* * * * *
"What white man?" Sir Anthony demanded: "What's his name?"
Once more, a good deal of pausing for translation.
"She says that she doesn't know his name. She knows only what she saw in a vision that forewarned her about the fate that awaited those children at that summer camp, if the orphan train made it through."
"Well, did this alleged vision at least show her where this white man lives?"
Still more translating. With the verbal reply preceded by a frenetic amount of nodding.
"She says the white man in question lives in a town called...'Tree of Life.' "
Sir Anthony and I looked at each other in wide-eyed astonishment. But, we quickly collected ourselves.
"How do we know she's telling the truth?"
A heated reply, with a certain undertone of righteous indignation.
"She swears by Binesi that everything she's told you is true!"
"Binesi?" echoed Sir Anthony.
"The Cree term for 'Thunderbird.' He's basically the personal messenger for the Great Spirit. So, the Children of the Thunderbird Clan do _not_ swear by him, lightly!"
Sir Anthony looked at me and nodded, as he reholstered his M-1911. So, I did the same with my revolver (albeit, more reluctantly). But, Sir Anthony's suspicions had not been completely allayed.
"Tell 'Mademoiselle L'Enfant De Binesi' that we shall transport Constable Weir's body back to his office, where we will consult every geopolitical map we can find. And, if we cannot locate a town with such a name on any of them? Then, we will return here, with many more men, to search her nest. In force!"
That parting translation produced a very angry glare. But, the bird woman nodded. Whereupon (her wounds having finally regenerated), she transformed into a giant golden eagle and flew off!
And, while we watched her depart, Hank put down her rifle and took off her backpack. Withdrawing from the latter a much-folded Chilkat blanket and two lengths of rope.* The former, she subsequently spread next to the ill-fated constable's body. She then looked at us, and asked for our help in wrapping it inside the blanket.
In less time than it takes to tell, we had improvised a body bag for transporting Constable Weir down off the mountain. Would that the descent, itself, could have been just as relatively swift. Alas! It was well after sundown by the time Hank had driven us back to the RCMP station.
We--that is, Hank and I--put the body in one of the jail cells, before returning to the office. There, we saw Sir Anthony intently staring at a map of North America.
And, he was ruefully half-smiling.
"Beginner's luck?" I remarked.
"Well, let's just say that I might owe 'Mademoiselle L'Enfant' a rather huge apology. Look, here."
He pointed to northern Wisconsin. And, once again, I felt my eyes start to bulge with astonishment. For there, roughly southwest of a town called "Manitowish Waters," was another town...bearing the name of "Arbor Vitae."
"It seems we shall be returning to the Lower Forty-eight much sooner than we anticipated," he said to me.
"What about Constable Weir?" I countered: "We have to make some kind of arrangements for the poor man."
"I'll radio the Apostolic Delegate in Ottawa," offered Hank: "He can see to everything...including notification of the next-of-kin. I'll also go to Northgate, and have your pilot standing by, at the aerodrome, first thing in the morning. What's his name, again?"
"Robert Gabriel," replied Sir Anthony.
And, with that, we settled in for the night.
tbc
Giantess World
Chapter End Notes:
*Chilkat blanket: a trademark clothing accessory, hand-woven by the Chilkat Band of Alaska's Tlingit Nation (and worn by high-ranking tribal members at certain ceremonies). By all accounts, these blankets are as highly sought after as genuine Persian rugs!