things bloom.
“How far is York Factory?” Du Pré asked Nappy.
“Two days,” said Nappy. “We make good time without those others. “
They stopped the next evening at an Indian camp, a dreary place. The people were living in tents; several bearskins ripe and unscraped hung in stretchers. The men were off fishing or cutting pulp. The traplines had yielded poorly these last few years.
That night, the expedition was startled to see two brusque Scotswomen at the head of a procession of everyone else in camp, bringing gifts of berries and smoked fish. There was so much food left in the dry bags that they didn’t need Nappy and Du Pré, and Françoise handed out hundreds of pounds of tinned goods and dried fruit.
They sang some songs around the fire. The Scotswomen were on a tour, taking notes and making, sketches, for some book.
They went on in the morning. In the afternoon, a light plane flew high overhead, banked, turned, and came over the expedition, then went on east, toward where York Factory must be.
The plane came over the next morning, too, and then the party saw the signs of the town, trees cut, a road along the river. The water in the river deepened and slowed, here and there a plastic bottle drifted on the water, pushed about by the winds and chop.
They rounded a short headland and saw the little village spilling down to the water. Du Pré idly looked behind him. Something wasn’t right.
He looked again. There was an extra canoe, and it was moving as fast as the paddlers could make it go.
In ten minutes, it passed Du Pré and Nappy.
Paul Chase was in it, of course.
Du Pré looked up toward the town, and he whistled to Nappy.
“So that Chase, he talk to those newspeople up there, you bet,” said Du Pré, laughing. “That guy, he should be a politician.”
The people in the freighters were pointing and laughing.
When Du Pré and Nappy pulled their canoes out, Chase was rattling away into a tape recorder while some TV cameraman sprawled out on the ground. Chase hadn’t shaved in a few days and he was daubed here and there with soot.
“Excuse me,” said a young woman with a notebook, “were you with the expedition?”
“Yes.” Du Pré nodded.
She asked some questions about the trip, then one about the leadership of Dr. Chase.
“Oh,” said Du Pré, “he was not there, you know. He left the expedition a few days out from Lac La Ronge.”
“What?” she said.
“You see that man over there?” said Du Pré, pointing to Bart. “He came to see me in a chartered plane and he flew Chase and his people out.”
Chase was looking over at Du Pré, his eyes narrow. He pushed his way through the reporters and toward the dock area. A little floatplane was tethered there.
The reporters gave up on him and scattered for the telephones or ran toward another plane farther down toward the bay.
The woman with the notebook was talking to Bart and taking notes furiously.
Du Pré laughed.
Chase’s floatplane racketed to life and taxied away from the dock.
Some of these people, they take your breath away, Du Pré thought.
CHAPTER 13
D U P RÉ AND B ART HAD been home about a week, still chuckling over their journey. Madelaine had taken to yawning wide when they would begin to speak of it. Little boys, her eyes said, exchanging code words in a tree fort.
Jacqueline’s husband, Raymond, had got a bid job on plumbing two homes over at the county seat of Cooper, so Du Pré got to go look at cow asses a couple of times. They hadn’t changed. He checked the brands and signed off on the loaded cattle.
One evening, Benetsee appeared, looking ragged and, because it was late summer, dustier than usual. He smiled widely and grabbed Du Pré’s hand in his old claw. The old man’s grip was hard; his tendons pushed up against his weathered skin like wires pulled very tightly.
“So,” said Benetsee, “I have been up through the Cypress Hills and some other places.”
Du Pré nodded. The Cypress Hills
“How far is York Factory?” Du Pré asked Nappy.
“Two days,” said Nappy. “We make good time without those others. “
They stopped the next evening at an Indian camp, a dreary place. The people were living in tents; several bearskins ripe and unscraped hung in stretchers. The men were off fishing or cutting pulp. The traplines had yielded poorly these last few years.
That night, the expedition was startled to see two brusque Scotswomen at the head of a procession of everyone else in camp, bringing gifts of berries and smoked fish. There was so much food left in the dry bags that they didn’t need Nappy and Du Pré, and Françoise handed out hundreds of pounds of tinned goods and dried fruit.
They sang some songs around the fire. The Scotswomen were on a tour, taking notes and making, sketches, for some book.
They went on in the morning. In the afternoon, a light plane flew high overhead, banked, turned, and came over the expedition, then went on east, toward where York Factory must be.
The plane came over the next morning, too, and then the party saw the signs of the town, trees cut, a road along the river. The water in the river deepened and slowed, here and there a plastic bottle drifted on the water, pushed about by the winds and chop.
They rounded a short headland and saw the little village spilling down to the water. Du Pré idly looked behind him. Something wasn’t right.
He looked again. There was an extra canoe, and it was moving as fast as the paddlers could make it go.
In ten minutes, it passed Du Pré and Nappy.
Paul Chase was in it, of course.
Du Pré looked up toward the town, and he whistled to Nappy.
“So that Chase, he talk to those newspeople up there, you bet,” said Du Pré, laughing. “That guy, he should be a politician.”
The people in the freighters were pointing and laughing.
When Du Pré and Nappy pulled their canoes out, Chase was rattling away into a tape recorder while some TV cameraman sprawled out on the ground. Chase hadn’t shaved in a few days and he was daubed here and there with soot.
“Excuse me,” said a young woman with a notebook, “were you with the expedition?”
“Yes.” Du Pré nodded.
She asked some questions about the trip, then one about the leadership of Dr. Chase.
“Oh,” said Du Pré, “he was not there, you know. He left the expedition a few days out from Lac La Ronge.”
“What?” she said.
“You see that man over there?” said Du Pré, pointing to Bart. “He came to see me in a chartered plane and he flew Chase and his people out.”
Chase was looking over at Du Pré, his eyes narrow. He pushed his way through the reporters and toward the dock area. A little floatplane was tethered there.
The reporters gave up on him and scattered for the telephones or ran toward another plane farther down toward the bay.
The woman with the notebook was talking to Bart and taking notes furiously.
Du Pré laughed.
Chase’s floatplane racketed to life and taxied away from the dock.
Some of these people, they take your breath away, Du Pré thought.
CHAPTER 13
D U P RÉ AND B ART HAD been home about a week, still chuckling over their journey. Madelaine had taken to yawning wide when they would begin to speak of it. Little boys, her eyes said, exchanging code words in a tree fort.
Jacqueline’s husband, Raymond, had got a bid job on plumbing two homes over at the county seat of Cooper, so Du Pré got to go look at cow asses a couple of times. They hadn’t changed. He checked the brands and signed off on the loaded cattle.
One evening, Benetsee appeared, looking ragged and, because it was late summer, dustier than usual. He smiled widely and grabbed Du Pré’s hand in his old claw. The old man’s grip was hard; his tendons pushed up against his weathered skin like wires pulled very tightly.
“So,” said Benetsee, “I have been up through the Cypress Hills and some other places.”
Du Pré nodded. The Cypress Hills
Similar Books
