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laughing and held the lancepoint just out of Danny’s reach. “Come on Danny, name your price… I know… I’ll swap you something.”
    â€œNo way.” Danny’s voice sharpened. “I found that point myself. It’s special, real special. Give it back.”
    The changed note in Danny’s voice made Mike uncomfortable. There was something he didn’t understand here. It was almost like Danny thought the Indian stuff was holy or something.
    The two boys locked gazes in the candle light. Danny’s eyes were as bright and fierce as an eagle’s, his body ready to pounce and his hand curled into a claw. Mike shifted, ill at ease, and almost threw the point on the log. “OK, OK,” he muttered. “No need to get mad.”
    Silently Danny picked up the point, examined it for damage and carefully wrapped and replaced it in his jeans. “We’d better go,” he said abruptly, stood up and unhooked the jar from the roof, then held back the door curtain.
    Mike scrambled out into the gloom. The sun had set and the dull day had settled into enveloping grayness. Mike stumbled, disoriented by the shadows.
    Danny followed, carefully replacing the brush over the doorway to hide the towel. He lifted the lantern and guided Mike through the crack and out into the coulee.
    â€œWait here,” Danny said. “I’ve got to put away the candles,” and he disappeared.
    Mike shivered, not just with the chill. The coulee was eerie, full of rustles and crackles. In the gaps between wind gusts Mike could hear the steady lap of the Oldman River, and the croak of frogs. He didn’t mind the noises he knew, but what else was out there? He wished Danny would hurry up.
    Danny reappeared silently. “Promise not to tell about my den.”
    â€œCross my heart and hope to die,” replied Mike promptly, matching his words with the appropriate gesture.
    Danny led the way up the coulee trail. Mike followed, uneasily checking each shadow for wild animals and other things best unmentioned.
    Danny too was uneasy. His relationship with Mike had changed. Both boys were relieved when they arrived back at the farm and found Mike’s mother was waiting to drive him home.
    Danny lay in bed that night and thought things over. “Mike should have laid off the lance point. It’s mine. I found it, like I’d been meant to find it. Besides, it should be kept safe. Indian stuff’s important.”
    Danny felt under his pillow and gently fingered the lance point. Despite the dark, each dent and chip under his fingertip painted a picture in his imagination, each flake vividly told him part of its story. As his fingers followed the shape, his imagination wove a dream.
    A young hunter sat in the shade of a shallow coulee, painstakingly and lovingly knapping the point. It was a long job. The hunter wasn’t an expert, he worked slowly and carefully, feeling his way a flake at a time, till the delicate shape emerged, sharp and beautiful, born out of stone. The hunter stood up and triumphantly held the lance point in the air and watched the sunbeams glance off the translucent edges. Then when it seemed to glow and absorb the sunlight, the hunter knelt down and bound it firmly onto a long straight stick. Grasping the stick he swiftly walked up the coulee. As he reached the coulee rim, the hunter paused for a moment, silhouetted against the sky. He had one eagle feather in his head band.
    Smiling happily at the image he’d created, Danny drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Ten
    The school week settled into its usual routine and Danny muddled through. Stoically, he accepted difficult situations, and dealt with them the best way he could, by losing himself in daydreams.
    His favourite daydream lasted right through one Socials period.
    Barenaked Ladies’ touring bus broke down outside the school. Danny helped them fix the engine. The Barenaked Ladies were so grateful they did a