“Last night,” he said, in an even more compelling voice he’d obviously rehearsed, “the spirits spoke to me. They told me they were unhappy. Their world…” A pause for effect, “…has been violated. Turned upside down. So, they have begun to fight back…” He spread his arms, gesturing at the two overturned vehicles, “…turning the world of these men upside down.” He crossed his arms over his chest, in an attempt to make himself look powerful and steadfast. Noble winced at the move, thinking it made him look more like a wooden cigar store Indian than anything else. “It is a warning. If they stay here on these lands any longer, there could be worse things to come.”

Argus looked at Noble as if asking for an explanation.

Noble shrugged. All they had done was give Willie a little something to back up his claims, and now he was running with it. As long as he kept his predictions vague and non-violent, the pack would be able to back him up with some sort of mysterious occurrences.

The moment Willie finished speaking, a dozen hands went up and every reporter there was shouting his name.

“Manchoka!”

Willie pointed to the reporter and camera crew from the CBC, then glanced over at Noble and winked.

“Could you be a little more specific about the nature of these spirits?” asked the pretty young reporter. “What are their names? Their backgrounds? And how could they possibly overturn such heavy vehicles?”

“Uh oh,” muttered Argus.

“Well, that’s that,” stated Tora.

Harlan looked at his two siblings. “Hey, I’d like to know that myself.”

Noble refrained from saying anything. He was confident in Willie’s ability as an actor. Surely he’d done some homework and devised a backup story for his “spirits.” And then, right on cue, Willie launched into a story about an ancient chief.

“His name was Nonokoot,” he said, as if he were retelling a legend around the campfire after a hunt. “And his daughter was the most beautiful creature on these lands…”

Noble listened, and smiled. Willie was so convincing, Noble almost believed the story himself.

And the cameras kept rolling. The tape players kept recording.

* * *

“Will you listen to that guy!” fumed Tyler Allen Ceballo from inside the Conservco company trailer. He turned away from the window where he’d been watching Willie Greene give his press conference and shook his head in disgust. “I’ve never heard such a load of crap in all my life. Angry spirits, my foot! The only spirits he’s seen lately are the ones that come out of a bottle.”

A few of the men inside the trailer laughed. The rest looked at him with uncomfortable expressions on their faces.

“All he’s doing is playing us like a cheap guitar!” Ceballo said, beginning to pace the room. “If these woods are haunted, then my name is Sitting Bull!”