War of the Eagles (6 page)

She shook her head. “Okay … fine … what difference will two more fools make?”

I balled up my cloth and tossed it on the counter.

“I'll try and keep a little something warm,” she yelled as we rushed out the screen door.

Men were on the move and there were only half a dozen guys forming a loose circle, a large hole in the center, holding the eagle. Between the legs of the shuffling men I caught my first glimpse of the bird. We moved closer and people shifted to the side to allow us a spot.

The eagle stood at the side of the flagpole. It was a full grown bird, brown feathers except for the white atop its “bald” head. The white was streaked with a line of red. Dried blood. It looked like a bullet had creased it. One wing was held in tight to its body while the other, the left wing, was slightly extended and hung to the side. Its beak was part way open and it was panting, its chest visibly rising and falling. It moved its head from side to side, on a slight angle, in quick little jerking motions, like it was trying to see all the things going on around it. It had a look of pure rage and I involuntarily took a small step backwards as we locked eyes. The eyes were a pale shade of yellow, black pupils staring out from the very center. A piece of thick black leather was tied to one of the bird's legs, and attached to a rope which bound it to the pole. It was hard to tell how long the line was, but judging from the space between the eagle and the nearest soldier, I figured it was a little less than three feet.

During the whole time I'd lived or vacationed up here, I'd only ever seen eagles from a distance, usually way above my head. Along the Skeena River, especially when the salmon are running, the eagles are everywhere. They swoop down over the water and grab gigantic fish from the shallows, or eat the dead ones off the rocks. An eagle, with its wings outstretched farther than a man can reach, a salmon in its talons, would drop to the ground. Those powerful talons and beaks would rip the salmon to shreds and then in a flash it would be eaten. Along with the eagles, the big browns and grizzly bears wade into the shallows and line the shore like fat fishermen wearing ratty old fur coats. It always seems that even the bears give the eagles a wide passage.

When I was little, my parents had taken me to the Vancouver Zoo and we'd watched one in a cage. My mother had told me how important the eagle was to both the Tsimshian and Haida.

I hadn't paid much attention. I knew they were in–teresting and all, but that was it.

Later I realized half the stories my Naani told had an eagle in them, and the pictures and carvings and totems had eagles. To the Tsimshian, the eagle is more than a bird, it's part of their heritage, history and ancestry all rolled into one bundle of feathers.

“Wouldn't want to tangle with that thing,” Smitty noted. “Bet those claws could tear you to pieces.”

“Believe it,” replied one of the soldiers. “Look at what it did to Washburn.”

Washburn was standing off to the side. “Got me good,” he said. I could see where his shirt was ripped.

He pulled it up to reveal a patch of gauze, taped to his side, some blood staining through the cover.

“Are you one of the men who brought it in?” Smitty asked.

“Yeah, me and Watson and Ross.”

“Where'd you find it?” I asked.

“Just north of the camp. It was hiding in a clump of cedars.”

Smitty frowned. “How did you ever get it here, tied up?”

“It wasn't easy, believe me. One of the guys went back for a tarp and we tossed it over top of the bird. It settled right down once we had its head covered.”

“Why can't it fly?” I asked.

“Shot.”

“Shot? You shot it?”

“No, not me. A couple of days ago, when I was on perimeter duty, I saw an eagle get shot down. Didn't see where it landed exactly, just heard the shot and saw it falling. I've been looking for it since then whenever I go on duty. Didn't think I'd find it, and really didn't think it would still be alive. I just thought I could take a few of its feathers when I found the carcass.”

I wondered if this guy had been the one who had shot the bird. It was rumored the guards were taking pot shots at things, betting money on who could hit what.

Targets were one thing but just shooting animals to see if you could do it was pretty lousy.

Smitty turned to me and spoke quietly. “Washburn wouldn't have shot it,” he said, reading my mind. “He's a good guy.” He turned back to Washburn. “What's go–ing to happen to it?”

“Major Brown put in a call for the local vet to come and have a look at it. I didn't think old Brown had any soft spots, but it seems the major is an animal lover.

Wants to see if somehow it can be fixed up.”

Suddenly, without warning the eagle spread its wings and tried to leap up. It got slightly airborne and then crashed to the ground. All of us standing near it jumped away. One wing lay stretched out and bent.

It was ironic how I had wanted to get close to see the bird, and now, standing right in front of it, I wanted to get away. The creature seemed so sad sitting there in the mud, tethered to a pole.

“I'm going to go and help my mother.”

“Not so fast, Jed. Go and ask her for some meat, raw meat. What do eagles eat?”

“Fish, small game like rabbits and groundhogs,” I answered.

“Didn't you bag a bunny, yesterday?”

I nodded.

“Good. Ask your mother if she still has some of it around. Even if she's already cleaned the carcass, bring back the skin, head and paws.”

I turned to follow his request.

“And Jed, hurry, there's no telling how long this bird has gone without food.”

By the time I came back, carrying the hind quarters of the rabbit, Smitty was by himself, squatting in the dirt, watching the eagle.

“Where'd everybody go?” I asked.

“I put them all to work.”

This didn't surprise me. Smitty was only a sergeant but people, even the officers, seemed to listen to him.

“I wanted the eagle to be more comfortable. I sent two guys to the workshop to build a lean-to, two more to get a large branch it could use for a perch, one guy to get fresh water and the rest out to cut up small cedars.”

“What are the cedars for?”

“The bird looks scared. I thought if it had a place to hide, sort of like a blind, it would feel safer and calmer,” he answered. “I don't know how hurt it is, but if it keeps leaping up in the air it's going to break its neck too.”

“What do you want me to do with this?” I said, gestur–ing to the remains of the rabbit.

“Guess.”

“Don't be such a wise guy. I meant, do you want me to give it to the bird now or wait?”

“Now's good.”

I tossed the meat and it skittered across the ground, bumping into the eagle's feet. The bird jumped backwards.

“First time I've ever heard of an eagle being afraid of a rabbit,” I chuckled.

“Especially a dead rabbit.”

The eagle cocked its head to the side, tentatively reached out a talon to poke the rabbit, and then drew its leg back. This was repeated a second and then a third time. Finally, the eagle leapt into the air and landed squarely on the leg. The talons disappeared into the flesh as the eagle sat atop the carcass, and it let out a screech. The bird reached down and with its powerful curved beak tore a large strip off the carcass. It tossed the meat slightly into the air and then, in one big gulp, swallowed it down. It repeated this process, again and again.

A car, a brown Ford, pulled through the main gate.

It came to a stop and a smallish man carrying a black bag got out.

“Are you the vet?” Smitty asked.

“Yes, I am. And I'd be a happier vet if I was going to examine a dog or cat.”

“I guess people don't often bring their pet eagles to see you,” Smitty deadpanned.

“Parrots and budgies, yes, eagles no.”

“Same thing, pretty much, isn't it?” Smitty asked.

“One big difference. You never have to worry about a budgie biting off your finger or ripping you open.”

“That is a difference,” Smitty agreed. “How are you going to examine it?”

“Carefully. Very carefully and from a safe distance, at least at first.”

The vet circled around the eagle and watched it rip apart the rabbit. Occasionally he'd nod his head or quietly mutter something.

“Is there any way you can get that meat away from it?” he asked Smitty.

“Sure, there's probably lots of ways. None of which I'm going to try.”

The vet grimaced and nodded in agreement. “Could we get it a mouse or a rat to eat?”

“That we could do,” Smitty reassured him. Smitty turned to two of the men who had just brought back a large branch to use as a perch.

“Check out the mousetraps in the kitchen and bar–racks. If there are any mice, bring them back. Jed, go as well.”

As the three of us headed off in different directions, I saw Major Brown come out of his office toward the eagle. I wanted to turn around and hear what was going to happen. Instead I started running. The faster I could get a mouse the faster I could come back.

The trap in the kitchen was empty. A second, in the corner of the mess, was equally deserted. Running out the front door, I almost knocked into three men walk–ing to their work detail who were rubbernecking in the direction of the eagle. I sprinted along the walkway until I came to the officers' club. Opening the door, I pushed the magazine rack away from the wall. There it was! A mouse trap containing a mouse. The lump of cheese was in its teeth, the metal bar across the back of its broken neck. Instant death. I grabbed the mouse, trap and all, and sprinted back to the flagpole.

By now Major Brown and the vet were deep in con–versation. Smitty and a couple of the other guys were standing off to the side, just within ear shot. I showed Smitty the mouse. He nodded.

I put my mouth close to Smitty's ear and spoke qui–etly. “What's going on? What are they talking about?”

Smitty turned so his back was to the conversation and softly spoke to me. “Major wants to know if it can be fixed. If not, he's going to shoot it.”

“And?”

“So far the vet can't tell. Here, give me the mouse and come along.”

We walked over to the two men. “Excuse us, sir, but we have the mouse the vet requested.”

“Good, good!” the vet replied.

He took the mouse and removed it from the trap.

He then bent down and opened up his brown bag. He took out a small bottle and unscrewed the top. Inside were pills, and he shook three out of the container and into his hands.

“To fully answer your question, Major, I need to examine the eagle, and the only way I can examine it is to knock it out.”

“How do you propose to do that?” asked Major Brown.

“With this mouse. This is the ‘sugar' to disguise the medicine.”

He proceeded to open up the little mouse's mouth and shoved the three pills down its tiny throat.

“Anybody got any string?” the vet asked.

“I do,” one of the men volunteered. “Right here in my pocket.” He pulled out a small spool. “It's not very strong,” he said as the vet took it from him.

The vet tied a knot around the front legs of the little rodent. He pulled it snug.

He looked at me. “I want you to drag this around, get the eagle's attention, but don't let him have it. Get him interested. Do you understand?”

“Sort of. I'm just not sure why the eagle would want this little mouse when it already has the rabbit,” I com–mented as I took the line.

“Because the rabbit is dead and you're going to make the mouse seem alive.”

Every human eye was trained on me but the eagle seemed totally occupied with the rabbit. I felt embar–rassed. I dropped the mouse to the ground and started walking, dragging it behind me.

“Move it with a little more energy,” the vet suggested.

“Make it dance around.”

I jerked it back and forth. The eagle looked up from its meal and watched as the mouse ran back and forth in front of it. I did a circle right around it. The eagle turned its head all the way as far as it could, and then spun it in the opposite direction, so it could see it on the other side. There was no question I had its complete attention.

“Now, bring it over here,” the vet commanded.

I brought the mouse to the vet's feet. He bent down and undid the knot. He handed the mouse, all covered with dirt, back to me.

“Here, throw it.”

I pulled back my arm to really heave it.

“No!” he yelled. “I want you to throw it to the eagle, not through the eagle.”

I followed his directions and pitched the mouse in the direction of the bird. It bounced off its perch atop the tattered remains of the rabbit and pounced directly on top of the mouse. In one swift motion, almost so fast it was a blur, it took the mouse with its talons, tossed it into the air and swallowed it down in one lump without chewing.

“Just a little nibble for that big fella,” Smitty re–marked.“Perfect,” the vet announced. “It should be about twenty minutes before the pills take effect. It would be better if we left the bird alone. The calmer it is the faster things should work. Place the cedar branches around it to give the eagle a feeling of safety.”

While I helped place the cover, the vet, accompanied by the major, went into the mess hall. They'd probably get a coffee or slice of pie. My stomach growled and I remembered I hadn't eaten. Smitty had the same idea and, as soon as the last branch was placed, we high-tailed it for the back door of the kitchen.

My mother had two meals, under overturned pie plates, sitting on the table. She didn't say a word as we tore into our meals. Lunch may have just ended but she was already getting supper ready at the counter. There were two soldiers, doing a punishment duty, working away at the sink. Between bites, Smitty glanced anxiously at his watch.