The rain has almost stopped. The thunder has passed. I can feel my bag clutched against my chest. I know it’s almost daybreak. The blackness is thinning out.

“Psst! Psst!”

A shiver goes down my back. I turn my head. A shadow moves behind me.

“Psst! Nipishish! Over here!”

It’s Tom. What is he doing here? Somehow I manage to crawl backwards, clutching my bag. I feel as though I’m making a lot of noise.

“Come here, quick!”

We crouch down and sneak around the corner of the building, out of the view of the two men in the car. We slip between the Hudson’s Bay Company buildings as far as the dock and follow the shore of the lake. Daylight is just tracing a pale thin line on the horizon. I can hear the lapping of the rough water. I follow Tom blindly, glued to his heels. He is quick and nimble. We hurry on in silence.

At the end of the path we turn and head up into the pine forest.

I feel better here. The path is well traveled. The smell of the lake is replaced by the scent of evergreens.

Now I know where we’re going.

We burst into Tom’s tent like two hunters returning home after a good day in the forest. Without saying a word, we take off our rain jackets and our boots and hang them up to dry. Tom puts three birch logs in the stove and stokes up the fire. I pour two mugs of lukewarm tea and kneel on the thick carpet of pine boughs. Tom lights the candle. Our shadows are huge against the canvas wall of the tent.

I run my fingers through my hair to untangle it and dry it. It feels good.

“Kitchimiguetsh, Tom! Thank you!”

His face wrinkles up in a big smile. His eyes are full of goodness, and he puts a big hand on my shoulder.

“You’re safe here. They won’t come this far.”

I look in my bag to make sure the papers are still there. I see the envelope stamped Confidential and take it out. Tom watches me closely. Inside there’s a typed sheet of paper folded in three. I move closer to the candle and read it to myself. It’s addressed to George McLeod, Band Manager.

Dear Sir:

Further to the meeting held in our offices in Ottawa last March 20, this is to confirm that the Ministry of Lands and Forests authorizes logging of the pine forest on the edge of the reserve. The contract has been granted to the Canadian International Paper Company. The loggers will arrive on October 30 and the site will stay open for four weeks.

We know that the Indians value this forest. We must again use surprise to our advantage and put before them a fait accompli.

We in Ottawa are assured of your discretion and usual cooperation in this matter. If there is a problem, you can count on the support of the government authorities and the police.