The nosy guy brushes off his hands as if he’s touched something dirty. William goes out last, without looking back. I close the door behind them and lean against it.
He’s on the right track? He must be bluffing. He’s just here because this is the closest house to the band office.
My eyes are drawn to the wood stove. Something isn’t right…
Suddenly I go pale. My legs are as weak as a willow branch.
The ax.
I left my ax in the band office.
A cold sweat breaks out over my whole body. There are hundreds of axes on the reserve. Every family has one, but everyone knows their own, and a sharp eye would recognize Manie’s.
If the police find out it’s mine, they’ll throw me in jail on the spot.
They couldn’t ask for a better way to shut me up.
10
TOM AND I are putting up our tent on the edge of the pine forest, right where the dirt road ends. We carefully tie the long poles together to make a frame.
In the reserve below, dozens of pairs of eyes are watching us from behind their curtains. We don’t know whether they approve of what we are doing or not, but it makes no difference.We have made our decision. We will block the road into the forest day and night. To get to it, the loggers will have to mow us down with their bulldozers. We will root ourselves to the ground just like the trees around us.
I am very calm, like a forest at the end of the day when the wind falls.
We mark a big circle on the ground and hang canvas from the crossed poles. The children come to help us. They fill their arms with fir boughs that we heap in a circle.
We are going to light a massive fire right at our front door. A fire that will burn for as long as we are here.
The manager of the band council rushes over in his truck. He is white with anger.
“What are you doing here?” he shouts.
We say nothing.
“You don’t have a permit to put up a tent here. It isn’t allowed!”
We say nothing.
He turns around, gets into his truck, slams the door and drives back to his office. We know he’ll get right on the phone to call the police and the government.
I place a big sign in full view beside our tent:
YOU ARE IN INDIAN TERRITORY.
WE WILL ACT ACCORDING TO
OUR OWN LAWS. WE ARE THE
GUARDIANS OF OUR LAND.
Tom and I keep watch, feeding the fire with big branches of cedar. The fire throws up clouds of sparks, and the flames trace a long yellow path on the still waters of the lake. The heavy beat of Tom’s drum carries far across the water and echoes over the valley.
• • •