I’ve figured it out,” Nish said.

Travis didn’t dare ask what. How to behave during a hockey game? How to be a real team player? How Joe Hall pulled o? that Tom Thomson stunt? It could have been anything.

They were lying in the tent, a light rain drumming on the canvas. They’d practised earlier and had eaten and were resting.

“Figured what out?” Fahd finally asked. He couldn’t resist.

“How I’m going to get her.”

“Get who?”

“Oh, just the one who tried to make a fool of me on the river, just the one who put my gauchies up the flagpole, just the biggest pain in the butt this team has ever known, that’s all.”

Travis couldn’t resist. “Who’s that?” he asked.

“Very funny,” said Nish. He was sucking loudly on a Tootsie Roll, offering none around as usual, and thinking out loud, also as usual. “It’s got to be embarrassing, right? Really embarrassing.”

“Why?” Fahd asked.

“Because she embarrassed me. All that ‘Ka-wa-bun-ga’ crap and stealing my boxers. It’s got to be just as good from my side.”

“Let it go,” said Travis. “She’s a good sport. The team likes her.”

“This isn’t about the team,” countered Nish. “This is about her and me.”

“You’re too competitive,” said Lars.

“Not at all,” said Nish. “I’m just getting even. Like in a tie game. What’s competitive about that? I don’t have to win, just get even.”

Yeah, right, Travis thought to himself. Who’s he kidding? But he said nothing.

Nish went on. “You know where the women’s washroom is?”

“You mean the outhouse,” Fahd corrected.

“Whatever–you know where I mean.”

“You’d better be careful there,” warned Travis.

“Nah. She has to go sometime, doesn’t she? I mean, girls do go to the bathroom, don’t they?”

Lars couldn’t believe it. “You want us to sing, ‘We-know-where-you’re-go-ing!’? That’s a bit childish even for you, isn’t it?”

“Nah, no singing. I got a much more sophisticated plan than that. Say she goes in and shuts the door, and a few seconds later there’s this enormous explosion that everybody in the camp hears. You think she wouldn’t find that a bit embarrassing?”

“You can’t bomb an outhouse!” protested Fahd.

“Not a bomb, stupid–a harmless cannon cracker. Like the ones they set off on Canada Day.”

“Where are you going to get a cannon cracker?”

“They sell fireworks at that little shop,” he said.

“Not to kids they don’t,” said Travis.

“They’ll sell to me,” said Nish. “Just you watch.”

“How would that work?” Fahd asked. “How would you set it off, even if you got some fireworks?”

“Very simple. The boys’ outhouse is right next to it. I run a fuse from one to the other and you signal me.”

“Who?” they all asked at once.

“You!” Nish said loudly. “My friends, that’s who?”

“Those pictures should be ready,” Travis said later that afternoon. “You want to come pick them up with me?”

“I’ll be right there,” Nish said. First, however, he dashed into the tent. Travis thought he was writing something down. It wasn’t like Nish to keep a diary.

“What was that all about?” Travis asked when Nish returned. “Writing home?”

“You’ll see,” Nish answered. “Let’s get going.”

It was a brief walk down the highway to the store. It had everything–food, milk, videos to rent, live bait, a film drop-off and, of course, fireworks. It was run by an elderly couple. The woman was French–Sarah had talked with her for quite a while–and her husband was hard of hearing. Apart from Sarah, no one was able to have much of a conversation with either of them.

“I’m here to pick up my pictures,” Travis said as they entered the store.

“Eh?” the old man called back, cupping a hand behind his ear.

“My photos,” Travis said, louder. “They’re supposed to be ready today.” He waved his pick-up slip. The old man recognized it and grabbed it out of Travis’s hand. He led him to the rear of the store, where the film was kept.

Nish wandered over to the old woman. He smiled his best Nish smile, the smile that meant something unexpected was coming.

Travis couldn’t see what was going on. The old man was rummaging through the photos waiting to be picked up, checking Travis’s slip against a dozen numbers. Nish and the old woman were bent over a sheet of paper, the old woman asking questions.

Finally the old man came up with the processed film. He handed it over to Travis. “That’ll be $12.81, young man.”

Travis fumbled with his wallet. Just like Nish, he thought, to make himself scarce when the bills were being paid. He knew Nish would be first to scoop up the picture that showed Joe Hall in the Tom Thomson canoe.

Travis paid up and left. Nish was standing at the front door, counting out his own change. He had a large bag under his arm.

“What’s in there?” Travis asked.

“I’ll tell you outside. You get the pictures?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Once out and back on the highway, Nish looked around like a man about to hold up a bank. Then he pulled open the bag so Travis could look in.

Inside were dozens of firecrackers: some large, some small and attached to lengths of string, even a few rockets and Roman candles.

“How did you get all that?”

“I bought ’em. She even threw in a few extra for free.”

“You can’t buy fireworks. You’re not old enough.”

Nish grinned. “Apparently I am–when I have a note from the church camp that this is for a special ceremony.”

“You lied?” Travis asked, exasperated with his friend.

Nish shrugged innocently, looking deeply offended.

“Lie? Me? Where’s the lie? The note was written on church camp stationery. And it is going to be a special ceremony–a very special ceremony.”

“But you wrote the note yourself!”

“We never discussed that,” Nish said triumphantly. “She didn’t ask, so I didn’t say.”

“And you can’t call your stupid plan a ‘special ceremony.’”

“It will be when you see it, pal. It will be, I promise you. Now let’s have a look at those pictures.”

Reluctantly, Travis peeled open the flap of the envelope. He pulled the photos out and began thumbing through them. The moose. The picnic grounds. The barge…. He could see the edge of the next photo, showing mist and water.

Travis held his breath. Now they would know. He pulled the photograph free of the others.

It was Canoe Lake all right, the mist swirling on the water. But nothing else!

“You blew it!” Nish said angrily.

“But I couldn’t have. I caught him perfectly.”

“You blew it, obviously. There’s nothing there. You either snapped too soon or too late. You blew it–and now I got nothing to shove under Sam’s nose.”

Nish yanked the photo away and spun it into the ditch. He patted his haul of fireworks. “Thank heaven I got this. Good thing somebody’s reliable,” he said, and began walking back to the camp.

Travis made his way down into the ditch and retrieved the photograph from where it had lodged in a milkweed plant. He started walking, well behind Nish, who was hurrying ahead, happily swinging his bag full of treasure. He carefully studied the photo again.

Nothing.

Nish was right. He’d failed to catch the canoe or the person paddling in it. Too soon or too late.

But it made no sense. How could it show nothing? Travis wondered.

He’d seen the canoe light up when the flash went off–how else would they have known that the canoe had been grey-green, the same colour as Tom Thomson’s canoe? And yet this photograph showed nothing but mist and water.

No canoe.

No paddler.

Could it really have been Tom Thomson’s ghost? No, Travis decided. Impossible.

But if it was Joe Hall pulling a trick–he remembered the flashlight and the wet knees–then where was Joe Hall? Why was he not in the picture?