“You cannot have my baby,” Mother snorted. “You’re old enough to know not to mess with a moose. What’s wrong with you?”
Roscoe kind of sucked in his tummy. “I’m starving. I haven’t had a rat or a rabbit in almost a week. I’m hungry.”
“We’re hungry, too.” Mother snorted. “But you can’t have my baby.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Mother pawed at him once more. Snarling, he leaped aside.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. “But if I have to, I will. Then you won’t be able to hunt. Then you will starve.”
The mountain lion kept circling—kept inching closer to us. As Mother circled with him, I moved, too, so I would stay behind her like she told me.
“Let’s talk this over,” Mother said. “Surely there is someplace else you can find a meal.”
“No way.” Roscoe sighed. “I’ve looked everywhere. There’s not so much as a mouse. With all this snow, if I don’t find something to eat pretty soon, I’m going to . . .”
Mother didn’t let him finish what he was saying. In the blink of an eye she reared up and bounded toward him on her hind legs. Her front hooves clawed the air. I heard the loud thud when one caught the big cat on his left shoulder. He let out a weird squeaking noise and scampered away.
I expected Mother to back up to where she had left me. She didn’t.
I raced to get behind her. She sprang up on her hind legs and kept slashing at him with her mighty hooves. Roscoe snarled and growled. Each time she pawed, he scampered and scooted and dodged to get out of her way. Mother chased him almost to the edge of the clearing before she stopped.
As soon as Roscoe got the chance, he spun around and raced back up the side of the mountain. Far enough away and safe, he slowed down. When he did, he limped a bit—favoring his left side.
Mother gave one last snort at him, then we trotted back to the brush pile.
There she kissed me and cleaned me with her long tongue.
“Mountain lions are cats,” Mother said. “Don’t ever run from a cat or a wolf. They chase you if you run.”
“But he wanted to eat me!”
“I know.” Mother kissed me again. “But don’t ever run from a cat. If you stay and fight . . . well, even if you’re a little moose . . . you have a chance. If you run . . .” Mother kissed me once more. “Don’t ever run.”
• • •
Mother slept standing on her feet again that night. We left early the next morning. Even after a good night’s sleep, I felt so tired I could hardly stand. We walked and walked and climbed and climbed. We went uphill and downhill and then up again. I thought we never would reach the valley. The snow came harder and faster. The wind blew. Now it was almost like a blizzard. I didn’t know if I could go on. I just wanted to curl up in the snow and sleep . . . forever.
• • •
It was nearly dark on our third day of traveling when we came to a stand of trees. There were five pine trees, and just below them was a stand of aspen.
As we made our way farther down the steep slope, I noticed that it seemed a little warmer. The wind wasn’t as wild and cold. The snow didn’t seem to be as deep, either. The fierce storm swirled above us instead of jabbing its cold icy fingers into our faces.
“Are we there yet?”
I could see Mother nod her big, beautiful head.
“We’re there. This is our valley.”
If I hadn’t been so exhausted, I would have hopped and leaped and bounded with joy. As it was, I just kept walking.
Mother suddenly stopped in her tracks. I perked my ears and tried to look into the darkness. Shadows trailed across the ridge, but I couldn’t see anything.
“What is it, Mother?” I whispered.
Mother stood stiff and proud. “Hush! Just a minute, Little Bub.”
I tried to stand as tall as Mother. I kept my head pointed in the same direction as hers. I didn’t see anything.
“Is it Roscoe? Did he follow us, Mother?”
She shook her head.
“No.” She sighed. “Roscoe learned his lesson yesterday. Besides, he won’t come this far out of his territory. Roscoe won’t bother us here.”
“Then what is it, Mother?”
“It’s worse than a mountain lion,” she whispered. “There are people here.”
“I don’t see anything. How do you know that there are people here?” I pawed at the snow with my hoof.
“Come in front of me and look, Bub. There are buildings that weren’t here the last time. There is a wood fence and a wire fence that were not here before.”
Squinting, I blinked a couple of times. The valley was wide. It was dark and the snow, even though not blowing and swirling, was thick. It was hard to see. Slowly shapes began to form. I thought one of the things was a cabin, but I wasn’t sure. (Snow and I saw lots of cabins and buildings once, when we were lost in the people town.) This shape was sort of like a cabin . . . only . . . there was another shape behind it. A building maybe. No, a barn. (Snow and I met a cow once who lived in a barn.) Still not quite sure what I was looking at, I sniffed the air and took a step closer.
“Stay back, Bub Moose. We don’t know where the people are. With the storm, they are probably inside keeping warm. But with people—you never know. They’re strange animals. We’ll sleep in the safety of the trees now. then morning comes, there will be enough light for you to see. Perhaps the storm will be over by then.”
We found a little clearing that was well hidden in some trees. We foraged some, but just barely found enough food to nibble. My tummy felt better, but I hoped that tomorrow, when the sun came up, we could find more. I was very hungry, and I knew that my mother was, too.
The darkness took the storm. The snow fell gently now. It was no longer blowing and biting. Mother trampled a bed for us next to a pile of brush. When she lay down, I knelt near her and nestled against her big warm body.
I looked for the shimmering stars in the sky. The clouds that brought the snow were still too thick. The only light that I could see was across the valley where Mother said the house was. Brightness, like big stars, shone from the place where she said the people were. I watched and listened for a long time. I felt warm and safe, next to Mother. Slowly I drifted off.
Chapter 4
When the light from morning finally began to creep into the valley, everything was crisp and white. Pine limbs drooped beneath the heavy white covering. No snow was falling. The storm was over. I blinked away the sleepiness. Mother was still curled up near me. We were both covered with a blanket of glistening powder.
Gently I shoved against Mother. She didn’t wake up or look at me. She only tucked her face down even lower. I guess she needed a little more sleep.
Carefully I pulled myself up on all fours. I shook the white from my back, my wobbly legs braced as I shivered in the clear, crisp morning air. Since Mother was still resting so peacefully, I decided to take a little walk before I woke her. She seemed really nervous about the new people buildings that weren’t here the last time she came. I needed to check them out. If there was danger, I could hurry back and warn her. Then we could run away. But if it was safe, I needed to know that, too. Mother would feel much better if she didn’t have to worry so.
The sky was just getting pink as I started off. At the edge of the trees I stopped. The high mountain valley seemed even bigger than it had last night. Of course, it had been really hard to see—what with the darkness and the thick swirling snow still falling. Beyond the valley was a ridge. It was not as high or steep as the one we came down, but it protected the valley from the driving blizzards that Mother told me always came in the winter.
Near the center of the valley, but a little closer to the far side, there was a people cabin. It was bigger than most of the ones that Snow and I had seen in the town, the time we were lost there.
A heavy blanket of white lay between me and the cabin. Cautiously I stepped into the clearing for a better look. Mo
st of the cabins Snow and I saw on our adventure were small and covered with flat, white boards. This one was like the little hunting cabins in the forests, except that it was much larger. The sides were made of round logs, stacked one above the other. A little trail of smoke came from a pile of rock at the very top.
There were other buildings near the big cabin. I still couldn’t see very well, so I moved closer. One step at a time I eased out into the clearing between me and the people place. The only sound was the crunching of the snow beneath my feet. At the center of the open area I stopped. It made me feel a little nervous. Moose are much happier and feel safer when there are trees or rocks to hide us. But from here I could see almost everything.
To my left the valley seemed to stretch for miles up toward the high country. There were trees and a flat area where there was maybe a pond or something. Beyond that a creek or stream with steep banks. Everywhere, the snow was white and smooth as could be. No animal tracks broke the surface. No other living thing had been here—nothing had touched this new snow—except for me.
A bright golden glow replaced the pink of the sky. I could see much better. Behind the big log house was another building. It was almost as large, but instead of being covered with logs, it was covered with flat red boards. It was a barn. A fence, made of logs, came out from one side. Beyond that was another, made of wire. This fence surrounded a big pasture. Between the barn and the cabin was a smaller building. And at the back . . .
A sound made my eyes flash and my head turn. I blinked and held my breath.
It was a growl. Soft and tiny, it sounded like the growl Snow used when he was trying to frighten all the children away at the school. I tilted my head to the side and wobbled my ears. Louder now, the sound moved toward me.
“Hrronk!” I whispered softly. “Who’s there?”
There was no answer, but the growly sound got louder. Closer. I didn’t like it—not one little bit.
Fear made the hair on my legs tingle. Turning, I strolled quickly back toward the trees. Exploring would be better when Mother was around.
Before I made it there, the growly sound had grown to a roar. I raced across the meadow and hid behind a huge pine. Rumbling like thunder, the sound moved closer and closer to the people cabin. I peeked through the pine needles. Snow sprayed into the air in great clouds. It flowed up and up, only to fall once more. When it came down the snow made a hill. I couldn’t figure it out. Snow fell from the sky. It didn’t fall from the ground into the air and then back again. This didn’t make any sense.
Then . . . suddenly . . . I saw it!
A huge monster rumbled toward the people cabin. Black smoke belched up from the top of its head. Enormous round teeth spun in its mouth as it gobbled up everything in its path. Snow spewed high into the air.
My eyes grew wide. My legs trembled.
Then . . . something thumped my bottom.
Attacked from the rear, I didn’t take time to turn around. I just jumped . . .
Right into the pine tree.
I was never so happy to see Mother’s long, beautiful face in my life. She seemed to be a bit startled at first. Then she wobbled her head, snorted, and gave me a rather disgusted look.
“Bub, get down from there. Moose don’t climb trees.”
“I-I didn’t know you were there,” I stammered. “When you nudged me, I thought there was another monster and he was going to gobble me up.”
Mother tilted her head to the side. “Monster?”
“Yes. Like the one who’s going to eat the people cabin. See?” I pointed to the clearing with my nose.
Mother squinted. Then she sighed.
“That’s not a monster, Bub. It’s a snowblower. A people machine. It clears the snow away.” I guess she could tell from the look on my face that I didn’t understand. “Remember the roads where the people cars go?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, the people cars can’t go in the snow. Their legs are round and short, not long and strong like ours. If they try to go through snow, their tummies drag and they get stuck. So the snowblower machine has to come along and clear the snow away from their roads.”
“You mean there’s a road there?”
“Yes. It’s hidden by the deep snow. When the machine leaves, I will show you. Now, get down out of that tree before you hurt yourself.”
Having never been in a tree, I wasn’t quite sure how I was supposed to get down. In fact, I wasn’t quite sure how I got up. There was a limb under my tummy, right in front of my hind legs. There was another limb under my chest, right behind my front legs. My hooves dangled. I kicked my feet and twisted and flopped around. Next thing I knew, the branch under my chest bent and my front end slipped off.
Only my back end under my tummy was still stuck on the branch. My front feet barely touched the ground. I stretched, but I just couldn’t quite reach. So here I was, with my rump in the air and my head and front feet dangling above the snow.
“Bub, quit fooling around. Get down from there right now.”
“I’m trying, Mother. Honest.”
I kicked one hind leg, then the other. I kicked again and again, until it felt like I was running—upside down. Finally the limb under my tummy gave a little crack, and I fell.
Struggling to my feet, I fought my way through the limbs and bounded to Mother’s side. She let me get a quick breakfast of milk, then we moved back into the stand of aspen to forage. Using her long nose and lips, Mother scooted the snow aside and found some green twigs to chew. Now and then she would rear up on her hind legs and nibble on fir boughs. I chewed some of the green twigs, too. They weren’t very tasty.
As we moved along the side of the mountain, I kept looking back over my shoulder. The snowblower was going the other direction, now. I could see the dark, shiny road behind it. On either side there were high mounds where the machine had thrown the snow. White plumes shot into the sky, but the roar from the machine was almost gone.
As Mother foraged farther up the valley, I held back just a little. I was curious to see the rest of the people place. Surely Mother wouldn’t mind. Learning about new things and exploring is what young moose are supposed to do. Besides, I didn’t sense any danger. Something inside told me that, with the snow monster gone, I was perfectly safe.
I headed back across the clearing, toward the cabin. The ridge of snow beside the road was like a little mountain. It was steep and slippery. I made it to the top, then slid down the other side. Once across the hard, black road, I dug my hooves in and climbed the second snowbank. At the top I stopped. Listening, I strained to hear any sounds that I didn’t recognize.
Clunk!
My ears shot straight up. I froze. Held my breath. Keen eyes spotted two things moving toward the pen at the side of the barn.
People!
Chapter 5
I think they were people. People sort of looked like that. I had seen some, close up, when I was lost with Snow. The sounds that they made sounded like people noises. They were covered with fur, but not like Mother’s and mine. The people that I had seen weren’t shaped like this, either.
These were round and roly-poly. Only their eyes peeked out from under their coverings. These things didn’t really walk on two legs, like people did. They sort of waddled. Their fur was so thick they could hardly move.
“I wish Mother wouldn’t put all this stuff on us. I can’t even walk. I feel like if I fall over, I’ll be stuck like a turtle on its back. All I’d be able to do is flop around and roll back and forth. I’d never be able to get up with all these layers of clothes on.”
“Oh, quit complaining, Jane. We’re running late as it is. I don’t have time to listen to you gripe about having too many clothes on. Get some grain for Raney and Sweet Pea. I’ll get the hay. Maybe, if we hurry, we can go look over the ridge to see if they are skiing yet.” The taller one headed to the barn.
“Wait up, my legs don’t work very well in all this stuff.”
“Mother th
ought it was icy out here. She wants you covered up all over. It doesn’t feel very cold in all of this stuff, but your skin can freeze pretty fast if it’s exposed to the wind. Just hurry so we can see if the resort is open.”
I couldn’t quite see them as well as I wanted. There were two small fir trees nearer to them, but I would have to go through the open area to get there. I looked all around. Listened. Then I darted across the clearing and hid behind one of the trees so I could watch. The two round people opened a door and moved out of sight. I tried to see what could be inside the big building. Outside, the snow was really bright. Inside, all I could see was darkness. I stretched my neck and peered at the spot where the people had been.
The tall one came out carrying something that looked like grass, but it was green. This time of year all the grass beneath the snow was brown. The little person had something in each hand. They walked away from the barn.
I had to move from my safe place to see where they were going. Quickly I darted behind the second tree. The people waddled to a wooden fence. Two big animals were inside the pen. My ears perked when I heard small whinny sounds as the people opened a gate.
“Jane, go around to the side and pour the grain in their buckets. They’re watching me, and you can get out of the way before they go after the oats.”
“You’d better hurry yourself,” the little short one said. “Raney acts like she hasn’t eaten for a week.”
The smaller round people climbed up on one of the logs and poured something into a bucket that was tied to the fence. The other one tossed the pile of green grass on the ground in front of the big animals. I hadn’t seen animals like these before. They looked a lot like Mother. They had beautiful long brown noses. They were tall like Mother, but their ears were small and pointed.
“Come on, Jussy. You said we could go look at the ski resort.” The one called Jane set her buckets on the ground and wobbled toward an open space behind the pens.
Bub, Snow, and the Burly Bear Scare Page 2