“Maybe you better answer a few more questions. Then he can handle it however he wants to.”
“We found that other canoe—or half of it—before you say you even got down in this part of the river.”
“So what? I told you we lost the other one farther up. Back up in a gorge. If you want to try to go up in there, I can take you and show you where it was.”
“You know we can’t get back up in there.”
“That’s your problem. What the hell is all this about, anyway? We’ve been through a goddamned bad time, and I’m damned if I want to put up with this kind of shit. Listen: are you the sheriff here?”
“Depitty.”
“Is the sheriff around here?”
“He’s right over yonder.”
“Well, go get him. I want to talk to him.”
He got up and went over to a beefy, Texas-y farmer with a badge, and they came back together. I shook hands with the sheriff, whose name was Bullard.
“Sheriff, I don’t know what this man has in mind, because he won’t tell me. But from what I can gather he thinks we threw one of our party in the river, or something.”
“Maybe you did,” the old man said.
“For Christ’s sake, for what reason?”
“How would I know that? I know you can’t get your stories straight, and there aidt no good reason for you to be lyin’.”
“Easy, Mr. Queen,” the sheriff said. Then to me, “What about this?”
“What do you mean, what about it? Look, if you can find one person, and I mean one, who’ll back up what he says, I’ll be perfectly happy to do anything you want me to do—go back up in the woods with you, wade up the river, join your crew out there dragging—anything you say. But this man is just confused. He’s got some kind of personal stake in this, he doesn’t like city people, he’s trying to create interest in himself, God knows what. What’s the matter, Mr. Queen? People feel like you’re not earning your money?”
“I’ll tell you what’s the matter, you city son of a bitch,” Queen said, in that country-murderous tone that always bled me white. “My sister called me yesterday and told me her husband had been out hunting and hadn’t come back. They ain’t nobody off in them woods up yonder. I’ll just goddamned well guarantee y’all met up with him somewhere. And I’m on prove it.”
“Fine, prove it.”
“What’s wrong with you, Mr. Queen?” the sheriff asked. “Why jump on these fellows about something in your family? Just ‘cause they’re from the city? Maybe your brother-in-law fell down and got hurt.”
“No, he wudna.”
“Why are you so damned sure that anything happened to him?” I said.
“I just got a feeling,” Queen said. “And I ain’t ever wrong about that.”
“Well, you’re wrong this time,” I said. “Now stop bothering me. Go and do whatever you’ve got a mind to do. But get off my back. I’ve had it with this river, with the woods, with the whole fucking business up here and most especially with you. Unless you’ve got something to accuse us of, and have got some evidence to support what you’re saying—whatever it is—you can goddamned well let me alone.”
He backed off, muttering, and I went over to the patrolman I had been sitting beside. Queen didn’t have a thing on us, and he wouldn’t get anything. I wondered if one of the two men we had killed had really been his brother-in-law, and I tried to think of a way to find out his name, but decided I had better let it go. There was no real reason I needed to know his name, except for my own satisfaction, and I doubted that it would be much satisfaction, either way.
The men in the river were working downstream. Every now and then one of the hooks would snag a rock, and everybody would converge on it. I could see the light in their eyes change, some dreading, some anticipating, some happy. My blood quickened and my side hurt within its hurt when this happened, but it was always for nothing. All day, almost, the wound leapt and subsided, and in all that time the searchers made only about two hundred yards.
Sheriff Bullard came over. “Looks like that’s goin’ to haf to wind it up tonight,” he said. “Getti’ too dark.”
I nodded and got up.
“You boys be staying in Aintry this evenin’?”
“I guess so,” I said. “We’re still pretty tired and beat-up. And I want to see how Lewis is doing, in the hospital. He has a bad break in his leg.”
“Is bad,” the sheriff said. “Doctor said he’s never seen a worst un.”
“We’re at Biddiford’s,” I said. “But you know that.”
“Yeah, I know it. We’ll be coming back out here tomorrow morning. You can come if you want to, but you don’t have to.”
“I don’t see any reason for us to come,” I said. “If the body’s not right in here, I don’t know where it is. Maybe farther downstream.”
“We’re going to try upstream, a little.”
“No use,” I said. “But do whatever you think’s right. If you find any bodies up there, though, they won’t be Drew’s. This is where he went under, and if you find him it’ll be downstream.”
“Maybe we’ll split up, and some work up and some work down.”
“OK. Fine. But this is the place; I’d bet my life on it. I marked it with that big yellow tree, and I kept looking at it all the time we were trying to find him. He’s downriver; there’s not but one way he can go.”
“Right,” said the sheriff. “Not but one way. We’ll let you know if we find him, and I’ll come by to see y’all sometime tomorrow afternoon. Much obliged to you, for your trouble.”
Bobby and I ate another big dinner, and went up to bed. There was no need to talk anymore; all the talking had been done. Now was the time for the finding or the not finding.
The next day we went out to see Lewis, who was much better. His leg was raised in pulleys, and he was reading the county paper, which had a story about Drew’s disappearance, and an account of dragging the river for him, with a picture in which I could recognize myself and Deputy Queen. He had his fist up at my face, and I knew that the picture had been taken during the last part of the time we had been talking. I looked like I was being tolerant, just barely listening out of courtesy. Everything helped; this too.
There were no policemen with Lewis, but he was not alone in the ward anymore, for the night before they had brought in a farmer whose foot had been run over by a tractor. He was at the other end, and asleep. I told Lewis what had happened, and told him that Bobby would drive his car back down to the city and his wife or somebody could come after him whenever he was ready to move. That was all right with him.
Bobby and I walked over to say good-bye to Lewis. He was eased back in the pillows.
“I ought to be out of here in a week or two, myself,” he said.
“Sure,” I said. “Lie back and enjoy yourself. This is not such a bad town.”
Bobby and I drove back to Biddiford’s to wait for the sheriff.
He came at five-thirty, and evil little Queen was with him. The sheriff took out a piece of paper. “You can use this for a statement,” he said. “See if it says what you told us.”
I read it through. “It’s all right,” I said. “But I don’t know these place names. Is this the right name of the rapids where I said we capsized?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s the name: Griffin ’s Shoot.”
“OK,” I said, and signed it.
“You’re sure, now,” Sheriff Bullard asked.
“You better believe I’m sure.”
“He ain’t sure,” Deputy Queen said, a lot louder than any of us. “He’s lyin’. He’s lyin’ thu his teeth. He’s done somethin’, up yonder. He’s done kilt my brother-in-law.”
“Listen, you little bastard,” I said, and my voice was really quivering. “Maybe your brother-in-law killed somebody. Why are you bringing in all this talk of killing? The river did all the killing we saw. If you don’t think it’ll kill you, get your stupid ass on it and see for yourself.”
“Now, Mr. Gentry,” the sheriff said. “Don’t talk like that. Ain’t no call for it.”
“Well, this’ll do till there is,” I said.
“He’s lyin’. Sheriff; don’t let him go. Don’t let the son of a bitch go.”