“The Doc? He was an idiot. Educated guy, but stupid. I was on a crew that was waiting for him to finish but I didn’t know him good. He didn’t know the bush. I’m pretty sure he considered us savages!” He looked at his buddies as he said the last bit, and they chuckled at the dark joke.
“Who did work with him?” Sam interrupted.
“This one is always thinking,” the local said to his crew, slightly annoyed. “Go talk to Ugly Fish. He was the Doc’s gofer. I don’t even think he was working for the mine. Just doing gofer stuff for that old man. He’s over there. Look.” Barry pointed with his lips.
Chickadee and Sam looked over to where the miner had gestured. Ugly Fish was sitting at a table with his sketchy cousins. Ugly Fish’s real name was Moriah, which he insisted was from the Bible, but around here a “moriah” was an ugly fish. Most people called him “Fish”, but they added the “Ugly” when they were being mean.
“Let’s wait until he’s by himself,” Chickadee said to Sam.
They said their good-byes to the miners’ table and joined Atim and Otter. The fries hadn’t arrived yet. The boys were sharing a can of Coke.
“’Kay, we figure Fish may know something,” Sam said as he slid into the booth beside Atim.
“We’re going to wait until he’s away from that crew before we ask him anything.” Chickadee plopped down beside Otter. The Muskrats watched Fish’s table. The waitress brought the fries with a second plate for Otter. He didn’t like ketchup on top. He only liked to dip. The kids began to grab the potato sticks hungrily. The Coke was shared.
Eventually, Fish started saying good-bye to those he was with.
“Okay, he’s leaving by himself,” Chickadee whispered.
“That’s good, hey?” Atim nudged her. She pushed him back.
“He may talk more if he’s alone,” Sam answered Atim.
Fish eventually limped across the restaurant and out the door. The Muskrats gulped down the last of the chips and followed.
“Hey, Fish!” Atim called.
The young man turned to see who called his name. Although Fish was only in his thirties, he seemed haggard. An old boating injury caused him to limp and slouch forward slightly. His hand-me-down clothes didn’t fit well.
“What do you kids want?” He began to walk away as he asked the question.
“Did you hear they found that old man?” Sam asked, trailing after him.
“The Doc?”
“That’s what we hear,” Chickadee chimed in.
“We heard you were helping him out…with his science.” Sam thought flattery might loosen Fish’s lips.
“Yeah…yeah, I was. Took him out to his sites and even to a few others. He was excited about something.”
“Which places?” Chickadee tried to sound only vaguely interested.
“You know…the tourist sights: the rock paintings along the river, the old winter site, the old fishing weir…couple of others. He thought they were fantastic.” Fish laughed. “But I heard they didn’t find him.”
“Didn’t find him?” Surprised, Sam looked at Chickadee.
“Who told you that?” she probed.
“Stu brought the RCMP boat down here on the trailer to fill up its tanks. He said they found the old guy’s boat down by the delta. Said it looked like he just walked into the bush.”
Fish stopped and turned to see why the kids were suddenly quiet. All he could see was four little clouds of dust as the Mighty Muskrats disappeared across the parking lot and down the bush trail.
Chapter 5
Chuckles at the Cultural Camp
The boat pounded against the waves as it cut through the lake. Otter sat at the front. Spray washed his face as the prow bumped across the water. Behind him, his cousins searched wave and shore for signs of another boat. Steering the fishing boat was their older cousin, Mark, who worked with their Uncle Bruce pulling nets.
The delta that Fish had spoken of was at the mouth of Snake Creek, a thin trickle that occasionally slithered out to form a broad stream when the spring rains came. When it was flooded, the fast-moving water picked up a lot of silt. When it dumped that soil at the creek’s end, it created a small fan of swamp and mud that slowly pushed into the lake.
The delta was about a ninety-minute boat ride from town. Mark said he could take the kids as long as they stopped at the culture camp to drop off some ducks he had shot.
“Hey!” Atim yelled and pointed.
The traditionalists’ camp had just come into a view. Not much could be seen, just flashes of color amidst the black and gray trunks of thin evergreens. There were several motorboats pulled up along the shore.
The landing site was filled with countless multi-colored stones slowly being ground into sand by the motion of the waves. Mark killed the engine and lifted the prop out of the water. Only the slap of waves could be heard until the pebbles began their subtle scratching as the ground came up to meet the aluminum bow.
Otter leapt into the knee-deep, clear water with the boat’s rope in hand. With the help of the occasional lift from the waves he pulled his cousins farther into shore and tied the rope to a tree.
“Holee!” Mark exclaimed. “They’ve been raising the water at the dam. Look at what it did to the shore there.” The frequent raising and lowering of the lake’s water by the nearby hydro dam had eroded the bank of soil above the now wider strip of pebbled shore.
“I’ve never had to tie up this high before.” Otter looked worried.
With everyone disembarked, they began the trudge up the hill to the camp.
Mark and Otter carried the ducks.
The traditionalists’ camp was a group of teepees, wigwams, and shacks scattered amongst the trees in the sparse, spruce forest. Most of the teepees were painted with the colors and patterns of the people that owned them.
A few small cooking fires burned here and there, but the Muskrats headed for the fire in the center of the camp where the old men hung out, and where most of the visiting took place. Two old couples relaxed in lounge chairs, sipping their tea in the warmth of the flames.
Mark, being the oldest cousin, had the responsibility of speaking first. He presented his ducks to the Elders. Chickadee touched the arm of one of the older ladies and pulled up a stump of wood near her. Sam smiled at everyone and also sat on a section of tree trunk. Atim and Otter went to the nearby pile of firewood. Otter began to cut kindling with an ax as he listened to the conversation.
“Give two of those ducks to Grace. Her old man is in town, but he’s coming back with their kids.” A lady Elder lip-pointed toward Grace’s camp.
“I’ll take one.” Her husband laughed. “I’ve been craving duck soup.”
“You don’t make good duck soup,” his wife teased.
“I didn’t say I was craving my duck soup.”
“So, whose duck soup are you craving?” The old lady pretended to be angry. “Are you craving another woman’s soup?”
The Elders, Muskrats, and Mark giggled. A quiet moment passed after the chuckling subsided.
“I hear they found that missing archeologist by the delta,” Sam offered.
“What?” The old men were suddenly attentive. Sam was a little surprised by the level of focus.
“Yeah…. Fish told us. Said the cops found his boat by the delta…or somebody did.”
“Did you tell your grandfather this?” One of the old men poked the fire as he spoke.
“We didn’t have time….” Chickadee also felt the tension in her Elders. “We wanted to check it out.”
One of the old women leaned forward. “Well…we want you to check it out too. Then come back and tell us what you saw. Tell us everything.”
“Why do you want to know?” Sam felt it was more than idle curiosity.
“I saw that little old white man, wearing his blazer in the
bush.” The wrinkled Elder shook his head. “It sounds funny to think of him as dangerous. But to us, those bone-diggers can be worse than the miners. They want to turn our sacred places into money-making ventures like nobody else. If the miners want our sacred land, it is usually just by coincidence, but the bone-digger makes money from…us…our stories, our ancestors’ places.”
“I know about the old camp…and the old dancing site. Do you mean places like those?” Chickadee felt they were on the edge of a secret.
“Yes, places like those….” The old people shared a glance.
“There is nothing that I know of by the delta.” Chickadee pushed.
The old woman beside Chickadee gave her a nudge. With a gentle smile she said,“Maybe you haven’t earned that knowledge yet.”
That put an end to the questions.
“Be careful as you go, young ones.” One of the Elders stood. “It’s getting late in the day. If you cannot get back to us, don’t worry. Tell your grandfather. We’ll hear about it eventually.”
With quick good-byes and promises to return, the Muskrats and Mark were soon leaving the community fire and making their way back to the boat. Otter pushed them off the shore and they were soon pounding across the waves.
Chapter 6
A Rope Points the Way
As they approached the delta, the Muskrats could see an RCMP patrol boat with its front end pushed lightly into the mucky silt and the First Nation’s police boat bobbing just offshore. An old yawl was stuck in the mud a short distance away from the open water. It was the fishing boat that was sometimes rented out by the Métis fisherman, Mr. Mackie.
Sam said to no one, “That must have been the archeologist’s ride.”
Mark cut the motor, and Otter and Atim pulled out paddles to slow the boat’s coasting.
“Don’t worry, boys, these waves and current will push us up into the soft mud. The hard part will be getting out.” Mark kept an eye on Windy Lake’s floating police cruiser. “Howdy!” he yelled at the officer in the boat. The band constable, Gus, was an old friend of Uncle Levi and their family.
“Hey. What are you kids doing here?”
“We heard they found that company man.” Sam shaded his eyes from the sunlight as he spoke.
“Found his boat, or the boat Mackie rented him, but we have no idea where he is.” A wood match danced from side to side in Gus’s mouth.
“No tracks?” Atim leaned his head to get the hair out of his eyes and pointed at the rocky shore about a football field away from where they were parked on the edge of the delta’s silt.
“There must have been some…but in this muck they disappear. It’s practically quicksand. But he did get out…the shore rope was pulled out across the muck.”
The black-and-yellow, nylon rope that would usually secure the rental boat to shore was, instead, stretched out to its full length across the mud. It looked as though someone had tried to pull the yawl toward the distant rocks.
“How do you know he didn’t sink?” Sam looked over the bow.
“At this point…we don’t.” Gus studied the mud between the boat and the farther shore. “Your uncle is on the way with a dog…and Jerry is out there now with the probe.”
Jerry was the RCMP officer from the patrol boat on the delta. He was wearing hip waders that went up to his armpits, which was a good thing because he sank up to his waist in the silty mud. He probed the area around the rental boat with a long rod. An older officer directed him from within the patrol boat.
Sam leaned toward Chickadee. “There isn’t any mining stuff anywhere near here.”
“I was thinking of that. I know the snake pits are back there. But Grandpa’s never shown me anything other than that.”
Sam shook his head to indicate he’d never been introduced to anything sacred or culturally significant in this area either. “Otter! He ever take you anywhere special back in the bush?”
Otter shook his head. He was the most bush savvy of the Muskrats. His grandfather used him as a fire keeper during the sweat lodge and other ceremonies when the older cousins weren’t around.
They sat in silence and watched the RCMP officer struggle in the muck.
“Look at that. That’s why there’s no tracks. It just sucks them up.” Gus shook his head.
“Did you check the hard shore?” Atim looked in the direction of the distant rocks.
“Well, we hope the dog will pick something up over there, but if not, we’ll need volunteers to walk the bush.” Gus’s tone suggested he didn’t want it to go that far.
In the distance, the approaching drone of a boat motor could be heard. The group turned to see who was coming.
Uncle Levi had just cleared the last point of land between them and the rest of the lake.
“Good. The dog.” Gus went to the other end of his boat to tell the federal cops.
“Are we going to get in trouble for being here?” Mark looked at the Muskrats. He had been unwittingly pulled into their adventures before, and it hadn’t always gone well for him.
As one, the Muskrats shrugged.
They watched the approaching boat.
Eventually, Uncle Levi slowed his engine to coast toward them. He seemed more annoyed than angry when he noticed the young ones. The Muskrats sighed with relief. They could work with annoyed. Sam looked at Chickadee and gave her a nod.
Chickadee went to the back of the boat. In a sing-song voice she said, “Hi, Uncle! Did you bring Scout?”
Frantically, the German shepherd bounced back and forth around the slowly moving patrol boat.
“How did you know?” Uncle Levi chuckled. He tried, unsuccessfully, to calm the dog.
They all laughed. Uncle Levi steered his slow-moving boat past them so he could speak to the RCMP.
“How’s it going fellas?”
“It’s tough slogging.” The older policeman seemed to welcome the conversation. The younger officer looked up at his superior standing in the boat with consternation, shook his head, and then continued to struggle in the silt.
“Well, we’re going with the dog back over there,” Uncle Levi pointed along the rocky shore, “where we can pull the boats up on solid land. Then we’ll follow the shoreline. See if we can pick up a scent.”
After some further small talk with the RCMP and Gus, Uncle Levi restarted his engine and slowly pulled away from the shore.
“You three,” he lip-pointed to Mark, Sam, and Chickadee, “go tell the Elders and Grandfather that we may need volunteers. Tell them to wait until I call, but to have their people ready.”
He pulled his boat alongside theirs.
“You two come with me.” He motioned to Atim and Otter. The two boys hopped into their uncle’s boat and smiled back at their cousins.
The Muskrats were excited to be given jobs by their uncle.
“’Kay, go!” Uncle Levi chuckled. He pushed the throttle, and the powerful police boat surged into the waves.
Mark waved at Gus. “You heard the man. We’re out of here.”
As Mark started the engine and slowly steered away, Chickadee and Sam watched the older RCMP officer struggle to stay clean as he attempted to help the younger officer into their boat.
Chapter 7
The House-taurant
Back on the rez, after talking to the Elders at the cultural camp, Chickadee and Sam found Grandpa’s house locked up and his truck gone.
“Where do you think he is?” Sam asked.
Chickadee shrugged. “Let’s head to the Station but stop at the House-taurant on the way.”
If the Station was an intersection of gossip in the area, the House-taurant was the heart of second-hand information on the rez.
The eatery’s owner and chef, Mavis, had moved into her basement and turned her house into a coffee shop. Her dining room and living room were filled with m
ismatched tables and chairs. A large freezer hummed in the corner. Music was supplied by a portable CD player, its speakers mounted in the upper corners of a wall. A floor-model TV painted fuzzy pictures of the urban world across its screen.
A bell tinkled as the kids opened the door. The House-taurant was empty. The sound of the bell brought Mavis up from downstairs.
“What are you two up to?” she asked the kids. She motioned with a cigarette to her usual spot near the kitchen. The table held an ashtray, a cribbage board, and a weathered deck of cards. The usual condiments were lined up on the end by the wall.
“We’re looking for Gramps.” Sam sat down as he spoke.
“Do you want coffee?”
“Mmmm…just some water,” Chickadee said. Sam nodded.
Mavis poured two glasses of water at her kitchen sink and brought them back. She lowered her sizable bulk into her chair and flicked her smoke at the ashtray.
“Pretty quiet, so far today. What have you Muskrats been doing?” Mavis studied the kids. She was a good listener, so people talked to her. She knew everything on the rez.
“They found that old man’s boat,” Sam announced with a grin.
“Did they find him?”
“Not yet.” Chickadee gulped air as she finished a slug of water.
“Hmmm….” Mavis shifted in her chair. “Where’s the boat?”
“Out by the delta,” Chickadee offered.
The kids knew they had to give her something big if they wanted to find out anything in return.
“They may be looking for volunteers soon.” Sam knew this was official information Mavis could spread. It was a sizable pelt of gossip.
“That’s sorta interesting.” Mavis feigned a lack of interest. “People will want to help out.”
“Well…they should wait until Uncle Levi gives them the go-ahead. He’s out by the snake pits with a dog right now. Hopefully, he’ll find the bone-digger.”
“If they do need volunteers, they may need to hire boats to take them out there.” The kids could see the wheels turning in the restaurant owner’s head.
The Case of Windy Lake Page 3