Other titles by Nathanael Green:
Further descriptions can be found at the end of this book.
The Boyhood Adventure Collection:
The Pirates of Lake Michigamme
Truth and Dare
The Footprint
The Princess and the Spider (A Children’s Folktale)
Jack’s Isle (A Fantasy Adventure)
Court and Parish (A Tale of the Old West):
Gideon’s Fleece
Jael’s Stake
Eve’s Curse
Not suitable for young readers
The Footprint
Nathanael Green
Copyright © 2013 by Nathanael Green
Cover art by LollyMarie Photography
A Note from the Author:
The Footprint
by Nathanael Green
Samuel knelt beside the trail to investigate his discovery. He felt like Mr. Wallace, the old hunter from the cabin across the lake. The others should be here by now, he thought. Something stirred in the forest. Samuel spun around. A squirrel scurried in the undergrowth. It flicked its tail and cocked its head as it looked at Samuel. Samuel sighed. Where were the others? What if the creature that made the footprint was still close? Mr. Wallace would know what to do.
Earlier that summer, Paul had dared Samuel to sneak into old man Wallace’s house. The boys were always daring him to do stupid things, and Samuel almost always did them. Of course, they never shared in the blame when he was caught, but that never stopped Samuel. It was not that the boys actually pinned the blame on Samuel. Samuel just had the misfortune of being the most honest member of the group. When an adult questioned him about his involvement in some particular mischief, he always copped to it. Who was he to force the rest of the crew to share in his punishment? He never asked them to, and they never offered.
Just a few weeks before they had kidnapped Mrs. Campbell’s Jack Russell terrier and held it for ransom: two dozen chocolate chip cookies. The mission would have been a success except the dog bit Chip and peed all over Aunt Nancy’s couch. They devoured the ransom only to discover that Mrs. Campbell had made the cookies with chocolate laxatives. In the end, Samuel had taken the blame for the kidnapping, the pee on the couch, the clogged toilet, and the shortage of toilet paper.
An earthquake took the blame the night that they liberated the Michigamme Zoo. The park contained a few exotic animals: some wallabies, ostriches, a zebra and such. Paul had wanted to let the animals out of the park completely, but Ted convinced him to just let the animals wander outside their cages. Samuel was grateful, he liked animals, almost as much as he liked dinosaurs, and he didn’t want to see any get hurt or lost. He didn’t like it when Chip started to tease the zebra. That was when the ground began to shake. For a moment they thought that God was angry with them, or maybe just with Chip. The quake was a small one, but it spooked the already nervous zebra which then kicked Chip in the arm.
They told Aunt Nancy that he had fallen out of a tree during the quake. Aunt Nancy never questioned Samuel directly, for which he and the others were grateful. When the animals were found wandering the zoo the next morning, everyone assumed it was due to the quake. As far as the boys knew, no one ever connected them to the Michigamme Zoo incident. Chip was supposed to have kept the cast on for another six weeks, but the summer did not wait for broken bones, and neither would he.
Of course Samuel had been caught by Mr. Wallace. It was not because Samuel was not stealthy. Mr. Wallace was an expert tracker. Samuel had barely made it past the porch when a hand caught his shoulder.
“Have a seat, boy.” The man motioned toward the fireplace. The man had a strange accent. Samuel looked around to see the stuffed trophies of animals from around the world. A snarling lion seemed frozen mid-lunge from the wall next to the bookcase. On top of the bookcase was a crouching leopard. Samuel looked down to see a zebra rug under his feet. Next to the chair was an end table made from an elephant’s foot. An ornate hunting rifle was mounted over the mantel, and a worn, wide-brimmed leather hat hung nearby. Mr. Wallace offered him some tea and crackers. Samuel looked at the cup of steaming tea, then up at Mr. Wallace.
“Are you from England or something?” Samuel asked.
“Or something,” said Mr. Wallace. “South Africa.”
Samuel shrugged and stuffed the crackers into his mouth.
“So you were a hunter,” he said, spraying crumbs onto his lap and his chair. Mr. Wallace stopped pouring his own tea and looked at Samuel. Samuel blushed and washed down the crackers with the bitter tea.
“Don’t they teach you Yankee boys any manners?”
Samuel shrugged. Mr. Wallace continued to pour.
“Yes, I was a hunter. Soldier before that. After the war I found good work as a game warden.”
“What’s that?” Samuel asked after gulping more crackers with tea.
“It’s like a park ranger. Mostly chasing off poachers and rescuing lost tourists. We helped keep the animals and people in the park safe from each other.”
“But didn’t you shoot them?” Samuel asked.
Mr. Wallace smiled. “The animals or the people?”
“Either one,” said Samuel.
Mr. Wallace shook his head. “Most poachers are just locals trying to help their families. Sure we would try to stop them from killing wildlife, but we also tried to find work for the locals when we could.”
“But what about those?” Samuel motioned to the trophies.
“Most of these were my fathers, but a few were mine. Sometimes herds get too big, or the dry season lasts longer than usual. Removing a few of the old or sick can actually help the rest of a herd survive.” He stopped next to the snarling lion.
“And sometimes, you do what you need to do to survive.”
Samuel’s eyes widened.
"How often did you see lions?"
Mr. Wallace smiled. “Everyday.”
“Occasionally some would creep round the farmers’ lands and snatch sheep and cattle, and they’d call us to take care of ‘em.” Samuel again looked at the rifle.
“With that?” he asked.
“Sometimes, but we tried to tranquilize most o‘em. You can’t just go around shooting lions. So, we’d track it down and put a dart in its neck.”
Mr. Wallace stuck a bony, pointed finger against his jugular.
Samuel shivered and turned away. He didn’t care for needles. He looked up at the wide-brimmed leather hat hanging next to the rifle. Mr. Wallace offered him more tea.
Maybe someday he would go to South Africa and be a game warden, Samuel thought. Since there weren’t anymore dinosaurs, chasing lions might be the next best thing.
“I wish we had more exciting animals in Michigan,” he said. Mr. Wallace chuckled.
“Don’t be so sure, lad. I hear there’s somethin’ big out in that forest. It ate Ms. Campbell’s Jack Russel.” He winked at Samuel. “No great loss if you ask me, but I’d be careful out there all the same.”
When Samuel had first found the footprint, he had rushed over to Mr. Wallace’s. When he wasn’t home, Samuel gathered the other boys and ran ahead to his discovery. They were finally catching up. Ted came first, followed by Paul and Chip.
“What is it?” asked Paul, peering over the others. Samuel crouched beside the footprint.
“Oh…wow,” said Ted, who was, for Samuel’s sake, pretending to be more interested than he actually was. Paul snorted.
“That? It’s just a big bird or something.”
Chip giggled. “Big Bird? Where are all the yellow feathers?”
“That’s a pretty big tr
ack for a bird,” said Ted.
“Two toes,” said Samuel, “it has two toes.” This observation had no effect on the others.
“Two toes means that there is another toe, a raised one, with a claw. It could be a dromaeosaur, like a deinonychus or a velociraptor.” Samuel looked to his friends for some response, but the chirping of a solitary cricket was the only reply. Ted shuffled his feet, embarrassed, once again, for Samuel’s sake. Paul was the first to speak.
“Sam, are you talking about dinosaurs again?” Chip shoved forward to see the footprint.
“Dinosaurs? Cool! I thought they were all stinked.”
“They are,” said Paul. “Samuel just wishes they were real. He thinks he’s Mr. Wallace or something.”
Samuel felt his cheeks burning, and clenched his teeth to fight back the tears. Ted kept looking at his feet, unwilling to comment on either boy’s behalf.
“Come on, guys.” Samuel heard his voice squeak. “We’re on the verge of one of the greatest discoveries in history.” The lonely cricket answered once again. This time it was accompanied by rumbling from Paul’s stomach.
“Sam, it’s almost lunch time,” Paul said. Ted mumbled in agreement,
The Footprint Page 1
