Spring of the Poacher's Moon Page 5

  Chapter 5

  Kestrel arrived a couple hours later. I showed her my new books, which were awesome, and new clothes, some of which were too big this time. I was still happy though. At least I’d get to wear these outfits. I just had to grow a bit more first.

  Once when we were leaning over a box, pulling out food supplies to put away, Kestrel elbowed me. When I looked up, she pointed at my Mom’s retreating back. Mom was sneaking into the bedroom with one of the boxes. From what I could see of it, it was big, and the furtive way Mom carried it made me think birthday present. I grinned at Kestrel. As usual, Mom would put it under her bed and maybe, just maybe – okay, honestly? For sure we’d take a peek later when she was busy.

  Rusty’s long, disappointed face flashed into my mind. I felt immediately irritated with myself. This was getting bad; I was even fantasizing his disapproval now. With an imaginary Rusty acting as my nagging conscience, how was I ever going to learn anything in this house of secrets?

  That afternoon, when we went out to see the horses, Mom had another surprise for me, or actually, for Twilight. A new yearling halter. I was overjoyed because the halter Twilight had been using was so stiff that it wore bald spots on her cute little face, even when she only wore it when necessary. The new halter was bright green nylon and soft as can be. Twilight looked fantastic in it, though she didn’t seem to like it as much as Kestrel and I did. She never has understood the need for halters and ropes, thinking that she can take care of herself. And she can, in the wild. It’s only everywhere else that she’s always getting into trouble.

  That evening, we looked through the new catalogue that Edward had brought and I started thinking about what clothes I’d like to order before his next visit. There was no rush – I’d have six months to pick them out – but it was fun. I tried talking Mom into letting me order a beautiful white sundress, but she said no. When I persisted, it became a firm NO, followed by words like impractical, hard to keep clean, and winter wear. Apparently, I only needed jeans, t-shirts, and warm sweaters. Totally boring.

  To make it up to me, Mom made caramel popcorn, which I adore. We stuffed our faces and drank hot chocolate, and did lots of laughing and running around, until Mom got sick of us and sent us outside, even though it was dark. We decided to make the best of it and asked if we could have a fire. She said yes, and soon joined us at the dancing campfire in a much better mood now that we weren’t breaking things inside the cabin.

  In all the excitement, I forgot all about the bullet whizzing past my head, and when I finally remembered, after we’d all gone to bed, I decided that it wasn’t important and there was no need to worry anyone. The shooter was probably long gone and hadn’t been shooting at me anyway. It was an accident and there was no harm done. One thing I definitely did though, I asked Kestrel if Charlie was the Wild Horse Ranger, if the job even existed. She hadn’t heard anything about Wild Horse Rangers at all, but said she’d ask around.

  The next day, we rode back to Kestrel’s house with Twilight running before us in her luminous new halter. I got to do the coveted hanging out in Kestrel’s room while Rusty ate and Twilight did whatever. Kestrel showed me a unicorn necklace and some other stuff that she bought in Williams Lake, then we watched a DVD. I felt so normal that I hardly knew how to respond when her sister Mya came into the room and told me that Twilight was chasing the new calves and their mothers were trying to gore her. I went out to save Twilight from the livid horned beasts, realized it was almost mid-afternoon, the time I’d told Mom I’d be home, and decided to forego the rest of the movie. I’d just have to come back soon to finish it, that’s all. I went back inside to say goodbye to Kestrel and her family, answered a few questions from her mom about our new addition, and walked out the kitchen door with the distinct impression that they were all, except Kestrel, just a little relieved that I was leaving and taking my bratty filly with me.

  I was close to home, riding peacefully along and thinking how strange it was that Twilight creates so much friction in my life, between Kestrel’s family and me, Charlie and me, and in the past, Mom and me, when I heard another gunshot. Distant. Not whooshing past my ear.

  Could it be the same shooter?

  Another shot. And another.

  It sounded like the same kind of gun.

  I listened carefully but there were no more shots. What should I do? Go see what was happening? Or would that just be dangerous and stupid? Maybe I should continue on toward home and tell Mom.

  No, I had to find the shooters now, while they were still nearby, and talk to them. By the time I rode the rest of the way home, found Mom and she got Cocoa ready, they might be somewhere else, still shooting, and causing a lot more problems. Like if they moved closer to our cabin. Not many people knew there was a tiny cabin beside the small lake; they might think the area was a safe place for target practice. And that’s what they had to be doing. There was nothing else to fire a gun at right now. It wasn’t hunting season. And what if a bullet struck one of the horses? Or my mom? She planned on being out in the woods a lot these days, cutting down trees.

  I mind-called Twilight and clipped the lead rope to her fantastic halter, then the three of us headed off the road and into the forest, toward the sound of the gunfire. In order to not travel in circles in the bush, I picked out a distinctive lump on the low mountains before us, then every time we came to a clear spot I made sure we were heading toward that lump. We detoured around the thickest brush and avoided the lowest branches.

  Twilight was grumpy about both being on a lead rope and struggling through thick forest. She wanted to run and play and be free, and she didn’t mind telling me all about her dissatisfaction in vivid detail. The distant gunfire was nothing to her, a curiosity at most, and she wasn’t the least bit frightened. I didn’t want her to become frightened either, so I didn’t tell her what guns and bullets could do. Some things are too hard to explain, especially to horses. They don’t understand why any creature would want to kill another.

  We’d travelled steadily for ten minutes and I was just wondering if I’d chosen the right direction when we heard an ATV fire up to our right.

  “Hey!” I shouted, hoping they’d hear me. I asked Rusty to lope and he wove through the trees like a pro. If I could just get within sight of the machine or machines, they might see me waving and stop.

  We broke out of the trees into a swampy meadow in time to see two ATVs rumble toward the trees. But I didn’t wave to stop them. No way. In fact, I heartily wished and hoped and prayed that they wouldn’t look back and see me, because of what lay between me and them. A dead moose. Or more accurately, a dead moose with its head chopped off at its shoulders. So sick. Disgusting. Cruel. I felt nauseous even looking at it.

  I forced my eyes away to stare after the ATVs. The forest green machines were big and muddy, and each carried one man. The ATV in the lead had a big dark brown and red blob tied to its rack. The moose’s head.

  Trophy hunters.

  This was no legal trophy because it wasn’t hunting season. And the moose was a female, a cow. It’s illegal to kill cow moose any time of year. Plus, she wouldn’t even make a good trophy to hang on their wall – her fur would be clumpy from spring shedding. These poachers couldn’t be from around here. They were the worst kind of hunters: disrespectful of the laws, uneducated about wildlife, unaware of the life cycles of the land, and from the look of it, the type to shoot at anything that moved. In another word, dangerous.

  The ATVs disappeared into the forest without the two men looking back. I glared after them, as close to hating someone as I’ve ever been. What total rejects! What miserable losers! Tears blurred my vision, and I turned Rusty away from the carnage. There was only one thing to do, go home and tell Mom. It was too late to save the poor moose on the ground, but maybe we could prevent any more from being killed by getting the authorities out here. Somehow, I had to talk her into going back to town.

  Then I heard the rustling. Rusty stopped short, and Twilight j
umped back, yanking against the end of her rope. Their dark ears strained forward, and both horses peered at the thick bushes to our left. The bush moved. Something was pushing its way through the wall of growth. A strange bleat emerged, and right behind it, a dark eyed, totally adorable, brown head… neck… shoulders… A baby moose! A very, very young baby moose. He looked only days old.

  The cow had a calf that she’d hidden before the poachers shot her. The realization hit me like a sledgehammer and rage pounded through my body, filling me until I felt I’d explode. The poachers had killed more than just the cow moose. They’d killed this calf too, only his death would be drawn out as he starved to death or died from the cold, lonely, wretched, and filled with terror and confusion.

  Unless we did something to help him. Unless we saved him.

  We had to try.