08 Heart of the Wilderness

by Janette Oke

  The conversation was not lost on Kendra. She said nothing, but a few discomforting thoughts began to whirl in her thinking. Her traps had not been doing as well of late. She had feared that perhaps she was trapping out the area—that the smaller animals had moved on to another range. But maybe—maybe someone else was taking advantage of her traps.

  After the Mountie had thanked her for the meal, shrugged back into his heavy parka and left the cabin, Kendra still mulled over his words. Had she missed something? Were there signs that she should have caught?

  “Papa Mac,” she said after George had returned to the cabin, “I wonder if I have had someone bothering my trapline.”

  George looked up from the moccasin he was lacing. “You’ve spotted something?” he asked.

  “Well—no. That is—nothing in particular, but it does seem as if I’ve had poor catches lately. I’ve been very careful when setting the traps to hide them well and cover the scent and sprinkle fresh snow over my tracks. And I never take the team too close.

  “There are still animal tracks through the area. It seems the game is there—I’m just not having the catch that I should have. At least I’m not getting the catch.”

  George lowered himself to the chair by the table and proceeded to put on his other moccasin.

  “Well—keep a sharp lookout,” he advised. “If anything looks suspicious let me know.”

  Kendra nodded.

  They both put on their warmest outer wear. They were facing another day on the trail to check the traplines.

  “I knew it,” said Kendra, bent over her trap. “Someone has been stealing.”

  Anger filled her. It was hard work running the trapline. If someone wanted the benefit of trapping, they should be willing to do the work for themselves. It wasn’t fair to reap from another’s labors.

  Kendra lifted the tuft of hair that clung to the sprung trap, indicating that an animal had been caught. But there was no carcass anywhere to be seen.

  The next trap held an otter. Kendra noted that the fur was at its prime. It should bring a nice price on the market.

  But as she left the packed trail and neared the next trap, she noticed that the snow had been rearranged as though something had scuffled around in it. There had been a new fall of snow and Kendra saw no footprints or snowshoe indentations showing through it. But perhaps the culprit had been sly enough to use a small twig to brush at the spot or else had sprinkled handfuls of powdery snow to cover any tracks that might have been left behind.

  The more she studied the area around the trap, the more sure she was of her suspicions and the more incensed she became. She took off her mitten and brushed her hand through the new layer of snow. There were blood stains and scattered pieces of hair just beneath the surface. There had been an animal caught here, and it was now gone.

  Who would do such a thing? Surely it wasn’t one of the area trappers. But it had been a hard winter. Every trapper was finding it difficult to travel out in the intense cold. Perhaps someone had decided that there were easier pickings closer to the settlement. Surely, though, the people in the area knew whose trapline lay so close at hand. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe they reasoned that a young girl would not be smart enough to read the signs. Maybe she was being taken advantage of simply because she was a girl.

  The thought made Kendra even angrier. She found her mind reviewing each trapper in the area, white and Indian alike, trying to sort out which one might stoop to such lowness.

  It was a mental exercise that disturbed her and really profited nothing. She tried to push aside the troubling conjectures.

  “Someone has been bothering my traps,” Kendra said to George that evening. Her green eyes flashed anger as she spoke the words.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Two of them had catches that had been taken before I got to them.”

  “Did you find prints?”

  “No. The thief is smart. He covers his tracks well. All I found were signs of the animals.”

  “What animals?”

  “It was hair from a lynx at the first trap. The second was a fox.

  It had snowed enough to hide the prints, and whoever was there had disguised things pretty well.”

  George sat silently. “I don’t like it,” he said at last. “Anyone who will rob a trap will be desperate enough to do almost anything. I’m not sure that you should go out again until after that Mountie has been through.”

  “But I have the traps set. I need to check them,” argued Kendra.

  “Maybe I should take your line tomorrow.”

  “You have your own line to care for. The day isn’t long enough for you to cover both.”

  George knew that was true. He really couldn’t argue further.

  “Well, I don’t like it,” he said. “Not one bit.”

  Kendra did not like it either. If someone was stealing from her traps, then someone was desperate and dangerous. She would have to be doubly cautious as she made her daily run. She hoped she could depend on Oscar to alert her if danger was about.

  The next day Kendra did her run with a loaded rifle near her on the sled. She hoped she would not need to use it, but she must be ready to take action if it was necessary.

  “Just bring your traps on in until this is settled,” her grandfather had suggested, but Kendra hated to give up the peak trapping season when she needed the money for her schooling.

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised, and he reluctantly agreed to let her go. Nothing unusual caught her attention. She picked up four catches and reset her traps. She was glad to hurry home. Nonie needed another load of wood.

  Four days later Kendra had another trap robbed. Again there had been a snowfall, so she had little hope of picking up any signs. But it made her uneasy in spite of herself. She decided not to tell her grandfather. He would just worry. She did hope that the Mountie would be back soon. The whole thing made her feel edgy. She traveled with the loaded rifle slung over her shoulder.

  Oscar shifted in his harness and sniffed at the air. Kendra, who traveled closely behind the team, saw the hackles rise along his neck.

  “He senses something,” she said to herself and reached for the gun on her shoulder.

  There was a bend in the trail ahead, and just beyond, a small windfall where Kendra had carefully concealed a trap. Oscar’s lifted head pointed in that direction, his sharp ears upright to catch the faintest stirring. He lifted his nose and sniffed at the air. Kendra heard a quiet growl come from his throat.

  “Lay,” she ordered softly and Oscar dropped immediately to the snow, and the other team members quietly followed suit.

  Kendra hesitated. Should she leave the entire team where it was or might she need Oscar? She hesitated for only a moment, then fell to her knees and with a few quick movements had Oscar out of his harness.

  “Heel,” she commanded in a whisper, and Oscar dropped in close beside her.

  The trap was out of sight beyond a stand of spruce. It had been hidden from view along an animal trail that crossed through fallen timber. Kendra knew that once she rounded the bend, she would be exposed to full view. She stopped and slipped off her snowshoes. She did not wish to be encumbered if there should be a tussle. On moccasined feet she moved slowly forward, Oscar following her like a silent shadow. The hair on his neck stood raised, his teeth were bared and ready, but no sound came from his throat or his softly padded paws.

  Kendra cocked her gun. She was ready to face whoever was at her traps. She hoped with all her heart that it wouldn’t be someone she knew. It would be hard enough to pull the trigger if it was a stranger in the sights.

  “Go for his left shoulder—but well above the heart,” she told herself as calmly as she could. “If he still threatens, take his right arm.”

  Then what would she do with him after she had wounded him? It would be a race with the dog team to get him to help before he bled or froze to death. Perhaps she should just turn and flee for home in the hopes that h
e would not spot her, for if he did he would most certainly be the one firing his gun and he wouldn’t be shooting to wound.

  No, it was too risky. Better to face him than to turn her back. She had to follow through now.

  She took a deep breath and stepped out into the open. Her trap lay just ahead.

  For a moment Kendra saw nothing. Whoever was at the trap was apparently bending over close to the ground. Kendra lifted her rifle and sighted toward the spot. Had he already been alerted? Was he hiding behind the fallen log with his sights trained on her? Kendra willed her hands to remain steady even though she was trembling inside.

  A head rose above the log. Kendra squinted against the glare of the morning sun on the whiteness of the newly fallen snow. She had to see clearly—to focus on the face of the enemy.

  Curious and challenging eyes stared back at Kendra and Oscar. A deep growl crossed the space between them, and Oscar echoed it with a growl of his own. The wolverine snarled more loudly, his teeth bared around their grip on the animal carcass he held in his mouth.

  Kendra stood transfixed. So here was the thief. The dreaded wolverine. For one moment she held steady, and then her finger squeezed the trigger. He might charge—or he might bolt for cover. She could not wait to see. He had to be stopped. There would be no peace for any of the trappers as long as he prowled the woods stealing from them.

  As the report of the rifle echoed across the still morning air, Kendra’s whole body shuddered. It was hard enough to shoot a hated forest thief. She was so thankful that it hadn’t been a fellow human in her sights. She lowered the gun, hands trembling. Had it not been an animal, she knew she never could have pulled the trigger.

  The Mountie stopped by again on his way back through. Kendra gave her report. He nodded his head solemnly.

  “One wolverine can cause an awful lot of havoc,” he admitted, “and they can cover several miles. Stealing here—stealing there. Making trapper doubt neighboring trapper. I’ve seen it before. I’m glad you got him.”

  Kendra smiled. She was glad too. He’d had a remarkably fine fur. It would add to her funds for university.

  Chapter Seventeen

  More Trouble

  Kendra finished her morning run and prepared the two pelts taken from her traps. She was getting ready for a trip to see Nonie when she heard Oscar setting up a howl.

  From the sound of Oscar’s greeting it was her grandfather’s sled entering their clearing. But it was just past noon. Her grandfather should not be returning for several hours. He could not possibly have finished his run. Kendra moved to the door, a frown creasing her smooth forehead.

  Her grandfather was not running behind the team as she expected him to be. Surely his team had not deserted him. That was unheard of. But where was he?

  Kendra strained to see up the trail. Was he following somewhere behind the sleigh?

  But as the team drew near Kendra noticed that the sled had a load. Was the morning catch that profitable to make such a pile in the sleigh?

  Kendra hurried forward as the dogs pulled up to the front of the cabin and dropped to the snow. Their sides were heaving, their tongues lolling to the sides of their mouth. Kendra knew they had been pushed hard on the trip.

  “Give me a hand.”

  Kendra’s attention jerked from the team to the sled. The mass in the sleigh bottom was her grandfather.

  “What happened?” she asked, panic in her voice as she reached out to him.

  “A moose. A moose came at me. Got my leg.”

  Kendra heard the pain in his voice. Terror seized her. How badly was he hurt? How could she ever get help?

  “Can you make it to the house?” she asked him.

  “I think so. If you help me.”

  He was a big man and heavy to lift. With a bit of help from the strength still in his arms they managed to get him up and on his one good leg. Then with Kendra for support, they moved slowly to the cabin.

  “Get Nonie,” George said with a husky voice as Kendra lowered him to his bed.

  “Let me see first,” said Kendra. She had noticed that one pant leg was soaked with blood. She could not leave him bleeding while she traveled to fetch Nonie. He might bleed to death before she could return.

  Kendra reached for the skinning knife she carried in the side of her moccasin and slashed away the pant leg. The wound beneath made her shut her eyes and fight against fainting. The moose had given her grandfather an awful gash.

  “How is it?” George managed to ask between clenched teeth.

  “It’s bad. Deep, I think. But if we can keep the infection out, it should heal okay.”

  “Get Nonie,” George said again.

  “Nonie is sick in bed,” replied Kendra. “I was just leaving to take her some broth and firewood.”

  “What will we do?” George groaned as he asked the question.

  Kendra tried to quiet her racing thoughts. She had to think clearly.

  “I have medicine here,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice calm in spite of her trembling. “Everything that Nonie has, I have.

  You lie still and I’ll fetch it. It’s in my room.”

  Kendra went for her roots and herbs. She had to think carefully, to sort out which use each one had. She had to be sure that she didn’t make an error and use the roots for stomach pain in place of the roots for clotting, or the herb for toothache in place of the pain-killer. She also needed the bitter herb to fight infection and the gum from the spruce for healing.

  It took some time for Kendra to clean the wound, treat it, and get it bandaged. George was in a cold sweat by the time she was done. She covered him with the blanket and moved to put her supplies back where they belonged. She still had not cared for the dog team, and Nonie still needed wood for her fires and the broth for her meal.

  Her grandfather’s trapline had not been covered, but she could not possibly see to it before dark. For the first time, it would not have its daily checking.

  Kendra pulled on her heavy coat. “Try to rest,” she told her grandfather. “I will put your team down for the night and make a fast trip to Nonie’s. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  George opened his eyes slowly. He tried to smile but it was more of a grimace. “Pesky nuisance,” he managed. One hand stole up to tug at his beard. Kendra moved forward and tucked the covers up around his chin.

  “Sleep,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

  When she returned from the dogs, she was thankful to find him sleeping. He needed to rest. He had lost a fair bit of blood, but Kendra was thankful that the bull’s antlers had not seemed to break any bones or tear any muscles. With time he should heal. But it would be a while before he could travel the trapline again. Kendra prepared herself for some difficult days.

  It was impossible to care for both traplines alone, so Kendra brought in her own traps and took the trail daily to cover the trapline of her grandfather. He fussed and fretted but there was little he could do. They needed the furs from the winter catch to make it through to another season.

  Spring was making promises to return to the land. George had not yet taken over his trapline again, but when it came time to take the pelts to the post, he informed Kendra that he was well enough to drive one of the teams.

  “Are you sure?” cautioned Kendra.

  The leg had been healing nicely, but Kendra did not wish to take any chances.

  “I’m sure,” he insisted. “Stop pampering me.”

  They loaded the furs on the sleds and hitched the teams. Both of them knew that the winter had not been a good one. Usually their winter catch was twice as big as the one they now took to the post for trade.

  “Well—it’s not much,” said George as he lashed the pelts on the sled, “but it might get us through until another season. Maybe our next winter won’t be as bad as our last one.”

  Kendra nodded. She did hope things would improve. If they didn’t, she might never get out to school.

  With a shout to the dogs,
both the sleds moved out onto the trail. They would follow the packed trail through the trees until they came to the bend in the river, and then they would travel the river ice into the settlement.

  The morning held a hint of warmth. The snow had not yet left the area, but the sun now shone with some strength in its rays.

  Kendra looked up at it and could not keep the smile from her lips. Nonie would have told her that Father Sun was getting over his anger with the world and was willing to give them all another chance.

  They reached the river and moved out onto the windswept ice. It was much easier for the dogs to pull on the level. They increased their speed, and Kendra was afraid her grandfather’s injured leg would make it difficult for him to keep up. She coaxed Oscar to set a more leisurely pace.

  “We’ll have to watch it around the beaver dam,” George cautioned and Kendra nodded. She knew that the beaver dam could be dangerous. The water was deeper and the animals often made channels that would freeze over lightly. The channel ice could not carry the weight of a loaded sleigh.

  Once they neared the dam, they slowed the dogs, and George walked slowly ahead of the teams, sounding the ice with a stout stick. Kendra followed carefully, her eyes ever alert for thin ice that might lead to trouble.

  They were almost beyond the spot when there was a sickening sound of cracking ice. Kendra cried out to her grandfather, but it was too late. Another crack. She watched in horror as his sleigh broke through the ice and slowly began to sink from sight in the gurgling water. The team struggled to hold it, pulling frantically against their leather harnesses. Kendra held her breath. Would the sled pull the entire team into the icy stream?

  The dogs continued to scramble, their frightened yips filling the crisp morning air. Sharp toenails clawed at the slippery surface; then Shanoo went down with a cry, splashing nosily as she hit the water. She struggled against the current but it was no use. Kendra watched as the dog was dragged under, the water closing above her head with a satisfied gurgle.