Mystery at Shildii Rock. Robert Feagan
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.
Chapter 2
Robin squeezed hard against the base of the rock and held his breath. Why had he come back here? Why couldn't he have left well enough alone and forgotten the whole thing? His curiosity had gotten him into trouble before, but this time it was worse than anything he had imagined. He could hear twigs snapping along the trail, and he knew it wouldn't be long before they reached him. He could try to run, but where?
Gravel skittered a few feet away to the left. Robin bit his lower lip as he tried to keep from sobbing out loud. He closed his eyes and wished the whole thing would just evaporate and go away.
It was quiet now. Too quiet. Robin opened his eyes, releasing the breath gradually from his lungs. Heart pounding, he inched his way to the side of the rock. He should stay put, but he had to take a look. Slowly, he leaned forward and stuck his head around the corner of the rock. More gravel rattled directly behind him, and as he turned, a rough set of hands clamped around his neck …
Robin bolted upright in bed! Just a dream! He slumped back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. It had seemed so real. He could almost smell the bush and feel the hands grabbing his neck. Unconsciously, he raised one hand to his neck and rubbed it gingerly as if it had, in fact, been bruised by the hands he had dreamt.
Shildii Rock. What had he really seen? Was it a human, or was it a trick of the mist and fog? Darn it all, there had been someone there! It wasn't as if he had seen a shadow or merely caught a brief glimpse. There had been a person there staring at him. Whoever it was hadn't wanted to be discovered and had taken off before his dad could reach the rock. Why? Why would anyone from town not want to be seen? Unless they weren't from town!
Voices from the next room broke his train of thought. His father was getting ready for work. Their house was small, but Robin had never imagined anything different. There were five rooms: his parents' bedroom, his room, the bathroom, the living room, and the kitchen. His parents' bedroom was on one side of his bedroom and the kitchen was on the other. He liked the closeness.
At night as he lay awake in bed, the low, rumbling tones of his parents' voices in their bedroom hummed through the walls and soothed him to sleep. In the morning those same voices gently eased him awake from the kitchen as his parents prepared for the day ahead.
The aroma of coffee stole under his door, and he breathed deeply as his senses came to life. He had never tasted coffee, but it sure smelled good. Robin stretched beneath the covers and enjoyed the soft warmth of their texture against his skin. He could take his time getting up, but soon school would start and the luxury of waking at his own pace would be lost. Hey! How could it slip his mind! With only a couple of days until school began that meant any families still out at summer camps would be returning to Fort McPherson. Johnny Reindeer and his family would be home any day! Johnny's son, Wayne, was Robin's best friend in the world. They had grown up together practically since birth.
Robin and Wayne had taken their first steps together and spoken their first words together. Johnny often took the two boys on the land with him, and they accompanied both Johnny and Ted on dog team patrol. They had fun together and had gotten into trouble together.
Wayne had broken his leg after Robin had convinced him that a towel flying from his neck like a cape would help him drift slowly to the ground if he jumped off the dog feed shack. Robin had received his first black eye after Wayne had persuaded him to step on the blade of a garden shovel to see just how fast the handle would fly up.
Spending so much time with Wayne and his family, Robin had actually spoken Gwich'in fluently before he mastered English. At first his parents had been concerned but soon realized it was part of growing up in their community. Fort McPherson was situated on the Peel River, just inside the Arctic Circle and south of Inuvik. The population was about 600 people. Robin and his family were three of only twenty non-aboriginal people in the community. The rest of the population were Gwich'in Dene or Métis.
Hearing the door slam as his father left for work, Robin sat up in bed. He swung his legs over the side, yawned widely, and once again stretched as hard as he could. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he passed over the cold tile floor to the bathroom across the hall. When he was finished