Finally Bennet got a grip on himself, went up to Magnus, snatched the rifle out of his hands, and gave it to Siggy. Staring down at McFarlane’s body, he took a moment to think.

“All right,” he said. “Sal, Sal, you throw this kid over the side there into the river.”

“No, I—”

He stepped closer to Sal, who cringed. “Salvatore Celli, you pick him up now and you throw him into that river.”

Tears began again to stream down Sal’s face. He looked utterly helpless.

“He’s fucking dead,” Bennet said. “Now, you pick him up and throw him in.”

He turned around.

“Goldy, Finn, Otto”—he pointed down at McFarlane’s body—“get him and his clothes into the truck, cover him over.”

“What are we going to do with him?” Finn said.

“We’re going to take him to the slaughterhouse, and every man here’s going to have a part in this. We’re going to get rid of him.”

“I couldn’t cut anyone up,” Finn said.

“You’ll do what I tell you to. Get him into the truck.”

Goldwin had already moved, zombielike, to the body. Finn and Otto joined him.

“You fucking tried to kill me,” Otto shouted.

Bennet ignored him. “Sal, God damn it.”

Sal was circling the child’s body, sobbing. “How do we know he’s dead?” he shouted back at Bennet.

“He’s dead. Get him into the river.”

Squatting down, Sal took hold of the boy’s ankle and lifted him up. Holding him at arm’s length as if he were contagious, he hurried over to the edge of the bluff and threw the body as far out as he could into the black waters of the Missouri.

Bennet and Siggy extinguished the fire, dug out and threw the blood-soaked soil over the bluff, and generally cleared the site as best they could. When this was done, Bennet snatched up Magnus’s hand with irritation, and the rest of the men followed as he tugged Magnus back through the woods as if he were a naughty child.

PISGAH 1961

PISGAH
1961

ANNIE LAY BESIDE RAJ ON THE MURPHY BED, BOTH of them on their backs, the stuttering old fan playing over them. She had just managed to get Baby to sleep.

“Where would Magnus have gone?” she whispered.

“To the Island of Lonely Women.”

“Can you believe he stole all her silver?”

Raj rolled over to face her, propping his head on his hand. “Right now he’s in his one good suit wooing his next victim.” Raj imitated Magnus’s English accent. “‘My dear, you see before you one descended from men who took the field of battle, women who held in escrow their hearts. After dear pater’s death, chère maman had no choice but to marry a Curséd Expectorator. By the by, do you own this house outright?”

“Oh, stop it,” Annie said. “Gives me the creeps.”