yahi, Ishi in reverse.

"What will he do when they all die?" Julie asked.

Gideon shook his head. "Beats the hell out of me. I hope he can find another lost tribe. Let’s go greet John."

Julian Minor bustled prissily about the body along with another agent, a big-nosed, solemn young man named Simkins. A few yards away, John stood talking quietly with Julie and Gideon. Gideon’s eyes strayed above John’s shoulder to the cleft where the sleeping bag had been. It was no longer there, but lay wet and crumpled on the ground. Blackpath must have thrown it down, realizing that anyone who climbed up to where it had been would have seen the huts on the other side of the big boulder. The gifts-the ax and the basket-were not there either. He and Julie would have to come back someday to see if they were in the cave. Someday. Not for a long time.

"Doc," John was saying softly, his head tilted to one side, "your story doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense." He was referring to Gideon’s considerably abridged description of the night’s events, from which mention of anyone but Clear Water had been pruned. He was leaning with one hand against the huge monolith, on the other side of which-no more than twenty feet away, if one knew how to get to it-lay the deserted Yahi huts.

"I know, John. Look, would you believe me-and just let it go-if I tell you that little guy really is the murderer? And if I can guarantee there won’t be any more killings?"

"I don’t know. Is it true? No one else was involved?"

"It’s true," Gideon said. Depending on what you meant by involved.

He said it a little too hesitantly. "But there is more to it," John said flatly.

"Yes, there’s more, but it isn’t relevant."

"It isn’t, John," Julie said. "Really."

John shook his head. He was hatless, as they all were, and a few rivulets of rain ran down his wide forehead. "I don’t know," he said. Gideon could see he was offended at being excluded. And rightfully so. He and Gideon had shared a lot of sensitive secrets.

"John, I’d be glad to tell you the rest as a friend. In fact, I’d like to tell you. But the problem is, you’re also a special agent of the FBI."

John nodded. "And with my well-known, true-blue integrity, you know I’d report anything you told me, and then whatever you didn’t want to get out would get out."

"That’s it. But I’ll tell you anyway, if you want."

John laughed and relaxed. "Nah," he said. "If you tell me the killings are over, and we’ve got the guy who did them, that’s what counts, right? Don’t tell me any more. I put enough strain on my integrity as it is. You can tell me the rest after I retire."

"I will," Gideon said.

"Fine. I’m going back to the chopper in a few minutes. Got to fly back and get a medical examiner. We’ll give you guys a lift."

"Great," Julie said.

"No, thanks," said Gideon. "We’ll walk back."

John’s eyebrows went up. He waved a hand at the wet forest. "In this?"

"We have things we need to talk about," Gideon said. "A nice long walk will give us the chance."

John wiped the collected moisture from his face and flicked it to the ground. He addressed Julie. "You’re really going to walk back?"

"I guess so. He’s very masterful, you know."

"Suit yourself," John said. He shook his head, looking at Julie. "You’re getting to be as crazy as he is." He clapped Gideon on the back and squeezed his shoulder. "Let’s all get together for dinner at the lodge-if you’re back by tonight." He shook his head again and went back to the others.

Hand in hand, they walked silently through the drizzle for a few hundred feet. "Gideon," Julie finally said, "what do we need to talk about that will take six hours?"

"For starters, how about the next forty years?"

"All right," she said again, her voice as misty as the rain. "That’ll do. For starters."