“I have a good team of five dogs. They are fine animals. Four young ones that are still wild and the two-year-old lead dog that I’ve started to train. She is high spirited. The dogs will be useful to you for traveling, carrying firewood and water. You’ll like them, my dogs. I’m entrusting them to you. You’ll become great friends.”

Sam speaks to me as if we are two great hunters. I feel honored, like an adult.

Mush is sitting on my lap. I pat him gently. His fur shines. He’s in a deep sleep.

It’s the police I’m afraid of. They could come searching for me. We have decided to leave early Sunday morning, because they hardly ever patrol the reserve then.

Our plan is well known. The Algonquin are all talking about it at home, but they would never whisper a word to the whites, let alone to the police.

Suddenly, a shadow of doubt passes over me like a wingbeat.

What about William?

I quickly chase this idea out of my head. He would never do that. He was there with his family, protesting with us when we barred the road to the loggers.

No, William would never betray me.

• • •

It’s early morning when we tiptoe out of the reserve. Over the past few days we have packed everything in the back of Sam’s old truck — canvas, canoe, blankets, rifle, traps, axes, flour, lard.

Manie and Charlotte hug us goodbye.

“Go on, you young ones. We will come to see you next month.”

Pinamen keeps her bag of clothes with her. She has hidden my files at the bottom. We leave happy but with tight hearts.

We arrive at the cabin at the beginning of the afternoon. Even the weather is on our side. We bask in the sun’s hot rays. The log cabin is built on a little plateau surrounded by thick firs and slender spruce trees. It’s big, warm and clean. From the kitchen window you can see the sunrise, the dock and the dog dens below. From the door you can see down the whole length of the lake to the end of the valley.

For the moment, we settle in quickly. We will have plenty of time later to get ourselves organized.

Sam, who has come to help us, doesn’t stay long. He has to go back across the lake, hide his canoe at the end of the bay and get back to the main road that crosses La Vérendrye Park to return to the reserve.

We hurry to find a safe place for my files. Pinamen and I look around — under the mattress, under the roof beams, in the cupboard. Every spot is too easy to find.

Then Pinamen has an idea.

“At the bottom of the wood box?”

The big box runs along the wall behind the stove.

“Good idea.”