Spring of the Poacher's Moon

by Angela Dorsey

  Chapter 8

  I asked Rusty to slow down after half a mile and he was more than happy to do so. He’d been out and about most of the day and was getting tired. Not Twilight. I don’t think she ever runs out of energy. She bounced around us, went on mini explorations, and pretended trees were monsters until we were almost halfway home.

  Suddenly, she paused, with her head high. She sniffed the air. A moment later, Rusty and I smelled it too. Smoke. He stopped before I asked him. Fire in the bush was a super dangerous thing. It had been a dry spring and a forest fire wasn’t completely impossible. If we could catch a blaze before it became too big, we might be able to stop a forest fire and save many animals, and possibly even humans, in the process. I knew the moose calf was waiting for us. He needed us desperately. But to ignore the possibility of a forest fire was putting every one of us in danger.

  “Let’s check it out, Rusty,” I said, decision made. I laid my hand on the left side of his neck and he turned toward my touch. We trotted about a quarter of a mile with Twilight glued to Rusty’s hindquarters and finally came to a ridge top. Before us, the ground dropped down into a large, forested bowl. A single column of smoke spiralled up from below. I saw a flash of blue through some trunks. A tent? Relief made me exhale and slump on Rusty’s back. It had to be campfire smoke.

  Go home? asked Rusty.

  Not yet. I’m not sure what made me hesitate. Maybe it was my subconscious mind at work, telling me this was the perfect place for a hidden camp. Maybe something seemed wrong or out of place, or maybe I’m just really smart… ha ha! Okay, honestly? It was my mom who made me hesitate. I heard her voice in my head, droning on and on in one of the millions of campfire safety lectures that she’s given me over the years.

  We should make sure the campfire is safe, I answered Rusty. I didn’t see anyone down there. The campers might be hidden by the trees and brush between us, but then again, they might have left the fire unattended, and that was dangerous. If everyone was gone, we should put the fire out. No doubt it would make the campers mad to see a pile of dirt where their fire used to be, but that was better than them starting a forest fire with a stray spark. They’d thank me if they knew what they were risking.

  Because I didn’t want to make a preachy entrance in case someone was just lounging out of sight, I left the horses on the ridge top with strict instructions to Twilight to stay put. She looked at me crossly, then turned her head away.

  Bossy, she said, and shook her mane.

  So much for gratitude after saving her from the scary man. I leaned against Rusty’s warm gray shoulder for a moment and gave him a hug. Twilight was still ignoring me, so I headed down the hill with no more displays of affection. I’d be back in a minute, I told myself.

  I went as quietly as I could. That way, if someone was there, I could turn around when I saw them and they’d never know I’d been sneaking up on their camp. When I was halfway down the incline, the sun dropped behind the higher land. I was surprised. It must be later than I thought. I glanced at my watch. Oh my! It wasn’t just late afternoon, it was very late afternoon. Mom would be back home soon – if she wasn’t already – and she’d be way beyond furious to find me gone.

  I scrambled back toward Rusty and Twilight, only to stop short after a few yards. I really did need to check that the campfire was safe. There was too much at risk – all the wild creatures’ lives, including Twilight’s mustang herd, our little cabin and barn, us. I was just going to have to be tough and risk getting into mega-trouble.

  I hurried back down the hill toward the camp, and as I descended, a far-too-big campfire came into view. Three tents surrounded the merry blaze; two were fancy, bright blue, and new, and one appeared to be homemade with old canvases. Items were strewn about the campsite. These campers were messy. A food cache hung in a tree to keep it safe from bears. Nowhere did I see people. The only things indicating that they may not have gone far were the two mud-caked ATVs parked near the fancy tents, forest green ATVs that looked suspiciously like the poacher’s ATVs.

  I stopped. What would the poachers do if this was their camp and they found me here? Poaching was highly illegal. They’d have to pay huge fines if they were caught. Jail time could even be involved, especially for their guide. If they caught me, they certainly wouldn’t let me go, because once I’d seen them I could identify them.

  I turned and was about to bolt when reason caught me. Even if they saw me, they wouldn’t know that I knew they were poachers. They’d think I was just an ordinary kid who thought they were ordinary campers. They’d have no idea that I’d seen their ATVs before or that I’d found the dead moose.

  Silently I crept the rest of the way down the hill and slid behind a tree, then peered out to see inside the rustic tent directly across from me. It was empty. The fancy tent on the right had its door zipped shut, but I could only see the back of the second tent. Someone could be inside, staring out at the flames.

  I slid along the side of the tent, my heart racing like a runaway horse. My breathing was so shallow that after a few steps I felt dizzy. I bent over, put my hands on my knees, and waited for the feeling to pass. Obviously, I didn’t have a future as a gifted spy. Finally, I made it to the front corner, and slowly, so slowly, leaned around – to see the door was zipped shut. So I was safe, unless these losers were having a nap, in which case they’d be asleep. I straightened, inhaled deeply and quietly, then prowled toward the campfire.

  The heat it gave off was amazing. It really was much too big to leave unattended. They must’ve dumped a stack of wood on it before they left. Only dirt would kill this fire quickly. I had to find something to scoop with.

  My eyes wandered the campsite, searching for anything with a wide flat blade. The interior of the homemade tent looked promising with its jumble of objects just inside the door. That’s where I’d start looking. I hurried toward the disorganized mess and… that’s when I heard them. Voices, coming from my left and getting louder. At least two men were walking toward camp and talking to each other.

  I froze, all my brave thoughts instantly gone.

  Hide…

  The two new tents were too small but the big ugly one, with its canvases and poles and handy little rips for peepholes, was ideal. I raced behind it, realizing too late that it was also the farthest from my escape route to where Rusty and Twilight waited.

  Behind the tent was a large lump covered with a worn blue canvas. Flies buzzed around it. I crouched down next to the smelly thing hoping that whatever it was, it wasn’t something the campers needed while I was hiding.

  Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly. I bet you can guess what was splayed beneath that canvas. My only excuse is that sheer terror addles the brain.

  The two men laughed as they entered the camp, then continued to chat in a language I didn’t understand. I leaned forward to peer through a hole in the ratty tent. The men were still talking as they went to the fire. One was medium height with graying hair, while the second was younger and taller. Their faces looked kind of the same, so I guessed they were father and son.

  The son dropped an armload of wood and then threw some more sticks on the blaze, while his father balanced a big pot of water he’d been carrying to one side of the campfire. The flames grew even higher. It wouldn’t be long until the water was boiling.

  I was about to fade back into the trees – I could climb out of the depression and then walk around the rim to where the horses waited – when the older man strode straight toward the tent I was hiding behind. I ducked down and held my breath. Seconds stretched past and I heard nothing but the crackling, popping fire. Had he entered the tent? Was he checking the perimeter of the camp? Maybe he was coming around back to check on the canvas-covered lump.

  My body, demanding air, interrupted my morbid imaginings. Slowly, I inhaled and the slight sound seemed unnaturally, terrifyingly loud.

  Then I noticed that the food cache hanging beside my ratty tent, thankfully on the far side of the lump I
hunkered behind, was being lowered to the ground. Down, down it went. I flattened myself against the dirt, willing myself to blend in despite my purple jacket. In mere seconds, the older man would be bending over it, removing something, and all he would have to do is look to his left and I’d be caught.

  The food cache hit the ground. The man stepped into view, leaned over it, and opened it. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. If he saw me, I had to run. There was no way I could pretend I’d just happened across their camp now, not when I was crouched behind this… whatever it was. My gaze shifted to the canvas lump. With my swollen cheek pressed against the ground, I could see under the edge of it, and an eye was looking at me. A large, dark, glazed over eye.

  It took all my strength to not scream. Or maybe it wasn’t strength but simply self preservation and fear of what might happen if I got caught. It’s amazing what a person can do when they have to.

  I stared into the eye. It stared back.

  The man at the food cache straightened and turned to his companion, his eyes passing right over me. The younger man yelled something from the fire and his father yelled back, then stalked out of sight with a jar of instant coffee in his hand.

  Tears sprung from my eyes and I reached under the canvas to touch the rough hair of the cow’s face. The poor thing. She’d died to feed vanity; her head would hang on a wall and these men would brag about killing her to their friends. And just as heartbreaking, she’d left behind a baby that she’d never see grow up.

  But he would grow up. I could promise her that. I’d take care of him and teach him and do the best I could to replace her, so he would become a strong young moose that she could’ve been proud of.

  Shaking like crazy, I moved to watch through my peephole. The father stood impatiently over the water as it heated, as if he thought staring at it would make it boil faster. The son poked the fire with a stick. They were talking softly, almost furtively, to each other in their own language.

  Suddenly, the younger man shrugged, then dropped his stick and strode straight toward my tent! I jerked back, my heart roaring in my ears. I was going to die of a heart attack if I didn’t get out of here. And then the roaring got louder. And louder. Another ATV, probably the guide, was approaching the camp.

  I moved back to my peephole in time to see the man who’d been striding toward the ratty tent quickly step back to the fire. He picked up his stick and poked at the blaze far too nonchalantly. I couldn’t help but smile. It looked like he’d planned to do some snooping in the guide’s tent and had been thwarted.

  Do not let anyone see you, I sent to Rusty and Twilight. They are the poachers, the ones who killed Thumper’s mother.

  Thumper? asked Twilight.

  The calf, Rusty guessed.

  Yes. Be careful. Cannot talk more now. I needed to be aware of what was happening around me. I felt Rusty lead Twilight away from the noise of the ATV, and ached to sneak up the hill and follow them. The two poachers were completely distracted, turned toward the sound of the ATV and waiting for it to come into sight. It was the perfect time, except I couldn’t leave yet. I had to see the guide too, so I could describe him to the authorities.

  The third ATV roared into camp with one person aboard. He came to a sudden stop beside the fire and turned his machine off. The silence seemed surreal after all the racket.

  “So I found another one, a young bull,” the guide said as he dismounted the machine.

  The young man rubbed his hands together and grinned while the older guy scowled. Apparently, the father had already got his poached moose: the cow. The bull was meant for the younger man. Not that the bull would look much different than the cow. It would have the same ratty tufted look about it and only stubby new horns. Moose re-grow their horns every spring and lose them in the fall, and a young bull moose would have even smaller stubs than an older bull moose. These poachers were totally clueless and they were being taken advantage of by the guide who no doubt knew all this stuff. They were probably paying a lot of money for this expedition too. If I wasn’t so mad at them for killing Thumper’s mother, I would’ve felt sorry for them.

  I stared through my peephole as the three men talked about their plan to “bag” the bull the next day, the two foreigners in stilted English. I strained to hear every word. I needed to memorize as much as I could about the three men, including their conversation.

  After listening for less than five minutes, I turned to make my escape through the forest at the back of the worn tent. Evening was coming on quickly. Mom would be insane with worry by now, probably imagining me lying wounded and lost in the vast forests, and calling out for her with my last breath.

  I crept a few yards into the forest, only to close my eyes in dismay and freeze stock-still a second later. A shout. Not telling me to stop. The poachers still hadn’t seen me. And they weren’t yelling at each other either. No, this was a new person – a familiar person – calling down to the camp, letting them know he was approaching.

  Charlie.