“Stay here,” I said, patting the snowy ground. “Stay so we don’t scare the babies.”
Pot knew the words “stay” and “babies” because he was a cow dog and used to little critters. He was always careful not to spook anxious mothers and their playful calves when he helped Mam, or when we trailed the cows from one range to another. All it took was a whistle or a pointed finger and he’d be off to do what cow dogs just naturally do. He knew all the commands. For sure he knew the word “stay.”
That’s why I was startled when halfway down I looked back and saw Stew Pot behind me. His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Go back!” I said, and he hunkered down but rose as soon as I took a few steps. But I was in a hurry to get to the end of the canyon, so I pointed to the sheltered nook, snapped my fingers, and said sharply, “Stay.” He turned and slunk back. “Good boy,” I said, and trudged on.
It was creepy down in the shadowy canyon, with the craggy walls leaning in and only a band of sky showing above. I hurried, zigging and zagging my way toward the place where the fawns had been born. Near the far end, where the canyon widened and the sagebrush grew tall, I almost stumbled into it. From there I practically tiptoed. Except in squeaky cowboy boots tiptoeing didn’t work very well. The last thing I wanted was to spook the new fawns.
Blue shadows filled the bowl, but the snowy rim gleamed bright gold as the setting sun struck it. A few tracks crisscrossed the snowy valley. I scanned the hillsides but could see no sign of the fawns—either they were well hidden or they’d found new places to hide. I was about to hike up the slope when I heard a rustling sound.
I stopped. Cupped my hands to my ears. What was that?
Suddenly a piercing scream split the silence, a scream so wild, so loud, my heart tunneled into the earth. The scream rose shrilly and broke off in midshriek. All the hairs on my body stood up.
I stared bug-eyed as a black shape streaked across the golden rim of the bowl. Something limp hung from its jaws. The black thing froze, glared at me with yellow eyes, and then loped away with the skinny legs of its bundle swaying back and forth, back and forth….
Another sound, this one a wild, frantic honking, like a goose gone crazy mad, rumbled toward the rim. It was Lone One! She jerked to a stop, saw I was a familiar shape, and tore off again, grunting wildly.
She was going after a wolf!
I crouched and touched the ground with my hands, feeling my stomach heave. Hang on, I said to myself. Don’t throw up. It’ll only attract … wolves. I swallowed hard. I was still dizzily hanging on to the earth when Lone One came honking back to the rim, her black tongue hanging out, her thin sides heaving. With each grunt her white tag of a tail shot up.
Halfway up the slope, from behind a clump of sagebrush, I saw a small head pop up and just as quickly sink down again—the other fawn!
Up on the rim, Lone One spun and bolted away again. You’re so brave, but it’s too late, too late, I thought as she vanished. I didn’t breathe till I heard the sad honking sound returning. The poor mother antelope walked slowly over the rim, breathing hard. She looked down at me and grunted.
This time it seemed as if her frantic grunts were aimed in my direction. Rightly or not, that’s how I heard it. I unstuck my hands from the earth. Stumbled up the slope to the fawn’s hiding place. Quick as a flash I reached down and grabbed it.
Oh, poor mother antelope! If a sound could slice a heart in two, then this sound did. It was the same terrified, shrieking bleat as before, so loud and shrill I almost dropped the fawn right then. Legs kicked in all directions. With one gloved hand I tucked its spinning legs into the crook of my arms and clutched the struggling fawn to my chest. The fawn gave one last muffled bleat and fell silent.
I stood there, the two of us trembling and me so shaky I thought I’d tip over. “Hush, baby, hush, it’s okay, it’s okay,” I finally managed to croak.
But of course it wasn’t one bit okay at all.
Lone One stared down, her head lowered, her legs splayed apart. She looked ready to charge.
Feeling self-conscious, I made a low, guttural sound as near as I could to her deep belly grunt. “Eaaaaaaahhh! Eaaaaaaahhh!” I grunted.
Lone One grunted back. I grunted again. She answered. I took a step backward. Lone One took a step down the hill.
Slowly—step, grunt, step, grunt—I backed toward the canyon like a crab hunched over its treasure. I couldn’t turn my back on Lone One. She had to see her fawn. Follow me.
Amazingly, one step at a time, Lone One followed. Her eyes didn’t leave for an instant the bundle I held in my arms. She kept a distance of about fifty feet. At the first bend in the canyon I lost sight of her. I walked a short way and stopped, wondering if Lone One followed. Several minutes passed, long enough for me to reconsider what I’d just gone and done.
Long enough to wonder, What on earth am I doing? Where am I going? A cold chill ran through me. I’d just picked up a fawn—I’d taken it away from its mother. And now, if the mother charged and I dropped it, it’d run like crazy, its mom would chase after it—and what if a whole pack of wolves was waiting out there in the hills?
But what if…? What if this was the fawn that’d been having so much trouble walking? What if this was the lame one?
I untucked a thin leg from under my elbow.
I was about to check it out when a long, wailing howl rose from the hills. Another howl answered. I could feel the hairs on my body rising again. I quickly stuffed the fawn back into the crook of my arms.
“Hush, baby, hush. It’s okay,” I whispered with my mouth on the soft furry head.
I huddled over my precious bundle and kept walking. I was so intent on looking back and trying not to stumble that I didn’t see the figure looming above on the ledge of the canyon.
“Ho! You!”
I jumped out of my skin as the sound bounced across the walls of the canyon. The fawn’s legs lashed out and I hunched over it, trying desperately to hang on to the windmill of rotating legs as I crooked my head and squinted up from beneath the bill of my cap. A boy on a horse peered over the rim of the canyon. With the setting sun’s bright glow behind them all I could see was their dark shadowy shapes.
“Ho! You down there!” the boy yelled. “You know you’re trespassing? And poaching too.”
Of course I knew I was trespassing. And, like any ranch kid, I knew the laws about picking up wild animals. As if I didn’t already feel bad enough about what I’d done! I could feel my face catching on fire.
“Could we discuss this some other time?” I hissed up to the cliff. What terrible timing! Just leave, I wanted to say. You’re going to spoil everything. If you don’t move away, the mother antelope won’t come—and then what will I do?
“I saw this dog runnin’ around crazylike,” he called down. “Going back and forth along the ledge here. I was wonderin’ what he was up to.”
“That’d be my dog. He was supposed to stay. Listen, you mind if we continue this conversation some other time?”
The boy looked beyond me. His head jerked back in surprise.
Lone One stood at the bend of the canyon.
“Eaaaaaaahhh! Eaaaaaaahhh!” I grunted, my voice startling me by its loudness.
Lone One’s eyes didn’t leave the figures above as she gave a short, sharp grunt in reply. Then she spun around and skittered away.
“What’s your name—Talks to Antelope?” The boy backed his horse away from the ridge. “Catch you again,” he yelled as he rode off.
“Yeah, right,” I muttered up to the ridge. “But not if I see you first.”
I stood there while the strip of golden light above faded and cold blue shadows swallowed us up. I shifted from one foot to the other. Lifted one shoulder, stretched, lifted the other. Thought about unkinking my arms and rearranging the legs of the fawn, but it seemed to have fallen asleep. I scrunched my fingers inside my gloves. Arched my back. Kicked at the snow. Tried not to think about that nosy, rude kid. Tried to blank out the dead t
win and the wolf.
I focused on the slow thump of my heart compared to the fast beat of the fawn’s. At least fifteen minutes must’ve trudged slowly by before I heard worried honks coming up the canyon. The fawn raised its head. Lone One rounded the bend at a run and came skidding to a stop. I took a deep breath and then, keeping the fawn in full view of its mother, I did my sideways crab walk down the canyon. This time Lone One seemed anxious to follow.
Slowly we retraced my tracks to the trail. And of course there stood Stew Pot, anxiously peering down from the sheltered nook where I’d left him.
“No, Pot,” I called up, my voice sharp as a rock. “I’ve got a baby. Go home, Pot. Go home.”
Instantly he dropped and turned his head away so his eyes wouldn’t scare the fawn or the mother antelope in the canyon behind us.
“Go home,” I pleaded, my voice all choked up and croaky. “Please. Go home. I’ll be okay.”
But I didn’t feel like I’d be okay. I felt like I needed the biggest doggy hug ever.
Pot didn’t want to go. His job was to protect me, and here I was sending him off. But he turned and slunk away, his belly brushing the snow. When he got to the fence he darted a look back to see if I’d changed my mind. I shook my head. He slipped under the wires and headed down toward the house.
I stumbled toward the fence. What now? There were two loose wires in the four-wire barbed fence. Both my hands were wrapped tightly around my bundle. How could I possibly get through it?
I took a breath and snaked a leg between two wires, then hunched over the fawn and squeezed through them. I heard a big ripppppppp as I pulled my other leg through and took a nosedive into the snow, crumpling into a heap of elbows, knees, foreheads, and little fawn feet.
Of course Lone One again scurried away.
I kneeled there, blinking back tears as I stared down at the snow. I sniffed, trying hard not to wipe my snotty nose on the fawn’s furry back. The tears came anyway, and before long I was bawling as if I was hooked up to a hose and the faucet had been turned up on high. I didn’t know if I was crying because of what had happened to the fawn, or because of what I’d just done, or just because it had been such a strange day. I was about to drown in a puddle of tears when I felt a soft, warm breeze on my neck.
It was a breeze that smelled strongly of sage and wild onions. It blew in my ear and parted the hair on the back of my neck. Each of her breaths held a deep grunt.
Slowly I got to my feet. Lone One skittered away once again. This time I was sure she’d return. Soon she did.
I grunted at her and took a step down the hill. Lone One followed.
One step at a time took forever, but I’d finally come up with a plan.
Chapter Fifteen
That night I hardly slept. I was restless in the chair I’d pulled up to the window that overlooked the homestead cabin.
Lone One had watched me take the fawn inside the cabin. She’d seen me shove the broken door sidelong across the doorway and then speed toward the house to get out of her way. But the mother antelope must’ve been confused by the dark shape of the cabin. She’d run back to the fence, slipped under it, and had disappeared over the hills. I’d dashed around the snowy yard breaking off branches of sagebrush and then climbed over the door and into the cabin again. “Here’s something to snuggle down in,” I’d whispered to the frightened fawn as I bunched up the sagebrush beside it. “Your mama will be back soon. I hope…”
“She’ll come back,” I whispered now to Stew Pot in the beanbag I’d dragged to the window beside me. “She has to come back.”
I tried not to think of what I’d do if she didn’t. It was bad enough to have stolen the fawn from its mother. If Lone One didn’t come back, how on earth would I keep it alive?
Now, forehead pressed to the windowpane, I stared down at the cabin. With its dirt floor and three windows for sunlight it should make a good, safe place for the fawn. After all, hadn’t Mr. Mac said an elk had lived there one whole winter when he was a kid?
I pushed up the window and poked my head out. A huge round moon spread its white silence over the snow-covered fields. I could see the fine, inked lines of the fences stretching across the white hillsides and the dark shapes of cows dotting the fields. Down by the cabin two rabbits hopped by, their eyes flashing red in the moonlight. Above the sounds of the creek and the wind there rose a long, lonely howl. From the hills behind the house came an answering howl and before long a whole chorus sang to the moon. I shivered and slammed down the window.
Beside me, Pot trembled and buried his head in his paws. He’d never acted this way when coyotes yipped in the hills. Why, more than once I’d watched him chase after a coyote and actually nip it. It wasn’t unheard of for a coyote to lure a dog off so a waiting pack could attack it, but Pot had never been afraid of a fight. He’d always come home unharmed. But the howl of the wolf must’ve touched something ancient inside him, some part that said, This howl is different….
I scrambled into the beanbag and wrapped him in my arms. “They scare me too,” I said. “And thank you, my hero dog, for taking good care of me. You jumped into the creek after me this morning, and I know you would’ve done something heroic again this afternoon if you’d had the chance. But, sweet Pot, there’s no way you could’ve tackled a wolf and come out the winner….”
Outside, the howls seemed to stretch out as far as the moon. Then the sounds faded. The hills became silent again, and Pot stopped his trembling. I lay beside him scratching his ears till he slept.
I wriggled up and slipped across the dark room. I grabbed a pillow and the blanket from my bed and settled back into my chair. I don’t know if it was the bright moonlight, the white landscape, or the fact that it’d just been such an incredibly difficult day, but when I glanced out at the whiteness I thought I saw the wolf running off with the fawn. I imagined I saw the mother antelope frantically, fearlessly, chasing the wolf. My heart started pounding and I closed my eyes. I imagined then that I heard the Indian kid yelling down into the canyon.
“Talk about rude,” I snorted out loud. In his beanbag beside me Pot’s eyes snapped open. “I sure wouldn’t want him for a friend” I added, and Pot swished his tail back and forth. “Oh, believe me,” I said, jabbing at him with my toe, “neither would you.”
Really, that kid could’ve ruined everything. It was amazing that Lone One had come back after he’d shouted like that. It was even more amazing that she’d followed me clear to the cabin—almost it had seemed as if she’d wanted my help. If only she’d jumped in after her fawn. Now, who knew what might happen. For sure I’d have to keep the fawn safe for more than one night. Because yes, it had been the lame one. I checked the fawn’s leg as I settled it into the cabin. Nothing was broken. I’d seen calves limping about like that because a leg had been scrunched up in the mother’s belly, and usually it was just a matter of time before they’d be hopping about good as new. For sure I didn’t want to “humanize” the fawn or get it used to me by touching it any more than I had to. After all, the fawn did have a mother.
Right. It had a mother. At least until I came along and took it away from her. I squeezed my eyes shut. Come back, Lone One, I begged. Please …
But what if she didn’t? What if the cabin seemed too strange—what if Lone One wouldn’t jump into it? Would she understand that it was a safe place for her fawn, or would she be frantic and just want to get it out of there? What if she deserted her fawn now that I’d touched it?
Well, there was nothing I could do now but just sit and watch from the window to see if she’d come.
I pulled the blanket up over my shoulders. In the soft light of the moon I could see blue-white light streaming out from my fingertips, like searchlights exploring the night. I wiggled my fingers and lines of light crisscrossed through the darkness of my attic, making patterns along the walls and across its slanted ceiling. I played with the lights, making them flare and then fade and then grow bright again with my thoughts.
All night I sat in the dark and watched the way the light streamed from my fingertips and lit up the night. I practiced turning the lights red and then blue and then all the colors of the rainbow. Purple was the easiest, after golden or silvery white. The thought of the wolf made the lights turn grayish white, and somehow those lights even felt different, all prickly and sharp.
It didn’t take much to make the lights change. Just the thought and the—what was the word Mam had used?—“intention.” Yes. Zeroing in, being still, and thinking so hard about what I wanted that I could almost see it and taste it and feel it.
When I couldn’t hold my eyes open one minute longer, I could still see the lights through my eyelids.
All night I kept watch by the window, dozing off, then waking with a jolt and searching the white landscape for Lone One.
As the first light of dawn spread across the horizon, she came. One step out of darkness. Two. Lone One stood by the cabin doorway. She froze and stared into its shadowy darkness for what seemed like forever. Then she jumped over the barrier door.
Up in the attic, celebration!
“She came! She came!” I yelled, tossing my pillow up to the ceiling, catching it and hurling it at Stew Pot, who’d jumped up excitedly and now barked and nipped at my legs as I twirled across the long room to the stairway. “Let’s call the fawn Light of the Dawn,” I yelled as the two of us tore down the stairs.
I threw open the door to Mam’s bedroom. “Can you believe it? She came!”
Mam leaped out of bed. “Who came?” She grabbed her jeans off a chair and snatched her shirt off the chest of drawers, sending her book and hairbrush clattering to the floor. “What are you talking about? Who’s here?” she asked as she wiggled her clothes on over her nightgown.
Lifting the Sky Page 9
