The Highwayman: A Longmire Story (Walt Longmire #11.5)(31)

It was like an opening to another place, and I guess I half expected to see the ghostly apparition of Bobby Womack looking back at me from the abyss. I didn’t see him, and if Kimama and her magic words that floated up to meet the flurries had their way, I never would.

I was a little sad, because as people go, Bobby Womack had never done anyone real harm—his spirit had warned of disaster but had never caused it. If the stories of the canyon were true, he’d helped people all these years and never harmed a soul. If there was a kernel of possibility in all this, where was it I would be spending eternity? Guarding the denizens of Absaroka County—a ghost sheriff?

“Heetih-nohkú-ni’-cebísee-t heet-íeti-’.”

They were wrapping up the ceremony, and I pulled out my pocket watch to check the time—it was eleven o’clock. Rosey and I strolled back toward the parked vehicles and stopped at her cruiser as the group at large approached. Henry and Sam assisted Kimama as she stepped over the guardrail but then released her as she dismissed the two of them with a wave of both hands.

Rosey was leaning in the open door of her vehicle, I’m sure aware of the time.

Kimama moved toward Sam’s car but stopped a little away from it to berate me. “You talked too much during the ceremony, Bucket.”

I was unaware that she could hear me but apologetic just the same. “Sorry.”

“You should have respect.”

“I do, and I’m sorry.” I gestured toward Rosey. “We just had a few things we needed to discuss.”

She glanced at the trooper and then back to me. “Next time, do not do it while I am working.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She started to walk past Rosey but took a moment to reach out and grip her arm. “And you, Hookuuhulu’, you should know better.” She looked straight at her for another moment and then continued on as Rosey watched after her.

She looked back at me with a quizzical expression mixed with shock. “What did she just call me?”

“It sounded like Hookuuhulu’?”

“Little mouse.” We both turned to see Sam Little Soldier stepping up beside us with Henry. “Hookuuhulu,’ it is Arapaho for ‘Little Mouse,’ an endearment that everyone uses for children and grandchildren.”

Rosey swallowed and shook her head, looking back at the woman as she climbed in Sam’s ancient Toyopet Crown. “My mother, she said there was a nanny who used to call me ‘Little Mouse.’”

“Maybe she was Arapaho.” Sam Little Soldier passed us and continued toward the vintage Toyota, probably afraid the medicine woman would hot-wire it. “But in case you haven’t noticed, Kimama has a nickname for everyone.”

“I noticed.” I moved up beside Rosey as the Bear joined us. “Speaking of, where’s Joey these days?”

“He’s not a big one for ceremonies.”

I pointed toward Kimama. “I don’t suppose she’s got a nickname herself?”

He opened the driver’s-side door and spoke, just before wedging inside to escape the falling snow, “Nope, just ‘Kimama.’”

As he started the rattletrap of a car and shuddered his way past us in a loop toward the road with his window down, I yelled, “And what does that mean?”

He turned his head toward the sha-woman as she stuffed things into her oversized purse and then stuck his big head out the window one last time to shout at us as they drove by leaving melted tracks in the gravel. “It’s Shoshone—it means Butterfly.”





11




“So, Kimama was Butterfly, your nanny.”

“I . . . I guess so.”

“Are you okay?”

She leaned against her car and crossed her arms, the snow collecting on her slicker and then quickly melting. “Yeah, just a little shaken, I guess.” She was silent for a while. “It was like hearing a voice from your past, you know?”

“I would imagine.”

She drew in a deep breath and looked up at me, her eyes fogged with tears. “I need to talk with her.”

“I bet.”

“No, I mean now.”

I glanced at Henry, sitting on the Dodge’s grill guard with his back to us as though he weren’t paying any attention. “Well, we can cover your duty while you go run her down. It won’t take very long to catch that beater.”

She glanced around, unsure of herself but finally making a decision. “No, I need to stay here in the canyon. Can you go and get her? Bring her back so I can talk to her?”

It seemed like a strange streak of logic. “Tonight?”

“Now. I need to talk to her now. Please?”

“Okay.” I glanced at Henry, who had turned and was looking at us from over one shoulder. “Let’s go.”

We piled into my truck and drove north in the direction that the Toyopet Crown had headed, the flurries seeming serious all of a sudden, and I hoped this was not going to turn into one of those spring blizzards. I wondered why Rosey had insisted on staying in the canyon but figured she wanted to in case the radio transmission came through again.

“Why do you suppose she wants to stay there?”

“I am not sure—maybe she is expecting another radio call?”