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."