Mystery at Shildii Rock. Robert Feagan
pushing my head down in the bush trying to get me to hide from the moose."
Johnny started to laugh and slapped his knee. The two boys never ceased to amaze him. So much like brothers yet so different. Robin with his sandy hair, fair skin, and freckles. Wayne with his jet-black hair and dark complexion. Robin with his wild imagination, and Wayne the willing accomplice, so anxious to follow his friend into the middle of trouble.
"My stomach can't handle any more of this," Johnny said, holding his sides. "Wayne, I need your help now, so say goodbye. You can come back after if it's not too late."
"Aw, Dad!"
"No ‘Aw, Dad.' I promised your grandma we'd drop off some more moose and fish, then we have to put the rest of the meat in the icehouse."
Robin waved halfheartedly in Wayne's direction as he followed his father back towards their house. "Well, Dana, it's just you and me again." Robin sighed. "Did I tell you how I almost had to take on a moose myself? Well, I did, and it was none of that easy stuff with a gun. All I had was a boat paddle to bring the big guy down with."
Dana flashed her knowing doggie smile and lay down at Robin's feet. All she could do was enjoy the human company and listen.
Chapter 3
When Robin woke the next morning, he could smell the fresh snow. It was the smell of a world born anew in a clean blanket of whiteness. He loved the first days of winter — crisp, not too cold, bright, and clear before the sullen darkness of winter's heart settled over the land. This early snow would melt, but it lightened Robin's spirits with thoughts of dog sled rides, and snow forts soon to be built and captured. A knock on his bedroom door, and a single sentence from his mother, replaced his excitement with dread. "Time to get up for school, Robin!"
School! Back to school. A new school year. No matter how Robin said it, he couldn't get excited. He was a good student, and though he would never admit it to Wayne, he actually enjoyed school. There was, however, one big problem. He was going into grade seven. Mr. Debark, the toughest teacher in the school, taught grade seven. That man gave more homework, more detentions, and more headaches to his students than all the other teachers put together! At least that was what all the other kids said. Wayne's sister had told the boys that anyone in Mr. Debark's class could expect to have homework every night. Now that was depressing!
From the very start it seemed as if Robin was destined to have a bad day. At breakfast he tipped his bowl of cereal into his lap and had to change not only his shirt but his new school pants, as well. Then, to make matters worse, when he stopped by to pick up Wayne on the way to school, his friend had already left. Wayne's mother had sent him to drop something off at his granny's before school. Now Robin would have no choice but to walk to school by himself.
Robin left the compound and absentmindedly wove his way through town towards school. He lifted his feet methodically and watched them fall one ahead of the other on the wooden sidewalk, which was elevated to keep shoes and boots above the dirt and gravel that became a never-ending sea of mud in the spring and fall with fresh or melting snow.
Although it was early, many people were moving about, readying themselves for winter. Most of the houses in Fort McPherson were constructed of logs. The annual fall ritual of "mudding" had begun. Throughout the warmer summer months, cracks would appear between the logs. A muddy paste was prepared in fall and administered to seal structures for warmth in winter.
River scows had to be put up and sleds were being readied for travel in the cold months ahead. Most people in Fort McPherson still used dog teams, though the Hudson's Bay store had brought in several new snowmobiles. The snowmobiles were noisy, and when the RCMP tried one last winter, Robin's father had found it unreliable. It had broken down often and needed plenty of care and attention. Even though they had to be trained and fed, dogs were far more dependable.
The musky scent of smoke carried on the light breeze, evidence of wood stoves freshly lighted to chase away the early-morning chill from the log homes as people got organized for the day. The combination of fresh snow and morning sunshine made Robin squint. The snow glistened on the ground in all directions, its tiny crystals reflecting like diamonds in the sun. Diamonds! That was it! Someone had discovered diamonds at Shildii Rock and didn't want anyone else to get close. The culprits were going to smuggle them down the Peel to the Mackenzie River and then southward. Robin and Wayne would have to stop them. It would be dangerous work, but they could handle it. Agents Harris and Reindeer with their faithful attack dog Dana. Fearlessly, they would —
"Hey, Redbreast! Robin!"
Robin looked up, unsure of where his walk had taken him. He had been staring at his feet as he trudged, deep in thoughts and dreams.
"I'm over here, son. Welcome back to earth. What planet were you on?"
Robin grinned sheepishly and strode over to where Chief John Kay stood beside the sled he was working on.
"First day of school, right?" the Gwich'in chief said.
"Yeah."
"Let's see, grade seven, Mr. Debark?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm." John Kay smiled at Robin. "I heard he eats students who get behind in their work. Just adds a bit of salt and gulp. All gone!"
Robin chuckled. "I bet it's true! I bet he teaches just because he hates kids so much he likes torturing them every chance he can get. Being a teacher is perfect for his evil plan!"
The chief shook his head and laughed. "You sure never change, Robin. Old Mr. Debark isn't that bad. He can be a bit crusty around the edges, but his students seem to learn a lot."
"Crusty! If he was a pie, he would be all crust and no filling!"
"Well, I think you're going to find out just how crusty old Mr. Debark can be, son. It's five after nine."
Robin glanced at his watch. "Darn! See you, Chief!"
John Kay watched as Robin ran off towards the school. Smiling to himself, he turned back to the sled runner he was working on. He really needed a new one. Maybe he should buy one of those new-fangled snowmobiles they had at the Hudson's Bay store. No, things weren't that bad. Besides, those crazy machines would never replace dogs. Who would give up their dogs for the smell of gas and oil and all of that noise to go along with it?
The halls were empty when Robin arrived at the school. Every step echoed as he headed for the office to retrieve a late slip before he continued on to class. "Late, late, late, late," each step seemed to say. After reporting to the secretary, he waited at the counter as she filled in the particulars.
"Hey, Robin!" Frank Firth entered the office and slumped into one of the cushioned chairs in the waiting area.
The secretary sighed. "Oh, Frank, not already!"
Frank shrugged and smiled. One of the older students who was in grade twelve, he was a smart, funny guy. Robin had never seen him without a smile and thought he was pretty neat. The teachers didn't always appreciate Frank's humour, however, and he was always in trouble.
As Robin took the late slip from the secretary and walked out, Frank gave him a friendly poke in the arm and a wink. "Don't worry, Robin. His Debark is worse than his Debite."
Quite pleased with his own joke, Frank giggled, and despite himself, so did Robin. Maybe this won't be so bad, he thought. Maybe Mr. Debark is a nice guy just like Chief Kay said.
Robin opened the classroom door, and as his eyes met those of Mr. Debark, he felt himself shrink and melt into the floor. The teacher's eyes were pale blue like a husky's. They bore right into a person, were impossible to read, and were colder than an icy February night. To Robin those eyes had the blank gaze of a shark just before it rolled onto its back to attack. They held the threat of a cobra's eyes as it swayed back and forth before it struck. Or maybe they were more like the eyes of a vulture as it waited for the first opportunity to rip every morsel of meat from its victim's bones.
Mr. Debark was a tall man, six foot four or five. At age fifty-eight