We decided to build a fort.
The idea came up during Sunday school in notes Ray and I passed back and forth. I knew exactly where we should do it. By the arrowheads, I scribbled just before class got out. Come to my house after lunch. Prater never attended Sunday school and only half the time did his family come to church, something I was glad for because then I could make plans with Ray without Prater butting in.
Now Ray and I stood in the woods deciding how to construct the fort. Jack lay on the ground close by, his leash looped tightly around a tree.
“We could put up a hut like on Gilligan’s Island,” I said.
“Or a tree house.” Ray pointed to a cluster of trees.
I bent down to a blueberry bush and popped one in my mouth. Mmm, sweet now. “Hey, what if we dig part of it?” I remembered seeing soldiers hiding in foxholes on television. “Then we could cover the top and make a secret entrance.”
“Yeah,” Ray said. “Like camouflage.”
I ran back to the house for shovels while Ray cleared the sticks and stuff out of the way. When we first thrust the shovels into the ground, it was like trying to dig concrete. It wasn’t long before we decided to take a break. Jack pranced in circles as I untied his leash and wound it around my hand. “Let’s go!” I patted his side.
Jack yipped and we took off. The trees blurred as we raced by them. We pounded up the mountain and sailed over a tree stump, and I ducked when we passed under a low branch. Jack and I took the mountain like soldiers racing through an obstacle course. Then Jack caught scent of something and made a line drive through the woods.
“Wait!” Ray called.
“Jack, stop.” I tried to slow him down but he pulled me forward, intent on his prey. I glanced downhill to Ray. He was bending over slightly, bracing his hands on his knees; his chest was heaving.
“Stop, Jack,” I said and tugged at the leash. He stopped but huffed and strained against the leash to continue his charge. I pulled him in closer. “C’mon, boy, we have to wait for Ray.” He groaned in frustration, but I held firm and he gave up the chase. We trotted down to Ray, who was still trying to catch his breath.
“Man!” he said between gasps. “How fast can you run?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know,” I said and grinned. “As fast as Jack makes me.”
“You’re, like, in the Olympics or something.”
I laughed.
“Okay,” Ray said, straightening up. “I’m ready.”
Jack pulled me as we zigzagged across the mountain. He veered at an angle we’d never followed before. I was holding back a little, making Jack go slower. I didn’t want Ray to feel bad, and plus it was more fun if we could all do it together. We ran without talking; only our footsteps sounded through the woods.
Suddenly, Jack stopped. I sensed where we were on the mountain, but we had never been on this side before. Whatever Jack had been tracing was lost to him; he now pranced after a yellow butterfly that flitted by.
“Hey,” Ray said, walking ahead of us. The trees thinned in that direction, like there was a clearing on the other side. Ray stopped before the edge of the trees and hunkered down. “C’mere,” he whispered.
“Come on, Jack,” I said quietly. We crept up to Ray and crouched beside him.
“Alan’s backyard,” Ray whispered.
I nodded. From our hiding place, we could see down through the woods to Prater’s tree house. It was finished now. Trim decorated the doorways and windows, and the whole thing was perfectly square. His tree house looked exactly like a dollhouse. I shifted back on my feet. It was weird, spying on him like this, even though I didn’t see him anywhere. Still, I didn’t like being here—I didn’t want to get caught.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Dad was tinkering in the garage when we got back. Before Ray left, we went up to my room and I pulled out my Pennsylvania shoe box. I had planned this moment from the time we decided to build a fort, and especially since we didn’t find any more arrowheads in our digging.
I laid the arrowheads on the carpet in front of me. The points were a bit rounded off, but that could have been from all that time in the ground. One of them was a little bigger than the other. I picked it up and rubbed it with my thumb. “The last person to touch this was an Indian,” I said to Ray. “You can have it.”
Ray reached for it. He turned the arrowhead over in his hand a few times and looked up. “Wow.” His voice was solemn, respectful. I wondered if he imagined the brave as I did. “I can keep it?” he asked.
“Yep.” It was, for both of us, a serious gesture. Giving away a thing of such importance meant something. He’d stuck up for me more than once, so he rightly deserved an arrowhead.
“Thanks, man. I’ll take good care of it.”
I reached under my bed and pulled out a wooden recorder. “Let us now smoke the peace pipe.”
I tooted on the recorder. Jack’s ears perked. I gave the recorder another good toot and Jack howled like he was trying to harmonize. Ray and I laughed. He slipped his hand over Jack’s head and then took his turn on the recorder, accompanied by Jack. Jack’s lips formed a perfect O.
“Look,” I said. “Look at Jack!” But even our laughing did not interrupt Jack’s soulful baying. His mournful sound seemed ancient and primitive to me, like it was part of this mountain and these arrowheads and a history of things that only Jack knew. I put the recorder down and stroked Jack gently until he stopped.