Chapter 10
Hello.
A spike of terror lanced through the red horse’s heart and he froze, not knowing which way to run to escape the voice resounding in his head.
I am Evy, the human of Twilight. I am sorry for scaring you.
The horse snorted, then trotted in a circle, his step high and animated.
I need your help to save Charlie.
He stopped. Snorted again.
Listen to me?
He didn’t speak in words, but answered in intent. Yes. He wanted to help Charlie.
Quickly, and in the simplest language I could formulate, I explained my plan, then added, Wait for “go.”
Redwing, for that was his true horse name, agreed, and so I turned my attention back to what was happening in front of me. The three men were arguing now. And Charlie was a lot closer to the tent. Thankfully, they were still ignoring him. It was time to make my move. Sweat beaded on my forehead even though the evening was cool. I could so easily get caught, and if I did – well, I didn’t want to think about that.
I felt along the bottom of the canvas tent. I’d noticed that the tent floor was dirt, so something had to be anchoring the canvas walls to the ground. I found the first spike, and carefully, so I wouldn’t shake the wall and give away my position, grabbed the top of the spike and tried to wiggle it. It was stuck fast in the earth. I moved on to the next one, just a foot away. I’d need to remove at least one spike in order to slide beneath the tent wall, and maybe two.
The second spike too was solid in the ground. Again, I moved on. The third spike was the lucky one. It wiggled. I worked at it until it rose about an inch above the level of the ground, then took the round top in both hands and pulled straight up. The spike slid from the dirt as smooth as can be.
I hurried back to my peeking hole to see what was happening. Charlie was only four feet from the door of the tent now, his back still to me. The men stood beside the fire, discussing his future in intense, but quiet, voices. I wished I could hear something. Then I’d know how much longer I had.
Suddenly, the older poacher glared at Charlie. “Stop!” he yelled.
“That’s far enough,” added Martin, his face glowing in the firelight – and the difference in his expression from just five minutes ago really creeped me out. Gone was the indecision and reluctance. It was as if he didn’t see a man anymore when he looked at Charlie, but an animal that he was hunting. His face was like granite, his eyes like ice.
I had to hurry.
I crawled back to where I’d removed the one spike. It’s amazing how your mind clears when life is at risk. You just do what you have to do. I didn’t bother trying to remove another spike. One would have to be enough. I wouldn’t be able to slip through and escape as easily afterward, but if I didn’t hurry, I had no doubt that Charlie would be a goner.
I lay flat against the ground and lifted the canvas. A big backpack was right on the other side of the wall. I reached through and pushed it. It slid… and something on the other side of it fell over.
I froze. Martin would be looking at his tent. Striding toward me…
Charlie coughed. Was he trying to cover the sound?
“What was that?”
Charlie coughed again.
The following silence was absolute… and then, “I think it’s better if we…” Martin’s voice dropped again as he continued adding to their dastardly plan.
I breathed in. They thought the sound was made by Charlie.
Scrounging up my courage, I shifted the backpack a bit more, hoping, wishing and praying that there was nothing else to tip over. The backpack protected me from view as I shimmied under the worn tent wall and then army-crawled along the inside wall of the tent. Beside the backpack was a reeking pile of dirty clothes – how long had they been camping here anyway? From the smell, I’d say years! I passed it, holding my breath. And then I was at Martin’s stinky old sleeping bag. There was nothing to hide behind now. I’d be in full view of whoever cared to look inside the tent. But there was no other way to get to Charlie, no way to get out of possibly being seen, and no time to do anything else but just go for it.
I was infinitely grateful it was getting dark. Maybe the shadows would offer some cover. Taking a deep breath, I slid along the stinky slippery sleeping bag like a river otter on mud, not daring to raise my head to look out the open door – and then I was at the far corner. My hand bumped a filthy pillow and I felt something smooth and cold beneath the softness.
Hmmm. What was this?
I held it before my eyes and smiled, then slipped it into my jacket pocket.
A second later, I was at the side of the doorway and cautiously peeking out. The men were still at the fire. Charlie sat ramrod straight outside the tent. I guessed he was trying to become as big a barrier as possible to any malignant eyes that might see me creeping up behind him. I was glad he’d thought of it, and I imagined he was glad that I was here to save him. Without me, he’d be toast. In fact, he’d probably be so grateful that he’d never suspect me of anything again. If I hadn’t been here – Oh… um, he wouldn’t have seen the moose head, so he wouldn’t have acted surprised and angry at the poachers, and they wouldn’t have caught him or tied him up… Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t expect gratitude when this was all over.
I got as low as I could and, totally zoned with an adrenaline overload, belly-crawled out of the tent and along the ground toward Charlie.
Inches seemed miles.
Seconds seemed years.
Any moment I expected a shout or the stomp of angry footsteps or someone clutching my shoulder. It was agony. Pure, excruciating agony!
Unbelievably, I made it all the way to Charlie. With shaking weak fingers, I touched the knots binding his hands. Tugged. Were they ever tight!
I took hold again and picked at it… and picked and picked and picked. Nothing loosened. Charlie pushed his wrists closer together, trying to create some slack in the rope.
“So we agree,” the young poacher said.
Now I wished I wasn’t close enough to hear. I didn’t want to know the specifics of what they were going to do to Charlie, especially when they’d probably do the same to me if they caught me.
But they were all finished with their planning. The two poachers simply murmured in assent, and Martin said nothing. But why would he? It was his plan they were all agreeing to follow.
The first knot loosened.
There was the soft sound of a coffee cup being set on a rock.
The first knot slid undone, leaving only a trillion more to undo. I said a silent prayer that the old poacher would come up with a new inventive way to get rid of Charlie. I just needed them to talk for two minutes, that’s all. I wouldn’t even complain too much about one and a half.
“Okay, bring him here,” said Martin, sounding meaner than a brooding hen. “Let’s get this over with.”
Spring of the Poacher's Moon Page 10
