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Mystery at Shildii Rock
Mystery at Shildii Rock
Robert Feagan
Copyright © Robert Feagan, 2007
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
Editor: Michael Carroll
Designer: Erin Mallory
Printer: Webcom
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Feagan, Robert, 1959-
Mystery at Shildii Rock / Robert Feagan.
ISBN-13: 978-1-55002-668-9
ISBN-10: 1-55002-668-2
1. Gwich'in Indians--Juvenile fiction. I. Title.
PS8561.E18M97 2007jC813'.54C2006-904611-5
123451110090807
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.
Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.
J. Kirk Howard, President
Printed and bound in Canada
To my children, Robin, Joshua, Michael, Tandia, and the memory of Keith Allen Attattahak
Acknowledgements
Although this book is a work of fiction, Gwich'in legends, as well as the names of friends and respected elders from Fort McPherson, have been incorporated into the story to recognize the wonderful people of the Mackenzie Delta. Some events have also been based on incidents that took place while my family lived in Fort McPherson and Inuvik.
I would like to thank my parents, Hugh and Marj Feagan, for sharing their memories. I would also like to thank Rachael Villebrun and Bertha Francis for their contributions.
Chapter 1
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
