Page 32 of God’s Country

“My name’s O’Connor. I’ve got a good deal of Irish blood in me, too. Along with a lot of Native American blood.”

“You’re a half-breed?”

“We don’t use that term. I’m of mixed heritage. Proud of it.”

“You related to the Indian?”

“Most folks on the rez are distantly related. Even if we’re not, we address one another as Cousin or Auntie or Uncle or Grandfather or Grandmother. It’s an acknowledgment that we’re all part of the same family of human beings.”

“How cozy.”

“It’s worked for thousands of years. So you’re Declan’s son?”

He seemed just as surprised as his brother was by this question. After a long pause, he gave me a nod.

“Died in prison a couple of weeks ago?”

He just stared at me.

“Crispin, how did he fit in?”

“How do you know all this?”

“Cordell told me some. But you and your brother talk pretty freely. I gather that it was your father who hid the pack.”

From where he was bound to the tree, Cordell called out weakly, “Water!”

“Okay if I give my friend a drink?” I asked Stan.

After a moment to consider my request, he said, “Go ahead. But no talking.”

The bottle that I’d seen Ollie drink from earlier was still sitting on the log where Stan sat. The label told me it was Canadian Club whiskey. Next to it sat the metal cup Ollie had used in his drinking. I took the cup, dipped some water from the lake, and went to Cordell. I held the cup to his lips and he drank.

“Miigwech,” he said.

“I told you not to talk,” Stan snapped. “What did he say?”

I started back to the fire pit. “Just said miigwech. Means ‘thank you’ in the language of the Ojibwe.”

Ollie came from his tent. “Heard you two talking. Did he tell you where the pack is?”

“Not yet.”

Ollie gave me a hungry look. “But he will.”

“Let’s talk,” I said.

CHAPTER 20

I’d started for Devil’s End at daybreak. More than four hours had passed. I figured it would be another half day at the earliest before Stephen and Daniel and Mal and the boys reached an area where they might have cell phone service. If they contacted the sheriff’s department right away, organizing a search from the air would take another hour or two, and Paternoster was a big lake. It would be early evening before anyone might spot us. I had a lot of stalling to do.

“They call this Devil’s End,” I said, after we’d seated ourselves on the logs by the fire pit.

“We know that,” Ollie said. “The Indian over there told us.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“He didn’t,” Stan said.