Page 31 of God’s Country

“We’ve got matches.”

“Rained heavy last night. Good luck finding dry wood.”

“We’ll manage. And if I don’t miss my guess, you’re right now trying to figure out how you’d use that fire-building ruse to your advantage.”

“I get cold too.”

“Unless you play your cards right, you’ll be real cold.”

“What’s with you two? Buddies? Lovers?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew the truth.

He hesitated before answering, as if trying to figure out the real reason behind my question. “Brothers,” he finally said.

“You don’t look much alike.”

“Different mothers, same father.”

“What about the dead guy? You said his name was Crispin.”

“Half brother.” He said the word as if he was spitting phlegm.

“So this is a family affair. Was a family affair,” I corrected myself. “Your last name wouldn’t happen to be Kennedy?”

I saw surprise register on his face.

“Declan was your father and Dillon your uncle?”

“How do you know about them?”

“Big news here fifteen years ago. They hired Cordell, too. He was supposed to take them all the way to the Canadian side. They only got as far as Devil’s End, which was where one of them had a stroke and they had to turn back.”

He sat down on the other log by the fire pit. He lifted the Tilley hat from his head and set it beside him. He was as bald as a river rock, his head as round as a soccer ball. His eyes were steel blue, his lips thick and set in a hard, cruel line as he listened to me go on.

“But before they headed back, one of the brothers took a pack and disappeared for a while. By now, we all know where he stuffed it. The question is what was in that pack.”

He sat stone silent, those steel blue eyes cold and hard.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” I continued. “Your father and his brother tortured and killed a man in Duluth by the name of Wollersheim. Before he died, Wollersheim gave up something valuable. Whatever that was, they put it in a pack for the trip through the Boundary Waters. And whatever it is, it’s worth a lot, the lives of three men so far. How am I doing?”

Stan came from the tent, dressed in dry jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers.

“This joker’s pretty smart,” Ollie said. “Got everything figured out.”

“Almost everything,” I said. “I still don’t know what’s in that pack.”

“You don’t have to know,” Stan said. “Give me the gun.”

Ollie handed over the Glock.

“Get into dry clothes. I’ve got this guy.”

Ollie picked up his Tilley hat and lumbered toward his tent.

Stan was very different from his brother. Slight of build and, without his ball cap on, I could see that he had a mane of red hair. His eyes were the same steel blue as Ollie’s, but there seemed a bit more intelligence in them.

“You get that red hair from your father?” I asked.

“And my mother. I’m pure Irish.”