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Authors: Julie Campbell
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mountain. Those pine needles felt hot enough to burn her, too. As she sped, she became part of a great nest of needles, all tangled with a family of field mice, a chipmunk, and the slapping branches of bushes.
Just when she feared she was surely going to the very floor of the valley itself, she saw that up ahead a huge pine had toppled over, dangling one limb into the log chute.
And on that toppled tree... was a huge, furry, gray beast!
With bleeding hands, Trixie made one last effort to save herself. She failed, but at least the collected needles and her berry pail whammed the limb before she herself did. Trixie stopped with such a sharp jerk that her neck snapped back and she bit the tip of her tongue. Tasting blood, Trixie shook her head, not daring to allow herself one second of blackout as long as that bear—or whatever it was—was around.
Trixie’s pine needle hurricane startled the great gray beast from its nap. It let out a roar, then rose instantly to its feet, seeming to block out the entire sky.
From under a shelf like brow, great red eyes stared at the terrified girl. Yellow teeth shone wetly. Huge dangling hands moved when the grayish shoulders shrugged.
Then the beast leaped. Bushes crunched from its immense weight. With a quick clatter of teeth, it turned away—and disappeared into the underbrush.
Not daring to move yet, Trixie made a quick survey, decided she had broken no bones, and concluded that she had escaped the beast for the moment.
But what was she to do now? She dared not shout for help, lest the beast itself hear her fright and return.
She listened with the intensity of a mouse trapped under a cat’s clawed paw. She heard a clucking, chattering sound and then a by-now-familiar suka, suka, suka.
“Oh, no!” Trixie moaned. Could there be two of the beasts, conferring about how best to trap this unusually soft, furless animal that was herself?
So near to hysteria that she knew she would burst into wild laughter or uncontrollable tears if she made a sound, Trixie pulled her bleeding tongue between her bruised lips and counted silently, One, two, three, four, five! One, two , three, four, five! over and over. When the rhythm had calmed the throbbing in her throat, the tight rubber band around her head stretched enough to allow her to think.
“What was that?” she muttered. She had assumed that it was a bear, for what else of that great size roamed this wilderness, and what else was capable of standing erect and walking on two feet? But why had she thought hands instead of paws when that beast had stood up? And why did the odor of rotten fish linger to mix with the sickening sweetness of crushed huckleberries and the turpentine of pine needles?
Flies, gnats, and yellow jackets buzzed annoyingly, attracted by the crushed berries and the damp, salty fear on her skin. Trixie forced herself to stand. Clinging to the dangling small branches of the pine tree’s limb, she gazed up at the distance she’d come in a few heartbeats’ time. Nothing looked familiar to her. There was only one safe way back to the others in her group, and that was up that slippery log chute!
Trixie took a cautious step and discovered that the soles of her boots would grip the chute if she stepped firmly enough.
Before she could go any farther, she just had to do something about those slivers. Using fingernails and teeth, Trixie picked out the three most painful pine slivers. Then she gritted her teeth and began the climb up the long, steep, hot route that she had come down at such breakneck speed.
With each three or four inching steps, she paused to watch for the beast. She had heard that a bear staked out a claim on a mountain. Whether bear or sasquatch, it might return to assert its ownership.
Trixie could only keep climbing. Although keenly aware of fatigue, she stubbornly duck-walked the edges of the chute. Occasionally she fell. Once she slid back downhill but managed to stop herself, even though her
Just when she feared she was surely going to the very floor of the valley itself, she saw that up ahead a huge pine had toppled over, dangling one limb into the log chute.
And on that toppled tree... was a huge, furry, gray beast!
With bleeding hands, Trixie made one last effort to save herself. She failed, but at least the collected needles and her berry pail whammed the limb before she herself did. Trixie stopped with such a sharp jerk that her neck snapped back and she bit the tip of her tongue. Tasting blood, Trixie shook her head, not daring to allow herself one second of blackout as long as that bear—or whatever it was—was around.
Trixie’s pine needle hurricane startled the great gray beast from its nap. It let out a roar, then rose instantly to its feet, seeming to block out the entire sky.
From under a shelf like brow, great red eyes stared at the terrified girl. Yellow teeth shone wetly. Huge dangling hands moved when the grayish shoulders shrugged.
Then the beast leaped. Bushes crunched from its immense weight. With a quick clatter of teeth, it turned away—and disappeared into the underbrush.
Not daring to move yet, Trixie made a quick survey, decided she had broken no bones, and concluded that she had escaped the beast for the moment.
But what was she to do now? She dared not shout for help, lest the beast itself hear her fright and return.
She listened with the intensity of a mouse trapped under a cat’s clawed paw. She heard a clucking, chattering sound and then a by-now-familiar suka, suka, suka.
“Oh, no!” Trixie moaned. Could there be two of the beasts, conferring about how best to trap this unusually soft, furless animal that was herself?
So near to hysteria that she knew she would burst into wild laughter or uncontrollable tears if she made a sound, Trixie pulled her bleeding tongue between her bruised lips and counted silently, One, two, three, four, five! One, two , three, four, five! over and over. When the rhythm had calmed the throbbing in her throat, the tight rubber band around her head stretched enough to allow her to think.
“What was that?” she muttered. She had assumed that it was a bear, for what else of that great size roamed this wilderness, and what else was capable of standing erect and walking on two feet? But why had she thought hands instead of paws when that beast had stood up? And why did the odor of rotten fish linger to mix with the sickening sweetness of crushed huckleberries and the turpentine of pine needles?
Flies, gnats, and yellow jackets buzzed annoyingly, attracted by the crushed berries and the damp, salty fear on her skin. Trixie forced herself to stand. Clinging to the dangling small branches of the pine tree’s limb, she gazed up at the distance she’d come in a few heartbeats’ time. Nothing looked familiar to her. There was only one safe way back to the others in her group, and that was up that slippery log chute!
Trixie took a cautious step and discovered that the soles of her boots would grip the chute if she stepped firmly enough.
Before she could go any farther, she just had to do something about those slivers. Using fingernails and teeth, Trixie picked out the three most painful pine slivers. Then she gritted her teeth and began the climb up the long, steep, hot route that she had come down at such breakneck speed.
With each three or four inching steps, she paused to watch for the beast. She had heard that a bear staked out a claim on a mountain. Whether bear or sasquatch, it might return to assert its ownership.
Trixie could only keep climbing. Although keenly aware of fatigue, she stubbornly duck-walked the edges of the chute. Occasionally she fell. Once she slid back downhill but managed to stop herself, even though her
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