He used to. With the kids and Jo. They’d all loved it.
“Not much anymore,” he replied.
Booker T. Harris was already in the parking area at the terminus of the road, along with Agents Sloane and Grimes. The two agents were dressed in jeans and longsleeved wool shirts. Harris had on a tasteful blue sweater and Dockers and didn’t look at all ready for a trip into the wilderness. Stormy Two Knives and Louis were there with Sarah, all keeping to themselves. As Cork pulled up, Sheriff Wally Schanno got out of a Land Cruiser with the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department seal on the door. He sauntered to where Cork parked the Bronco and he leaned in at the window.
“Harris is staying behind,” he told Cork. “Sloane and Grimes’ll be going in with you. They’ve already got the canoes in the water and loaded up.”
Cork turned to his passenger. “Willie, why don’t you head on over. I’ll be right there.”
Arkansas Willie Raye took his big Duluth pack from the backseat of the Bronco and walked toward the others.
Schanno studied him, then said, “Isn’t that-”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He’s the woman’s father.”
“How’d he get wind of all this?”
“Long story. Bottom line is he’s going in, too.”
Schanno didn’t look happy with Cork’s cursory explanation. Cork thought he was probably wondering what else had been kept from him, but Wally didn’t push it. “Heard how those agents buffaloed Two Knives. Any wonder the Ojibwe have a healthy suspicion of lawmen?” Wally Schanno glanced at the sky. “You heard the latest weather forecast? Rain tomorrow. Maybe turning to snow by nightfall.”
On the far side of the graveled lot, Harris stepped toward Stormy and Louis and Sarah Two Knives. The three formed a tight group when they faced him. Cork was moved by the way they held together, had held together despite all the circumstances that might have torn them apart. How had they managed it? How did anyone, white or Ojibwe?
Schanno kicked at the gravel. “I sure don’t like the feel of this whole thing. Taking a boy like Louis on something like this. You watch those agents, Cork. Look after that boy.” He leaned close and asked, “You carrying?”
“My thirty-eight. Cleaned and oiled it last night.”
“Good.” Schanno shoved his big hands helplessly into the pockets of his khakis. “Good.” He eyed the agents again. “Harris says they’ve got regular radio check-in times set up. He’ll be monitoring it himself on this end.”
“Did they set up a command post of some kind at the department?”
“No, didn’t want anything to do with us local lawmen.”
“O’Connor!” Harris waved Cork toward him.
Cork pulled his gear out of the back of the Bronco and joined the others.
“Special Agent Sloane’s in charge out there, O’Connor. You make sure you do what he says. Am I clear?”
“Clear,” Cork said.
“Good. Canoes are in the water, rest of the gear’s loaded. It’s time to get rolling.” Harris pointed to Stormy and Louis. “Two Knives, you and the boy first. The rest of us are right behind you.”
Sarah touched Stormy’s arm. Only that. But she leaned down and gave her son a long, tight hug. “You do what your father tells you, understand? Akeeg-owwassa,” she said. Be careful.
Stormy led the way along a corduroy path of logs toward the lake that was invisible beyond the tall swamp grass and cattails. Louis followed closely.
“You two next,” Harris said to Cork and Raye.
“I want to speak with Sarah a moment,” Cork replied. “You go on.”
Harris tried a withering look on him, but Cork turned away and walked to Sarah Two Knives. “Make it quick,” Harris snapped, then jerked his head for Sloane and Grimes to accompany him. They took off after Stormy and the boy.
Sarah watched the agents as they headed into the tall grass. Her face showed nothing, but her eyes raged. “That gun wasn’t Stormy’s.”
“I know,” Cork said.
“You won’t let anything happen.”
“It’ll be fine, I give you my word,” he said.
“Those men-they’re majimanidoog.”
“I know.” Cork hefted his pack, grunting as he slid into the straps. “A couple of days, Sarah, and it’ll all be over.”
“We are Anishinaabe,” Sarah Two Knives reminded him. “It never ends.”
There was not much he could say to that, so he turned and moved down the long corridor through the tall grass the others had followed before him. Willie Raye brought up the rear.
A hundred yards into the grass, they came to the small bay. The canoes were in the water, the gear secured under the midship and stern thwarts. Stormy Two Knives and Louis stood beside one canoe, Sloane and Grimes beside another. Harris looked at his watch irritably.
Cork nodded agreeably at the canoes that had been chosen. Eighteen-foot Kevlar Prospectors. He said to Raye, “Sturdy, but light for portages.”
“Will we have to portage much?”
“I can’t say for sure because I don’t know where we’re going. But you can’t go far in the Boundary Waters without having to portage some. I assume this one’s ours, Harris?” Cork moved to the last canoe.
“You and Raye. Two Knives and the boy in that one. Sloane and Grimes in the other. Stow your gear and get started,” Harris ordered.
“Reminds me of a sergeant I had back in ’Nam,” Raye said under his breath. “He didn’t last long, and it weren’t Charlie that got him.”
Cork secured the packs under the thwarts. “You know how to handle a paddle?” he asked Raye.
“I’ve run a few rivers in the Ozarks in my day,” Arkansas Willie said. “But if you don’t mind, I’d just as soon you take the stern.”
“Okay by me.”
“Two Knives and the boy’ll take the point,” Agent Sloane said. “Grimes and I will follow. O’Connor, you and Raye bring up the rear.”
Cork steadied the canoe as Willie Raye got in.
Stormy and Louis’s canoe glided onto the lake, moving fast and smooth. Sloane made his way awkwardly to the bow and nearly tipped his canoe before he took up his paddle. Grimes shoved them off and they moved out.
Arkansas Willie dug his own paddle into the smooth water of the little bay and asked over his shoulder, “What was it the woman called those guys? Magic something?”
“Not magic,” Cork said. “Maji. Majimanidoog.”
“Majimanidoog. What’s that mean?”
“Majimanidoog.” Cork considered it as they cleared the bay and followed the other canoes onto the body of the lake. “Well, in the Christian tradition,” he finally replied, “I guess you might call them devils.”
16
In the afternoon, a wind rose up, not strong but steady, and it fought her as she tried to work the canoe across the lake. She was making for a big island with a tall gray cliff along the southern edge and pines over it all, thinking she would stop there awhile and rest. It didn’t seem far, but the wind made everything a struggle.
In the house in Malibu, she had a weight room. She worked out every day, paid a trainer to guide her toward
