Grizzly Trap

by Justin D'Ath

  Cave Boy had led us to the farm!

  He seemed really excited. Running to meet us, he grabbed my wrist.

  ‘Mwaa mwaa!’ he said, tugging me forward.

  But instead of leading me to the gate, Cave Boy took me to a small gully, choked with brambles, just inside the forest’s fringe. On the opposite side of the gully, a big corrugated iron cylinder lay on its side under some trees. It had a tiny opening at one end, covered in heavy wire mesh, like the window of a prison cell. There was a sliding door at the other end, and some cables running across the top.

  ‘It’s a bear trap,’ E.J. said.

  Cave Boy released my hand. ‘Mwaa mwaa!’ he cried, racing ahead.

  As we followed Cave Boy through the brambles, E.J. explained that traps like these were set by national park rangers to capture bears that were causing trouble on farms or in towns. The traps were baited with meat. When a bear went in and tried to drag the meat out, a hidden wire sprung the door catch, trapping the bear inside. The captured animal was then taken to a place where there weren’t humans.

  ‘There’s something inside it,’ Sally whispered.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ muttered E.J. ‘Another bear.’

  Cave Boy got to the trap ahead of us. He pressed his face and hands against the mesh-covered window. A long pink tongue licked his nose and fingers.

  ‘Eeeew!’ said Sally.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a bear,’ I said as we cautiously approached.

  There was a savage growl from inside the trap when the animal saw us. E.J. slid down from my back.

  ‘Sounds like a wolf,’ he said, hopping over for a closer look.

  Cave Boy was talking softly through the thick steel mesh. ‘Mwaa mwaa. Mwaa mwaa.’

  Suddenly I got it. ‘Mwaa mwaa means mama. The wolf’s his mother!’

  ‘But it’s a wolf,’ E.J. said, looking in.

  ‘He thinks he’s a wolf, too,’ I said. ‘This must be the mother wolf that looked after him when he was little.’

  Cave Boy turned from the window and took hold of my wrist again. He led me to the other end of the trap, where the reinforced steel door was. He rattled the door, then looked at me and made a whimpering noise.

  At last everything made sense. Cave Boy’s mother had become caught in the bear trap, and neither he nor the other wolves could get her out. That’s why he’d led us here, and why he and the pack had protected us – so we could release her.

  ‘Sally, give me a hand to get this open,’ I called.

  E.J. hopped around to help, too. We slid our fingers under the door and heaved. It was heavy. There was a squealing sound. Slowly the door slid upwards in its metal frame. Then – click – a spring-loaded catch locked into place, holding the door open.

  The mother wolf cowered down the other end of the trap, her yellow eyes glinting in the semi-darkness. She was afraid to come out while E.J., Sally and I stood at the entrance.

  ‘Okay guys, let’s make room for her,’ I whispered.

  Sally and I moved aside, but E.J. stayed where he was.

  ‘E.J., get away from the door,’ I said.

  He wasn’t listening. His eyes were on Cave Boy as he disappeared into the trap to coax his mother out.

  CLANG!

  ‘Holy guacamole!’ I gasped.

  E.J. had released the catch and the door had slammed shut, trapping Cave Boy inside with his mother.

  ‘We’re rich!’ E.J. said with a triumphant grin.

  18

  HUMUNGOUS

  ‘Let him out!’ cried Sally.

  E.J. leaned against the door of the trap. ‘No way, José. If he’s that orphan boy who disappeared, there are fifty thousand reasons why I’m not letting him out.’

  ‘Who cares about a stupid reward?’ Sally growled.

  E.J. shrugged. ‘It’s not only about the reward,’ he said. ‘We’ll be doing him a favour. He belongs with people, not with wolves.’

  Sally looked at me for support. ‘Make E.J. let him go, Baloo. It isn’t fair to trick him after he saved us all those times.’

  I didn’t think it was fair, either. But E.J. had a good point. Cave Boy was a human, not a wild animal.

  ‘Maybe we …’

  Before I could finish what I was going to say, two things happened.

  One: there was a blowing noise, whuff, whuff, whuff, from somewhere in the brambles.

  Two: Cave Boy let out a long, piercing whistle.

  ‘Let’s get out of here!’ I said.

  Loading E.J. onto my back, I headed along the top of the gully towards the fence in a bent-over, stumbling run. Sally jogged beside me. I was slowing her down. Go ahead, I wanted to say. Get help. But talking might have attracted the grizzly’s attention. It had sounded really close.

  We reached the fence and followed it until we came to the gate. While Sally struggled with the catch, I had a quick look over my shoulder. I half-expected to see a huge brown bear lumbering through the trees towards us, but the coast was clear. The grizzly must have gone the other way around the brambles, distracted by Cave Boy’s shrill whistles.

  He was still whistling. Still calling the rest of the wolves. Would they hear him? And if they did hear, would they attack the grizzly, or come after us?

  Sally dragged the gate open. We slipped through into the paddock and she closed it behind us. Yaaay! We’d reached the farm.

  But we were far from safe. A wooden gate and a rickety fence were all that stood between us and the forest. They were hardly going to stop a three-hundred-kilogram grizzly.

  E.J. must have been reading my thoughts. ‘Giddy-up,’ he whispered.

  I didn’t need any encouragement. We set off across the paddock like a horse and rider. A very slow and tired horse.

  ‘Run ahead, Sally,’ I puffed. It was safe to talk now – we were a hundred metres from the forest’s edge. ‘Get to the farmhouse and tell them what’s happened.’

  ‘Where is it?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe over the next rise.’

  Sally went racing ahead. When she’d said she was a good runner, she hadn’t been kidding. She reached the top of the rise way ahead of us. Another fence ran along the skyline. Sally climbed across it and disappeared over the crest, still running like a human greyhound.

  The human horse wasn’t doing so well. I was pooped. I slowed to a walk. E.J. leaned forward and put his mouth next to my ear.

  ‘Giddy-up!’ he said.

  I stopped. He was really pushing his luck. ‘If you say that one more time, E.J., I’m putting you down and you can crawl the rest of the way on your hands and knees!’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that we’ve got company.’

  Uh oh. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I turned around and looked back the way we’d come.

  A hundred and fifty metres away, a big dark shape stood at the edge of the shadowy forest, peering though the fading daylight in our direction.

  ‘Do you think it can see us?’ I whispered.

  ‘Who knows,’ E.J. said as the grizzly advanced slowly towards the gate, its nose to the ground like a giant tracker dog. ‘But it sure as eggs can smell us.’

  This time there was nowhere to hide. No wolves to help us. No Cave Boy throwing acorns.

  E.J. and I were on our own.

  But not for long. When we got to the top of the hill, we met Sally coming the other way. She vaulted the fence separating our paddock from the next one, then doubled over like she’d just run a marathon. Her shoulders heaved as she gasped for breath.

  ‘Sally, what’s wrong?’ I asked.

  She pointed back the way she’d come. ‘Something’s coming,’ she panted. ‘It’s humungous!’

  19

  TIME TO RUN!

  There was a thunder of hooves. The ground shook. A black silhouette came galloping towards the fence. It was as tall as a horse and as broad as a bull, and its massive woolly head was bigger than a lion’s. A lion with horns! I thought t
he charging monster was going to smash through the fence, but it stopped at the very last moment.

  ‘It’s a bison,’ E.J. said.

  Bison are the largest land animals in North America. Adult bulls can weigh up to a tonne and stand two metres tall. No wonder Sally had been in such a hurry to cross the fence.

  But we were in a hurry to cross the fence, too.

  Going the other way.

  I looked over my shoulder. Down near the other fence, the grizzly was standing on its hind legs, pushing against the gate.

  ‘Are bison dangerous?’ I asked.

  ‘Dunno,’ said E.J.

  There was a crack of splintering wood in the distance and the gate fell flat on the ground. The grizzly came barging through the gap.

  There’s a saying my dad uses: caught between a rock and a hard place. That was us. In our paddock was the grizzly, in the next paddock was the bison.

  ‘HEEEEEELP!’ yelled Sally.

  ‘Shhhhh!’ I hissed. ‘No one’s going to hear you except the grizzly.’

  ‘They might hear at the house,’ she argued.

  ‘You saw the house?’ I asked.

  She nodded. ‘It’s just over the hill. I nearly got there, but the bison chased me back.’

  That decided it. If the house was just over the hill, that’s where we were going.

  I slid E.J. off my back and approached the fence. I had never heard of anyone being killed by a bison, but lots of people got killed by grizzlies. Taking a deep breath, I climbed across the fence onto the bison’s side. It backed away from me.

  ‘You next, Sally,’ I whispered.

  After Sally had climbed over, I parted the two bottom wires to allow E.J. to crawl through. Then I turned and faced the bison again, so E.J. could climb onto my back. The bison snorted and pawed the ground. Then it lowered its huge head and bunted me in the chest, sandwiching me and E.J. against the fence. The wires creaked.

  There was another noise, too – the huff, huff, huff of a running bear. It was growing louder every moment. But I couldn’t look round to see how close it was. I couldn’t move. Neither could E.J. A thousand kilograms of aggro bison had us pinned to the fence.

  All sorts of things rushed through my mind at that moment. Mum had sent me to get help and now I was going to die. E.J. was going to die. His father would probably die, too, because how was he going to get to hospital now? And what about Mum and Will and the other cubs? What would happen to them?

  The one person I didn’t think about was Sally.

  Suddenly the bison gave an angry snort and whirled around. Free to move at last, I staggered away from the fence, lost my balance and fell flat on the ground. E.J. landed on top of me. The bison’s hooves thumped past, showering us with dirt. A small figure in a cub’s uniform was hanging onto its tail, being dragged through the grass.

  Go Sally! I thought. She must have run around behind the hulking animal and yanked its tail when she saw that E.J. and I were in trouble.

  But now she was the one in trouble. The bison turned in a circle, swinging its horns. Sally let go just in time. She tried to roll out of the way but the fence blocked her escape. The huge beast turned and faced her. It bellowed and pawed the ground, sending clods of earth flying into the air.

  Then I saw something behind Sally. Something worse than the bison.

  ‘GRIZZLY!’ I yelled.

  Sally screamed and covered her head as the huge bear came bounding towards the fence. It tried to jump over, but it hit the top wire. A section of fence collapsed to the ground. Sally was caught underneath. The grizzly landed right beside her. It sniffed her lifeless form, then turned towards E.J. and me, lying frozen in terror only a few metres away.

  It licked its lips.

  A bison wouldn’t normally attack a grizzly bear. It would be more likely to run away. But this bison was angry. It didn’t like having its tail pulled and it was ready to take on anything.

  WHOMP!

  One thousand kilograms versus three hundred kilograms. It wasn’t an even contest. But the grizzly is the most ferocious of all bears. No North American animal could beat it in a one-to-one scrap. Even though the bison lifted it high into the air, the bear held on with its front legs wrapped around the larger animal’s neck. The bison staggered away from the flattened fence – and away from Sally, E.J. and me – swinging the grizzly back and forth. It was a battle of the giants. In the fading light, they looked like a single animal, a strange mythical creature with multiple legs and two heads.

  Sally was still lying under the collapsed fence. She wasn’t moving. I crawled over to her, terrified by what I might find. It seemed impossible that she could have survived. But her eyes swivelled round when I approached.

  ‘Help me, Baloo,’ she gasped. ‘I’m stuck.’

  The stumps of two broken fence posts poked out of the ground, one on either side of her, like the pylons of a suspension bridge. They’d held the tangle of wires just high enough off the ground to stop Sally from being crushed by the grizzly when it had flattened the fence. But now they were holding her down. I heaved the wires up and Sally wriggled free.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No,’ she said, watching the fight.

  The two animals were thirty metres away. The bison had shaken the grizzly free. They were circling each other like a pair of heavyweight boxers.

  ‘Let’s get out of here before they notice us,’ I whispered.

  Hoisting E.J. onto my back, I followed Sally over the crest of the hill.

  And there, nestled among a sprawling fruit orchard, was the farmhouse.

  My legs were shaking from the strain of carrying E.J. all afternoon, but I hardly noticed the pain as we staggered down the long slope towards the house. We were nearly there. Nearly at the end of our journey. Just another hundred and fifty metres.

  Yet when I looked at the house, I had a strange feeling something was wrong. But I couldn’t think what it was.

  We crossed another fence and made our way through an orchard. The trees were planted in straight rows with furrows running between them. I had to be careful not to trip. There was another fence. This time we found a small gate. Sally opened it for me and E.J., then closed it behind us. There were shadowy rosebushes, a stretch of lawn, and a big horse trailer sitting at the side of a white circular driveway. My feet crunched across the gravel towards the house. An automatic sensor light came on, illuminating a wide verandah and children’s toys scattered about. After everything we’d been through, it felt like a dream to be walking up someone’s front steps. E.J. slid off my back, and I stretched my aching muscles.

  Sally pressed the doorbell. We heard a ding-dong inside the house and stood back, waiting for someone to open the door. But nobody came. Sally pressed the button again. Apart from the noise of the doorbell, there was nothing but silence. I realised what had seemed strange about the house as we’d come down the hill. Even though it was getting dark, there were no lights showing through any of its windows.

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s home,’ I said.

  Sally pressed the bell again, just to be sure. But nobody came to the door.

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked E.J.

  I turned around. There was a barn on the other side of the yard and several smaller sheds.

  ‘ANYBODY HOME?’ I yelled.

  My shout brought a reaction, but not the one I’d hoped for. A clink of chains, followed by loud barking. Over by the sheds, lit up by the sensor light, were two dog kennels. A pair of black-and-white farm dogs jumped and strained at the end of their chains.

  ‘Lucky they’re tied up,’ Sally said.

  There was a pause in the barking and I heard another sound. A deep, throaty growl. Slowly, I turned my head. Another dog stood at the corner of the verandah. It was half in the shadows, but I could see its teeth quite clearly. They were big. They were white. They were bared.

  It wasn’t pleased to see us.

  ‘Go slowly down the steps,’ I said to Sally. ‘Whate
ver you do, don’t run.

  The dog edged forward into the light. It was a Doberman.

  ‘E.J.?’ I whispered.

  ‘Yeah?’ he answered, right behind me.

  ‘Climb on my back.’

  I stooped to make it easier. My head was almost level with the Doberman’s. It growled again, a low, threatening rumble, and came stalking along the verandah with its ears back and its teeth showing.

  I took a step backwards and nearly tripped on a child’s tricycle. Stay calm, I told myself. The worst thing I could do was run. With E.J. on my back, I wouldn’t even get to the stairs. The best plan was to stay still. The dog’s owners had left it off its chain while they weren’t home, so it probably wasn’t dangerous.

  ‘Good dog,’ I said.

  My words had a startling effect. The Doberman seemed to freeze. Its teeth disappeared inside its lips, it stopped growling, and it cowered at my feet, almost like Cave Boy had done when we first met him by the river. Then it turned, its claws skidding on the verandah boards, and shot back around the corner of the house.

  ‘Have I got bad breath or something?’ I joked.

  E.J. laughed, but Sally didn’t. She was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking the other way. In the same direction the Doberman had been facing before it took off.

  ‘Yikes!’ she whispered.

  E.J. and I turned our heads. A huge dark shape came lumbering through the rose bushes from the direction of the orchard.

  The grizzly.

  Now it was time to run!

  20

  TOBY’S LIMO

  ‘Quick!’ I hissed.

  Sally didn’t need to be told – she was already back at the top of the stairs. We raced along the verandah and around the corner. Past a small plastic swing set. Past an outdoor table and some chairs. Around another corner. When we got to the back door, we didn’t even bother knocking. Sally tried the handle.

  ‘Locked!’ she breathed.

  ‘What’ll we do?’ E.J. whispered.

  I had an idea.