 
DAVID SHATH SQUARE Chapter Thirty-Three
Before he began his story, Craven made one last appeal for a drink.
He was shaking so badly two men had to hold him on the stool, otherwise he would have fallen to the ground and injured himself.
"Gimme one shot. If I dies ya won't git nothin' from me," he whined. My father and the rest of the men looked concerned.
Either Craven was a good actor or he really was about to have a convulsion.
"Okay, one drink," said my father.
Someone dragged a table up to Craven and my father placed a stained enamel cup on top of it.
He poured six ounces of alcohol into the cup and held it to Craven's lips.
Even with his hands held at his sides, Craven managed to suck up the viscous liquid like a sailor on shore leave.
The effects were immediate and dramatic.
Quite suddenly Craven stopped shaking; the men who held him were able to relax their grips and let him sit alone.
"All right, start talking or that's the last shot you'll ever drink," said my father.
Craven stared miserably at the assembled men and began to speak. "I lied 'bout where I saw them kids and the black mutt," he said.
"I didn' see 'em on the rail to Lac du Bonnet.
I saw 'em walkin' the path by the river."
"Where on the path?" asked my father.
"By da forebay.
"I don' 'member much.
"I was pissed an' feelin' sick."
My father and grandfather looked at each other. The forebay was dangerous.
"What were you doing there?" asked my father.
"I was shootin' ma gun and mindin' ma own biz, asshole," said Craven, becoming surly as the alcohol worked his brain.
My grandfather grabbed Craven by the throat and slammed his head into the cinder block wall.
"What the hell's bells were you doin' near the forebay? Tell me or crush your brain like soft pea it is?"
"It weren' ma faul. Them kids set da big muttso on me. Say they let mutt kill me if I didn' get outta da way."
"You lie Mr. Craven." It was Lee Chang.
"Mr. Hardy never sick dog on you unless you provoke him."
"I was scairt," said Craven, who had begun to whine again.
"I swear they was gonna let mutt kill me."
This time it was my father who grabbed Craven by the neck and slammed his head into the wall.
"Enough. Tell the truth or I'll let you convulse to death like a rabid skunk."
Craven's hands had already started to shake again. Even a liar like him knew he'd have to come clean soon.
"Gimme a shot. Then I tell ya."
"No," said my father.
The resoluteness in his voice was obvious even to Craven, who fidgeted with his hands before answering. "Okay.
I tell and then ya gimme all the alcohol I wan'?" Nobody said anything.
They just stared at Craven.
"Afer mutt attack me, I pick up rifle an' start shootin'. I tell kids to get in wader with mutt and let me alone. I was scairt. I jus' kep' shootin' in the wader to keep them away."
"And then what happened?" asked my father.
"I pass out. Come 'roun late a' night. Kids an' mutt gone."
The group of men surrounding Craven considered his confession.
"I reckon that's about as close to the truth as we'll get outta him," my grandfather said. My father picked up a bottle of whiskey and tossed it at Craven.
"Okay, Craven. Go have yourself a party. Get out before someone decides to lynch you," my father said.
The men gathered in groups to discuss Craven's testimony.
My father, grandfather, Lee Chang, and the Swede formed one group, with Myron Mann on the periphery.
They discussed the possibility that Craven had shot Thoreena and myself and we'd been sucked into the forebay by the powerful current.
No one wanted to mention the inevitable conclusion of this dismal scenario.
"I still think them kids are alive," said my grandfather.
"Craven may be a drunk and a bastard but I ain't gonna believe he'd shoot people in cold blood." The others didn't share his optimism.
My father suggested a theory that offered some hope. "Suppose they were pulled into the forebay and yet managed to swim to the dam.
They'd be swept over the rocks and their chances of survival would be pretty good."
It was a slender hope and the men grasped at it like drowning men grasp at pieces of flotsam.
Even the silent, morose Swede seemed to step lighter as the group made its way to the dam to investigate my father's theory.
To Chapter Thirty-four
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