"You used to live near Escanaba, didn't you?"
Jo Papo considered before replying; either his scrutiny of Alan reassured him, or he recalled nothing having to do with his residence near Escanaba which disturbed him. "Yes; once," he said.
"Your father was Azen Papo?"
"He's dead," the Indian replied. "Not my father, anyway. Grandfather. What about him?"
"That's what I want to ask you," Alan said. "When did he die and how?"
Jo Papo got up and stood leaning his back against a tree. So far from being one who was merely curious about Indians, this stranger perhaps was coming about an Indian claim—to give money maybe for injustices done in the past.
"My grandfather die fifteen years ago," he informed them. "From cough, I think."
"Where was that?" Alan asked.
"Escanaba—near there."
"What did he do?"