Now they heard and understood.
As he watched, the Sergeant recognized the speaker as the young Graduate Law student, Richard Kullman; and was amazed at what he was saying. He was getting ready to submit a petition for Aboriginal Peoples to form a consortium, build and run a casino with an adjacent hotel, restaurant and RV Park on the Ancient Indian Burial Ground, at the head of Andover Lake.
Then the scene shifted and the fire turned in on itself and began to die; they saw a man, thin, haggard and alone wandering along the river by the old fish ladders. Though no longer used, they were still a source of great power. As he dragged along the faint path back to the man who trapped him, he chanted a plea to the great Creator for freedom. His keeper was unaware he knew that song...he would not have been pleased.
The moon was over head now and beginning its’ decent into the hills, but there was one last thing that needed to be seen.
The old man obviously tired now, opened his bag and removed three leaves, one, a large green maple leaf from the eastern lands of the Mohawk. The second also large and green had a big hole eaten by a worm; the last leaf while not large was withered and worn, but still intact.
Chanting an ancient plea, he carefully wrapped each white stone in its’ own leaf.
Then with words of prayer, he placed them by the small fire so that each leaf withered and each stone turned black, then he threw them all into the embers of the fire.
Up it flared again!
This time it was not time past, Indians sat on chairs around a fire; you could see it was a feast in someone’s honor, women and girl children moved behind the men passing roasted deer and wild turkey on plastic platters. Trays of bannock, baskets of wild onions, hickory nuts, garlic and berries went from warrior to warrior. They passed the white man’s firewater to each man to honor an ‘Algonquin’ medicine man. He sat in all his regalia in the place of honor.
As the evening wore on, they told tales of past glory, soon the men got up to dance around the huge fire.
The medicine man got up to dance, he began to chant and shake his rattles. Excitement grew and blood lust raised its ugly head. The fire grew higher and rose to the heavens! The scene changed, the sun was gone now, there was blood and pain, death lurked at the edge of the fire, wounded and lifeless warriors lay abandoned on the ground. Wives and mothers keened, and sang the ‘Song of the Dead’. In times past the women would have put ashes on their heads, and painted their palms red to show they were overcome.
But that was then, this was now.
One man still stood!
Did he stand because he didn’t fight?
Did he stand to fight again, or was he the reason for the fight?
Before the watcher’s eyes he crouched down, his back arched and his arms thickened with fur, his head pulled forward and his ears pricked up, his nose turned black, and stood on the end of a short snout. His half-shut eyes were sly, fervently he looked around and seeing a hidden path put his tail between his legs and slunk off.
The fire went out!
And it was dark...
The old man, cold and barely able to sit up now, closed his eyes and began to chant, slowly weaving a charm of protection over the two men who were watching.
The professor and the Sergeant looked around; they were stiff and confused.
Then Bill remembered and was terrified, but was it real?
Was it over?
The old man put his hand out to his grandson, “this is enough, you have seen, what you have seen.”
He stood up and with unsure steps made his way back to the car. Edmund Little Bow gave his head a shake and followed his grandfather.
The car started and they were gone.
The Sergeant still sat, his back sore, his eyes red, his mind reeling. He could hardly believe what his eyes said they saw. Was any of it true? He had to talk it over with someone who understood.
He got into his cruiser and headed for Merriweather.
* * * *
“Get up, get up! You won’t believe what I saw,” Bill Majors yelled as he pounded on the door of ‘Betty’s Cafe’ in Merriweather before dawn.
A very grumpy ‘Betty’ stood inside the screen door of his small apartment; scratched his belly and watched a dishevelled RCMP Sergeant pound on the cafe door.
‘Betty’ had a nice little two-room flat at the back of the building. Everyone knew where the cafe ended and his home began but the agitated man still pounding on the door, didn’t seem to remember.
“Okay, Okay Serge, no need to break down the door,” called ‘Betty’ standing outside his apartment door now. “Come in, I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”
Bill Majors stumbled towards the voice. Almost there he blacked out at the cafe owner’s feet.
“Okay, now I know for sure you’re not drunk,” he said to the exhausted man as he lifted him up, dragged him into the kitchen and propped him up against the wall. “But I sure don’t know what you’ve been doing. Sit there for a moment or two; I’ll make some coffee.”
‘Betty’, keeping an eye on his guest to make sure he didn’t pass out again, got out his big Percolator and began to add coffee and water. He turned the burner on the stove to high, and knew there would be a lot of hot, strong coffee in six minutes.
“I’ve got something to tell you that you’re not going to believe,” Bill said as his eyes opened and he realized where he was. He smelled the coffee and his mouth began to water. “I have to tell someone, I need to know if I just dreamed this or did it really happen.”
“What’re ya talking about?”
“I’m talking about my meeting with Edmund Little Bow and his grandfather last night, .I.. I... can hardly think about this stuff... let alone talk about it.”
The Mountie looked around and realized he was sitting on the floor. He got up, sat on the kitchen chair, and began to run his fingers through his hair. It seemed to calm him, and he began...
“It’s all a jumble in my mind, you’re going to have to hear me out all the way before you ask questions or I won’t be able to finish.”
‘Betty’ put two giant mugs on the table, poured the coffee and sat down. “Okay,” he said, “tell me what I need to hear.”
Dawn finally broke over the small town of Merriweather, there was no blood in the sky, no lightening strikes, and no thunder rolls, it was a day like every other day.
But, in ‘Betty’s’ flat, everything was different.
“You’ve been talking for two hours now, Bill, how can I believe what I’m hearing? What are we supposed to do? Like, who do these lawyers think they are; can they alter the law, just like that?
“That’s a Sacred Ancient Indian Burial Ground up there at the head of the lake, how is the lawyer going to change that?
“And why did all the Indians die? Who was the guy that changed into a wolverine after everyone else was dead? Did that mean he was the villain? Are you sure you weren’t smoking those funny cigarettes while you were seeing this?” ‘Betty’ said filling the coffee cups for the third time.
“The only thing I think I understood,” said ‘Betty’ smiling at his own smart remark, “was the thin guy walking by the river. If he’s anybody, he must be Jack McKinnon. What are you supposed to do about that? Who are you going to arrest and how can you make them let their slave go? Sorry, but I think there are more questions now, than answers.”
“We have to get more and better advice,” Bill Majors said, “we have to get Edmund Little Bow back here for our meeting at noon.”
‘Betty’ looked at his guest and said, “You won’t believe who’s also coming, Richard Kullman.
“That can’t be! Didn’t you hear who the lawyer was in the fire last night? Who said he could come? He shouldn’t be at this meeting!”
“Can’t be helped, Carol and Barry Adler went to dinner at the Kullmans house yesterday remember and Richard was there. They talked about what’s going on. He said he wanted to help. So Ba
rry said sure, so, he’s coming.”
Bill Majors looked at ‘Betty’ and slowly shook his head; he knew why and how Richard Kullman got to go to the meeting, he had extra help.
Talk about inviting the fox into the hen house!
“Thanks for the coffee, ‘Betty’, I have to go home and clean up. Can’t have the RCMP looking like last nights hangover. See you at noon for the meeting.”
Bill stood up and headed for the door. He had to get to a phone and get Edmund Little Bow here, there had to be confirmation of what he’d seen. And, another problem, how to prevent the ‘tame’ lawyer from attending so they could figure out what to do with all this new information.
The police car was still where he left it. He got in and pointed it towards Carling, first the office and then home.
He had some explaining to do to his wife; she was always cross when he didn’t come home at night and didn’t phone.
Things to do tumbled around in his mind and he clenched his teeth and knew he had to figure it all out.
Bill Majors pulled into his parking spot at Carling Detachment Headquarters and noticed all the cars. They were big and expensive; the kind lawyers drove. The knot in his stomach began to clench; he knew who was here.
Leaving his car in his parking space, he made his way to his desk with a meaningful stop in the Men’s Room. Loud voices ricocheted off the walls behind the Chief’s closed door. This was no time for hesitation. He knew he had to get out of there.
Gathering his papers, he almost made it to the outside door when he heard his name called. With head down and ears not listening, he sprinted for the car. Nothing was going to keep him from finding out the truth of what he saw in the fire last night.
Chapter 51
The Xaali’pp band council minus Chief George was gathered in the meeting room of the Great House. They sat and looked at the shaman in the Chief’s chair. Most saw a hero, a leader of men, the one destined to help them rise and throw off the yoke of the white man.
The shaman said they could, and most believed him. Two members looked at the floor. They tried not to look into his eyes. When they did, uneasy feelings crept in and sat in the chair with them. They knew they’d have to give in someday, just not today.
The ‘tame’ white man sat in a corner of the room and dozed. He had no role to play in this, or any other Council, so he slept. Not the deep sleep of renewal; but an uneasy oblivion that kept him on edge. Something was not right.
Nothing was supposed to bother him. Peace, tranquility and nothingness was promised, but it was gone...
Did something change?
Now?
This minute, he began to know again. There was dread when he listened to his inner voice, trouble it said, trouble in the form of a woman who wouldn’t give up. Memory seeped slowly into his heart and he began to dredge up pictures of the past.
He gritted his teeth, and held his breath. NO! He shouted in his heart, I have to forget, they’ll die if I let go, it’ll be all MY FAULT!
Although he was made to forget who would die, he knew it would be unbearable.
All his fault, all because he couldn’t control himself.
* * * *
The shaman was not happy! Events were not happening as planned.
The council listened to what would happen to anyone who disobeyed him.
Although west coast Indians knew the Wendigo was not native to their coast, and that he was the evil creature that feasted on human flesh he lived in eastern Canada. But the appalling apparition came to life through the vivid stories woven by the shaman, and The People were deathly afraid.
The ‘tame’ white man was also upset; he trembled inside, but for a different reason. He couldn’t lie to the shaman and if he knew what he remembered, he would be the first one eaten by the Wendigo.
Running Wolf promised this would be, and everyone knew... he was always right.
Jack touched the unfamiliar medicine bag that hung down his chest under his dirty blue shirt and confidence flowed through him. He didn't know why he found it around his neck in the hospital, but it gave him strength and he hid it carefully under his shirt.
Even though his mind had a long walk back, the medicine bag kept his feet on the right path. Deep-rooted memories started to tip toe in and settled themselves in old familiar places.
Just a moment, thought Jack McKinnon as fear of the Wendigo left him, this can’t be right!
Could it be true?
Was the ‘tame’ white man no longer ‘tame’?
He looked around; saw the men sitting around the large table paying rapt attention to the man seated at the head. He looked down and realized he was sitting on the floor... in a corner.
No shoes, he said to himself, I don’t have any shoes! What’s going on here. Where am I and why am I in a corner? He sat a few moments longer listening to the small man sitting at the head of the table. He didn’t understand a thing he heard. None of it made any sense. Who did he think he was? And, why were they all looking at him like he was god?
Jack McKinnon realized he was not in a position to stand up and demand an answer to his questions, so he turned to the wall and pretended to be asleep.
He knew he had to get out of there and get some help. He didn’t understand much, but he soon realized they were planning rebellion in the shape of a gaming casino.
The meeting was finally over and everyone left, quiet, calm and orderly. It was as though they planned a tea party, not the overthrow of the Provincial Government. The room was soon empty, no one told him to leave so he sat in his corner trying to figure out where he was and what to do now.
As he sat, his stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten in a long time.
With everyone gone, the lights went out and he was alone. He got up, and almost stumbled, his legs were weak and he was lightheaded, but he made it to the big doors. They opened into a foyer with two closed doors on the far wall, and the entrance to the building on his left.
He knew there had to be a phone in this building somewhere. He needed to find it, and something told him to find it fast. He chose the door closest to the main entrance. The sign posted above it said, ‘Reception’.
The door was unlocked and there was a phone on the counter.
Who should he call? His wife? She was probably really mad, and the explanation would take too long. His boss? What kind of excuse could he make? He didn’t know how long he hadn’t been at work? No, those had to wait, he needed help, so it better be Bill Majors, he’d know what to do.
He dialed Zero for the operator, and she came on and asked him how she could help. When he said he needed the police, she told him to dial 911, if it wasn’t available in his area yet, to call back on the zero designation.
Jack looked at the phone; it was busy giving the dial tone.
He dialed 911, the voice said, ‘press 1 for fire, press 2 for an ambulance, press 3 for the RCMP Detachment nearest you, and the line went dead.
He pressed three, and the Carling police switchboard lit up, it gave a recorded blurb about the office not being open until 8:00 am, if it was an emergency, hang on, your call would be answered as quickly as possible.
Jack looked at the phone in his hand and wondered what planet he was on?
Then he noticed the calendar on the wall by the office door and saw what day it was, when he looked more closely at the year, he sat down hard in the clerk’s chair.
“Hello, hello, this is Officer Miller, can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Sergeant Majors, I need him right now.”
“Sergeant Majors is not on duty this evening, Sir, can I have him call you tomorrow?”
“No, tell him it’s Jack McKinnon calling, tell him I’m in a big building and I don’t know where I am. Tell him...” and there was a clattering and the phone went dead. The young officer looked at the receiver as though it was the phone’s fault.
“What a jerk,” he said und
er his breath, and hung up.
A half hour later, Officer Miller’s replacement came in, “anything going on I should know about, Jessy?”
“Not really, just same old, same old, but there was one call for Sergeant Majors, I think it was a crank call, he let the phone fall on the floor just to annoy me.”
“Did he give a name?”
“Ya, I think it was Jack Mckinnly, or Mckinny or something like that, I wrote it down but he was talking quiet like. I couldn’t hear much.”
“Are you out of your mind, it had to be Jack McKinnon!”
“Ya, I guess it could’ve been, what’s all the fuss? It was just another drunk.”
“You are so deep in shit, you may never crawl out! See if you can remember anything else, and you better call the Sergeant right now.”
“What d’ ya mean, in deep shit?”
* * * *
“Tell me all that again, Officer Miller, slowly, and don’t leave anything out,” said Sergeant Majors, trying to hang on to his temper. The phone call came in around 8:00 pm and didn’t get delivered to the Sergeant for almost an hour. But it only took Bill Majors 15 minutes to dress and get to the office.
“Well, it was just before 8:00 o’clock and I was going to go for my coffee break, but I answered the call anyway. It was a man, sounded like he was drunk, or maybe sick.”
“Never mind what you thought, get on with it.”
Both men looked up when the door opened and in walked Detective Inspector Malloy, with the Detachment Chief in tow.
“Gentlemen, I understand we have a lead in the on-going disappearance of Jack McKinnon. Go over it carefully for me, remember, it’s not just Jack McKinnon we’re interested in, it’s that casino at the other end of Andover Lake and the way it’s being funded.”
Officer Miller was sweating profusely, only on the force six months, and already in over his head!
“The phone call came in before 0800 hours,” he said trying for formality, “the caller said his name was Jack McKinly or McIver or something, I could hardly hear him. He said he had to talk to Sergeant Majors and I told him he wasn’t on shift and to call back in the morning. He must have dropped the phone, because there was a lot of noise at the other end, and then the call ended.”
“And when did you call Sergeant Majors?” said the Detective Inspector.