Bitter Creek Read Free

and knees. Du Pré took his leg and fresh clothes over to him, and a towel.
    Chappie nodded, but his face was very far away. Du Pré went back to the deeper part of the pool. Patchen was swimming down deep, his head and back arching as he moved through the water, snakelike.
    He came up for air. He blew water out of his mouth.
    â€œOne more dive,” he said. His voice was weak.
    He went down again. When he had reached the bottom, he turned like an otter and he rippled up to the bank and stuck out his right hand. Du Pré hauled him up. He handed him a towel and his folded clothes. The plastic and metal and cloth arm sat on top of the uniform jacket. Patchen picked it up and attached it with one swift set of movements, slung the harness around his back, and buckled it in front.
    Patchen tested the hand once, fiddled with some adjustment, and then he dressed very swiftly.
    Chappie had found a log to sit on while he put on his leg and then his pants, a shoe and sock matching the one on his artificial limb.
    Chappie stood up, tucked in his shirt; he slid his belt round the loops, set the hook in the hole. His stained old hat was last.
    They looked round.
    â€œBenetsee?” said Chappie.
    Du Pré shrugged and rolled his eyes.
    â€œOld bastard is out there fucking muskrats,” said Du Pré. “Him got to have his joke.”
    â€œI did see a muskrat,” said Patchen.
    A kingfisher flew downstream.
    Skraaaaaaaak! it said.
    They walked back up to Du Pré’s old cruiser.
    The cabin door was shut now.
    Chappie yawned.
    â€œI am hungry,” he said.
    â€œGood,” said Du Pré. “Your mother, she will feed you.”
    Patchen and Chappie got in the backseat. Du Pré fished a flask out from the glove box and he had some whiskey. He rolled a smoke for the road, started the old car, backed and turned.
    Benetsee was on the porch of his cabin; the kingfisher was perched on a peg on one of the posts that held up the little rain roof.
    He did not look at them.
    Du Pré drove away, down the rutted drive to the county road. He sped up on the graded gravel.
    It took ten minutes to get to Madelaine’s house.
    Du Pré stopped and he shut the car off.
    Patchen got out and he walked toward his sedan.
    He turned just before he got to the car.
    â€œSee you tomorrow night in Helena?” he said, looking at Chappie.
    â€œYes,” said Chappie.
    Patchen walked back across the street. “Where is Bitter Creek?” he said.
    â€œI don’ know,” said Chappie, looking at Du Pré.
    Du Pré shrugged. “Don’t know, Bitter Creek,” he said.
    â€œThere is much here I do not understand,” said Patchen. “Voices and drums close by and far away all at once. And a deep voice, a black voice, saying ‘Bitter Creek’ and that I hear and you do not. …”
    â€œHe is talking to you then,” said Du Pré.
    Chappie grinned at Patchen. “It means that voice wants you to do something that the living can do but the dead cannot—they want your help …” he said.
    â€œYou can just walk away,” said Du Pré. “They will not bother you again.”
    â€œNo,” said Patchen, “I can’t walk away. …”
    â€œThey know that too,” said Du Pré. “Why they ask you. …”
    â€œBut we will help,” said Chappie.
    Patchen nodded. He nodded again to Du Pré and Chappie and then he walked to his car. He stopped.
    â€œI am honored,” he said, and then he got in his car and started the engine.
    Du Pré and Chappie went into Madelaine’s house.
    There were good food smells.
    â€¦ Chappie is cold sober … Du Pré thought.
    He went back out to his car.
    Patchen’s sedan was gone.

Chapter 3
    RAIN CLOUDS WERE BILLOWING UP over the top of MacDonald Pass west of Helena, and the mountain wind sliding down smelled of fresh water.
    Du Pré and Madelaine and Chappie and