Finders Keepers

by Andrea Spalding

  “I think so,” said Danny slowly. “The shape’s easy enough, and if I sand down the outer edges of the blade it will give the right angle. I’ll paint the wood white. It should look OK if I give it several coats.”

  His father patted Danny’s shoulder. “Sounds good to me. Ask if you run into trouble attaching it. I’ll be around later, but I’ve got to go over to MacVeys to help with their new bull.” He drained his coffee and got up to leave.

  “Oh Dad,” Danny said hesitantly, “I wanted to ask you something… it’s about the museum. Are you still on the museum board?”

  “Sure, been on for years. I don’t go to all the meetings though. A lot of yattering and no action. Why?”

  Danny sat marshalling his thoughts for a minute. This was a tricky one. He had waited all week for a good time to tackle his dad, but Danny wasn’t altogether sure his father would understand.

  “Well,” Danny chose his words carefully. “You know about this First Nations project I’m researching?”

  His father nodded.

  “We’ll, I’ve found something out. Something they should know about one of the exhibits. It shouldn’t be there.”

  Danny’s father came and sat down at the kitchen table again. “Hmm. Sounds tricky. You sure you know what you’re talking about?”

  Danny nodded.

  “This something to do with the Indian kid you hang around with?”

  Danny looked uncomfortable. “Well, kind of, but not really. It’s something he first told me about, but it’s not really anything to do with Joshua.”

  Mr. Budzynski sighed, folded his arms and stretched out his legs. “OK, spit it out. I guess I’d better hear the whole story.”

  Danny gave his father a carefully edited version of the Elders’ view of the photo of the Sundance. He stumbled a few times trying to keep his story straight because he didn’t want to mention the illicit visit to the museum where Joshua first saw the photograph.

  “You mean you’ve got yourself into a snit over a photo?” Danny’s father said unbelievingly. “No one’s going to take that seriously.”

  “But they’ve got to, Dad. It’s real important to the Peigans. The Sundance is sacred, it’s holy. The photo shouldn’t be there.”

  “Look, son if those Indians are putting pressure on you, I’m going to have a thing or two to say to them.”

  “No,” cried Danny. “It’s not like that. No one said anything… They wouldn’t… but I care.” He looked desperately across at his father, willing him to understand. “Come on, Dad. You’re always telling me ’Be a man, stand up for something you believe in.’ Well I’ve found out something. And it’s wrong. And I’m the only one that knows. So I have to say something, don’t I?”

  There was a long silence while Danny looked at his father.

  Mr. Budzynski shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, this is a tough one, son. It lands me in a spot. Let me think about it.” Danny’s father stood up. “I’ll take a look at that photo and see what I can find out about it at the next meeting. OK?”

  Danny smiled, relieved that his father hadn’t poured too much cold water on his idea.

  Mr. Budzynski pulled on his sweater and headed for the door. He paused at the door and looked back at Danny. “I know you and I don’t always get on about your math, son,” he said. “But you’ve got a good heart, I’ll give you that.”

  Danny bent happily over his work. Praise from his dad was rare.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Every day’s been a good one for ages,” thought Danny happily as he stretched lazily in bed, enjoying the Sunday morning feeling of waking without the alarm. He rolled over and looked at his dresser. Brett’s helicopter was still there, looking almost as good as new.

  The helicopter gleamed in a patch of daylight streaming in from where his curtains didn’t quite meet in the centre. From a distance the new rotor blade looked almost identical to the old one. Danny leaned over and touched it with one finger. The layers of fast drying acrylic paint had made a tough shiny white finish. Danny flicked the blade and watched carefully as it spun around evenly and smoothly. He had managed to fix it himself except for the rivet holding it on. His dad had done that for him.

  “That should shut up Brett Gibson for a while,” Danny said in a satisfied tone of voice. “I’ll give it to him on Monday.” He turned his head and squinted at his clock.

  “Nine o’clock! Holy cow, Joshua will be here soon.” He swung his legs out of bed and started hunting in the mess on the floor for some clothes.

  In fact it was after ten before Joshua arrived. Danny was in the back yard throwing some feed down for the hens when he heard a truck pull up and Ringo’s frantic barks. He dumped the bucket and ran down the farm track to the gate.

  “Hello big puppy,” Joshua was saying as he bent over and rubbed Ringo’s ears. “Some fierce watch dog you are.”

  Ringo, ecstatic at having another boy to play with, stopped barking and rolled over on his back, paws flopping in the air and tongue lolling out to the side.

  “Stupid mutt,” said Danny fondly as he joined Joshua in rubbing Ringo’s belly. Ringo’s long tongue swept Danny’s face and his tail frantically stirred the dust. “You’re supposed to scare strangers, not invite them to scratch your belly.”

  “Fat chance,” laughed Joshua. “You should have trained him to hate people, not like people.”

  Danny sat back on his haunches. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you like people?”

  Joshua paused rubbing and considered. “Depends. Not that many white people. What about you?”

  Danny chuckled. “Not that many white people either.”

  Both boys laughed and Ringo wriggled from under their hands and stood upright, barking excitedly.

  Danny jumped to his feet, took Ringo’s head in his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “Hey Ringo! Shall we trust Joshua? Shall we show Joshua our secret place?”

  The dog barked and wagged its tail furiously.

  “Go on then, boy. Let’s have an adventure. Ringo, show us the den!”

  Ringo turned and trotted across the fields.

  “Follow that dog,” shouted Danny, and both boys ran.

  “Hey man, this is really something.” Joshua wriggled through the opening in the coulee wall and delightedly surveyed Danny’s den.

  Danny showed him the pickle jar lanterns and even though it was morning they lit one and entered the branch tipi. Ringo followed them through the doorway and flopped down between their feet and the log table.

  Joshua fished in his pocket and brought out an envelope. “Here, Mom sent you this.”

  Danny ripped it open and lifted out a folded piece of paper. It was a copy of a donor certificate, explaining how an object could be given to the Interpretive Centre. Danny read it carefully then refolded and placed it back in the envelope. “Tell your mom thanks,” he said quietly as he tucked it in his pocket. “I’ve not forgotten what she said. I’m keeping the point safe. Actually I’ve been trying to copy it.” He fiddled behind the log table and brought out his rag bundle, unwrapped it and held out the rocky shards to Joshua.

  Joshua carefully cradled the points in his hand. “You made these?”

  “Yes. They’re not very good though,” said Danny. “I’m still practicing.”

  “I think they’re great. It’s hard to knap points. You’ve got several really good ones here.”

  Danny looked carefully at the worked stones then delicately picked one out. “Here.”

  “You giving me one?’

  “Yup. I thought if we each had one we could try and make a lance and an atlatl.”

  “Great,” said Joshua wrapping the point carefully in a tissue. “We’ll need sticks and pocket knives, have you got one?” He felt in his pocket and pulled out a small scout knife.

  Danny pulled out a similar knife. “We’ll have to do it outside though. There’s not enough room in here. The lances need to be pretty
long. Come and look, I found some great willow branches.”

  The boys crawled out into the gully and Danny passed over some willow sticks he’d already cut. They sat whittling for a long time.

  “This is hard,” grumbled Joshua after his third failure at binding the point onto the lance with fishing line.

  “I know, the line is slippery. We’re supposed to use sinew but I don’t know where to get it or how to make it. Would your Mom know?”

  “I’ll ask.” Joshua stood up. “This is the best I can do. Come on. Let’s throw them.”

  Danny eyed the lances and atlatls doubtfully. “I think they need more work… besides I think we need to glue flight feathers on the lance shafts.” He lifted up his lance and looked down its length. “Mine’s not very straight.”

  “Aw come on. You’re such a perfectionist, let’s just throw them anyway.”

  They climbed to the top of the coulee and stood side by side, lances poised. Ringo waited, tail wafting slowly.

  “Hey… I’m a mighty hunter,” said Danny proudly. He held his lance at shoulder height. “Let’s aim for that sage bush.” He pointed to a clump about 10 metres away. “On the count of three. One… two… THREE.”

  Two lances thudded to the ground hardly a length away. Ringo barked excitedly.

  “Huh,” snorted Joshua in disgust as he retrieved them. “Fine hunters we’d be. Wonder if the atlatl will make a difference.” They picked up the spurred sticks they had whittled and tried to balance the lance shafts on the atlatls with only a couple of fingers.

  “One … two… THREE,” counted Danny.

  Once more the lances thudded to the ground a couple of metres away.

  “Shoot,” said Danny in frustration. “My point has come off.”

  “Guess we haven’t made them properly,” sighed Joshua “Now what?”

  “We try again,” said Danny and they headed back to the den.

  “I talked to my Dad this morning,” Danny said as he put his knife down and stretched his cramped fingers. “He’s on the museum board. I’m going to ask the museum to take down the Sundance photograph.”

  Joshua’s eyes widened. “Think they will?”

  Danny shrugged. “Dunno.”

  “What if they won’t listen to you?”

  Danny shrugged again. “Dunno. Guess I’ll have to think of something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well… I could sneak in and take it.”

  “You can’t do that,” said Joshua shocked to the core. “That’s stealing a museum artifact.”

  “Hey, I thought you said it shouldn’t be there,” said Danny, hurt. “I thought you’d be pleased I was trying to do something about it.”

  “I am, I am.” Joshua argued. “But there would be one heck of a lot of trouble if we broke into the museum and stole something. The reserve would have the whole town on its neck.”

  “What’s all this ’we’,” said Danny. “I’m not asking you to do anything.”

  “I know,” said Joshua softly. “But we’re friends aren’t we? I told you about it, so I guess we’re in this together. OK?”

  “You mean… you’d come too?” said Danny unbelievingly.

  Joshua nodded. “Sure. If that was the only way.”

  “That would be great, really great,” bubbled Danny, then he sobered up and looked solemn. “But wouldn’t you be a bit scared?”

  Joshua thought for a moment. “A bit,” he admitted. “We might be smarter to see if your Dad could do something first. Maybe he could get us in to meet with the board so we could explain.”

  Danny stood up and stretched. “That’s a good idea. Let’s go and ask him. He’ll be in the store.”

  It didn’t take the boys long to get into town. No sooner had they started walking down the highway than Mr. MacVey’s truck came barrelling along and he offered them a lift.

  “Uh oh,” said Danny as they leapt out on Main street, opposite the store. “The tourist season’s started.”

  Joshua looked down the street and saw several tour buses on the museum parking lot. “So what?” he asked, puzzled.

  “That’s when Dad wants me to help out in the store. I hate it,” muttered Danny. “Maybe I shouldn’t show my face in there today.”

  “Aw come on. I haven’t seen inside your store, we usually shop at the big supermarket at the other end of town.”

  Reluctantly Danny pushed open the door of the small general store and the boys stepped inside.

  It was an old store, one of the original buildings in Fort Macleod, and Mr. Budzynski had tried to keep the old-fashioned feel that the tourists enjoyed. The dark wood shelves were stocked with all kinds of food staples, but fishing rods and nets hung from hooks in the ceiling, gold pans spilled out from one corner, art and stationery supplies, camping supplies, postcards and souvenirs all jostled for room along the back wall. Mr. Budzynski had also improved the store’s popularity with both tourists and town folk by squeezing in a Fifties-style ice cream bar with 42 different flavours to choose from.

  Today the place was packed with people. Several older people from the tour bus, sporting plastic daisies in their lapels proclaiming, ‘HI I’m a Sunday Sightseeing Senior’ poked around in the souvenir section, and a bunch of families lined up patiently for ice cream.

  “Thank goodness you’re here, Danny. I’m short-handed. Could you handle the ice cream bar and cash register, while I work at the grocery cash register?” Mr. Budzynski, sweating and harried, tried to deal quickly with the lineup of customers as well as rushing to the other side of the store to serve ice cream.

  Danny groaned. “Told you we shouldn’t have come in,” he muttered to Joshua. “Where’s Ginny Taber?” he asked his father.

  His father shrugged. “She didn’t turn up again. Come on Danny, there are customers waiting.”

  “Dad, I’m no good on the cash register. Can’t I do something else?”

  “Danny, for once just shut up, concentrate, and help me out.”

  Danny seemed to shrink in on himself but obediently turned, slipped between the customers and headed to the ice cream bar. Joshua followed and ducked behind the counter with him.

  “Hey, I’m good at math,” Joshua whispered, eyes dancing. “I’ll work the till if you show me how, and you can do the ice creams.”

  Danny looked at him, hope dawning. “You will? You don’t mind?”

  “I love doing jobs like this,” said Joshua happily. “Just show me how it works and tell me how much the ice creams are.”

  It took Joshua all of two seconds to catch on to the workings of the electronic till.

  “The ice creams are fifty cents a scoop,” Danny whispered as he rapidly tied on an apron and picked up the metal scoop, “so the cost goes by how many scoops they want, then the till works out the tax.”

  “That’s easy enough,” said Joshua as he looked at the first customer. “Can I help you?” he asked with a grin.

  Danny scooped and scooped, till his back ached and his hand was numb from being in the freezer all the time. The hot afternoon ensured a steady stream of customers all wanting different combinations.

  “A double of chocolate and amaretto…”

  “A triple with vanilla, orange, and bubblegum…”

  “Two triples and a quad. Rocky road, tiger, smartie and strawberry, for the quad; one triple with choc chip, mint and Irish cream; the other with tangerine, double choco late and cheesecake.”

  The orders grew more and more fantastic as the day wore on.

  Joshua, with eyes sparkling and a ready chuckle, was in his element. He could calculate how much the customer owed before he’d rung up the order, he never fumbled with the change, and he always had a joke for the folks in the line-up.

  Danny, much to his surprise, also enjoyed himself. He didn’t mind scooping ice cream as long as he didn’t have to figure out the money. Danny knew all 42 flavours and their whereabouts in the freezer. He had a great knack of slapping the triple scoops
on just right so they didn’t fall off (at least not until the customer was some way down the road). The ice cream line had never moved so fast or so smoothly and the contented customers left, licking their cones.

  “You two are quite the team.” Mr. Budzynski stood in front of them. He stuck out a hand across the counter. “You must be Joshua. Good to meet you. Nice of you to pitch in.”

  “It was fun,” said Joshua, shaking his hand.

  Mr. Budzynski walked over to the door, put up the CLOSED sign and drew down the blind. “We close early on a Sunday,” he said, “so you’re off the hook now. Help yourselves to an ice cream and I’ll see you later with your wages.”

  “Wages?” said Joshua unbelievingly. “You mean we get paid? I thought we were just doing it to help out.”

  “I pay my staff, so I pay Danny when he helps out. Only minimum wage though, so don’t get excited.” Mr. Budzynski laughed.

  Joshua turned to Danny. “You mean you hate working in the store so much that you don’t want to do it even though you get paid?”

  Danny nodded, not looking at his father.

  “You’re crazy, I’d do it.” Joshua looked hesitantly at Mr. Budzynski. “If Danny really doesn’t want the job…. Is it possible Mr. Budzynski? Could I have Danny’s job?”

  “Well, it’s not a real job,” Mr. Budzynski hedged. “Danny doesn’t work all the time, he’s not old enough. Neither are you. I just like him to help out on Sunday afternoons in the summer.”

  “Wasn’t I good enough?” asked Joshua, downcast. “I thought we did alright.”

  Mr. Budzynski patted his shoulder. “You did a great job, you were really quick on the till.”

  “Joshua’s good at math,” said Danny, proud of his friend.

  Mr. Budzynski looked strangely at his son. “You really do hate working in the store, don’t you Danny?”

  Danny flushed and nodded. “I’m no good at it Dad. I mess up the money. Today was only OK because Joshua worked the till.”

  Mr. Budzynski looked thoughtfully at Joshua again. “Joshua, I don’t know you very well. This is the first time we’ve met, but I like what I see.”