The Night Watchman(36)

“Mii’iw,” said Zhaanat. “A bite to eat?”

“Wouldn’t go down bad,” said Louis.

Zhaanat brought light bannock, a small dish of salt, fresh grease from a roasted duck, and a plate of shredded thigh meat. There was a bowl of dried berries, cold wild boiled turnips, pemmican, hot tea.

“Old-time food,” said Louis, with pleasure.

“I am afraid to sleep,” said Zhaanat.

Louis waited.

“Afraid to dream about my daughters.”

“I heard your uncle saw Vera alive.”

“With a baby.”

Louis nodded, thinking.

“I am not in favor of this relocation. We lose our young people. The Cities keep them.”

“I’m not going,” Pokey said.

His mother nodded at him. “My boy.”

“Pixie can fight anyone down,” said Louis, shifting in the chair. “They won’t mess around with Pixie. She’s little, but she’s tough.”

“She chops wood,” said Pokey. “Piles it up all fancy.”

“If that Barnes trained her, she’d be a top featherweight,” said Louis, sly.

“She don’t have anything to do with him,” said Pokey.

Louis raised his eyebrows, puffed his round cheeks, and winked at Zhaanat.

“I know someone else sweet on her. Wouldn’t worry much,” he said.



Louis got seven more signatures and then drove down the curved path to Thomas Wazhashk’s house. A brisk wind was taking down the yellow leaves of birches where they stood in graceful ranks at the edge of a broad hayfield. Thomas was plucking the marigold seeds and filling a tin can. Sharlo was collecting the tiny dried heads of the moss roses, the seeds fine as dust. She was a quick, stormy girl with a sharp gaze. She favored her mother.

“Aaniin, Mr. Pipestone,” she said. “Where is Grace?”

“On a horse somewhere.”

“Did people sign?” asked Thomas.

Louis showed him the signatures on the back of the petition. Many of them were meticulous, boarding-school penmanship. Others were laborious, crafted by tribal members who only knew the shape of their own names. Some, written out by relatives, were accompanied as in the old days by the faint inked print of a person’s thumb. It was an impressive number, to them both, and within the cardboard suitcase that served as Thomas’s desk he found a large manila folder and an envelope, which would protect the document. Thomas pointed out Zhaanat’s signature and asked after Pixie.

“She’s down in the city looking for Vera.”

“We’ve never lost somebody, in a bad way, from a relocation yet. Most of them come back after a few months.”

“There’s some staying out there now, too.”

“Yes, the go-getters.”

“Don’t it ever bother you,” said Louis, “that we’re losing the go-getters from here at home?”

“That’s why we worked on getting the jewel bearing plant.”

“Her job is good. Pixie will come back.”

“She would not leave Zhaanat. They’re only hanging on because she’s got that good job.”

“Maybe I should give Grace the go-ahead to work there.”

“She wants to?”

“No,” laughed Louis. “She wants to race.”

“Who’s got the top horses now?”

“Big place west of Winnipeg, horse named Cash Out.”

“Who’s your top horse now?”

“That used to be Gringo. Now we have Picasso and our up-and-comer, Teacher’s Pet.”

“Can you drive down to Fargo for the information meetings?”

“Sure,” said Louis. “I can pile eight in the back of my pickup.”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Say we bring up a heap big show of Indians whooping it up in back of a pickup truck?”

“I have a feeling those BIAs are maybe expecting that.”

“We can take my car. I can squeeze in five. Counting me,” said Thomas.

“Juggie can drive.”

“She’s got a good car now, I heard.”

“Bernadette bought her a DeSoto,” said Louis.

“What, a four door?”

“Sure enough. A four door. And two-tone.”

“That girl must be making out good.”

“You see what I mean, a go-getter.”

“Juggie was always like that. Nobody could hold her back,” said Thomas.

“And Wood Mountain. Him too. Someday he’s gonna bust loose and beat Joe Wobble.”

“I sure want to see that day,” said Thomas. He paused. “You know, Louie, we should be thinking about putting up a delegation.”

“It’s that bad?”

“I think so.”

“Washington?”

“Like the old-timers.”

“Can’t get it through my head,” said Louis, lowering his gaze. “My boy put his life on the line.”

“Like Falon,” said Thomas.

“Falon,” said Louis.

“This Senator Watkins is behind the bill.”

“We should try to figure him out.”