Moose Tracks (Fesler-Lampert Minnesota Heritage) Read online

  Matt cleared his throat. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Talk to you later,” Seth said, and clicked off the receiver.

  His mind turned to the moose tracks he’d seen yesterday. Maybe if he could track them, pinpoint their location, then he could prove to his dad he had the skills of a true woodsman. The wind might make tracking difficult, but he hoped it wouldn’t be blowing so hard in the woods. Maybe he could gain information about the moose that would help his dad nail the poachers. It was worth a try. He’d make his dad so proud of his tracking skills that he’d have to take notice.

  Not many boys would be brave enough to track moose, especially when they were in rut. During the moose’s mating season, a bull moose might charge anything, even a locomotive. He’d have to be careful.

  Seth tossed the rabbit’s foot in the air toward the ceiling and, feeling a thrill of excitement, caught it in the palm of his hand. He’d show his dad.

  He jumped out of bed, turned on the aquarium light, and flicked in a few flakes of food. His two angelfish, Spike and Spinner, glided to the top. When they’d eaten the neon tetras Seth had bought with his own money, Seth had wanted to flush them down the toilet, but he’d got over being mad at them. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair.

  He threw on a turtleneck, green sweater, and jeans, tossed his comforter up over his pillow, shoved the paw into his pocket, and glanced in the mirror. His hair was sticking straight up in back like turkey feathers. What a dork, he thought.

  At the kitchen table, Seth’s mother was sitting with a pillow behind her back, her paperwork cluttering the table. Though she only worked ten hours a week doing home visits for Social Services, Seth hoped she wasn’t expecting him to be the baby-sitter when the baby was born. He’d already decided. No way.

  Seth eased past her toward the closet. “I’m going to exercise Quest,” he said.

  “Okay, sweetheart,” Mom said. “But when you come in, it’ll be time to get to your schoolwork. Today’s test day and—”

  “I know, I know,” he said. Did she have to remind him of everything? “And my name’s Seth.”

  She looked up, her hazel eyes warm and caring, too caring.

  Turning away, Seth grabbed his hat and gloves from the closet. He used to be able to talk easily with her. Often, when Dad was away late, Seth would sit on the kitchen counter and talk with Mom nonstop, or together they’d stay up late watching a movie. But not lately. Maybe it came from being together too much, but Seth felt himself pulling away. He needed to stand on his own feet. If he tried to explain to her how he needed to go into the woods today, alone, to track the moose, she wouldn’t understand. She’d say it was too dangerous and try to talk him out of it.

  “Something else bothering you?” she asked, setting down her pen and resting her hands on her belly.

  “Yeah,” he said as he zipped up his red down jacket and yanked on his wool hat. “Everybody!”

  He closed the door hard behind him. The wind stung his cheeks and ran down his neck like cold skinny fingers. Scrunching his shoulders, he hurried to the old barn.

  The pungent smell of hay, oats, and manure met him as he stepped inside. Once used for dairy cows, the barn now housed a tack room, grooming area, and two big box stalls. Quest whinnied. Seth could hear him pawing at the dirt floor.

  “Patience, fella,” Seth said. “Breakfast is coming.”

  Grabbing a handful of oats from the bin, Seth went to Quest’s box stall, where his four blue ribbons hung, faded like late October asters. The chestnut gelding pressed his muscular chest into the stall boards and buried his warm muzzle into Seth’s hand, tickling as he mouthed the grain. When Quest finished, Seth looked at his slobbered hand.

  “Hey, thanks,” he said with a laugh, and wiped his hand on his jeans. “Friends like you, who needs enemies?”

  As Seth curried and brushed down his horse, his cat rubbed her black hair up alongside Seth’s leg and purred like a small engine. “Been mousing, Midnight?” Seth asked, as she weaved in and out of Seth’s legs. He bent down and scratched her head, then placed her on the stall board. Gracefully, she walked along its edge, jumped down, and disappeared behind bales of straw.

  Seth threw a blanket and saddle on Quest’s back, straightened the cotton girth, and weaved the leather strap through the girth’s silver ring. In his bare hands, he warmed the steel snaffle bit, then gently adjusted the bridle over Quest’s ears.

  “Come on, boy,” he said as he led his horse outside and swung up into the soft leather saddle.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As Seth rode out from the barn, wind hit his face with a stinging slap and lifted the long amber hairs of Quest’s coat. Sleet and snow filled the air. For a second, Seth almost turned back, but instead he yanked his cap over his ears, huddled into his jacket, and clicked his tongue.

  In the woods, the dense pine and balsam slowed the wind to a brisk breeze. Seth inhaled deeply. The earthy smell of autumn was gone and replaced with pure air that tingled his nostrils.

  As he passed a moss-covered bank in the woods, he remembered when Max, his old cocker spaniel, had gone nuts barking at this spot. “What’s the matter?” Seth had said, walking up behind. Max kept yipping and sniffing up to the edge of the hole until he disappeared, yanked right into the dark hole. Two seconds later he came flying out with a big black head glaring after him. He didn’t stop running until he got home. Max must have disturbed the bear’s sleep. Probably served him right.

  And Seth remembered when dumb old Max had come home with a muzzle of porcupine quills last summer. Dad had pulled most of the barbed needles out of the dog’s skin with pliers; the ones he couldn’t get out, the vet cut out. And after all that pain, Max was hit by a car a week later. Didn’t make any sense.

  Keeping his eyes on the snow-dusted trail, Seth rode a mile or so to the west past Hercules, examining prints left mostly by rabbits and deer. Seth stopped for a moment to watch a red fox, its tail an outstretched feather duster, bound across the trail and vanish in the undergrowth. Then he rode on.

  No sign of moose tracks anywhere. Perhaps the moose were miles away by now, in search of food. Seth was about to turn back, when the trail curved along the edge of a large peat bog. A stretch of trail too wet to follow in the spring, now it was frozen and carpeted with crunchy pinecones. Brilliant gold tamarack with soft feathery needles surrounded the bog.

  Quest stopped abruptly, his ears straight up and his body quivering slightly.

  “Hear something, boy?” Seth stroked his horse’s neck to calm him. If it was a bull moose, Quest could outrun it; Seth was certain of that. Pretty certain, anyway. After all, Quest was the fastest game horse in the county.

  Then Seth spotted the moose cow and its calf. Brown and huge, they grazed in the center of the frozen bog among patches of cattails and long grasses. Uncertain of how the moose cow with her calf might react to him, he backed Quest into the trees, out of view. He let out a silent whistle.

  The moose cow was as big as a draft horse, the calf like a yearling. He couldn’t wait to tell his dad. For a long moment he watched them, their plodding movements, their knobby silhouettes.

  The moose cow’s mane bristled up and she lowered one of her ears defensively, as if she sensed something.

  The stillness was suddenly shattered by a single gunshot.

  Seth jumped in his saddle, and scanned the bog. He couldn’t tell where the blast had come from.

  Again, one gunshot then another reverberated around the clearing. Seth’s ears rang. His heart began racing. His mouth went dry.

  The big cow jumped sideways, then froze, and Seth saw blood on her shoulder. No, he thought, she’s been shot! The gangly calf circled around its mother. More blood streamed from the cow’s side as she bolted with a wailing bellow, the calf trailing along her flank. Wild-eyed, the cow ran right at Seth.

  He couldn’t believe it. It was happening so fast, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn’t bear to watch anymore.r />
  Quest danced, but Seth reined him in and backed him farther off the trail, out of the cow’s path. Just ten steps away, right in the middle of the trail, the cow’s front legs buckled. She went down. The mammoth brown creature moaned, sounding like something from a prehistoric era.

  Seth covered his mouth with his glove, his hand trembling. He was going to throw up. His heart pounded wildly, threatening to explode. He was suffocating.

  He slid off his saddle and took a step closer to the cow.

  Her chest heaved slowly up and down.

  “Get up!” Seth wanted to shout. “You can make it!” At least she was still breathing. But there was so much blood. Too much blood.

  The calf circled its mother. A small rivulet of red ran down its hindquarter. It nudged its mother’s body with its muzzle and made soft bleating sounds.

  Quest trembled, anxious to move. A wave of cold panic washed over Seth, telling him to flee, and yet he just stood there.

  He heard deep voices.

  “I nailed her,” said one.

  “Yeah, she’s not going too far,” said the other.

  As he stared, blood oozed steaming to the cold ground from the cow’s mouth, and she lay still.

  Vomit climbed in Seth’s throat. His eyes burned. One moment the moose was alive and beautiful, the next it was cut down cold. The rabbit flashed through his mind.

  The voices were louder, closer. “She’s down all right. Hit her good—right through the chest.”

  “Lots of blood, we’ll track her …”

  Seth cautioned himself to flee. Was he crazy? Why wasn’t he leaving? Move it! Get out of sight! But the calf, he couldn’t let them shoot the calf, too.

  Stumbling around the bend, a man appeared, his brown jacket stretched taut over his barrel belly. He smiled at the moose, scrunching his stubble-covered melon face into a grimace of yellowed teeth.

  Behind him trotted a well-built younger man, adjusting the flap of his camouflage hunting cap over tufts of black hair. His straight nose jutted out between gray eyes. He lifted his gun at the calf.

  Then the men noticed Seth.

  “Hey, kid!” the older man shouted. “What the heck are you doin’ here?”

  “Uh …,” Seth said.

  The younger man held up his hand. “Hey, sorry kid. You just startled us, that’s all,” he said, almost kindly. “I know this must look pretty awful, but we need these animals to feed our families.” He lowered his gun. “We didn’t mean to upset you. Run along now.”

  Seth remembered his dad’s words. “Only people from Minneapolis or Chicago hunt moose. With licenses costing over a thousand dollars, it’s pretty much a rich man’s sport.” And these guys, with holes in their wool pants, didn’t look very rich. But what if they really were poor? What if they needed the meat to survive?

  “Didn’t you hear?” the old man said in a gravelly voice. He contorted his lips, wadded something up in his mouth, then spit. “We have licenses! Now move it!”

  Licenses? But he hadn’t said a word about licenses. Suddenly he remembered about the poachers his dad had mentioned. Seth looked at the calf.

  “Don’t kill the calf, too!” Seth yelled, his voice coming out high and squeaky. He stopped himself, took a deep breath, and tried to lower his voice like his father’s, “If I go, you have to promise …”

  “Promise?” the older man said, eyes narrowing and voice flat. “Sure, we promise.” Then he laughed and pointed his gun at Seth.

  Seth went numb. He stared at the black hole of a rifle.

  “Go easy now …,” the younger man said, moving toward the older man.

  “Mmm-my d-d-dad’s a game warden,” Seth said, the only defense he could think of, the words slipping from his lips before he could take them back. Now he’d probably given them even more of a reason to shoot.

  The man reeled the gun straight up toward the ashen sky and shot into the air.

  At the shot, the calf leaped and took off down the trail. Quest reared, but Seth grabbed his reins and jumped into the saddle.

  “Hey!” the older man hollered as Seth took off down the trail after the calf. Seth didn’t look back.

  The calf ran a few feet ahead of Quest, moving fast. It began to limp, leaving light droplets of blood upon the snow. Seth was sure that if he hadn’t got between the men and the calf, it would be dead by now. Gradually it slowed down, and finally it stopped running altogether, put its head down, and made a low bleating sound.

  “No!” Seth shouted, and nudged Quest into the calf’s side to get it moving again.

  Halfway home, the calf hobbled off the trail into a marsh of thick cattails. As Seth tried to follow, Quest’s legs broke through ice-covered pools. With each step, the horse’s muddied legs were released with a sucking sound. Seth didn’t want Quest to get stuck if the poachers were following. Besides, he had to get home soon, and he doubted the poachers would follow the calf through the marsh, either. He decided to let the calf go … at least for now.

  He just hoped it wouldn’t return to its mother’s body. How long could it last in the woods without its mother to defend it? Would wolves bring it down? Or would the poachers track its bloodstained trail first?

  He turned back, and though he wanted to race the rest of the way home, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the poachers, he didn’t. Quest’s muzzle and chest were already covered with a steamy frost and a lathered sweat.

  Seth’s chest hurt with a mixture of anger and sorrow. He hated the poachers for what they did, and he felt responsible for the calf. Perhaps, if he could somehow get the calf back to the barn, then the vet could tend to its wound, and he could help nurse it back to health.

  As Seth emerged from the woods, he tried to breathe in and out, slow and steady, something that helped calm him before the 4-H horse games at the county fair. Now, he was too keyed up.

  He hopped off Quest and led him into the barn. With an old towel, he rubbed the sweat off his horse’s back, then he cleaned his hooves, probing around the V-shaped cushion with a hoof pick, searching for small stones. Midnight walked the edge of the stall boards, purring.

  As Seth worked, he heard the bellowing, saw the cow, the faces, the raised gun. He finished Quest’s hooves and leaned against the stall boards, grabbing his arms to stop his shaking.

  If the hunters were feeding their families, why wouldn’t they hunt white-tailed deer, which were far easier to find? Could this guy be Clancy? Quest nudged Seth’s leg.

  “Okay,” he said in an unsteady voice, “I’ll feed you.” And he tossed a few flakes of hay into Quest’s bin, then filled an empty coffee can with oats and poured it into the oat box. He listened to his horse chew, rhythmically, steadily. Somehow the familiar sound helped calm him a little.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Walking past the pumpkins and straw-stuffed scarecrow on the back deck, Seth stepped inside.

  “Where have you been?” Mom called from the kitchen. The smell of frying bacon filled the air. “You’ve been gone all morning, and in this weather!”

  How could he tell her about the poachers? He sat on the bench and pulled off his boots. His voice came out shaky. “I just took Quest for a ride down the trail.”

  “If you’d let me know, Seth, then I wouldn’t have to worry.” She cracked three eggs into a skillet.

  “You always worry,” Seth said, stepping into the kitchen. He silently toasted slices of raisin bread, smothered them in butter, and poured himself a glass of milk. He didn’t feel like talking and carried his plate of bacon and eggs to the study. Where was the calf now?

  When he finished eating, he stroked the wood desk and stared absently around the room, at the computer, his two-foot stack of National Geographies, and his collection of old bottles: blue, green, amber, red, short ones and tall.

  Mom stepped in. She walked up to Seth and put her hands gently on his shoulders. “Earth to Seth, Earth to Seth. Come in, please. Do you read me?”

  Seth sighed.
“Roger, I read you.”

  “All you have are your tests, Seth. Just start.”

  He sighed. “I know, Mom.”

  “When you’ve finished, I’d like some help moving baby furniture from the garage attic into the nursery. The baby isn’t due for another month, but I want to be ready, just in case.”

  “Sure,” he answered.

  As Mom walked out, Seth twirled his pencil between his fingers, his thoughts returning to the moose calf. If he could somehow lure the calf to the barn, then he could care for it. With the gunshot wound in its hindquarter, and with the sudden cold, it probably wouldn’t survive without Seth’s help. Somehow, he had to find a way to get it into the extra stall for shelter until it fully recovered.

  His eyes wandered to the painting of a deer hunter asleep against a tree, oblivious to the prize-winning buck trotting past. Seth remembered hearing that sometimes hunters clanked old deer antlers together to trick nearby bucks into thinking there’s a fight. When a buck came to investigate, either because it wanted to fight or because it thought a doe might be nearby, the hunter would shoot. If it worked for luring deer, maybe it could work for moose, or a moose calf. It was at least worth a try.

  He set his correspondence-test sheets on his desk and told himself to get to work. If he worked fast, he could finish his schoolwork early and get back out to the woods to help the calf. He didn’t have to wait inside all day for a bell to ring.

  Finishing his math and geography sections quickly, Seth plowed through the fill-in-the-blank science questions. When he finished the last question, he set down his pencil, put the test into a white envelope preaddressed to Calvert School, Baltimore, Maryland, and stretched back in his chair.

  He looked at the clock. 12:38. Record-breaking time. He was done for the day.

  Before going back outside, Seth made himself a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich and took a big bite. The peanut butter globbed to the roof of his mouth.

  “I’ve never seen Kevin so excited,” Mom said on the phone, sitting on the couch in the living room. Birch logs crackled in the fireplace. “Last night at childbirth class he was asking more questions than anyone and taking the coaching part so seriously that I kept laughing when I was supposed to be deep breathing…. Rachel, it’s just so different. I mean, I would have loved that kind of support the first time around.”