us where the fish are. And sometimes we toss ’em a few in return. We get along all right.”
Pop nodded, sat back against the earthen wall, and closed his eyes. He took a long pull on his cigarette. “I’ve been all over the post, both Armytown and Navytown, many times. But I’ve seen very few Aleuts or Eskimos. So just from the odds, I doubt that a native is our eagle-killer.”
As much as I hated saying anything at all in front of the Cutthroat, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore. Pop was infuriating me.
“There’s a dead man over there!” I yelled, pointing at the section of collapsed roof. “Who cares about the eagle now?”
Pop opened his eyes and regarded me through a smoky haze.
“Actually, I don’t care much,” he said. “But because of that dead man, the eagle has become slightly more interesting.”
“Why?” I asked, still furious. “Just because he had a feather in his pocket? That doesn’t mean anything. He might have found it.”
Pop’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t think so. He and the eagle have both been dead less than a day. So the coincidental timing, plus the feather in his pocket, suggests a connection. Either he killed the eagle, and then had an unfortunate accident . . . ”
He fixed his gaze on the Cutthroat again.
“ . . . or whoever did kill the eagle, or helped him kill it, may have then killed him as well.”
The Cutthroat ground out his cigarette butt. “I told you guys before. It wasn’t me.”
“And I still believe you,” Pop said. “I’m just wondering if you might have any idea who it may have been.”
“Nope,” the Cutthroat said. There was no hesitation.
Pop leaned back against the wall again and looked up at the holes in the roof.
“I don’t have any idea either,” Pop said. “But I think you were right about one thing.”
“Huh?” the Cutthroat said. “What’s that?”
“Whoever it was, he’s a fucking son of a bitch.”
The wind seemed to scream louder in response.
VIII
The williwaw finally slacked off a little after noon, leaving only blustery gusts. The three of us stirred ourselves on stiff joints and muscles and rose from our places in the main room of the ulax.
Pop and the Cutthroat had both dozed after finishing their cigarettes, but I had stayed wide awake. I knew who the dead man was. But I hadn’t told Pop yet for fear that the Cutthroat would hear me.
That was because, while I didn’t recognize this particular Cutthroat, I knew who he was, too. On Attu, the Alaska Scouts had saved my life and the lives of dozens of my buddies, but they hadn’t done it by being kind and gentle souls. They had done it by being cruel and ruthless to our enemies.
And I knew that a man couldn’t just turn that off once it wasn’t needed anymore. I knew that for a cold fact.
I boosted Pop up through the hole in the roof where we’d dropped in, and then I followed by jumping from the raised earthen shelf at the side of the room, grabbing a whalebone roof support, and pulling myself through.
I joined Pop on the hillock just beside the ulax, blinking against the wind, and then looked back and saw the Cutthroat already standing behind me. It was as if he had levitated.
“So this thing here is not our fucking problem,” the Cutthroat said, speaking over the wind. “We all agree on that.”
Pop nodded. “That’s the body of a Navy man. So the private and I will tell the boys at the Navy checkpoint to come have a look. And if they ask our names, or if they know who I am, I’ll be able to handle them. They’re twenty-year-olds who’ve pulled checkpoint duty at the base of an extinct volcano. So they aren’t going to be the brightest minds in our war effort.”
I didn’t like what Pop was saying. But for the time being, I kept my mouth shut.
The Cutthroat nodded. “All right, then.” He turned away and started down the slope.
“We have a jeep,” Pop called after him.
The Cutthroat didn’t even glance back. So Pop
Pop nodded, sat back against the earthen wall, and closed his eyes. He took a long pull on his cigarette. “I’ve been all over the post, both Armytown and Navytown, many times. But I’ve seen very few Aleuts or Eskimos. So just from the odds, I doubt that a native is our eagle-killer.”
As much as I hated saying anything at all in front of the Cutthroat, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore. Pop was infuriating me.
“There’s a dead man over there!” I yelled, pointing at the section of collapsed roof. “Who cares about the eagle now?”
Pop opened his eyes and regarded me through a smoky haze.
“Actually, I don’t care much,” he said. “But because of that dead man, the eagle has become slightly more interesting.”
“Why?” I asked, still furious. “Just because he had a feather in his pocket? That doesn’t mean anything. He might have found it.”
Pop’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t think so. He and the eagle have both been dead less than a day. So the coincidental timing, plus the feather in his pocket, suggests a connection. Either he killed the eagle, and then had an unfortunate accident . . . ”
He fixed his gaze on the Cutthroat again.
“ . . . or whoever did kill the eagle, or helped him kill it, may have then killed him as well.”
The Cutthroat ground out his cigarette butt. “I told you guys before. It wasn’t me.”
“And I still believe you,” Pop said. “I’m just wondering if you might have any idea who it may have been.”
“Nope,” the Cutthroat said. There was no hesitation.
Pop leaned back against the wall again and looked up at the holes in the roof.
“I don’t have any idea either,” Pop said. “But I think you were right about one thing.”
“Huh?” the Cutthroat said. “What’s that?”
“Whoever it was, he’s a fucking son of a bitch.”
The wind seemed to scream louder in response.
VIII
The williwaw finally slacked off a little after noon, leaving only blustery gusts. The three of us stirred ourselves on stiff joints and muscles and rose from our places in the main room of the ulax.
Pop and the Cutthroat had both dozed after finishing their cigarettes, but I had stayed wide awake. I knew who the dead man was. But I hadn’t told Pop yet for fear that the Cutthroat would hear me.
That was because, while I didn’t recognize this particular Cutthroat, I knew who he was, too. On Attu, the Alaska Scouts had saved my life and the lives of dozens of my buddies, but they hadn’t done it by being kind and gentle souls. They had done it by being cruel and ruthless to our enemies.
And I knew that a man couldn’t just turn that off once it wasn’t needed anymore. I knew that for a cold fact.
I boosted Pop up through the hole in the roof where we’d dropped in, and then I followed by jumping from the raised earthen shelf at the side of the room, grabbing a whalebone roof support, and pulling myself through.
I joined Pop on the hillock just beside the ulax, blinking against the wind, and then looked back and saw the Cutthroat already standing behind me. It was as if he had levitated.
“So this thing here is not our fucking problem,” the Cutthroat said, speaking over the wind. “We all agree on that.”
Pop nodded. “That’s the body of a Navy man. So the private and I will tell the boys at the Navy checkpoint to come have a look. And if they ask our names, or if they know who I am, I’ll be able to handle them. They’re twenty-year-olds who’ve pulled checkpoint duty at the base of an extinct volcano. So they aren’t going to be the brightest minds in our war effort.”
I didn’t like what Pop was saying. But for the time being, I kept my mouth shut.
The Cutthroat nodded. “All right, then.” He turned away and started down the slope.
“We have a jeep,” Pop called after him.
The Cutthroat didn’t even glance back. So Pop
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