Red Jacket (34 page)

92

West of Madison Gap, Keweenaw County

MONDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1913

Bapcat hiked directly to the squirrel-tail tree, sat down, rolled a smoke, and waited. He wasn't crazy about tobacco, but it helped pass time and calmed his nerves. He knew the old man was near because all the birds and critters suddenly went quiet. After a while he saw the man sitting across a clearing, looking back at him.

Captain Erastus Renard Webster looked to be a hundred years old in wrinkles alone, but in full possession of mind and body if one ignored the dyed squirrel tails fluttering in the tree branches overhead, rifle across his lap. No sign of any woman.

“Captain Webster, Sixteenth Michigan, First Independent Sharpshooter Company?”

“Who be asking?” the man said.

“Corporal Bapcat, First Volunteer Cavalry, sir.”

“You one of Roosevelt's boys?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What want ye here?”

“Talk.”

“Woman!” Webster called out. “Don't be bushwhacking this fine lad. We're brothers in arms.” Webster looked over at him. “You
are
one of us, right? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Right—yes, sir.”
No idea what he's talking about.

A woman appeared, tall and graceful, blonde hair in a long braid, buckskin pants and jacket, rifle with a telescopic sight.

“I'm Lute,” he said, but she ignored him.

“You drink coffee?” the old man asked.

“When it's offered,” Bapcat said.

“Come,” the man said, popping to his feet.

They walked fifty yards to the lip of a steep ravine and angled down a narrow path to a cave opening about fifty feet below the lip. “Good place to hole up,” the man said, waving with his hand for Bapcat to come inside.

“You're sharing your special place with me?”

“It's not so special, and ain't nobody just walks in the way you did. Me, I'm old. Me and Sue mean to get back to Arizona again, but I'm pretty certain this is my last time here. I got a feeling you'll take my place and become the guardian.”

“Guardian of what?”

“Everything. I'm coming to the end of the line; it's time to join my comrades who fell while fightin' the Rebs.”

“You seem pretty healthy to me.”

“Looks don't tell it all, my boy.”

“Why do you come here?” Bapcat asked as the woman named Sue made coffee on a small fire that just seemed to jump to life.

“Float copper. Still some good chunks here and there. Sue sells them in town. We do the same out to Arizona, but its gold out there, other minerals.”

“You've explored this area?”

“Thoroughly as Sue's bubs, I reckon.”

The woman blushed.

“I followed a blood trail up the lava flows,” Bapcat said.

“Where'd it peter out?”

“This side of the cut-through, not far from here.”

“We seen you and that other one,” Webster said. “Told Sue then you'd be the one.”

Sue said, “We seen that fella, couldn't figure out what he was up to.”

“What fella?”

“Real short one with blank eyes, carrying a deer head.”

“Seen him before?”

“No, not him.”

“Others?”

“Sometimes.”

“Others carrying heads?”

“Uh-huh . . . further north on the cutover road, there's a trail goes east, and we seen 'em up that way a few times.”

“Not here?”

“Not so far.”

“At the bat hole?” Bapcat ventured.

The woman said sharply, “Why ask if you already know? What's your game?”

“No game.” Bapcat showed the badge.

“Lawman.”

“Game warden.”

The captain cleared his throat.

“Where's the bat hole?” Bapcat asked directly.

“Thought you knew,” Sue said.

“Just want to make sure we're talking about the same place.”

“I been soldiering going on sixty years,” Webster said.

“The hole,” Bapcat repeated, trying to focus the conversation.

“Up top on the ridge, between Owl and Copper Falls lakes.”

“Deer heads are being thrown in there?”

“Can't say. We give that place a wide berth.”

“For a reason?”

“None we'd say out loud until the hard freeze comes in, and none we'd whisper on account that would bring us too close, you being a stranger and all.”

It was the old Chippewa belief that all things, even rocks, had spirits, and that all words spoken by humans could be heard by the spirits, remembered, and passed around. Only in winter when spirits slept were people safe talking outside.

“A mean snow sky by morning is a good thing,” the old man said, looking at Bapcat. “How you can see little dark things against the dull light.”

Bapcat understood. Webster had just told him the best time and conditions to look for the bat hole. They finished their coffee in silence, and when Bapcat got up to leave, he said, “I look forward to seeing you again, Cap'n.”

The man cackled. “You do, 'speck we'll all be dead and huntin' on the other side.”

93

Central Location, Keweenaw County

MONDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1913

When Central Mining Company had gone out of business years before, Calumet and Hecla had swept up its land and assets on the cheap. Bapcat remembered hearing about the events, and had wondered then why C & H seemed so intent on buying up tapped-out mine operations.

Back when Bapcat was just beginning to trap, the village was called Central Mine, and contained a couple hundred small wood-frame houses situated along narrow, well-maintained streets. The town in those days had a vitality and life, but now each time he saw it, fewer and fewer houses were occupied, and fewer people were about. You could almost smell the end in the air.

A man in a baggy dark suit stood on the porch of Moyle's General Store, smoking a pipe. A sign on the door said
closed
.

“Reverend Philamon Hedyn?” Bapcat asked.

“Aw right, me 'ansum. 'Ere now, this pars'nage 'owse sit dreckly a-hind me 'ed is the church,” the man said, chopping at a general direction with his pipe.

Bapcat hid a smile. Cousin Jacks were a cocky lot. They put down other immigrants for slaughtering the English language, even though they had their own peculiar ways of bending words, and there were plenty who were incomprehensible to all but their own tribe.

The “ 'owse” behind the church was two stories, painted white, well cared for. There was even some grass in a small yard fenced in with black metal pickets.

A man in a suit came out the front door and to the yard gate. Small man, ruddy face; Bapcat immediately saw a likeness to Captain Madog Hedyn. The game warden presented his badge.

“Sorry to disturb you. Are you Reverend Hedyn?”

“Say yer piece, man.”

“Your stepson is a Houghton County deputy named Raber; is that correct, or have I been misinformed?”

“None of yer business, you.”

“Is he here?”

“ 'Ere?
'Im?
” the man said, nearly spitting out the words. Dangerous to interpret, but Bapcat wondered if things were not so good between stepson and stepfather.

“You saying he doesn't come around much? That must bother your wife.”

The man stared skyward and sucked in a long, deep breath before letting it out slowly.

“You are Reverend Hedyn, yes?” Bapcat said.

“Wasn't more important business for the Laird, I'd open da gate and give you a proper t'rashin', ” the man said in a growly voice.

Way too aggressive too quickly
.
Touching some soreness here, but what
?

“Your brother tried that once, and it didn't go all that well for him. Turns out his mouth's bigger than his fists.”

The reverend looked to be seething, but made no move to open the gate.

“If you see your stepson, you might want to let him know that we will be talking to him about some illegal deer. I just thought he might be here, and that might save us all some trouble.”

“Ain't 'ere, you,” the man said, clipping his words again.

“All right. Sorry to have disturbed you, Reverend, and my apologies to your wife. You do hunt deer, don't you?”

“Get on wit' you,” the man said.

“Wouldn't look good, a man of your station mixed up in illegal activities.” Bapcat saw that the man was on the verge of exploding, and knew it was time to back off.

“Again, I'm sorry to have disturbed you, sir. Perhaps we'll meet again under better circumstances. In fact, I'm sure we'll see each other again.”

The man hurried up the walk, across the porch, and slammed his front door with a report that swept over the village like a rifle shot.

94

Houghton

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1913

Assistant Prosecutor Echo got a subpoena, but Deputy Sheriff Raber came in voluntarily, accompanied by a lawyer who introduced himself as an attorney with the firm of Rees, Robinson, and Petermann.

Zakov examined the card and looked over at the lawyer. “Your firm works for the mine operators, yes?”

“The firm does some work along those lines, yes,” the man said.

He had a shiny face, like it had been waxed. Bapcat instinctively didn't care for him, or the self-assured way he presented himself.

“Why are you here with Deputy Sheriff Raber?” Zakov asked in a tone suggesting impropriety. “Can it be that this illegal deer-killing case involves the mining companies?”

“Nonsense,” the lawyer said. “Friends of Mr. Raber asked me to advise and assist him.”

“Assist him with what?” Bapcat asked, speaking for the first time. “No charges have been brought. We just want to talk to Mr. Raber.”

“It's a man's constitutional right to legal representation and advice,” the lawyer countered.

“At what price, and who pays for you?” Zakov asked.

“This is none of your business, sir, and if you insist on this childish wordplay, I will advise Deputy Raber to leave this meeting.”

“There is a subpoena extant,” Prosecutor Echo said from behind the table.

“I come in willingly,” Raber said.

Echo placed the subpoena on the table. “Until now this was informal. But now you've been legally served, and this is now a formal interview.”

“It's a non-distinction,” the lawyer said.

“What do you advise the deputy to do?” Echo asked.

“We'll listen to your questions,” the man said, sitting beside the deputy.

Zakov took out the October 24 edition of the
Mining Journal
and spread it out so that the men across the table could read the substantial headline. Zakov said nothing about the newspaper, and instead said, “You paid Mr. Nesmith to store wooden boxes containing ore.”

“I certainly did
not,
” Raber said. “Did he tell you that?”

Zakov said, “Our information tells us that you sell the meat and heads to Nesmith, and he turns around and resells the meat to other customers, and delivers the heads to those who have put out a private bounty on deer.”

“That's a lie,” Raber whispered in a low voice. “I was just visiting Nesmith in the line of duty.”

Zakov said, “Which time—the morning we served the search warrant, or the previous afternoon, right after the boxes had arrived from Champion? We saw you both times.”

“Don't answer that,” the lawyer advised Raber.

“You told us on the morning of the search warrant that you were worried about a break-in, but when we began to open the wooden boxes, you suddenly departed. Who reported a break-in? Your departure seems strange—both then and now—especially for a peace officer claiming he was concerned about a possible break-in.”

Raber was sweating.

“You know,” Bapcat said, “we asked Sheriff Cruse to attest to your value as his deputy, but as you can see, the sheriff isn't here, and now you must be wondering what we will think about that. It's puzzling for sure.”

“Could it be that the sheriff sees no value in you?” Zakov chimed in.

“The sheriff's a busy man,” the lawyer said.

“Certainly true,” Zakov said. “Or this also may be Cruse's subtle way of informing Deputy Raber that he's on his own. It's well known that the sheriff is a cautious man.”

“Don't listen to this garbage,” the lawyer said.

“I don't know nothing about no deer-meat shipments,” Raber said.

“Plural?” Zakov said immediately. “Shipments, as in more than one?”

“Slip of the tongue,” the lawyer said. “A simple case of
lapsus calami
. No transcription here, no formal record; this is simply a conversation.”

Echo came forward and said, “To be precise, which is expected of those of us who practice before the bar,
lapsus calami
refers solely to a ‘slip of the pen,' a written slip, and what we have here is
lapsus linguae
, a verbal slip of the tongue,” Echo said. “Rest assured, said
lapsus linguae
will invite extensive questioning. As it stands, it seems to provide the deputies here with motivation and reason to investigate any long-term relationship between Mr. Nesmith, Nesmith Victuals, and Deputy Raber.”

“Do what you have to do,” the lawyer said.

“Hey!” Raber said with a pained yelp.

“Not to worry, Deputy. These men are only fishing,” the lawyer said, looking calm and bright.

Bapcat leaned toward the Houghton deputy. “Our
fishing
has taken us out to Central mine to talk to your stepfather.” Bapcat saw Raber claw at the table. “He a hunter too?”

“
Do
you hunt, Deputy Raber?” Zakov asked, joining in.

“None of this is relative to anything,” the lawyer said. “My client will answer no further questions.”

Echo came into the conversation again. “When did Deputy Raber's status shift from a favor for friends to client?”

“We're done with this nonsense—now,” the lawyer said.

“Nonsense?” Zakov said. “You see, the mine operators send someone from their mouthpiece firm as a favor, and as soon as the discussion turns to illegal deer, the man is declared a client. This, of course, makes us wonder what the mine operators have to do with illegal deer.” Zakov looked at the deputy. “Do you understand what your attorney is telling us through his actions—the fact that the mines, having sent him, will take him away if things start to look bad for their reputations?”

“Ignore their yammering,” the lawyer said.

Raber's eyes showed uncertainty.

“Today we just talk,” Echo said. “Next time we call, there will be an arrest warrant followed by an arraignment.”

The lawyer grabbed the deputy and physically steered him out of the room.

Echo looked calmly at the game wardens. “Engineers look to build foundations, prosecutors to crack them. I think today we made a fine start on a crack.” To Zakov he said, “You should consider a career in the law.”

Zakov beamed at his partner as they left Echo's office. “Career in the law; you heard the man.”

“This was nothing but play today,” Bapcat said. “No formal rules, no stakes—a skirmish, and nothing more than that.”

“Did we not make our deputy friend wonder if he is all alone?”

“The question is, what does he do now, and where the hell is Davidov? Two of us aren't enough to go around, and we can't expect Cruse and his people to help us. We've got to be smart in choosing what we do while we're waiting to see what Deputy Raber and the others do.”

Echo came outside and joined them. “You know that Nesmith and his attorney have already fallen on their sword for the meat and all the illegalities surrounding it, which came as a surprise to me. What does it tell you?” he asked Bapcat.

“Not sure. How about you?”

“The Rees, Robinson, and Petermann man's presence suggests that the mine operators have some stake in the outcome here, which I must confess I cannot yet ascertain.”

Bapcat rolled a cigarette for the man and handed it to him, then proceeded to tell him the full and unabridged story of what was happening away from the street, where strikers and strike-breakers were butting heads.

When the game warden finished, Echo blew a smoke ring and sighed. “Gentlemen, I think we might expect with some certainty that the worst is yet to come. How is Cruse involved?”

“We don't know,” Bapcat said. “So far it seems he just does what the mine operators and MacNaughton want, but who knows?”

“MacNaughton's role?”

“No idea at this point, but if we had to point a finger at the main man, it would be Cap'n Hedyn.”

“What's next for you fellows?”

“A day off to think,” Zakov said.

“Spoken like an attorney,” Echo said. “You men stay in touch. Lucas will have a deep and abiding interest in the case, or cases, you develop, you can depend on that.”

“Can you help get search warrants for the Champion depot by talking to your counterpart in Marquette?”

“I can make some calls. Anything else?”

“Food,” Zakov said, and Echo laughed.

“Also high up on a lawyer's hierarchy of values.”