Seaman and the Great Northern Adventure

by Helen Moss

  The bear squealed in pain. Blood filled my mouth. I didn’t know whether it was mine or the bear’s. I couldn’t hold on much longer. But if this was the end, I would go out fighting.

  And now, at last, the others were joining the battle. Newton, Baxter, and Seaman rushed in, barking and gnashing their teeth. The bear spun around, swatting them away like mosquitoes.

  Crack! The gunshot split the sky in two. The man must have escaped from the tree and found his gun. He fired again. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. The shots missed, but the bear took fright. With a grunt of defeat, he dropped to all fours and lumbered away.

  I jumped clear and rolled into a bush. When I opened my eyes, three faces were peering down at me. Newton and Baxter looked worried. Seaman looked furious. “You harebrained maniac!” he bellowed. “You could have gotten us all killed! I said I’d give the signal…”

  “You were too slow,” I snapped.

  Seaman growled in frustration. “I was waiting for the right moment. You, young pup, should have done the same.”

  “It was the right moment. The moment before the bear shook the man from the tree and ate him for dinner!” I sat up and looked around. “Where’s Maia?” I gasped, suddenly remembering the bear throwing her into the air …

  “I’m right here!” Maia’s voice came from near the tree. She was busy smoothing down her fur. “I did an awesome double backflip and landed on a branch.” She sighed. “Don’t tell me no one saw it.”

  “I was kind of busy,” I muttered. I tried to sound mad at her. Really, I was just relieved.

  “Don’t fight, guys!” Baxter wagged his tail. “Newton’s genius plan worked. The bear has gone. The human is safe.”

  “Oh yeah! Go, us!” Titch strolled out from behind a rock.

  “Us?” I spluttered. Now I really was mad. “Tell me. What exactly did you do?”

  “Relax, Trev!” Titch tossed her head. “Someone had to keep a lookout. In case Old Grizzly’s bear buddies showed up to join the fight.”

  I looked at Newton, Baxter, and Maia. We couldn’t help laughing. If Titch had a pack motto, it would be Look After Number One.

  I heard a noise and whipped around. But it was only the man, York. Water dripped from his clothes. He must have jumped in the river, in case the bear chased him. “Goodboy!” he said, scooping me up in his arms. “You led the charge, didn’t you?” Then he patted Seaman and the others. “Good job, everyone.”

  Titch butted her head against Seaman’s shoulder. “We’ve kept our side of the deal,” she said. “Now how about that dinner you owe us?”

  7

  GOODBOY, HERO

  Seaman led us back along the riverbank. He’d stuck to the deal and agreed to give us a meal. But he was still furious. He marched ahead, swishing his tail like an angry cat.

  All of a sudden, he caught sight of the van parked on the bank. He backed away, his ears clamped down in fright. Then, with a soft pop, the van turned into an old willow tree. By now, Seaman had a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. “What the blazes,” he mumbled. “Your Fly-Ing-Van tribe sure has some powerful magic…”

  “It’s just camouflage,” Newton explained. “The van changes to match the background. It was a snowy rock last time we came to Alaska. Now it’s a tree…”

  A pair of crows landed in the branches and cawed at us.

  Seaman wrinkled his nose suspiciously. “It doesn’t smell like a tree…”

  He was right, of course. The van smelled exactly like a van.

  “I’ve figured that part out,” said Newton. “The van is a human invention. Humans can’t smell. If it looks like a tree, they think it’s a tree. The camouflage works. They don’t notice the scent is wrong.”

  As if to prove the point, York walked right past the old willow without giving it a second glance.

  * * *

  A few more miles and we came to a bend in the river. “This is it!” said Seaman. “The Lewis and Clark camp.”

  We were looking down from a low cliff. Below us, on a wide beach of smooth, flat stones, humans were bustling in and out of small shelters made of long poles and elk and buffalo skins. A cloud of wood smoke swirled around them like fog. I thought at first that it was one big family. Then I saw that they were all adult males, but for one female. She knelt beside the fire, stirring a cooking pot and singing to the baby on her back.

  Two of the men hurried to meet us. One clapped York on the shoulder. The other—a tall, thin man with a long nose and kind eyes—crouched next to Seaman. Seaman gazed up at him. “This is my human, Captain Lewis,” he said proudly. “He’s the leader.” He looked over at the man talking to York. “And that’s Captain Clark. Second-in-command.”

  York scooped me up again. “This little fellow saved my life.” York was a big man with a very loud voice, and he was bellowing in my ear. But I could tell he was saying good things about me, so I licked his nose. “I’m going to call him Hero. Goodboy, Hero.”

  Hero. York said that word so many times I realized he thought it was my name. “No, I’m Trevor,” I barked. “Tre-vor!”

  York laughed and said Hero again.

  “He can call you Cat-Poop-Face for all I care,” said Titch. “As long as we get some food.”

  The woman by the fire—Seaman told us her name was Sacagawea—seemed to understand. She called us over to a pile of buffalo bones and fat. Fighting off grizzly bears is hungry work. We fell on that meal like a pack of wolves—even Maia, the world’s pickiest eater.

  “Yum,” slurped Baxter.

  “Yum,” slurped Newton.

  “Yum … yum … yum!” slurped Titch. Grease dribbled from her jowls. “Just needs … slurp … a little … slurp … hot sauce.”

  Full at last, I flopped down to lick my whiskers clean. Then I sprang up again. Mosquitoes were dive-bombing me from every direction. I hopped about, flicking my ears and snapping my teeth. “Is that an after-dinner dance?” Seaman laughed. The meal had clearly put him in a better mood. “Lie down by the fire,” he said. “Doggone bugs can’t stand the smoke.”

  I moved so close that the flames scorched my fur. The others joined me. We should start for home soon, I thought. Our humans would be coming to pick us up from Happy Paws. But I could barely keep my eyes open. “Just a short nap,” I murmured. “Then back … to … the … van.”

  When I woke, the birds were settling down to roost in the trees. The humans sat cleaning their guns and mending clothes. There were no flashes or beeps. I guessed they’d left their electrical things at home. The woman was braiding Maia’s fur with beads and shells. “We came to visit our friend Balto,” Baxter was saying to Seaman. “You must know him. He’s famous in Alaska.”

  “Nope, never heard of any Balto.” Seaman nibbled at a thorn in his paw. “Nor Alaska, neither. It must be upriver a ways.” He gazed toward the distant mountains, a dreamy look on his face. The setting sun painted the snowy peaks red and pink. “That’s where we’re heading. Up the Missouri River and over the mountains, all the way to”—Seaman lowered his voice dramatically, as if he was about to say something wild and crazy—“the Pacific Ocean.”

  “In those tubs?” Titch laughed, glancing at the row of big wooden canoes tied up along the shore. “Why don’t you guys just jump on the freeway? You could be hitting the surf this time tomorrow.”

  “I was wondering the same thing.” Newton tipped his head to one side. “Where have your humans parked their cars?”

  “Free-way? Cars?” Seaman looked around nervously, as if strange objects might appear out of thin air. “Are those a part of your Fly-Ing-Van magic, too?”

  Baxter’s mouth dropped open. I knew how he felt. Seaman had to be joking. How could he not know about cars?

  I was about to ask.

  But my words were lost in a thunderous clamor of hooves.

  8

  DANGEROUS!

  The hooves belonged to a herd of antelope.

  The frightened animals were stampeding across th
e plain, heading straight for the river. One after another, they began to hurl themselves over the cliff.

  “They’re running from a wolf pack,” shouted Seaman, over the thunder of hooves and the splash-crash of antelope hitting the water. They were some way upriver from the camp, but still the noise was deafening. “Let’s have ourselves some fun!” he cried, leaping up and running off along the beach toward them. “We’ll race them across the river.”

  Baxter bounded after him, whooping with glee. Newton followed. He’s not much of a swimmer, but his border collie instincts couldn’t resist the chance to round up all those antelope.

  Titch didn’t move. “Water! Gross! If dogs were meant to swim, we’d have fins!”

  Maia agreed. “I don’t want to get my new braids all tangled.”

  I prefer to keep my paws on dry land, too. The three of us climbed to the top of the cliff and settled down on a flat rock to watch the race. The antelope were swimming for their lives, their heads held high above the water. Baxter was not far behind them. Newton had barely made it out of the shallows.

  But Seaman was the star of the show! He surged past Baxter, dove under him, popped up on the other side, twisted around, then dove again. Onshore, the Newfoundland was like a big woolly bear. In water, he was as swift and sleek as a seal.

  Maia wagged her tail admiringly. “Wow, those webbed paws are really something.”

  But Titch just yawned. “What a show- off!”

  With a bark of excitement, Seaman glided alongside a young antelope near the back of the herd. All of a sudden, dog and antelope both sank beneath the surface.

  The water churned and frothed.

  Swirls of blood billowed through it.

  Maia gasped. “I thought this was a race. Why is Seaman attacking that antelope?”

  Now, I’m a Jack Russell terrier. I’m a born hunter. But even I didn’t think it was fair to bring down a terrified animal just for fun. It wasn’t a pest, and we didn’t need it for food.

  But it wasn’t Seaman who popped back up through the bubbling water. It was the antelope. Eyes rolling in fear, long legs thrashing, it kept on swimming for shore.

  I scanned the river for Seaman.

  At last his nose broke up through the ripples. “Help!” he howled. “It bit me!”

  “Bitten by an antelope?” Titch laughed. “Ooh, dangerous! If you’re a blade of grass, that is.”

  But the blood was now a dark, spreading cloud.

  And Seaman had disappeared beneath the water once more.

  9

  LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP

  I quickly assessed the situation. Luckily, Baxter was not far from the spot where the cloud of blood still swirled. “Baxter!” I shouted. “Danger! Danger! Seaman’s in trouble.”

  “I’m on it!” barked Baxter, speeding to the place where Seaman had disappeared. He dove. He surfaced. “It’s a beaver!” he yelled. “It’s got hold of Seaman’s leg.” Baxter dove again. When he came back up, he was dragging Seaman with him, his teeth clamped around the big dog’s shaggy scruff.

  Maia cheered. “Hooray for Baxter!”

  I was proud of him, too. Baxter is scared of his own shadow, but he can be brave when it matters most. We learned that when we were helping the sled team in Alaska. But it was too soon to celebrate. The water churned and Seaman vanished again. “The beaver won’t let go,” Baxter spluttered. “It keeps pulling him down.”

  I knew what I had to do. Baxter is the top dog for water-based rescue operations. But if it came down to a fight, he didn’t stand a chance. Labradors are just too gentle for their own good. This was a job for a terrier. “Hang in there,” I shouted. “I’m coming!” I ran along the cliff top to the point where the beach below narrowed to a thin strip. I could jump straight into the water from here. Maia was right behind me, ready to dive in, too, but I had a better idea. “Go alert the humans,” I told her. “We might need them.”

  As always in a crisis, Titch was nowhere to be seen.

  I looked down at the river below. It ran deep and swift and fierce. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. Never Leave a Dog Behind, I told myself. Even if that dog did call you a harebrained maniac …

  “Wait!”

  I opened my eyes. Newton was paddling toward Baxter and Seaman. “Look before you leap!” he shouted up at me. “The current has caught them … it’s bringing them … closer to you.” Newton panted out the words as he battled upriver. “If you time it right … you can land … next to them.”

  I looked back to where I’d last sighted Baxter. When his head appeared again, he was still clinging onto Seaman’s scruff. All my instincts told me to leap into action. But Newton was right. They were drifting closer, blood trailing after them like a banner. Soon they would be right below me. I could dive-bomb the beaver. Take it by surprise.

  I forced myself to wait …

  and wait …

  and then I leaped.

  There was a moment of confusion; frothing water, thrashing paws, choking, spluttering. Then I felt something solid beneath me. Had I landed on a rock? But no, it was moving. I was on the beaver’s back! It was a female, and even through the water, I could smell her fear and rage. Without stopping to think, or even breathe, I sank my teeth into her thick leathery tail and shook it for all I was worth.

  Blood and water rushed up my nose and into my throat. I hung on tight. The beaver flailed her tail so hard I thought my jaws would snap. Just when I thought I couldn’t hold on another moment, the beaver let go of Seaman’s leg.

  But the danger wasn’t over. Ripping her tail from my jaws, she surged back up at me from below, aiming her huge bloodred teeth at my belly.

  I kicked out hard and knocked her back.

  The beaver gave up the fight at last. She rolled over and swam away.

  I broke through the surface, gasping for air. Baxter was still holding Seaman up by his scruff. Newton had reached us now, too. We both grabbed some loose fur in our teeth to help Baxter. Seaman’s eyes were closed. I wasn’t even sure he was alive. Baxter didn’t look much better. “Keep swimming!” I mumbled. “Gotta … swim … to the shore…”

  “It’s no good,” Newton panted. “The current’s too powerful. It keeps sucking us back into the middle of the river.”

  10

  NO OTHER OPTIONS

  Seaman’s eyes fluttered open. “Snag…,” he murmured. “Snag … current…”

  I did a furious snort that Titch would have been proud of. We’d been savaged half to death by a blood-crazed beaver, and now we were about to drown. This was more than a snag. It was a major crisis.

  “Snag … current … rock … willow…”

  Seaman had clearly lost his mind.

  But suddenly Newton barked. “Of course! I know what Seaman’s trying to say. He’s telling us to work with the current. See those rocks in the middle of the river? If we steer that way, the current will carry us through the gap between them. It’s like a mini waterfall. It comes out just above a big willow that’s fallen across the river. I saw it earlier. That’s what he means by a snag. It’s a fallen tree. He reckons it will catch us.”

  “Will it work?” Baxter’s voice was muffled by soggy fur.

  Newton took a long time to reply. “Probably…”

  I didn’t like that word. What would happen if the snag didn’t catch us? We would probably be swept miles downriver. We would probably drown. But there were no other options. I gave the order. “Hold tight and head for the rocks!”

  Clinging on to Seaman’s scruff, we paddled toward the middle of the Missouri with all the strength we had left. Soon the current had us in its grasp, flinging us at the rocks. Somehow, we made it through the narrow gap. Round and round we spun, water crashing over us, rocks bashing into us, as we tumbled along on the torrent. At last I heard Maia’s voice. “Over here!” she barked. “This way!”

  I heard Sacagawea shouting, too. “Seaman! Hero!”

  I glimpsed them standing on the fallen willow tr
unk. Then I was underwater again. Something hit me across the back. We had washed up against the snag. We’d made it!

  I heard a splintering crack.

  A splash. The cry of a human pup.

  The tree trunk had broken.

  11

  BAD ATTITUDE

  I opened my eyes to darkness filled with the sounds and smells of sleeping humans and dogs. I was inside one of the shelters in the camp, tucked up on a warm blanket. But how did I get here? Where was my pack? Had I checked the corners for rats? “What happened?” I murmured.

  The others were curled up next to me. Maia spoke softly. “Don’t you remember, Trevor? Seaman was bitten by a beaver…”

  The memories flooded back. The current, the rocks, the snag. The terrible crack as the willow trunk broke.

  “The humans got there just in time,” said Newton. “They waded into the river and fished us out.”

  Baxter laughed. “We were like a bunch of big furry salmon! What a catch!”

  Everyone was safe! Relief washed over me. But there was someone missing! “Where’s Seaman?” I asked. “Did he make it?”

  “Come and see.” Newton led the way to the back of the tent. Seaman was lying on a pile of furs near Captain Lewis’s bed. His injured back leg was wrapped in bandages, but his chest rose and fell with slow, wheezy breaths. He was alive!

  “Captain Lewis carried him out of the water,” whispered Baxter. As if hearing his name, Lewis stirred in his sleep. He reached out and patted Seaman’s side.