Crooked River Page 15

  JUDGE NOBLE: The courtroom will bear that in mind. Continue.

  MR. PHELPS: Well, the body was lying facedown in the snow. The tomahawk was stuck there in its head. Jest like, you know—well, I'm real sorry for describing this, but, well, it had cleaved off part of the scalp, and from what we could see, it tore out a narrow piece of the poor man's skull. Me and my son nearly keeled over sick at the sight.

  MR. ROOT: Did you know who the murderer was?

  MR. PHELPS: Yessir, I did, right away.

  MR. ROOT: How did you know?

  MR. PHELPS: The tomahawk. Once I saw that tomahawk, I knowed.

  MR. ROOT: And who did that tomahawk belong to?

  MR. PHELPS: (points at John Amik) That Indian right there. He always wore it stuck in a red sash around his waist. I seen it a hundred times if I seen it once.

  MR. ROOT: Did you see anything else?

  MR. PHELPS: Well, we seen tracks in the snow all around the body. Lotsa tracks, like it weren't just one Indian who had set upon him with the tomahawk.

  MR. ROOT: Who did the tracks belong to? Do you know?

  MR. PHELPS: Yessir. It weren't no trick to figure out whose tracks they was. There was three sets—two full-grown and one young. Since we knowed the tomahawk belonged to him (points at John Amik) and we knowed he always traveled with two other Indians, then we knowed exactly whose tracks they was. Weren't no trick to figure out he was the one who kilt the trapper.

  MR. ROOT: (to the judge) No more questions.

  JUDGE NOBLE: Mr. Kelley, any questions?

  MR. KELLEY: (stands up) Just two. How deep was the snow?

  MR. PHELPS: (confused) Snow?

  MR. KELLEY: You said there was snow. How deep was it?

  MR. PHELPS: Well now, I don't recollect things like that. It was more'n three months ago. It was winter, we always have snow. Maybe it was six or eight inches

  deep. Maybe ten. Don't see what the snow has got to do with nothing.

  MR. KELLEY: You said you saw tracks in the snow. Could you describe them for us, Mr. Phelps?

  MR. PHELPS: Well now, I think most folks 'round here has seen moccasin tracks before, ain't they? Just picture a bunch of Indian tracks made in the snow.

  MR. KELLEY: But I'm not sure I know what moccasin prints look like. Could you describe exactly what you saw?

  MR. PHELPS: (mockingly) You daft or what? It's just a soft print, like a foot, only without toes—like a skinny footprint without toes. (grinning) Anything else 'bout Indians you want to know, Mr. Lawyer?

  MR. KELLEY: Just one more thing. Were you wearing boots that morning when you found the trapper? Do you recall?

  MR. PHELPS: Well, we warn't tiptoeing around barefoot, I can tell you that.

  MR. KELLEY: So … if you were wearing boots, why were the Indians wearing moccasins in the snow?

  MR. PHELPS: What?

  MR. KELLEY: I was just wondering why you saw moccasin prints, Mr. Phelps. Don't you think the Indians would have been wearing snowshoes? Isn't that what they wear in the winter months?

  MR. PHELPS: (confused) I ain't sure … perhaps…. I think maybe they was snowshoes … yes, I reckon they was—

  MR. KELLEY: But you said you saw moccasin prints, didn't you? A skinny footprint without toes? That's what you said.

  MR. PHELPS: Now that I think about it, I'm sure they was snowshoe marks.

  MR. KELLEY: (angrily) Why don't you tell the jury the truth? Tell them that you saw one set of snowshoes in the snow, Mr. Phelps. One set of prints, not a whole band of Indians. One Indian.

  MR. PHELPS: (yelling) I tol’ you everything I know.

  JUDGE NOBLE: (bangs gavel) You've had your chance with this witness, Mr. Kelley. Return to your seat and leave the witness well enough alone.

  MR. PHELPS: (shouting at audience) Me and my family don't have nothing 'gainst Indians, long as they stay in their place. And no matter what that Indian lawyer says, we done told you the gospel truth.

  “Reverend Doan”

  Adapted from chapters 26, 27, and 28

  Characters

  REBECCA CARVER (settler)

  MR. PETER KELLEY (defense lawyer)

  REVEREND DOAN (witness)

  MR. AUGUSTUS ROOT (prosecuting lawyer)

  JUDGE NOBLE

  JOHN AMIK (Chippewa Indian)

  REBECCA: (to audience) After Ezra Phelps left the stand, Mr. Root called on his next witness. This witness was a worthless trapper named Mr. Granger who had been friends with the murdered man. He claimed to have found a feather near the body of his friend, and he said it was proof that John Amik had committed the crime. But I knew that he was lying. He had taken that feather from John Amik one afternoon while he was visiting our cabin. Only me and my sister Laura couldn't say a word about what we knew, for fear of our pa. It was up to Peter Kelley to prove that the evidence was wrong. After Mr. Granger finished testifying and sat down, Peter Kelley walked to the front of the room. You could have heard the trees growing, it was so still.

  MR. KELLEY: Your Honor, I would like to call Reverend

  Doan to the stand. (Reverend Doan makes his way slowly to the front.)

  MR. KELLEY: Good afternoon, Reverend Doan. You are a man of the cloth, correct?

  REVEREND DOAN: I am.

  MR. KELLEY: I have only a few questions for you, Reverend Doan. Since you are a religious man, I was wondering whether or not you are inclined to gamble from time to time?

  REVEREND DOAN: Gamble? Certainly not.

  MR. KELLEY: Do you play cards?

  REVEREND DOAN: No, I do not.

  MR. KELLEY: But if one of your congregation were to find a deck of cards in your possession—just imagine for a moment that they did—would they be right, because of those cards they found, to accuse you of being a gambler?

  REVEREND DOAN: (indignantly) Certainly not. I'm not a gambler, and I don't play cards!

  MR. KELLEY: But if they only believe what is right in front of their eyes—then, if they found the deck of cards in your coat, wouldn't they think you were a—

  MR. ROOT: (outraged and yelling) Stop this theatrical exhibition right this minute, Your Honor. This has nothing whatsoever to do with the Indian's trial. Nothing whatsoever. (stamps foot)

  JUDGE NOBLE: (sternly) Mr. Kelley, do you have any more questions for the minister which are pertinent to this case?

  MR. KELLEY: No, Your Honor.

  JUDGE NOBLE: (to Mr. Root) And you?

  MR. ROOT: Absolutely none.

  JUDGE NOBLE: The reverend is dismissed. You've made your point about the evidence, Mr. Kelley. Proceed quickly with your last witness.

  MR. KELLEY: My last witness is the Indian known as Indian John.

  (John Amik walks to the front.)

  JOHN AMIK: (to audience) I am taken to the talking chair and my hand is placed on the white man's spirit book. The white man speaks loudly and holds my other hand in the air, but he does not offer any tobacco to the spirits in the book. I tell the white chief and his twelve strangers that my name is Amik. My people are Ojibbeways, and my father is Chief Ajijaak. My words are not the songs of a bird, I tell them, my words are the truth.

  MR. KELLEY: (to audience) You have heard that the man who stands accused is called by the Indian name Amik. (points to Indian John) He has a wife and two children, and travels with a small band of Ojibbeways. Amik has been accused of murdering the trapper George Gibbs in March of this year. He's been held captive since the end of April inside this cabin, cruelly chained in the loft above our heads. But, as you will hear, this Indian has never once harmed or murdered a white man. He is not guilty of breaking even the window glass of a white man's house. In his own words, he will describe for the jury what happened in the month of March, three months ago.

  JOHN AMIK: Ten Claws, Se Mo, and I set our traps on the Old River of Many Fish in the third moon—the moon of crust on snow. The cold and bitter water made our six hands slow, but we worked and dreamed of the soft fur pelts that beaver and raccoon would g
ive to us as they had many times before. In two days’ time we returned to the Old River of Many Fish to check our traps. We walked forward and back, forward and back—sweeping our hands through the cold melting water. We searched for our snares beneath the young trees— but all of our traps were gone.

  MR. KELLEY: Where do you think those traps went?

  JOHN AMIK: The white trapper who sat in the talking chair, and the one who is dead, hunted where they had no right to hunt. They followed our trail, stole our pelts, and placed their own traps on the Old River of Many Fish, the river which was left to us by our ancestors many strings of lives ago. We were angry, angry as the serpents which thrash in the earth below us, but I did not raise up my hatchet against the white men. It was Ten Claws who was too much mad, who crept out in the darkness of the night and took his tomahawk with him. It was Ten Claws who would not listen. I am a friend of Ten Claws and I am a friend of the gichi- okomaan and I would not raise up my hatchet against one or the other. I did not kill the white man.

  Also by Shelley Pearsall

  Trouble Don't Last

  Eleven-year-old Samuel was born as Master Hackler's slave, and working the Kentucky farm is the only life he's ever known—until one dark night in 1859. With no warning, cranky old Harrison, a fellow slave, pulls Samuel from his bed. And, together, they run.

  The journey north seems much more frightening than Master Hackler ever was, and Samuel is not sure what freedom means aside from running, hiding, and starving. But as they move from one refuge to the next on the Underground Railroad, Samuel uncovers the startling secret of his own past—and future.

  “Powerful … a suspenseful, emotional story.”

  —USA Today

  “Action-packed … gripping from beginning to end.”

  —Publishers Weekly, Starred

  “Astonishing … a thrilling escape story.”

  —Booklist, Starred

  Winner of the Scott O'Dell Award for Historical Fiction

  A Booklist Top 10 Historical Fiction for Youth Selection

  A Booklist Top 10 First Novel for Youth

  A Bank Street College of Education

  Best Children's Book of the Year

  A Virginia Library Association Jefferson Cup Honor Book

  Winner of the Ohioana Book Award

  Published by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children's Books

  a division of Random House, Inc., New York

  Copyright © 2005 by Shelley Pearsall

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

  transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage

  and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher,

  except where permitted by law. For information address Alfred A.

  Knopf Books for Young Readers.

  Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at

  www.randomhouse.com/teachers

  eISBN: 978-0-307-51830-9

  March 2007

  v3.0