THE LOST PIECE AT BAD CACHE RAPIDS

By David R. Scott

I was waitin' fer one-eyed Mike to come strollin' into my store with his buckskin pouch a' gold dust. He'd always come in 'bout this time ta barter with me fer his winter trappin' supplies. Yet fer some strange reason he was nearly two weeks late. Now a woodsman simply don't worry 'bout a fellow woodsman, but the truth to the matter was that ol' Mike was late and that the river'd soon he froze. To add to the problem I was the only friend Mike ever had; everyone else thought he was a bit off his rocker-after all he did live beyond Bad Cache Rapids. Yet ol' Mike always told me, "If'n ya want the best apple ya gatta risk climbin' out on a limb at the top of the tree." Perhaps it was his risk that prevented him from paddling into town and provoked me into paddling up his way.

The water of the Black Hat River is fairly calm, except fer Bad Cache Rapids. I reckoned it'd take me 12 days to reach the rapids, if'n the weather was in my favor, and an extra four to reach Mike's place. I got Betty the barmaid to watch the store while I was gone. As I paddled on up through the windin' shores I remembered my Granddad tellin' me why the Cree never camped near the rapids.

"Bad medicine, couldn't hear an approachin' enemy if'n ya had the ears of a bull moose!" he used to say. Not to mention the other yarn 'bout the rapids spun by the folks in town, but I put them stories out of my mind.

Finally, in the mid-afternoon on the thirteenth day I could hear that faint drone of the rapids. Now I didn't believe the tall tale told by the town folk, yet fer some reason my fear grew with the building growl of the boilin' water. I paddled my boat a while longer 'till I couldn't paddle no more. I eased the bow of the canoe up onto a sandy bay on the south shore. Snatchin' up my pack baskets I headed upstream to portage, for there was no way I was campin' at or near them rapids. I was halfway up the portage trail when I seen it and I reckon deep down inside a my gut I was expectin' somthin' like this, just didn't want to believe it. Pulled up on the bank was ol' Mike's birch bark canoe an' there wasn't a track around it.

Now everyone knew 'bout the old cabin at Bad Cache, but no one knew whose it was and no one knew of no one who stayed a single night there 'bouts. I made a quick turn and started up the trail towards the old cabin. By now the sun was droppin' in the western sky and some rain clouds was movin' in overhead. Still, despite the conditions, I trudged on up the overgrown trail.

After a while I could see the ol' one-room shack through a green lace of pine needles. The door was hangin' up with one leather hinge (the other one was torn off) so it hung crooked in the door frame. I cautiously peered through the crack expectin' the unexpected.

"Mike…you in there?" It was a pretty small cabin so there weren't no use in askin' twice. I stepped on in.

The cabin was, as cabins go, typical for the north country. Scattered cast-iron cookware on the wall, a hand-made table and chair (which was overturned when I got there), one large oil barrel stove, one bunk hangin' from the west wall, and a few rusted traps hung by the door. On the table sat a small oil lamp which I lit, and then I commenced to workin' on the fire. Soon I had the place warm and my belly full a' bannock and moose tongue stew.

After dinner I undid my bed roll and sat on the bunk exhausted from the long day of upstream paddlin'. It was from there that I noticed Mike's pipe in the southwest corner of the cabin. It was a fancy pipe that ol' Mike got from his Granddad and he never went nowhere without it. I stepped across the room and picked it up. The stem of the old pipe had been bitten clean through and it was half full a' half-burnt tobacco. As I put the remainder of the pipe in my pocket, the rain started to come down a bit harder and the rush a' them rapids sounded a bit louder.

Before I believed ol' Mike to be off in the woods huntin' fer some grub…now I had my doubts. The small oil lamp cast a few dull and broken shadows on the round long walls and the fire could barely be heard over the rain and the river. I must admit that at this time I was feelin' my knees a-knockin' and my hands a-shakin'. Nonetheless, because a' that I dropped my pipe whilst I was loadin' it. The pipe gave a jump and then rolled under the low hanging bunk. I leaned my head over the wooden edge to the point where my hair was sweepin' the floor. Against the wall I could make out the bowl of my pipe but I also saw a small box that went unnoticed b'fore. I reached under, nearly fallin' off the bunk, and grabbed the both of 'em. I stared at the ol' box cautiously and finished packin' my pipe. The hinges was rusted and the wood was rottin'. I struck a match and set my tobacco aglow never once takin' my eyes off a' the box. What was inside this dern thing? Gold, WHAT? Fer all I knew it was a human skull, at least that's what the towns folk would tell ya. Maybe it was ol' Mike's skull! I sat there starin' at the box an' draggin' on my pipe for a long while till finally I flung open the lid.

Fortunately there was no human skull, unfortunately there was no gold nor anythin' of the sort. What was in the box made me double up with laughter. It was a child's jigsaw puzzle. Well I knew, bein' as scared as I was, that sleep was out of the question, so I thought I'd try my luck on the puzzle. I was too amused to wonder 'bout its origin so I spread the pieces out on the table and commenced to fixin' it right. On and on I puffed my pipe and worked on placin' the pieces in their correct spots. The roar of the rapids seemed to increase as the rainy night poured on, drownin' out the sound of everything in and outside a' the cabin. After a while of work I had the frame of the puzzle complete and for some strange reason the puzzle, what I could make out of it, looked familiar. Still I kept on workin' and placin' when suddenly I realized that the puzzle I was workin' on was a picture of the cabin in which I was holin' up in fer the night. Well, I did find that rather strange, but in lookin' at the good side a' things (at least to ease my fear) it did make the puzzle much easier to fix. One by one I placed the pieces of the puzzle in their correct spots and with each new piece the river grew louder and the lamplight dimmer. Every now and then I would check my backside 'cause if someone (or something) were sneakin' up on me I wouldn't a' heard it (even with the ears of a bull moose). Also, with each new piece, the puzzle became more and more like a picture of the cabin I was in.

I was workin' on the lower right-hand part of the puzzle when I noticed somethin' far too peculiar. That particuliar part of the puzzle happened to be in the northwest corner of the cabin where I had stored my pack baskets and shoot a monkey if my pack baskets weren't in the very puzzle itself! I started to drag on my pipe even though there weren't nothin' in it, still somthin' possessed me to work on the puzzle. Soon I discovered my bedroll, my hat, my leftover stew and then finally myself in this backcountry jig saw. It was almost complete, except fer a few pieces that were missing, which made up the one window at my back. Everything else that was in the puzzle matched the cabin's interior log fer log.

I relit my pipe and studied the puzzle. I checked the box, the floor and the table but the missing pieces weren't nowhere to be found. Leanin' back in my chair I ponder over my situation. The sound of them rapids was now over-powerin' and the lamplight just gave a flicker. Yet in the flickerin' light I found the missing pieces I was a-searchin' fer. Not on the floor and not in the box, but I saw the missing pieces in the puzzle itself. There they were, layin' on the bunk. I was almost too afraid to set my eyes on the old bunk but I had no choice but to do so. I lifted my head up and gazed over the flame of the tiny lamp. Sure enough, there the pieces were on top of my dusty ol' Hudson Bay blanket just wait'n to be dropped into place.

I walked around that corner of the old wooden table and grabbed the pieces in my sweaty hands. Again I sat down at the table and packed my pipe before placin' the pieces into the missing holes. These would bake up the windows of the cabin and complete the puzzle. I held my match up to the flame of the lamplight and watched it flood the room with a fiery flash. The smoke from my pipe hung about me like a heavy fog and the river roared on towards town. Finally I picked up the pieces and carefully snapped them into place. At first I didn't believe what I saw, but in the window stood Death itself. It was a figure almost human…but not quite. Its eyes were sunk deep into its skull, its face was wrinkled gaunt and grey, and its hair was long, stringy, and smoky white.

It didn't make a sound, jus stood there…starin' with a hungry, evil sort a' grin on its face, and if this puzzle was right (as it had already proved to be) this creature was standin' directly behind me. A bead a' sweat dripped down my forehead causin' my eyes to blink, and then rolled off a' my cheek and splashed onto the puzzle. I couldn't stand the fear no more. I grit my teeth, clenched my fists, an' whirled around in my chair ready and willin' to face anything for the sake a' my life.

Yet the creature was gone! Swallowin' hard, with my eyes wider then a river in he springtime, I let my breath out with a stutter. I looked back to the puzzle, a bit puzzled m'self. There weren't no creature in the puzzle neither, the window in the picture was blank! Had the puzzle lied, was this all just my fear playin' tricks on me?

A cool breeze blew its way through some holes in the wall causing my lamplight to flicker and my spine to tingle. Without a moment to dwell on my questions, the door of the cabin blew off a' its one leather hinge. There before me stood the beast in the window, the thing in the puzzle…there before me stood Death itself.

When it opened the door, it seemed as though the entire river poured into the cabin, the noise from the rapids drowned out my screams of terror. An' there it stood, almost human, but not quite. Its face seemed hollow, its eyes seemed evil and its teeth seemed anxious. It's hair was long grey and stringy and came to rest on its shoulders lying over a buckskin shirt that I recognized as one-eyed Mike's. As a matter a' fact the more deeply I looked at this…this…thing, the more it took to lookin' like ol' Mike. And when it smiled its hollow-toothed smile, I knew it was indeed ol' one-eyed Mike himself.

Instantly I grabbed the corner of the table and threw the entire thing on the creature that I had somehow constructed. At nearly the same time, I blasted out a' the door like an eight-legged dog, and ran straight fer the rapids. I couldn't hear it' but I knew that the beast was right behind me. I made it back into town in two days, and four days later ol' Mike made it into town. Not by canoe, and not by horse…but floatin'. His face was mangled, his body scarred and his one good eye and buckskin shirt weren't nowhere to be found. In his mouth was the stem of the pipe his Granddad had given to him.

The townsfolk have since accused me of bein' a killer, after they found the other half of Mike's pipe in my pocket, and have sentenced me to be the guest of honor at a necktie party. I haven't told them my story for I'd rather face the steps and string then live knowing that creature still lurks in the black spruce forest near Bad Cache Rapids. But the next time one of them towns folk are up that way pannin' or trappin' they'll learn right quick, and you can bet a sack a' gold dust that it'll be my face in the missing window.



STORY OUTLINE

I. One-eyed Mike is two weeks late returning to town from the mysterious wilderness area called Bad Cache Rapids.

II. The story teller is about the only friend Mike has, so he takes it upon himself to travel upstream for 12 days to check on Mike.

III. When he arrives at the Bad Cache Rapids, he finds Mike's canoe, but is unable to locate him at an abandoned cabin.

IV. He is horrified to find old Mike's pipe as he knew that it was Mike's most prized possession and that he was never without it. He places that broken pipe in his pocket for safekeeping.

V. When spending the night at the cabin, he finds a small box with a puzzle on it that turns out to be a picture of the cabin's interior, even to include his own pack baskets sitting in a corner.

VI. Several of the pieces are missing, but upon studying the picture in the puzzle, he notes that they appear on the bed. Sure enough, upon checking the bed there they are.

VII. When he places the pieces into the puzzle, it shows the window behind him with the figure of Death, appearing as a half-rotten image of his friend Mike, looking at him.

VIII. He turns around, but the window is empty. Before he can get over this shock, the door blows off the cabin and there stands the creature of death.

IX. He throws the table at the creature and escapes back to town.

X. Mike's body soon floats into town, all mangled, but with the pipe stem still clenched in Mike's teeth.

XI. The town's people arrest, and are going to hang, the story teller as the have found Mike's pipe in his pocket.

XII. The story teller knows that they will not believe his story, but that someday one of them will also go up to that cabin and put the puzzle together, only to see is face in the missing window!