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Back The Trickster Save as PDF
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

But he didn’t know what it was like. How could Jim Henderson know what it was like to be born on the Redhorn reserve, to be a man treated like a child by the world on account of his skin? Or the hoops of fire children went through in that place on the way to being grown.

Did he know what it was like to be in that cabin high in the aspen wood one night, aged fourteen, standing over that thing on the rough wooden floor? The thing that had been his father. The thing that was cut open in a lake of blood, and had its organs in brand-new places. Places you wouldn’t dream of.

No, no, no, no, NO! Jesus! Where did that come from? Push the thought away. Fast. It mustn’t come back. Sam was shaking in the hut. He knew now he was really sick. He’d kept that memory buried pretty successfully for over twenty years in a sealed black pit. It was a very deep pit, and for the most part it kept it quiet. How come it was crawling out?

The walkie-talkie hanging on a wall peg crackled into life. ‘All stations, this is patrol. Can you guys look out for a skier from the fun-run dressed like an Indian. His buddies are worried they haven’t seen him. Seems the dummy did the closed double black down Beaver. Anyone got a sighting? He could have just legged it off resort. Also, two manual groomers to the top station please. We got a bit of a bare patch on the drag-tow needs shovelling. Over.’

Sam looked at the radio numbly. He was too sick for this. He needed to go home. He reached up, unhitched the radio and pressed ‘talk’. ‘This is Beaver chair. Can someone relieve me? I need to go home sick. Over.’

The long black box spoke back. ‘This is patrol. Mike here. That you, Sam? Are you okay, man? We wondered where you were. Karen’s on her way already. Thought you’d deserted your post. Over.’

All Sam could manage was a light press on ‘talk’ and a weak, ‘Thanks, Mike.’

He sat quietly in the hut as some customers skidded to a halt at the pylon. They looked expectantly at the manual groomer in his wooden shell. A haunted, black pair of eyes gazed back at them. They slid forward and got on the chair themselves.

16

Alberta 1907 Siding Twenty-three

No Indian blood. At least there had been no Indian blood. The Reverend James Henderson had prayed as the men dragged Hunting Wolf and his men off the mountain. God must have answered, for the Indians had not resorted to violence, and ugly and undignified as the scene was, there was no bloodshed. At least not then.