Moose Tracks (Fesler-Lampert Minnesota Heritage) Read online

  He wanted to tell her, but his throbbing cheek reminded him of the trap that held him. “I was hoping Dad would get home,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “Me too.”

  Grabbing the ceramic bowl of popcorn, he double-checked the lock on the back door, then headed downstairs to the basement, where he watched TV and slept most Friday nights. Only this night hadn’t been his usual night of late movies and popcorn. Hardly. Cross-legged on the old plaid couch, he mechanically ate his popcorn, one kernel at a time. When he finished the bowl, he rolled out a sleeping bag and climbed in. Pulling the pillow over his head, he fell into an exhausted sleep.

  He dreamed that he was riding in the woods, without a shirt, and snow was swirling around him, blinding him with its brightness.

  Suddenly Quest broke into a gallop, and Seth fell off the saddle, his leg getting caught in the stirrup. Quest dragged him endlessly over logs and streams, scraping him up and down rocky ridges until Seth’s back was bloody. Time and again, Seth tried to reach up and cut the stirrup loose with his knife, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach it. Finally, Quest stopped short.

  Seth yanked his foot free and tumbled to the ground.

  He looked up. The bull moose was there, its rack higher than the trees, standing above him, piercing him with eyes dark as a starless night. Seth tried to scream. The bull thrashed its hooves in the air. Seth had to be quick. With an instant jerk of action, he rolled clear of the sharp hooves pummeling down at him.

  Seth woke when he hit the basement floor, tangled in his sleeping bag, clammy with sweat.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The basement floor felt as unforgiving as an ice rink. As Seth clambered back onto the couch, yesterday flooded across his mind, fully waking him with a chill.

  He dressed fast and climbed the stairs. Maybe the poachers had him scared into not talking, but that didn’t mean Seth would let them get the moose calf without a fight. He had had good luck getting the calf to follow him before. This time would be even easier. He had to hurry, before the poachers found the calf first.

  He looked at the clock above the fireplace. 7:07. The house was still quiet.

  Crumpling newspaper under dry birch logs in the fireplace, Seth struck a match and watched an amber flame lick at the wood. He blew at the base of the pile, sending the flame into an explosion of heat, then closed the glass door. Now Mom wouldn’t have to get up so early to start the fire. And if he was lucky, this time he might get back before she’d even miss him.

  Saturday. He wished he could call Matt and tell him everything, then ask him to come along. But if he called Matt, maybe he’d be putting his friend at risk, too. He’d have to go alone.

  Seth went to the kitchen, made himself a double portion of instant strawberry oatmeal, and shoveled it into his mouth. Dad’s boots and jacket were nowhere to be seen. He still wasn’t home. Seth topped off breakfast with a Snickers bar from the cupboard and put on his jacket.

  He checked his jeans pocket. The rabbit’s foot was still there, silky soft. What did the paw really prove? Did it prove anything at all? It did nothing to help loosen the knot he now felt in his stomach. Filling his lungs with a deep breath, he told himself that he had enough courage to return to the woods; then he pulled on his cap and headed out the door.

  In the middle of the backyard, tree swallows fluttered around the birdhouse, trying to get out of the wind. But bird feathers stuck out of the two round openings. The birdhouse was crammed full.

  “Better head south soon,” Seth said.

  He shoveled snow away from the barn door, then kicked a chunk of ice to hold it open so that the swallows could find shelter.

  “Anybody in here?” he shouted, working up the courage to enter the barn.

  Quest rose to his legs, stretched his neck over the stall rail, and blinked.

  “Good morning, old pal,” Seth said, relieved to be alone this time.

  Midnight walked toward him, then stopped and stretched in a low bow. She purred and wrapped herself through Seth’s legs. First, Seth filled the cat’s food dish, then he removed the insulating box from the barn’s water spigot, filled her water dish, and brought Quest a bucket of fresh water. Quest slurped noisily.

  “That’s very rude,” Seth said in his mother-knows-best voice.

  When he went to the bales, something caught his eye. Sticking out between pieces of golden straw was an unfamiliar watch. Seth picked it up and studied it, running his fingers over it as though it were a rare archaeological treasure. It was a Timex with a hairline crack running across its face from the two to the seven. The weathered leather band had apparently come loose with the blow.

  Seth lightly brushed his hand over his stitches. No wonder he had been cut. But now he had evidence. With this, his dad might be able to pinpoint the owner and make an arrest. He turned it over in his hands, hoping to find an inscription on the shiny back side. A name. There was nothing except a few numbers around its rim.

  He set the watch on the stall boards and entered Quest’s stall, tossing him hay. “So you ran home without me,” Seth said, “left me out there alone with that bull. Wasn’t very brave of you.”

  The barn door creaked and Seth jumped. A rush of cold wind blew into the barn. He wondered what he could use to defend himself.

  Grabbing the pitchfork, he hid in a corner of the stall and peeked through a crack in the boards. His body tensed like a twisted rope.

  “Seth?” Matt called. “You here?”

  Seth stepped out cautiously, pitchfork raised. Matt stood in the doorway in his green-and-gold jacket, his sweatshirt hood over his head. Under his arm he hugged his football.

  “Am I ever glad to see you!” Seth said as Matt closed the door behind him and walked to Quest’s stall. Seth leaned the pitchfork in the corner, then sat down across from Matt on a bale of hay. He drew an X in the dirt with his bootheel.

  “Our game was canceled last night,” Matt said, pacing back and forth. “We would have played, but the other coach didn’t want to take his team on the road. And I’m feeling better.”

  Seth didn’t answer. The last thing he had on his mind was football. He had to get going.

  “Game’s postponed till next week,” Matt continued, stopping momentarily to lean over the stall and stroke Quest’s side. “I went to bed early, then woke up at five this morning, couldn’t sleep. I saw footprints to the barn, so I thought …” Matt faced Seth. He wrinkled up his face into a confused smile. “Hey, what the heck happened to you? Did you go out for football and not tell me about it?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Seth said, his cheek and jaw feeling sore when he talked.

  “Well?” Matt asked impatiently.

  “Poachers,” Seth blurted.

  “What?” Matt said. “C’mon. Did I hear you right?”

  “I probably shouldn’t even tell you, Matt. I mean, just by opening my mouth, I might be putting your life in danger.”

  Matt was still for a moment, then he began nervously thumping his football.

  Seth didn’t smile.

  “Poachers?” Matt repeated. “You’re serious, right?”

  Then Seth told Matt everything, from when he’d first spotted the moose tracks to when the poachers had waited for him in the darkness. As he talked, the wind rattled the old barn, trying to shake it apart. “And this,” Seth said, holding out the watch, “is the only evidence I have.”

  Matt studied the watch. “Geez. Think they’d really come back?”

  Seth pointed to his cheek and raised his eyebrows.

  “Yup, I think they probably would,” Matt said, nodding. “I think you better tell your dad right away, even if they threatened you. He’ll find a way to arrest those guys.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Seth said. “My dad’s not home yet anyway.” He kicked at the dirt. “I can’t wait around for him to get back. Matt, I don’t expect you to understand, but I have to get back to the woods.”

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nbsp; The wind howled outside the barn. Seth looked up. Two swallows, white-breasted with long dark coattails, flew in through the crack in the door and perched on the overhead rafter, as though to eavesdrop on the conversation below. At least he’d helped a few swallows.

  Grinding his heel into the dirt, Seth said, “That moose calf might still be alive, and if it is, I’m not going to let those guys blast it.”

  Matt tossed the football to Seth. “I don’t think you should go out there alone.”

  “Well,” Seth said, throwing the ball back to Matt. “Want to join me?”

  Matt looked up at the birds, then at Seth. “As my dad would say, ‘It goes against my better judgment, but okay.’”

  Seth tried to smile, but smiling tugged at his stitches. “Mind riding double?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Under a blanket of gray clouds, the boys rode into the woods, Matt’s hands clamped on the edges of the saddle seat behind Seth. Except for the creaking of ice-glazed branches and snow falling in clumps from pine boughs, the woods were still. They rode quietly for a long time.

  “I wish you’d taken my advice a long time ago and gotten a four-wheeler,” Matt said behind Seth. “This isn’t exactly comfortable, but at least Quest is warm.

  “What are we going to do if we run into those poachers?” Matt asked.

  “They’ll be gone,” Seth said, trying to sound sure of himself. “They wouldn’t have left the moose cow out here where wolves could get it. I’m sure they’re long gone.”

  As they neared the bog, Seth stopped Quest and listened. Sparrows fluttered overhead. He nudged Quest forward.

  “The spot’s right up here. I’m hoping the calf will be hanging around the bog up ahead. Maybe the cow’s scent will keep it near.”

  The moose cow’s body was gone and yesterday’s bloodstains were now buried under snow. The air smelled wet and bitter.

  “So this is where you ran into the poachers, huh?” Matt said.

  Seth nodded. He looked around the bog. It was as though it had never happened, and Seth almost felt as if he’d imagined the whole thing. Then he noticed that fresh moose-calf tracks crisscrossed the area ahead. The calf had returned to the site.

  “See those tracks, Matt?” Seth said. “See? The calf headed that way.” He lifted Quest’s reins and headed southwest, following the tracks and clusters of brown droppings. The tracks led them along the edge of a stream that trickled in hushed tones beneath a layer of ice, and followed the base of a high ridge trimmed with bare rock, juniper bushes, and Norway pine.

  The fresh wet snow made the tracks easy to follow.

  “We’re getting closer,” Seth said quietly as Quest skidded down a small ravine.

  A half-hour later, the tracks led them to a clearing on top of a rounded rock ridge. In the middle of the hill sat a strangely shaped mound of snow, almost like a snow-covered beaver dam or giant anthill.

  As Seth nudged Quest closer to the mound, something clinked against Quest’s horseshoes. Seth lifted his leg over the saddle horn, then jumped off the saddle and kicked around in the snow with the toe of his boot. He discovered old bottles and scraps of rusted metal, including a wire hoop that had once been a barrel stave for a wooden keg. He picked up a small bottle, crusted black inside.

  “An antique whiskey bottle,” he said, brushing off the snow and dirt and reading the glass lettering. “I’ll add this one to my collection. Neat, huh?”

  “Maybe you think so,” said Matt, sitting awkwardly on Quest’s rump and trying to hang on to the reins.

  “Bet this one is fifty years old—at least,” Seth said. He put the empty bottle into his jacket pocket and stepped toward the mound.

  Just as he stepped forward, his foot broke through the outer edge of the mound. Seth flung his arms backward toward solid ground, propelling himself away from the shaft.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Matt asked, sliding off Quest. He gave Seth a hand up.

  When Seth regained his footing, he knelt near the mound and looked at the small dark hole that had opened where his foot had gone through. His heart was beating fast.

  “Yeah, Fm okay,” Seth said. He listened to the clink of debris as it fell into the pit below. “That was close.

  “This mound must cover an old mine shaft. My dad said there were lots of hematite mine shafts around here from the early iron ore days, but he never told me about this one. He said miners used to cover these with timbers and then pile garbage on them—to keep hikers away. Guess the timbers are rotting through.” He took a deep breath, stood up, and brushed the snow off his jeans.

  He grabbed Quest’s reins and walked to the edge of the ridge. Below, a trail curved past the ridge, running west and north; a trail large enough for snowmobiles or four-wheelers.

  “I didn’t know about this trail,” Seth said.

  “Me neither,” Matt said.

  Prickles ran down Seth’s back. If the poachers used these trails, he hoped they weren’t around now. Maybe he should turn back. But then he spotted the calf’s tracks.

  “Matt, look,” Seth said. “It’s headed that way, down the hill.”

  “We’ll find it,” Matt said, then added cautiously, “unless …”

  “Unless what?” Seth didn’t like Matt’s tone; it made him nervous. He glanced around.

  “Over there,” Matt said, pointing to a half dozen large black birds circling above the aspen trees beyond the ridge. “Ravens. Something must have died.”

  Seth swung up into the saddle, then gave Matt a hand up to Quest’s rump.

  The calf’s tracks appeared to be heading toward the aspen grove. Had the poor calf made it this far, only to become food for ravens?

  “I hope it’s not what I think.”

  As Quest traversed slowly down the rocky ridge, Seth leaned back slightly in his saddle. He felt the warmth of Matt’s chest against his back. He was glad for his company.

  They followed the calf’s tracks, which cut over the trail and into the aspens. When the woods became more dense with undergrowth, the boys slipped off Quest and walked.

  The ravens’ squawking grew louder.

  Seth felt uneasy. He had wanted so badly for the calf to make it. He had wanted to see it survive. The tracks led right toward the ravens. Maybe he didn’t need to go farther. Wasn’t it enough just to know that the poachers hadn’t got it? No, he needed to know for sure. He’d follow the tracks until he found the calf.

  Yards ahead, in a small clearing beneath leafless trees, at least a dozen ravens were on the ground, squawking as they tore at dark mounds with their beaks.

  One raven cawed from a treetop as Seth and Matt approached. The other birds flapped up into the trees, perching above their snow-speckled piles of black, like sentries standing guard.

  Seth shivered. What were these dark boulder shapes on the ground? The whole thing gave him the creeps.

  As Seth walked closer, Quest followed behind, prancing and snorting nervously.

  Suddenly Seth understood.

  It made him sick.

  Whoever had killed them, Seth thought, didn’t kill them for their meat—they weren’t gutted clean. They certainly didn’t kill them for their fur.

  Matt stepped up behind him. “Ohhh …,” he groaned.

  Seth stood still, unable to take his eyes off the scene. From what he could make of it, all the bears’ paws had been hacked off. The animals were slaughtered for their paws and perhaps a part of their innards.

  Seth wrapped his arms tight around his waist. He couldn’t believe someone would …

  He turned to Matt. “Bear poachers,” Seth said. “This is their work.”

  “What an incredible waste,” Matt said. “At least when my dad gets a bear, we eat the meat. But this …”

  “Jerks!” Seth said, angry that anyone could kill bears like that, just slaughter them. And then a thought jabbed him. He had killed the rabbit and cut off its paw—for no good reason. He reached into his pocket and clasped the soft fur and b
ones of his rabbit’s paw.

  Now it repulsed him. How was it that he could so clearly see the harm the poachers were doing without seeing the wrong of his own actions? He thought about how he’d struggled to protect the moose calf. If the moose calf’s life was worth saving, then why not the life of a wild rabbit? Seth felt heavy with shame. The rabbit’s foot didn’t prove his strength; it only proved his stupidity.

  Seth heard something and lifted his head.

  A soft bellowing, barely loud enough to hear, came from deeper into the thicket.

  “Hear that, Matt?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The bellowing grew fainter, then it stopped.

  As the land sloped downward, aspens gave way to lowland brush. When the brush became too tangled, the boys turned from following the calf’s tracks to following its sound instead.

  Seth held up his hand to Matt.

  He heard splashing.

  Following the noise, Seth parted the thick weave of branches as he walked and came upon an eight-foot-wide ice-covered stream. In its center, stuck shoulder-deep, was the moose calf, its back covered with snow. Ice chunks and clumps of mud floated in the muddy brown water around the calf’s head.

  It was clearly in trouble.

  The boys stood on the edge of the bank, not saying a word.

  For a moment, the calf stared at the boys with its close-set, shiny black eyes, then it thrashed its front legs at the surrounding shelf of ice. Over and over again, it tried to lunge upward, but each time, it merely broke off a chunk of ice and fell back into the water, apparently digging itself deeper and deeper into the muddy bottom of the stream. After several attempts, the calf stopped and drooped its head in exhaustion on the edge of the ice.

  How long had it been stuck in the stream? Minutes? Hours?

  “C’mon!” Seth cried. “You can’t give up!”

  The calf bellowed a mournful cry, then started thrashing again.