Читать книгу Mystery at Shildii Rock - Robert Feagan - Страница 7

Robin Harris was jolted awake as his chin bounced off his upper chest. Opening his bleary eyes wide in the initial moments of confusion, he tried to remember exactly where he was. The outline of his father's back at the front of the boat came into focus and the last cloudy remnants of sleep faded away.

He had been slumped in the bottom of the boat, and as he pushed himself up onto the wooden plank that served as a seat, he realized just how uncomfortable his position had been. His legs were stiff and his neck ached at the back where the muscles had been under strain as his head lolled forward in sleep. He noticed a large wet patch on the front of his sweatshirt and spied a shiny string of drool that still clung to his chin. With a quick, embarrassed glance at his father, he wiped the spit away with the back of his hand. A shiver passed through his body, and he wrapped his arms across his chest. He surveyed the passing shoreline to determine their exact location.

The day he had awakened to was much different than when he fell asleep. They had been upriver visiting some of the few remaining fishing camps of summer. The fall air had been cool, but the intensity of the sun had brought a cheerful balminess that had overtaken the coolness of the season.

The Peel River had been smooth and pristine, with sparkles and warmth given birth by the sun. It was with the heat on his face and bright reflections in his eyes that Robin had nodded off to sleep, soothed by the wind and rhythm created by the movement of the boat.

The sky was now grey and bleak, the air cold and wet, while the river had become dark and gloomy and had waves of considerable size. The chop was harsh, and the eighteen-foot Royal Canadian Mounted Police ply craft speedboat bucked with the concussion of each and every impact. Robin realized it had been the turbulence that had disturbed his sleep. He shivered once more as the spray from an incoming wave blew across his face. Ignoring its hard, chilly surface, Robin returned to the bottom of the boat to escape the wetness and seek shelter from the wind.

He watched his father at the front of the boat and saw the man's body tense an instant before a wave of unusual size swept across the bow. Ted Harris glanced back and smiled when he realized the building storm had awakened Robin from his sleep. Despite himself Robin returned the smile and relaxed before the impact of the next wave.

"We're not far off!" Ted shouted. "This storm's going to get a lot worse, but we'll be warm and dry before we have to worry about that. Just hold on and enjoy the ride." With a grin and a wink, his father turned back and ducked as the next wave swept in and blew over the windshield. His confidence restored, Robin looked skyward and closed his eyes to meet the fine mist of spray.

From his earliest memory, a single smile from his father could make everything in the world seem okay. He just couldn't imagine his father in a situation that was too hard to handle. When he was eight years old, back in 1953, he had seen his father in a fight. He knew that as a corporal in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police his father faced some tough situations, but he had always been protected from the reality of his father's work. It had terrified him to see his father rolling on the ground with someone who was trying to harm him.

A Dutch trapper with flaming red hair named Fritz had come in off the trap line, and after consuming a considerable quantity of homebrew, was looking for a fight with anyone. Robin had been out for a walk with his father when they heard the angry shouts of an argument in progress. In a small northern town like Fort McPherson in the Northwest Territories, everyone knew the local RCMP constables.

When Fritz saw Robin's father, he calmed down. "Good Officer! My friend! It good see you here. We just having fun to celebrate my birthday." With a big grin on his ruddy face, Fritz held out his meaty hand.

In the split second Ted took to ease his hand forward, Fritz lunged and the two tumbled to the ground. At six feet and 185 pounds, Robin's father was lean and muscular, his size not reflecting his true strength earned from years of dog team patrol and manual labour required of a policeman in a small northern community. Fritz, however, was a good 250 pounds, with bulk that was hard to handle.

Robin stood motionless, his mind crippled with fear, his heart pounding in his ears with a deafening roar. How long he remained there he had no idea, but Rachel Reindeer happened by and gently took him by the hand.

"Don't look, Robin," she told him "You shouldn't be here. Help is on its way, so let me take you to your mother."

With a crowd now gathering, Rachel had no choice but to lead Robin past the two men where they lay grappling. As he passed, Robin glanced down, and the world seemed to slip into slow motion. Ted was on his back with Fritz on top. When Robin passed, his father looked directly into his eyes. There was blood at the corner of Ted's mouth, but his gaze made all of that fade away. Robin peered into those clear hazel eyes he had known since he was a baby. What he saw there wasn't fear, or hate, or confusion. They were calm, almost smiling, and they spoke to Robin with more clarity than any spoken words.

Go home, son, the eyes seemed to say. I'll be fine. This silliness is almost over and I'll be along to tuck you in after a bit. I love you, son.

Everything had been fine, and his father had come home to tuck him in. He later learned that Rachel's husband, Johnny, had arrived soon after and helped get Fritz under control. Johnny worked with Ted as a Native special constable, and though he seldom became involved in this side of their work, he was capable all the same. Robin had seen that look in his father's eyes many times since, but that fight with Fritz for some reason held a special, significant place in his memory.

Now another huge wave slammed the boat and jarred Robin's spine against the icy bottom where he sat. Once again he studied the shore to get some idea how far away they were from Fort McPherson.

With the overcast sky and a continual barrage of spray misting his eyes, spotting the usual landmarks wasn't the easiest task in the world. The Peel River was almost a mile wide in places, and no matter how much Robin squinted, images didn't always come into focus. He would have asked his father how much farther they had to go, but Ted was busy enough in the bow.

The shore of the river was covered in gravel in most places with the odd stretch of sand. Beyond the gravel shoreline, willows grew thick and dense. The banks rose sharply above this maze of branches and were covered in a blanket of dark evergreen forest. Depending on where a person went ashore, the willows could make any initial progress quite difficult.

As Robin stared at the willows through the mist and the increasingly dimming light, they appeared murky and forbidding. He imagined thousands of small yellowish diamond-shaped eyes staring back. He pictured legions of trolls crouched and ready to charge should the speedboat venture too close. With their protruding foreheads glistening with sweat and rain, they bared their sharp teeth as they gibbered in excited anticipation.

Robin's attention wandered upward, and he followed the top edge of the bank as the boat moved past. His eyes raced ahead, and he strained to see far into the distance. The fog seemed to solidify, then he realized the darkness was actually some object at the top of the bank on the horizon. The object seemed to move, but Robin couldn't tell if his senses were being truthful or if the movement was simply a trick of poor light and intense staring.

As the boat drew closer and the object grew larger, its craggy outline sharpened and took shape. Looming high on the bank, the familiar sight of Shildii Rock told Robin they were almost home.

Shildii Rock was the subject of Gwich'in legend. Robin had heard the story many times and liked to listen as each person told his or her own version. He loved legends and imagined a time when the Native stories were real and not superstition. His mother had taught him to respect the Gwich'in beliefs — the stories, the songs, the dances.

Robin absently let his eyes follow the rock as their boat passed it. He had seen Shildii from this same vantage point many times, but the irregular shape always attracted his attention. At its base the rock was roughly ten feet square. Slab after slab of large tile-like rock formed on top of one another, reaching a height of twelve feet. Robin always fancied the rock might have been fashioned by a giant out of thin LEGO pieces haphazardly placed together in a big pile.

He watched the rock recede behind them, then turned away to look forward. It took him a moment to realize what he had just seen. Part of the rock had actually moved! He was sure of it! Not when he was staring at it in the distance, but right now as he turned away. He shouted at his father, but the wind carried any sound away and he knew it was hopeless. They were now a good piece from the rock, and all Robin could do was stare back as they moved farther and farther off. The mist and rain began to close in behind them, and the outline of Shildii Rock blurred as it receded. At that moment a figure slowly rose from where it had been crouching beside the rock, then was gone.

Robin blinked at the wall of grey that now obscured his view upriver. Had he really seen someone? He glanced at his father, peered back in the direction of Shildii Rock, then looked at his father once more. Fighting the jerking movement of the boat, Robin lurched towards the bow where his father stood struggling with the wheel.

"I saw something!" Robin yelled.

Without twisting around, Robin's father tipped his head at an angle in an effort to hear his son over the weather and motor. "You saw something?"

"I saw someone!"

Ted looked back this time and caught the expression of seriousness on his son's face. Returning his attention to the front of the boat, he continued to shout over his shoulder. "What did you see, son?"

"I saw someone by Shildii Rock. He was up top, right beside it."

Robin's father glanced back again, and this time there was no mistaking the skepticism on his face.

"Dad, I know I saw someone. It was foggy, but he was standing right beside the rock. Actually, he was crouching beside it, then he stood and stared right at us."

"It was a man? Did he wave, son? Could you see who it was?"

"It was too far away to tell who it was, but I know what I saw."

"Robin, this storm is getting worse by the minute. If you're sure you saw someone, we have to go back and see. It doesn't make sense that anyone would be up there now unless he had boat trouble or something. If that's the case, we have to help."

Robin shook his head. "I saw someone, Dad. I know I did!"

His face stiff with worry, Ted slowed their speed and carefully turned the boat. They were fighting the current now, and the storm seemed to intensify as they ploughed through the waves. Their progress was agonizingly slow as they moved back upriver. It seemed to take twice as long. As Robin squinted through the thick fog, he was sure they had gone past the rock. His father angled the boat towards shore, and the fog appeared to separate and lift as they advanced. Shildii Rock loomed above them, high on the bank. Although Robin had seen the rock only moments before, he thought it was darker now. As he gazed upward, a presence seemed to stare back.

Ted worked the boat along the shore, then turned sharply and ran them gently aground. Stepping onto the side of the boat and moving to the bow, he jumped ashore and pulled them farther up onto the gravel.

"I don't see a boat anywhere, son. It's possible someone capsized and swam ashore. If he did, he might have climbed Shildii to get high enough to attract someone's attention. Shildii kind of sticks out over the fog and catches your eye. I figured this was as good a spot as any to come ashore. Our usual trail is just over there."

Robin nodded and surveyed the rock.

"No, son, you stay here," Ted said, reading his son's mind. "We were cutting it fine before we doubled back. Now every second counts. I'll hustle up, and you stay here and hold the fort."

Robin opened his mouth to speak, but his father had already turned and was jogging along the shore towards the trail. He watched as his father slipped on the gravel, regained balance, and disappeared into the willows. Robin heard Ted's progress as he started up the trail, then all was silent.

Resigned to the fact that he had to stay behind, Robin sat in the driver's seat behind the wheel. The mist and drizzle had changed into a steady downpour, and Robin suddenly realized he was getting very wet. Zipping his jacket up to his chin, he reached down and grabbed one of the smaller canvas tarps his father kept under the seat. He quickly shook it out to full size, spread it over his legs, and pulled it snuggly up to his chin. His face remained exposed to the rain, but he didn't really notice. His mind was captivated by thoughts of who might be at Shildii Rock. It had looked to him as if the person was hiding, not trying to get help. Why was he crouching behind the rock? Why didn't he wave? It didn't make sense.

Then it hit him. The figure was a spy! A fugitive hiding from the FBI. His dad might need backup, so he better be ready. What if the spy had lured them here to get their boat? Maybe the spy had seen his father head up the bank and planned to sneak down to steal the boat. If he did, Robin would be ready! Nobody was taking their boat! He pictured his father's boss, Inspector Limpkert, shaking his hand and presenting him with an award for bravery. The inscription would read: "Presented to Robin Harris for valour and courage in the face of danger. Our country owes him its every gratitude." His friends would all be there, and they would give him a standing ovation.

"No, please! Sit down!" he would tell them. "Thank you. Really it was nothing. It was just my duty to my country as a loyal Canadian."

Wait, what was that? Robin nervously sat upright and listened. Someone was crashing through the willows downriver. His father had taken the trail up to Shildii, and that was upriver, in the other direction.

Robin examined the boat frantically, searching for something to protect himself with. His choices were a lifejacket, a gas can, the food box, or a paddle. Some choice! Climbing out of the driver's seat, he crawled to the stern and picked up the paddle. Gripping his weapon in both hands, he knelt, his eyes level with the side so he could watch the willows.

The sounds were getting closer, and it seemed as if the person was running. There! He spotted movement! He gripped the paddle and held his breath. With one last crash, a moose broke through the trees and charged onto the gravelly shore. Stumbling to a faltering stop, the animal turned and lumbered downriver. With a sigh, Robin relaxed and let the air escape from his lungs. Just a moose!

"Unless you intend to run him down and club him to death, you should put that paddle down sometime soon."

Robin almost jumped out of his skin. His father was approaching the boat from the direction of the trail. At the sight of Robin's terror-stricken face, Ted smiled despite himself and began pushing the boat offshore. As the vessel slid into the water, the Mountie clambered onto the bow, stepped over the windshield, and headed to the stern to start the motor.

While his father checked the gas and prepared to pull-start the motor, Robin couldn't contain himself any longer. "Dad, who was up there?"

"Son, other than old Mr. Moose I didn't see a darn thing."

"But, Dad —"

"Robin, I can't really talk right now. We would've beaten this storm, but our little stop has slowed us down enough that things could get real bad. The wind is stronger, and look at the size of these waves. The wind's driven some of the fog off, but we've got a slow, rough ride ahead. If we don't leave now, we'll be up at Shildii waving for help ourselves."

The motor kicked over on the third pull. Ted moved to the bow as they slowly turned down-river. The ride was incredibly bumpy, and all Robin could do was sit on the bottom and pout. He knew he had seen someone! But it had been foggy. Could it have been the moose? No way! It was a person; the fog couldn't change things that much. His father was right, though. Why would anyone be up there in this storm, and if they needed help, they certainly wouldn't try to hide.

The rest of the trip was painful. Painfully slow in the choppy water. Painful on the butt as Robin sat on the clammy boat bottom. And painfully frustrating as he tried to figure things out. When they pulled up to the dock in Fort McPherson, it was close to midnight and Robin was happy to scramble out of the boat and into the cab of the RCMP pickup out of the rain. By the time his father secured the boat and stowed the equipment, Robin was sound asleep.

Ted hopped into the pickup cab and started the engine. As he waited for the truck to warm up, he studied the face of his sleeping son. Gently, he brushed the sandy hair away from Robin's face and touched the boy's cheek with his fingertips. The summer sun had brought out freckles that seemed to gather over his son's nose and spread across the rise of the boy's cheeks, adding an innocence to the sleeping face. He was a great kid, but what an imagination! For the most part it was kind of cute, but sometimes, like today, it seemed to get out of hand. If it was a phase, it was lasting far too long. From the time he could first speak Robin had been a storyteller. Ted smiled to himself. Maybe someday Robin would be a writer. He slipped the truck into gear and headed for home.