Boundary Waters by William Kent Krueger Read Free Book Online Page A

waiting for Walleye to bark and announce his presence.
    When no sound came from the cabin, Cork moved nearer.
    “Henry!” he called. “Henry Meloux! It’s Corcoran O’Connor!”
    A small animal whine came from the woods to his left. In a little clearing visible in the moonlight stood a small dark structure. Cork headed that way.
    Walleye, Meloux’s old hound, lay beside the door. He lifted his head casually as Cork approached and his tail lazily thumped the ground. From the tiny building behind the dog came a long, grumbling fart.
    “Henry?”
    “You’re early,” the old man accused from inside.
    Cork didn’t argue. He’d long ago learned that Meloux had a way of knowing when someone would come to him.
    “Getting so a man can’t take a quiet crap anymore.”
    “Sorry,” Cork said.
    After a momentary rustling behind the door, the old man emerged from the outhouse buttoning the last strap on a pair of gray overalls. “That’s all right,” he said, waving off Cork’s apology. “Wasn’t going so good anyway.”
    Meloux led the way back to his cabin, Walleye at his side. Inside, the cabin was a simple affair. One room, a bunk, an old cast-iron stove, a rough-hewn table and three chairs, a sink with a pump. The walls contained an assortment of items—snowshoes, a reed basket, a midewiwin ’s drum, a big bear trap, and a Skelly calendar from 1948 with a drawing of a buxom woman in tight shorts inadvertently entertaining a gas-station attendant as she bent to the sideview mirror to apply lipstick. The cabin was lit by two kerosene lamps, and the smell of the burning oil was mixed with the scent of burned cedar.
    “Been purifying, Henry?” Cork asked.
    The old man didn’t answer, only nodded toward one of the chairs for Cork to sit. He went to the sink and brought back two blue speckled enamel cups, then to the stove where a coffeepot sat heating. He poured hot coffee into the cups. When he returned and sat at the table, Cork handed him a pack of Camel unfiltered cigarettes. Meloux accepted them with a smile and a nod. He broke open the pack and held it out to Cork, then took one for himself. Kitchen matches stood in a small clay holder on the table. Meloux struck one and lit his cigarette.
    Cork held his own cigarette gingerly. He hadn’t smoked since Molly died. It was the last promise he’d ever made to her and he wanted to keep it. But it would be an insult not to join Meloux in the smoking of tobacco, a thing that for the old man had nothing to do with an addictive habit.
    Meloux watched Cork with silent interest. Cork finally reached for a match and lit the cigarette. Only nine months, but as soon as the smoke hit his lungs, it seemed like nine years. Cork realized how much he’d missed the old habit. He closed his eyes and the smoking felt like a visit with a deliciously sinful old friend.
    They smoked in silence for a while. Walleye lay sprawled on the old wood floor, snoring loudly.
    “Walleye didn’t bark when I came,” Cork noted. “He’s old, Henry. Is he going deaf?”
    “You think he didn’t hear?” The old man grinned and shook his head. “He heard. He just didn’t care. He’s old like me. He’s finally learned that what comes, comes. Why bark?”
    The old midewiwin exhaled a flourish of smoke and watched it rise to the ceiling. “They tell me you are a running fool.”
    “Running fool? Well, I do run, Henry.”
    “The wolf runs after the deer. The deer runs from the wolf. In this running, there is reason.”
    “Believe it or not, there’s reason in my running, too. A lot of things are clearer to me when I run.”
    Meloux considered this for a moment. “A walk in the woods makes clear a lot, too.”
    “It’s hard to explain, Henry. In a way, it’s part of a promise I made to Molly to make my life healthier.”
    “Ah, Molly Nurmi.” He nodded as if that explained it just fine.
    The cedar-and-kerosene-scented silence descended comfortably once again. Cork finally decided