Finders Keepers (8 page)

“Wow!” Mike eagerly grabbed the point.

“Hey, careful,” Danny gasped. “Don't break it!”

“I won't,” said Mike scornfully. “I'm not a klutz. Hey! How much?”

Danny sat back on his haunches in dismay. “How much?” he faltered.

“Yeah. I'll buy this from you. How much?”

Danny shook his head, wishing he'd never shown the point to Mike. He held out his hand. “Give it back, Mike. It's mine. I'm not selling.”

“Aw come on Danny, everything has a price. Two bucks, Five bucks?”

Danny shook his head again. “Come on Mike. Give it back.” He leaned over the log and grabbed for it.

Mike swung his hand back laughing and held the lance
point just out of Danny's reach. “Come on Danny, name your price… I know… I'll swap you something.”

“No way.” Danny's voice sharpened. “I found that point myself. It's special, real special. Give it back.”

The changed note in Danny's voice made Mike uncomfortable. There was something he didn't understand here. It was almost like Danny thought the Indian stuff was holy or something.

The two boys locked gazes in the candle light. Danny's eyes were as bright and fierce as an eagle's, his body ready to pounce and his hand curled into a claw. Mike shifted, ill at ease, and almost threw the point on the log. “OK, OK,” he muttered. “No need to get mad.”

Silently Danny picked up the point, examined it for damage and carefully wrapped and replaced it in his jeans. “We'd better go,” he said abruptly, stood up and unhooked the jar from the roof, then held back the door curtain.

Mike scrambled out into the gloom. The sun had set and the dull day had settled into enveloping grayness. Mike stumbled, disoriented by the shadows.

Danny followed, carefully replacing the brush over the doorway to hide the towel. He lifted the lantern and guided Mike through the crack and out into the coulee.

“Wait here,” Danny said. “I've got to put away the candles,” and he disappeared.

Mike shivered, not just with the chill. The coulee was eerie, full of rustles and crackles. In the gaps between wind gusts Mike could hear the steady lap of the Oldman River, and the croak of frogs. He didn't mind the noises he knew, but what else was out there? He wished Danny would hurry up.

Danny reappeared silently. “Promise not to tell about my den.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” replied Mike promptly, matching his words with the appropriate gesture.

Danny led the way up the coulee trail. Mike followed, uneasily checking each shadow for wild animals and other things best unmentioned.

Danny too was uneasy. His relationship with Mike had changed. Both boys were relieved when they arrived back at the farm and found Mike's mother was waiting to drive him home.

Danny lay in bed that night and thought things over. “Mike should have laid off the lance point. It's mine. I found it, like I'd been meant to find it. Besides, it should be kept safe. Indian stuff's important.”

Danny felt under his pillow and gently fingered the lance point. Despite the dark, each dent and chip under his fingertip painted a picture in his imagination, each flake vividly told him part of its story. As his fingers followed the shape, his imagination wove a dream.

A young hunter sat in the shade of a shallow coulee, painstakingly and lovingly knapping the point. It was a long job. The hunter wasn't an expert, he worked slowly and carefully, feeling his way a flake at a time, till the delicate shape emerged, sharp and beautiful, born out of stone. The hunter stood up and triumphantly held the lance point in the air and watched the sunbeams glance off the translucent edges. Then when it seemed to glow and absorb the sunlight, the hunter knelt down and bound it firmly onto a long straight stick. Grasping the stick he swiftly walked up the coulee. As he reached the coulee rim, the hunter paused for a moment, silhouetted against the sky. He had one eagle feather in his head band.

Smiling happily at the image he'd created, Danny drifted off to sleep.

The school week settled into its usual routine and Danny muddled through. Stoically, he accepted difficult situations, and dealt with them the best way he could, by losing himself in daydreams.

His favourite daydream lasted right through one Socials period.

Barenaked Ladies' touring bus broke down outside the school. Danny helped them fix the engine. The Barenaked Ladies were so grateful they did a free concert in the school gym. All the students loved the music and danced and rocked for hours. The teachers hated it and tried to get the speakers turned down. Eventually the roof couldn't take the blast from the speakers and started to crack and all the roof beams bent out of shape. School was closed for good. Danny was a hero. “You don't need school anyway,” said the Barenaked Ladies, “but we need a 'Mr. Fix-It'. Come on the road with us and fix our equipment.” So he did and became rich and famous.

By that time Socials period was over.

Each evening Danny took out his calendar and crossed off the days to the weekend. Each morning he doggedly arrived at school. He was totally surprised if something
pleasant happened during a school day.

Friday was a surprise.

“Today is the day you get one hour's project research time in the library,” announced Mr. Berg with a big smile.

Danny sat up straight in his desk. Great. He liked working in the library. He'd chosen his favourite topic—'Indians'—and knew where there were a couple of books he could look at.

“By the end of the afternoon I want you to each hand in a one-page outline of your project,” continued Mr. Berg. “It should start with a clear and concise explanation of your project, about one paragraph in length. Underneath the paragraph, in point form, list the topics or chapters you will be covering.”

The whole class groaned, Danny's groan was loudest and he slumped back in his seat.

Mr. Berg looked in his direction with a frown. “What's the matter Danny, don't you have a project?”

“I do Mr. Berg. Honest I do,” Danny stammered. “I've been working on it all week. I've a collection of post cards and I know lots of stuff and I've talked to people. It's just…” he tailed off, wondering how he was going to organize and write it all down so that Mr. Berg could read it.

“Well if you've done all that, you've got a head start,” Mr. Berg said briskly. “Line up by the door, Grade 5, and walk quietly to the library.”

Danny sat miserably at his library table. He had tons of information in his head. He'd organized his picture postcard card collection in a box at home ready to illustrate his report. The cards showed scenes of early life on the prairie, Indian encampments, tipi rings and the Indian clothing displays in the Fort Macleod museum. He had his lance point. He planned on painting a picture of the young hunter he had imagined knapping the flint point. He had met a real Indian kid and his grandfather and was going to visit Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump with them. Danny's project was all set to go. Except that he had to write it!

Danny looked around the library in despair. It was quiet,
much quieter than usual as his whole class had their heads down at the tables, scribbling away furiously in order to hand their outlines in on time. Mr. Berg was looking pleased and talking to the librarian in a low voice.

“This is just what this class needs,” Mr. Berg murmured in a satisfied tone. “A project that they can get their teeth into. They are a bright bunch on the whole apart from…” He stopped and his eyes swept the room and locked with Danny's.

Danny flushed scarlet, bent his head down and crooked an arm protectively over his paper. He knew what Mr. Berg had been going to say—'apart from Danny'. He looked sadly at the paper in front of him. It was black and smudged with eraser marks, crossings out and badly scrawled words written several times in an effort to spell them correctly. He sighed. Why was it so difficult to organize his thoughts and knowledge into a one-page outline when it was stuff he knew?

Footsteps approached and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Sure enough Mr. Berg's hand expertly whisked the paper from his desk.

“‘INJUNS'”
Read out Mr. Berg loudly.

The class grinned and sat back ready to enjoy the joke.

“‘INJUNS ARE VERY UNTRIST/INTRUST/INTERESTING'—
very good Danny, third time lucky.”

The class giggled. Danny squirmed praying that Mike wouldn't let on he'd told Danny how to spell 'interesting.'

“INTERESTING PIPILL/PEOPUL/PEEPUL,”
continued Mr. Berg.
“THEY LIVE ON RISURVS AND GO TO SCOOL LIKE US BUTTHEY YUST TO LIVE A DIFERENT LIF.
” He stopped and looked down at Danny. “Need I go on?”

Danny shook his head and looked down at his table.

“And what should Danny be using?” questioned Mr. Berg loudly.

“His dictionary,” chorused the class.

“Did you bring your dictionary with you?” asked Mr. Berg.

Danny shook his head again.

Mr. Berg dropped Danny's paper on the table, walked over to a shelf and pulled out a boxed set of two of the biggest, thickest books Danny had ever seen. He slapped them down in front of Danny. “This is a dictionary. Go on. Open it Danny.”

Danny clumsily pulled one of the heavy volumes out of its box and opened a page at random. It was full of tiny writing. Danny had never seen so many words packed together on one page. They danced and wriggled and swirled around like a whirlpool and tried to suck him inside and swallow him. Danny leaned back in horror.

“Guess how many words in that book,” ordered Mr. Berg.

“I dunno. Millions?” gasped Danny.

“Probably,” agreed Mr. Berg. “These two books make the Concise Oxford Dictionary. It is one of the best dictionaries in the world, and our school is lucky to own one. Despite its enormous size, in order to fit in almost
ALL
the words of the English language, it is printed in such tiny lettering that most people need this to help them read it.” Mr. Berg dropped a large Sherlock Holmes-type magnifying glass on top of the page.

“Hey, neat.” Several kids came and crowded round Danny's table.

“Can I look up a word Mr. Berg?” asked Marylise, grabbing the magnifying glass.

“Mr. Berg, does that dictionary have swear words in?” asked Brett Gibson interestedly.

Mr. Berg ignored him and looked over his glasses at Danny. “Do you ever use your school dictionary, Danny?”

Danny shrank down in his seat and shook his head. How could he explain he got lost in dictionaries?

“Why not?”

“I can never find the words in them.” Danny whispered, ashamed.

Someone laughed. “That's what they're for, dummy.”

Mr. Berg glared around and the laughter subsided.

Danny stuttered defensively. “If… if…” he took a deep
breath. “If you don't know how to spell the word, how can you find it in the dictionary?”

Mr. Berg rolled his eyes. “Then we'll go through it again. Let's find the word 'reserve' in this dictionary.”

To Danny's horror, the magnifying glass was thrust into his hand, the giant dictionary pushed under his nose, and the entire class crowded around to help.

“M
R.
B
ERG, COULD YOU SEND
D
ANNY
B
UDZYNSKI TO THE OF FICE IMMEDIATELY,
D
ANNY
B
UDZYNSKI, THANK YOU.”

The announcement over the school loudspeaker galvanized Danny to action. He dropped the magnifying glass as though it was red hot, pushed back his chair and shot through the crowd of students as though propelled from a cannon. Heaving a sigh of relief, he raced up the corridor and screeched to a halt in the office. He didn't know what was waiting for him there. But it had to be better than that kid-eating dictionary.

“Ah Danny,” boomed Mr. Hubner, as he put the loud speaker mike back on its stand. “That was quick.”

“We were in the library,” explained Danny breathlessly.

“Well come on in. There is someone who would like to meet you.”

Mystified, Danny followed Mr. Hubner to his office, then stopped short at the door when he saw his mother. “Oho,” he thought, “what have I done now?” Much to his relief she smiled reassuringly at him. He looked at the principal again.

“Danny, this is Ms. Wakefield. She's a friend of your mother who works with students who have learning problems.”

The tiniest woman Danny had ever seen stepped from behind Mr. Hubner's bulk. Danny blinked. He was considered tall for his age, but most adults still towered over him. Not this woman, though. She was just about his height.

She smiled and held out her hand. “Hi Danny. I'm Carol Wakefield. I'm really pleased to meet you.”

Danny automatically took her hand and shook it, then
looked questioningly around at the other adults. What was going on? His Mother didn't usually bring visitors to meet him at school.