also made me wonder if this wasn’t the real reason behind Gareth’s visit. For when Charlie had suddenly appeared on my doorstep, it had taken me less than a second to jump to the obvious conclusion. Gareth’s new employer was CanacGold.
But why would a mining company hire Gareth? He was a criminal lawyer. The only thing he knew about gold was how to buy it; gold cufflinks, gold bracelet, even a gold Rolex watch, all in the interests of looking successful. Unless CanacGold’s only requirement for a lawyer was sleaze, of which Gareth had plenty.
Still, it didn’t answer the question of why Gareth wanted my land. Or should I really say CanacGold? Was it possible there was gold on my land too? Was I Gareth’s special project? Get me to sell my land, and he got the big bucks?
Damn that double-dealing bastard. I’d better get to the Fishing Camp and try to find out what he was up to.
From my canoe, I heard the echo of angry shouts across the water long before I saw the tense crowd of people at the Camp’s boat launch. They were watching Eric and Charlie Cardinal standing face to face, shouting at each other. Some of the onlookers were positioned behind one or the other of the antagonists, while others stood further back, as if reluctant to show sides. And lurking behind them like a giant lizard waiting to pounce was the red object I’d seen from the Lookout, a huge transport trailer with letters emblazoned in gold along its side that spelled out the word “CanacGold”.
I beached my canoe on the shore, not far from the action. Although a few watchers cast angry glances in my direction, most eyes were fixed on the shouters.
“For the last time, tell the driver to haul that damn truck back to where it came from,” yelled Eric, the scar beneath his eye a searing white.
“Like hell I will. He has every right to be here,” came the angry retort from Charlie Cardinal.
They were both standing feet planted apart, arms crossed, faces locked in stubborn refusal. A faint breeze nudged the eagle feather attached to Charlie’s braid, while Eric held his own feather ramrod straight in his left hand.
I searched for Gareth and found him where I expected, standing by his car waiting for events to unfold. Never one to get his hands dirty, Gareth let others do it for him. Under the full force of his glare, I turned away and determinedly aligned myself behind Eric’s solid back.
“Charlie,” Eric shouted, “you know damn well, that truck has no right to be on our land without band permission. I’ll charge the driver and all his friends with trespassing if they don’t leave immediately.”
At a nod from Charlie, a man who looked like a retiree from the Hells Angels walked towards the cab of the transport trailer. A line of men in red CanacGold windbreakers held their ground beside the truck.
“As hereditary tribal chief, I give him the right,” Charlie retorted.
From his groupies rose sporadic cries of “That’s right Charlie”, “Give him hell”.
“You don’t have the authority,” Eric replied.
“Damn right I do,” Charlie yelled. “My ancestors were chiefs of the Migiskan when yours were Mohawk slaves. Now get the hell out of the way, or this truck’ll run you down.”
And to emphasize his challenge, the truck let off one piercing peal of its horn, which throbbed against the bordering cliffs until it dissipated into the bay. Gareth remained by his car, watching and waiting.
But the threat only made Eric stand firmer. “Charlie, you’re only making things worse for yourself. Only the band council has the authority, and we voted earlier this afternoon not to permit CanacGold the use of band lands. So tell the driver to leave, and we won’t bring the police into it.”
“Yeah, that’s right Charlie, we don’t want them bastards here,” came a shout from one of Eric’s supporters.
“Knock it off, Charlie”, “Forget it” came others.
But the CanacGold response was a dull clank as the truck’s gears shifted into drive and slowly moved towards us, only to stop as it met our line of silent, determined faces. The truck inched forward again. I gulped, not sure how far I wanted to take this. Some of the men gave way, I with them, but John-Joe stood his ground. The truck’s gleaming bumper nudged John-Joe’s chest, causing him to lurch backwards and fall. The truck stopped. John-Joe picked himself up and planted his feet in front of the waiting truck. I walked over, stood beside him and heard the shuffle as others joined our line.
Finally, Gareth made his move. “Enough, Charlie,” he shouted.
For a moment it looked as if Charlie were going to hit Eric, then he turned abruptly on his heels and strode away, forcing a path through the men who blocked his way to the truck. He wrenched the door open and climbed into the cab beside the driver.
Gareth, his face a mask of professional calm, stalked over to Eric. “Sorry about this misunderstanding, Chief Odjik,” he said with barely disguised contempt. “We won’t disturb you again. We’ll bring our supplies in another way.” And cupping his hands to his mouth shouted, “Okay guys! Everyone in your trucks, we’re leaving.”
The CanacGold men jumped into several shiny pickups and a couple of nondescript rentals. Gareth turned to leave, then as if changing his mind he walked over to me and spat out, “Indian lover, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole . . .” he turned towards Eric, “. . . now.”
Infuriated not only by the insult to me, but to my friends, I threw a handful of stones after him and grinned when he wheeled around, rubbing his head. And since Gareth had to have the final say, he jerked his finger at me with a gesture that needed no translation, then turned back to his car.
With a groan, the truck slowly backed away from the boat launch, past the timber lodge, with its windows filled with cheering onlookers. The spasmodic beep of the back-up horn echoed off the watching hills. The driver didn’t dare attempt to turn the massive vehicle around in the limited space. He just continued reversing down the narrow winding Camp road towards the main road, more than a mile away. Close on his front bumper followed the cavalcade, with a dusty Porsche in the lead.
A war whoop erupted, accompanied by shouts of “Hurray, we did it!” There were even a few steps of the warrior’s dance I’d seen at the last Pow Wow.
Grinning broadly, Eric shouted, “Thanks, men, but show’s over. Back to work!” With more war whoops, they dispersed.
“Hi, Meg. See you caught the fun.” Eric walked chuckling towards me.
“Congrats. Round one to the good guys.” I laughed, luxuriating in this minor victory.
“Might as well enjoy it. Not sure how many more we’ll have,” Eric replied, suddenly looking serious. “They need to get that equipment over to the island to start the drilling. You heard that guy, they’ll find another way.”
“That guy was Gareth,” I said. “As you saw, he’s one of them.”
“I’m sorry, Meg. Sorry for you that he had to turn up like this.” He searched my face as if seeking answers. Finally, he asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Okay now.” I sat down on a nearby picnic table and
