by Perrin Briar
“I don’t know why we didn’t think of that before,” Fritz said, rolling his eyes. “Oh no, wait. We did. I suppose we could just pop into the local zoo and ask if they wouldn’t mind us using their horses for a while.”
“We don’t need a zoo,” Ernest said. “We’ve got a jungle.”
“That’s great,” Bill said. “But there aren’t many pack animals, so far as I can tell.”
“Not many,” Ernest said, nodding. “But I did see one.”
Bill and Fritz stopped in their tracks.
“That’s not a nice way to refer to us,” Fritz said.
“I’m not referring to you,” Ernest said.
“What were you referring to?” Bill said.
Chapter Forty-Four
It was grazing in the clearing, beneath the greenish tint cast by the leafy folds of the jungle canopy. With its hooves it was the last creature any of them would have expected to have resided in the dense jungle. All the donkey’s strengths would count against it here: the dense foliage making it difficult to recognise large predators, the narrow confines of the trees limiting its agility, and the strength and speed it had in wide open spaces would count for nothing.
The donkey was a squat creature with legs that were too short, and a head that was too large. It certainly wasn’t a poster child of its species. But it was sturdy and strong, with a cheeky arrogant set to its eyes. It was the most beautiful creature Bill and Fritz had ever seen. It was their ticket out of their backbreaking labour.
“How do you suppose it got here?” Fritz said, keeping his head tucked low under the bluff of hill they were hiding behind.
“It might have always been here,” Bill said. “There might be a herd of them. If there are no large natural predators there’s no reason why they couldn’t flourish. Or it might have washed ashore here the same way we did.”
“How do we catch it?” Fritz said.
“I saw him the other day, sniffing around Mother’s allotment,” Ernest said. “I think he likes the smell of carrots. Maybe we can use them to lure him into a trap?”
The donkey looked up in the Robinsons’ direction, long ears erect, front leg off the ground and hooked, ready to make the first step for a dash into the foliage. There was a snap behind him, and he physically jumped. He took off into the jungle.
“Jumpy fellow, isn’t he?” Bill said.
“With us around can you blame him?” Fritz said.
“How will we capture him?” Bill said, scratching the stubble on his chin with a thumb.
“We could pile carrots in the clearing and wait for him to come,” Jack said.
“You saw how jumpy he was,” Bill said. “He’d be out of here before we ever got near him.”
“We could block off the exits,” Ernest said.
“Stand your ground with a runaway donkey coming at you?” Bill said. “A good way to get injured.”
“I could sit and wait in the trees,” Jack said. “He’d never see me.”
Bill shook his head.
“I don’t want you on your own,” he said.
“I wouldn’t be alone,” Jack said. “I’ll have Nips with me.”
“Then my fears are for nothing,” Bill said. “No, we’ll think of another way for us to catch him. Something where none of us have to be present. A trap – like the one we use to catch the rabbits.”
“A rabbit and a donkey are very different creatures,” Ernest said.
“Really?” Fritz said. “You mean they’re not related? That’s strange.”
“A donkey could kick the trap to pieces,” Ernest said, ignoring Fritz.
“Then we’ll have to figure out a way so he can’t do that,” Bill said.
“We could build a trap just big enough for him to fit inside,” Ernest said. “That way he’ll get caught but he won’t be able to struggle much, or kick. But it’ll also increase the chances of the trap failing. And if it fails once he might be hesitant about entering the trap again a second time. Horses aren’t stupid.”
“He’s not a horse,” Bill said. “He’s a donkey.”
“Have you ever seen a dead donkey?” Ernest said.
“What?” Fritz said.
“Ernest is just trying to be clever,” Bill said.
“Trying and succeeding!” Ernest said.
“You’re such a nerd,” Fritz said.
“I take that as a compliment,” Ernest said.
“You shouldn’t,” Fritz said.
“Until we catch him Fritz and I will be his replacement,” Bill said.
“Yippee,” Fritz said flatly. “You might not have ever seen a dead donkey before, but if we don’t catch him soon, you’re all going to have a dead Fritz on your hands.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Neither Bill not Fritz wore their shirts. What little wind there was they wanted to feel on their bare skin. The sun had beaten their bodies into a bronze-tan colour, their enforced diet stripping away body fat, leaving them lean with toned physiques, which now tensed and bristled against their harness as they pulled the sled up the steep incline. They were a metre from the top.
Snap!
Bill jolted forward, and then bounced back in an effort to regain balance.
Snap!
The second vine connected to Bill’s harness broke. The sled skidded to one side, and then down the incline, dragging Fritz backwards with it. He kept his footing, but his shoes slid across the hard stony earth. He leaned forward, pressing his weight forward. He roared, a loud sound that echoed over the entire island, but he held the sled in place, slipping an inch, and then stopping. The cords in his body stood out like he were a puppet on strings, his muscles hard and tense.
“Cut the vines!” Bill shouted to Ernest, who ran forward and picked up a sharp flint stone from the ground.
“No!” Fritz said. “Don’t you dare!”
“But Dad said-” Ernest said.
“Don’t!” Fritz said. “We’re… almost… there!”
Fritz roared with the heart and soul of a dozen men and took a step forward, his body bent over parallel to the ground, the cart pulling back on him.
“The vines are going to snap!” Ernest said.
“Let them!” Fritz said, and took another step forward.
Bill got to his feet and moved behind the cart. He braced the weight, giving Fritz a reprieve with each step he took. Ernest joined him. Fritz’s body shook with the effort, but he drew up to the top of the hill. He dragged himself along the flat of the clearing, bringing the cart up inch by inch, until the flatbed rose and then lowered to the clearing floor.
Bill wiped his forehead clear of sweat. He took his hat off and fanned his eldest with it as he panted for air.
“Water,” Fritz gasped. “Water.”
Ernest took off at a run to retrieve it.
“You have a real problem letting things go, don’t you?” Bill said.
“What can I say?” Fritz said in a wheezy voice. “I’m a Robinson.”
He wheezed a rasping laugh.
“We have got to get that donkey,” he said.
Chapter Forty-Six
Bill and the boys crawled on their forearms to the ledge.
The donkey stood twenty feet away, swishing his tail and watching as a troop of monkeys demolished a pile of vegetables inside a large cage. They didn’t even go inside the cage – they just reached in through the bars and took the food.
“Great,” Bill said.
Fritz leaned his forehead against his arms.
“We need to catch him soon,” he said. “I’m not sure how much longer I can work like this.”
“You with your young back and muscles?” Bill said. “Spare a thought for your poor old Pa.”
“I’d be dead already by now if I were you,” Fritz said.
“I might be if we keep working like this much longer,” Bill said.
The donkey turned and trotted away into the jungle. The Robinsons descended the hill to the cage. They waved the monkeys away. The monkeys gr
owled, but having had their fill put up little resistance.
“We’ll have to reset the trap,” Bill said. “Only this time…”
He snapped some broad leaves off a plant and laid them over the cage. The boys harvested more foliage, until the frame was covered top to bottom.
“Come on,” Bill said, slapping Fritz on the back. “We’re on draft horse duty.”
Fritz hung his head.
“Neigh,” he said.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The Robinsons peeked over the short bluff of hill at the clearing below. The cage was still covered, the clearing empty.
“Is the cage door shut?” Bill said.
“No,” Ernest said. “It’s still open.”
“Maybe he’s on a different part of the island today,” Bill said. “Doesn’t look like we’ll be taking it easy today, Fritz.”
Fritz groaned. The Robinsons turned away.
Clip clop.
“Did you hear that?” Ernest said.
“The cracking sound?” Fritz said. “It was my spirit breaking.”
“No,” Ernest said. “I think it came from inside the cage.”
“If this is a joke it’s not funny,” Fritz said.
Clip clop.
The Robinsons stared at the cage.
“Did that come from inside the cage?” Fritz said.
“That’s what I just said,” Ernest said.
There was a contented munching sound, and then something solid striking the cage floor.
“Is he inside?” Bill said.
“We covered the cage over,” Jack said. “We can’t see what’s inside.”
“But the door hasn’t closed?” Bill said.
“Maybe he hasn’t stepped on the lever yet,” Ernest said.
“Or it’s broken,” Fritz said.
“We have to close the door!” Bill said.
“I can do it,” Jack said, pushing himself up.
“No,” Bill said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I can climb this tree, get onto the cage’s roof and push the door closed,” Jack said. “Easy.”
“No,” Bill said. “He’ll be startled. He might thrash and kick, and you’ll be in harm’s way.”
“I can get off quickly-” Jack said.
“We’ll do it together,” Bill said. “We’ll surround the cage and wait with our leashes for him to finish. When he backs out, we’ll have him.”
“He’ll be onto us before we even get into position,” Ernest said.
The boys looked at their father expectantly.
“Okay,” Bill said. “Okay. Jack, do it. But be careful.”
Jack climbed the tree with ease and grace, and then crawled along the outstretched limb that hung over the cage. He lowered himself down onto the roof very, very slowly. He let go of the branch, which snapped back into place, raining down twigs and other detritus onto the leaf-covered cage.
The munching in the cage stopped, and Bill could almost imagine the creature inside peering up at the cage ceiling. Jack froze, not moving a muscle. The munching resumed.
Jack edged toward the cage door. It stood erect. Jack leaned his weight on it, pressing down. The door didn’t move.
“He can’t close it,” Fritz said. “He’s not strong enough. We need to get out there.”
“No,” Bill said. “Wait.”
The cage door squealed as Jack forced it down. It slid two feet, but was still open. The animal inside, spooked, backed into the door, and then panicked when he felt the cage door against the back of his legs. He kicked, rocking the cage.
The broad leaves fell off the frame, peeling back like an orange skin, revealing the donkey’s panic-stricken expression.
“I thought he couldn’t kick?” Fritz said.
“He must be smaller than we calculated,” Ernest said.
Bill ran out into the clearing toward the cage, which rocked again under the donkey’s powerful thrusts. Jack kept pressing his weight down on the door, but it still wouldn’t budge.
The donkey kicked again. The whole cage rocked back. Jack fell forward, over the door and onto the ground, in front of the cage opening. Another kick and the door snapped off its hinges and flew aside. The donkey backed out of the cage.
Jack curled up into a ball, hugging Nips close. The donkey backed into him. He sank down onto his front legs, winding his back legs up to kick.
Bill seized the donkey by the mane and pulled it to one side, knocking it off balance, sending its kick astray. The donkey backed up, tossing its head, and reared up to strike Bill in the face.
But Fritz was there, armed with a noose of vines that he threw over the donkey’s muzzle and neck. All thoughts of fighting seeped out of the donkey then. He turned to run. He moved so fast Fritz was knocked off his feet and slammed into the ground, losing his grip.
“Dad!” Fritz shouted. “He’s going to get away!”
“Oh no he won’t!” Bill said, leaping for the donkey.
Bill landed on the vine. He grabbed for it, but it slipped through his hands. The donkey stumbled. Bill’s hand snapped out, more out of reflex than conscious effort. He seized the vine and held firm.
The donkey dragged Bill along the ground, the jutting roots tearing at his clothes and cutting his face. Bill shifted position and dug his heels into the jungle floor. The donkey didn’t stop, instead veering to the right through a thick bush. Bill held on, but he knew he couldn’t take much more.
A tree reared up fast. The donkey passed it. Bill said a prayer and then threw himself to the other side of it. The vine pulled tight. The donkey came to an abrupt stop, swinging around the tree. Bill stood beside the donkey now, which pulled away from him and whinnied.
“Dad! Let go!” Fritz shouted.
“No! I’m not working like a dog any longer!” Bill said. “Come give me a hand!”
Fritz ran toward him and grabbed the vine behind his father, and together they held on tight as the donkey spun them around in an effortless circle.
Sweat dripped off Bill and Fritz’s faces and ran down their necks. The donkey, puffing and panting with exertion, began to lose power and finally it flopped down onto the ground, its legs folded underneath it.
“Is… Is that it?” Bill said, sweat dripping down his face, body ravaged with pain. “Is… Is that all… all you’ve got?” He turned to Fritz. “Keep hold of the vine in case he tries to pull a fast one.”
Fritz wrapped the vine around his hands, hands that had grown tough and strong with back breaking labour. Bill got to his feet, legs shaking with the effort. He hitched up his trousers that had grown slack in recent weeks, and approached the donkey.
The donkey’s nostrils flared with exhaustion and fear. It closed its eyes as Bill kneeled down before it, resigned to its fate. Bill rubbed it from the top of its head to the end of its snout. He pulled the vine off from around the donkey’s neck and stroked it again.
Bill clucked.
“Get up,” he said. “Come on.”
He helped the donkey up onto its feet.
“Won’t he just run away?” Fritz said, still holding the end of the vine.
“Not anymore,” Bill said. “He’s done fighting.”
The Robinsons turned and headed onto the beach. The donkey followed them to the edge of the jungle. He looked over his shoulder and then came out and stood before them.
“What shall we call him?” Bill said.
“How about Lightfoot?” Jack said.
“Lightfoot,” Bill said, trying it out. “Not bad, Jack. Sums him up pretty well, doesn’t it. Let’s get him back home.”
“Aren’t we going to work today?” Fritz said.
“No,” Bill said. “I think we’ve all worked hard enough already, don’t you?”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Bill, Fritz, Ernest and Jack loaded the cart with several panels from the sunken ship. Lightfoot wore his harness and seemed at ease.
“Moment of truth,” Bill said.
He took the reins and clucked out the corner of his mouth.
Lightfoot flapped his ears and didn’t move.
Bill clucked again.
Lightfoot still didn’t move.
“He’s sulking,” Ernest said.
“I don’t care,” Bill said. “He has to work.”
“I brought some carrots,” Jack said.
“Fine,” Bill said. “Let’s try the carrot before the stick.”
Jack approached Lightfoot, who looked sad and forlorn. Jack raised the bag. Lightfoot’s nostrils widened, his eyes and long ears perking up. He stretched out his long neck toward the sack, top lip flapping at it.
Jack reached in and bit off the end of a carrot. He held it out for Lightfoot to sniff. Lightfoot stamped his hoof on the sandy beach and shook his mane. He stretched as far as he could reach.
Jack stepped backward. Lightfoot whinnied, snorting through his wide nostrils. He shook his head at being teased, and then leaned forward again. The cart began to inch forward. Lightfoot took a step and the cart came with him.
Bill and Fritz wanted to whoop for joy, take off their hats, and toss them into the air, but they were aware they might spook Lightfoot, so they remained silent.
“Well done, Jack,” Bill said.
“Don’t thank me,” Jack said. “Thank Ernest. It was his idea to train animals using an incentive.”
“Give him everything we have if it means we don’t have to drag this bloody thing anymore,” Bill said. “Give him all my meals for all I care!”
“And mine!” Fritz said.
“Mum might not be happy with that,” Jack said. “Handing over all her veg to a donkey.”
“He’s not a donkey,” Bill said. “He’s a wonder donkey. A unidonk. A thing sent from heaven. If I have another child I’m going to name it Lightfoot in his honour. I might even build a temple. Warn your mother. She has competition.”
Lightfoot pulled the cart with little apparent effort along the beach, faltering only when the cart wheels got lodged in a shallow sinkhole. Bill, Fritz and Ernest worked fast to place wooden beams in the hole for the wheels to roll over.