Finders Keepers (15 page)

“I talked to my Dad this morning,” Danny said as he put his knife down and stretched his cramped fingers. “He's
on the museum board. I'm going to ask the museum to take down the Sundance photograph.”

Joshua's eyes widened. “Think they will?”

Danny shrugged. “Dunno.”

“What if they won't listen to you?”

Danny shrugged again. “Dunno. Guess I'll have to think of something else.”

“Like what?”

“Well… I could sneak in and take it.”

“You can't do that,” said Joshua shocked to the core. “That's stealing a museum artifact.”

“Hey, I thought you said it shouldn't be there,” said Danny, hurt. “I thought you'd be pleased I was trying to do something about it.”

“I am, I am.” Joshua argued. “But there would be one heck of a lot of trouble if we broke into the museum and stole something. The reserve would have the whole town on its neck.”

“What's all this 'we',” said Danny. “I'm not asking you to do anything.”

“I know,” said Joshua softly. “But we're friends aren't we? I told you about it, so I guess we're in this together. OK?”

“You mean… you'd come too?” said Danny unbelievingly.

Joshua nodded. “Sure. If that was the only way.”

“That would be great, really great,” bubbled Danny, then he sobered up and looked solemn. “But wouldn't you be a bit scared?”

Joshua thought for a moment. “A bit,” he admitted. “We might be smarter to see if your Dad could do something first. Maybe he could get us in to meet with the board so we could explain.”

Danny stood up and stretched. “That's a good idea. Let's go and ask him. He'll be in the store.”

It didn't take the boys long to get into town. No sooner had they started walking down the highway than Mr. MacVey's truck came barrelling along and he offered them a lift.

“Uh oh,” said Danny as they leapt out on Main street, opposite the store. “The tourist season's started.”

Joshua looked down the street and saw several tour buses on the museum parking lot. “So what?” he asked, puzzled.

“That's when Dad wants me to help out in the store. I hate it,” muttered Danny. “Maybe I shouldn't show my face in there today.”

“Aw come on. I haven't seen inside your store, we usually shop at the big supermarket at the other end of town.”

Reluctantly Danny pushed open the door of the small general store and the boys stepped inside.

It was an old store, one of the original buildings in Fort Macleod, and Mr. Budzynski had tried to keep the old-fashioned feel that the tourists enjoyed. The dark wood shelves were stocked with all kinds of food staples, but fishing rods and nets hung from hooks in the ceiling, gold pans spilled out from one corner, art and stationery supplies, camping supplies, postcards and souvenirs all jostled for room along the back wall. Mr. Budzynski had also improved the store's popularity with both tourists and town folk by squeezing in a Fifties-style ice cream bar with 42 different flavours to choose from.

Today the place was packed with people. Several older people from the tour bus, sporting plastic daisies in their lapels proclaiming, ‘HI I'm a Sunday Sightseeing Senior' poked around in the souvenir section, and a bunch of families lined up patiently for ice cream.

“Thank goodness you're here, Danny. I'm short-handed. Could you handle the ice cream bar and cash register, while I work at the grocery cash register?” Mr. Budzynski, sweating and harried, tried to deal quickly with the lineup of customers as well as rushing to the other side of the store to serve ice cream.

Danny groaned. “Told you we shouldn't have come in,” he muttered to Joshua. “Where's Ginny Taber?” he asked his father.

His father shrugged. “She didn't turn up again. Come on Danny, there are customers waiting.”

“Dad, I'm no good on the cash register. Can't I do something else?”

“Danny, for once just shut up, concentrate, and help me out.”

Danny seemed to shrink in on himself but obediently turned, slipped between the customers and headed to the ice cream bar. Joshua followed and ducked behind the counter with him.

“Hey, I'm good at math,” Joshua whispered, eyes dancing. “I'll work the till if you show me how, and you can do the ice creams.”

Danny looked at him, hope dawning. “You will? You don't mind?”

“I love doing jobs like this,” said Joshua happily. “Just show me how it works and tell me how much the ice creams are.”

It took Joshua all of two seconds to catch on to the workings of the electronic till.

“The ice creams are fifty cents a scoop,” Danny whispered as he rapidly tied on an apron and picked up the metal scoop, “so the cost goes by how many scoops they want, then the till works out the tax.”

“That's easy enough,” said Joshua as he looked at the first customer. “Can I help you?” he asked with a grin.

Danny scooped and scooped, till his back ached and his hand was numb from being in the freezer all the time. The hot afternoon ensured a steady stream of customers all wanting different combinations.

“A double of chocolate and amaretto…”

“A triple with vanilla, orange, and bubblegum…”

“Two triples and a quad. Rocky road, tiger, smartie and strawberry, for the quad; one triple with choc chip, mint and Irish cream; the other with tangerine, double choco
late and cheesecake.”

The orders grew more and more fantastic as the day wore on.

Joshua, with eyes sparkling and a ready chuckle, was in his element. He could calculate how much the customer owed before he'd rung up the order, he never fumbled with the change, and he always had a joke for the folks in the line-up.

Danny, much to his surprise, also enjoyed himself. He didn't mind scooping ice cream as long as he didn't have to figure out the money. Danny knew all 42 flavours and their whereabouts in the freezer. He had a great knack of slapping the triple scoops on just right so they didn't fall off (at least not until the customer was some way down the road). The ice cream line had never moved so fast or so smoothly and the contented customers left, licking their cones.

“You two are quite the team.” Mr. Budzynski stood in front of them. He stuck out a hand across the counter. “You must be Joshua. Good to meet you. Nice of you to pitch in.”

“It was fun,” said Joshua, shaking his hand.

Mr. Budzynski walked over to the door, put up the
CLOSED
sign and drew down the blind. “We close early on a Sunday,” he said, “so you're off the hook now. Help yourselves to an ice cream and I'll see you later with your wages.”

“Wages?” said Joshua unbelievingly. “You mean we get paid? I thought we were just doing it to help out.”

“I pay my staff, so I pay Danny when he helps out. Only minimum wage though, so don't get excited.” Mr. Budzynski laughed.

Joshua turned to Danny. “You mean you hate working in the store so much that you don't want to do it even though you get paid?”

Danny nodded, not looking at his father.

“You're crazy, I'd do it.” Joshua looked hesitantly at Mr. Budzynski. “If Danny really doesn't want the job…. Is it possible Mr. Budzynski? Could I have Danny's job?”

“Well, it's not a real job,” Mr. Budzynski hedged. “Danny doesn't work all the time, he's not old enough. Neither are you. I just like him to help out on Sunday afternoons in the summer.”

“Wasn't I good enough?” asked Joshua, downcast. “I thought we did alright.”

Mr. Budzynski patted his shoulder. “You did a great job, you were really quick on the till.”

“Joshua's good at math,” said Danny, proud of his friend.

Mr. Budzynski looked strangely at his son. “You really do hate working in the store, don't you Danny?”

Danny flushed and nodded. “I'm no good at it Dad. I mess up the money. Today was only OK because Joshua worked the till.”

Mr. Budzynski looked thoughtfully at Joshua again. “Joshua, I don't know you very well. This is the first time we've met, but I like what I see.”

Joshua said nothing, just looked at him eagerly.

Mr. Budzynski laughed. “Look, it's not a proper job, but if your Mom will give written permission, I'll try you out on the ice cream bar for three hours next Sunday. If you and I still get along, you've got yourself a regular spot on Sundays.”

“YIPEEE
!” Joshua grabbed Danny and they jigged around the counter.

Danny broke away and came over and hugged his dad. “So I never have to work the cash again, Dad?”

His father looked down at him, a strange expression on his face. “If you really hate it that much, I guess not, son,” he said slowly.

“
WHEEW
…” Danny expelled a sigh of relief as though the weight of the world had tumbled from his shoulders. “Thanks Dad.” He gave his father a brilliant smile and another hug before he and Joshua rushed off happily to eat their ice creams outside, all other problems forgotten.

Sadly, Mr. Budzynski watched them through the store window, then blew his nose hard and carried on locking up the store.

Danny sat on the floor of his bedroom and ran his hand lovingly up and down the shaft of his finished lance. Maybe Joshua was right, he was a perfectionist. He'd certainly not been able to rest until he'd practiced and found out how to throw the lance and atlatl properly. He'd also worked for hours to make them look beautiful.

Balancing the lance across his fingers, Danny felt a warm glow of pleasure and pride. Red chicken feathers had made good strong “fletching” at the end of the lance. He'd painstakingly tried the fletching several times, first with two, then with three and finally four feathers, but three seemed to work the best so that's what he'd settled on. Then he'd finally solved the problem of attaching the stone point by using waxed dental floss instead of fishing line, and so far it seemed to be holding. He laid the lance gently on the floor and picked up the atlatl.

Yes, that felt right too. Danny had whittled, smoothed, and rubbed it with fine sandpaper, then finally polished it with wax. The peeled wood gleamed with a greenish cast and it felt good to the touch. Last night he'd found a long narrow pebble to use as a counterweight and carefully scraped a groove around it with one of his dad's tools. Now he was
able to bind it on to the atlatl where he'd cut a matching groove in the wood so that the cord wouldn't stop the smooth seating of the lance.

Danny stretched and looked at his watch. It was only 10 minutes after seven. There was still time to practice his throwing before the sun set.

“Mom, I'm just going out to the cow pasture. I won't be long,” Danny called as he passed the living room where his folks were watching TV.

A chilly breeze made him shiver as he stepped out of the house but he couldn't be bothered going back for a jacket. He climbed over the fence into the cow pasture and stood poised with the lance and atlatl at shoulder height. The breeze blew stronger and he felt goose pimples rise on his arms.

It was winter and the tribe, starving and ill, huddled together in one tipi for warmth. The only member with any strength left was the young hunter Danny Three Feathers. “You are the only one who can save us,” said the chief. “Take your lance and atlatl and find us some food.” Three Feathers headed out onto the frozen prairie, lance poised ready and eyes watchful. He walked for miles and miles but saw nothing, not even a jack rabbit.

By the end of the day Three Feathers was exhausted and discouraged. He had found nothing to eat other than a few berries. The light was fading but he knew he could not return to the tipi without food so he stopped, faced into the freezing wind, visualized a buffalo in his mind and called upon the Great Spirit.

“Please save my people, they are starving. Help us by sending some game so I will not go back empty-handed.” He prayed for a long time and then sang what he could remember of the Holy Woman's song. The Great Spirit answered his prayer. Three Feathers heard the distant drumming of hooves, then smelled the musty sweat of the great beast and heard it snort.