cello. Leaving no stone unturned, he even learned a thing or two about cellos and symphonies. He hoped that Vern was bringing his wife, for then Isely could more easily
58
convince him to turn the visit into something of a vacation.
Isely was well prepared, ready to answer any question, willing to make himself available to Vern full time. The Pitney Paper Mill was a model of efficiency and high standards. He could truly be proud of what he had to show.
As he dressed to go to the airport, he glanced out the window to check the sky. By the look of it, the spring rains were about to begin.
Not far away, John Hawks was making plans, too. But not for the arrival of Robert Vern. He did not know that the man from the Environmental Protection Agency was arriving today; even if he had, it would not have altered his course of action. The barricade was going back up. From this day on, no vehicle from the lumber company was going to be allowed to use the main road into the forest. Hawks knew they could ferry their men in by boat along the Espee River, or fly them by float plane into Mary’s Lake. But it would cost them time and money, and substantially cut into their efficiency rate. The road blockade would squeeze them into taking the Indians seriously.
Hawks had been in the forest for only twenty-four hours, having gone directly to the village and summoned an army of ten able-bodied men. It was different now than it had been seven years ago. The Masaciuoddy had finally gotten angry enough to fight. They were being victimized from all sides; accused of being murderers when they were not, of being drunks when they were not.
Hawks had had little time to digest the mvriad problems that besieged the villagers, but had listened with concern as they told him of the katahnas, the seizures that struck without warning, confusing the minds and bodies of their people. They showed him a man who was in the throes of it. He was racked with fever and raging with hallucinations.
59
At this particular moment, the katahnas were not widespread. Fearing contact with the lumberjacks or townspeople, the Indians had stopped going to their fishing nets, and were living within the confines of their village, subsisting on whatever small game they could catch and their surplus of canned goods. As mysteriously as they had come, the katahnas had suddenly tapered off. Only one man in the past three weeks had been affected.
Hawks did not know what to make of the strange affliction and, because it was in a period of recession, failed to understand its alarming proportions. He would investigate it another time. On this day his priority was the blockade.
With his army of stalwarts, he now moved through the forest toward the main road. The men ranged in age from sixteen to thirty; none of them in their lives had ever stood up to a white man before. Hawks had cautioned them to leave all weapons behind. They would defend the forest with their lives, but they would not be accused of threatening life. The only semblance of a weapon among them was a long-handled ax, brought for the purpose of making shelter in the event of rain.
As they moved silently through the forest, they passed close to the encampment of the old man, M’rai. Hawks could see the crossed poles of his tepees protruding through the tops of the trees. When he first arrived at the village, Hawks had inquired about the old man, and was told that M’rai, too, was suffering frequently from the katahnas. They said his mind had grown dim and he often hallucinated, wandering alone through the forest at night, and spinning tales of the beast Katahdin, who, he claimed, came to drink at the shores of his secret lagoon.
The so-called secret lagoon was a sacred place to the Masaquoddy; by tradition, the private sanctuary of the oldest man in the tribe. It was said that everything grew large there, larger than life. But Hawks remembered sneaking in as a child and being pro-60
foundly
58
convince him to turn the visit into something of a vacation.
Isely was well prepared, ready to answer any question, willing to make himself available to Vern full time. The Pitney Paper Mill was a model of efficiency and high standards. He could truly be proud of what he had to show.
As he dressed to go to the airport, he glanced out the window to check the sky. By the look of it, the spring rains were about to begin.
Not far away, John Hawks was making plans, too. But not for the arrival of Robert Vern. He did not know that the man from the Environmental Protection Agency was arriving today; even if he had, it would not have altered his course of action. The barricade was going back up. From this day on, no vehicle from the lumber company was going to be allowed to use the main road into the forest. Hawks knew they could ferry their men in by boat along the Espee River, or fly them by float plane into Mary’s Lake. But it would cost them time and money, and substantially cut into their efficiency rate. The road blockade would squeeze them into taking the Indians seriously.
Hawks had been in the forest for only twenty-four hours, having gone directly to the village and summoned an army of ten able-bodied men. It was different now than it had been seven years ago. The Masaciuoddy had finally gotten angry enough to fight. They were being victimized from all sides; accused of being murderers when they were not, of being drunks when they were not.
Hawks had had little time to digest the mvriad problems that besieged the villagers, but had listened with concern as they told him of the katahnas, the seizures that struck without warning, confusing the minds and bodies of their people. They showed him a man who was in the throes of it. He was racked with fever and raging with hallucinations.
59
At this particular moment, the katahnas were not widespread. Fearing contact with the lumberjacks or townspeople, the Indians had stopped going to their fishing nets, and were living within the confines of their village, subsisting on whatever small game they could catch and their surplus of canned goods. As mysteriously as they had come, the katahnas had suddenly tapered off. Only one man in the past three weeks had been affected.
Hawks did not know what to make of the strange affliction and, because it was in a period of recession, failed to understand its alarming proportions. He would investigate it another time. On this day his priority was the blockade.
With his army of stalwarts, he now moved through the forest toward the main road. The men ranged in age from sixteen to thirty; none of them in their lives had ever stood up to a white man before. Hawks had cautioned them to leave all weapons behind. They would defend the forest with their lives, but they would not be accused of threatening life. The only semblance of a weapon among them was a long-handled ax, brought for the purpose of making shelter in the event of rain.
As they moved silently through the forest, they passed close to the encampment of the old man, M’rai. Hawks could see the crossed poles of his tepees protruding through the tops of the trees. When he first arrived at the village, Hawks had inquired about the old man, and was told that M’rai, too, was suffering frequently from the katahnas. They said his mind had grown dim and he often hallucinated, wandering alone through the forest at night, and spinning tales of the beast Katahdin, who, he claimed, came to drink at the shores of his secret lagoon.
The so-called secret lagoon was a sacred place to the Masaquoddy; by tradition, the private sanctuary of the oldest man in the tribe. It was said that everything grew large there, larger than life. But Hawks remembered sneaking in as a child and being pro-60
foundly
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