But Nan Durler, who’d been watching and sizing up the play, shook her head and said, “The three of you gents sit down. It’s my place to pour for guests.”
With the niceties out of the way for the moment, Longarm faced the other white man and his new Indian sidekick across the plank table and said, “All right, I’m a man with an open mind, but I can’t buy a spook dropping down out of the sky to skin folks alive. So what we have is a human killer as well as his victim.”
He saw the hesitation in the Indian’s eyes and asked, “You got another notion, Rain Crow?”
“I don’t know. The Dream Singers say Wendigo walks the night because our people have turned from the old ways. I know you think this is foolish, but-“
“Hold on. Foolish is a strong word, Rain Crow. I ain’t one to sass my elders. Some of the old folks, red or white, just might know things I don’t. I’ll go along with evil spirits, if I cut an evil spirit’s trail. I have to say, though, most of the men I’ve seen killed have been killed by other men, up to now. Chief Real Bear sent word to us about a rogue Blackfoot breed named Johnny Hunts Alone. Does that name mean anything to either of you gents?”
Durler looked blank and shook his head. Rain Crow frowned and said, “I have heard the name. The old ones say his white father rode with us long ago, in the Shining Times of the beaver trade.”
“Real Bear reported that he’d come back to the reservation. You’re a reservation peace officer, so you likely know a lot of folks hereabouts.”
“I know many people, many. But this man you speak of is a half-breed.”
Longarm nodded. “Yep, somewhere in his mid-thirties. What’s his being a breed have to do with it? You have breeds living among you, don’t you?”
“Of course, but not many, and they are known to everyone. Real Bear’s daughter in the other room is half white. There is the Collins family and the Blood woman called Cat Eyes. Then there is Burning Nose and-“
“In other words, breeds are rare enough for everyone on the reservation to take note, or likely gossip some about ‘em?”
The Indian smiled. “The old women like to tell dirty stories and everyone knows how breeds come into the world. Yes, if there was a half-white Blackfoot called Johnny, I would have heard about him.”
“You think Real Bear was lying, then?”
“No. He was a good person. If he said this man was among us, it must be so. Yet it is not so. I don’t have an answer for this.”
“Try it another way. Could a breed be passing himself off as a full-blooded Blackfoot?”
“This is more possible than that Real Bear lied, but he would have to look like a full-blood and he would have to act like a full-blood. You know how it is with breeds.”
“No, Rain Crow, I don’t know any such thing. You don’t like breeds, do you?”
The Indian looked uncomfortable. Longarm said, “They have the same troubles on our side of the fence, Rain Crow. Most white folks suspicion breeds of all sorts of things.”
“You think they’re bad people, too?”
“No, I think they’ve got a hard row to hoe. Whites don’t trust ‘em because they’re part Indian. Indians likely wonder if they can fully trust a man who is half white. I reckon a breed gets looked at sort of closer than the rest of us. Though, when you think on it, the best chief the Comanche ever had was a breed named Quanna Parker and the worst renegade who ever scalped a white man was a lily-white bastard named Simon Girty. So I’d say breeds are likely no better or worse than most folks, but I’ll go along with you on Johnny Hunts Alone having a hard time passing himself off as a full-blood. Not just because he’s a breed, but because he was raised mostly white. He’d have to be clever as old Coyote to pass muster here on the reservation.”
“Heya! You have heard the tales of Coyote?”
“Sure. You ain’t the first Indian lawman I’ve worked with. Let’s study more on where this jasper might be hiding. You know the layout, Rain Crow. Where would you be if you were a white-raised Blackfoot?”
“The reservation is very big. It has five towns and much open range. How do you know he didn’t leave when Real Bear recognized him?”
“Come on, Rain Crow, you ain’t going to play cigar store Indian on me, are you?” Longarm prodded gently.
The young Blackfoot looked away and said, “You don’t think Wendigo killed Real Bear. You think he was killed by a real person.”
“There you go. And Real Bear was a good man with a good heart, so if he was killed by a real person-“
“Heya! The only one who’d want him dead would be someone who was afraid he’d been recognized! Someone who didn’t want Real Bear to tell on him!”
“Now you’re talking like a lawman, old son. So do you reckon we should look for spooks, or-“
“I will start asking the old ones about the Shining Days when the man called Johnny Hunts Alone lived among us,” said Rain Crow, getting to his feet and leaving without ceremony.
As soon as the policeman was gone, Longarm grinned at the agent and his wife and said, “I’d purely like some of that brandy, now.”
Durler laughed and poured each of the three of them a shot, saying, “You sure have a way with Indians. I swear to God, I haven’t been able to get much cooperation from any of my charges.”
“I noticed. Maybe you could start by talking to them.”
Durler protested, “Nan and I have been doing our best to make friends with our charges and-“
“That’s the second time you’ve called them your charges,” Longarm cut in. “Before the army whipped ‘em down and fenced ‘em in, they thought of themselves as men.”
“I see how you played on Rain Crow’s pride, Longarm, but I’ve got responsibilities here, and damn it, they act
