Dinosaur Hideout (12 page)

A ruthless road maintenance crew had removed them, they said, to make way for a wider improved road and a deeper drainage ditch. After that, the weather had turned cold and stormy and they’d just left the twisted piles of earth and torn branches until next spring. He had no idea why his father hadn’t gone ahead and moved them. Maybe it had something to do with the trees having been planted as seedlings in two neat rows by his caring great-grandfather many years ago.

He shuddered now as he looked at the gaping holes left by the uprooted spruce and caragana. To him, the scarred landscape looked as if someone had slashed a knife across a painted masterpiece. It was just as bad. He felt like someone had stabbed him, too. He sighed and climbed on board the big yellow bus that had just screeched to a halt in front of him.

All day he fidgeted in school, trying to think of a way his family could keep living on the farm. And how could he convince Pederson to announce his finds? Lost in thought, he barely realized when his class began rehearsing the play for the Christmas concert until everyone fell silent waiting for him to say his lines. He was playing the part of Scrooge in
The Christmas Carol.
Once he remembered the lines and delivered them, he got right into it. At the end he was surprised by everyone clapping at how well he’d portrayed being miserable. If only they knew.

He tried harder to pay attention, but by the end of the afternoon in Math class he’d have had detention, except that the supervising teacher had to coach a basketball game. He let Daniel off with a stern warning. Daniel breathed a sigh of relief and escaped. At least for the time being. When he got home the fatal decision might be made.

He was barely aware he was riding the school bus for home until it slowed approaching his stop. That’s when he spotted the For Sale signs leaning against the workshop in the yard.

He jumped down from the bus and ran. He burst through the barn door, nearly stepping on a kitten. He ran down the length of the barn until he found Dad in a stall with Lily. Dad sat on the milking stool with the half-filled pail at his feet, staring into space.

“No, we can’t go,” Daniel choked out. He stood against the railing, struggling to swallow the hard lump rising in his throat. “There must be something more we can do.”

“Danny, I know you’re devastated, Son, but there’s no alternative,” said Dad, recovering from the shock of Daniel’s abrupt entrance. He continued quietly, without energy, “We’ve already explained this. You’re just going to have to get used to the idea. Like the rest of us.”

“I don’t want us to go,” Daniel repeated stubbornly. Then more defiantly, he declared, “I won’t go.”

Nothing could justify leaving the only home they’d ever known. Their animals. He would never sell Gypsy or leave Dactyl behind. And what about Jed? And his secret hiding place? What was wrong with Dad? He had never been a quitter. So why give up now?

“Please be reasonable.” Dad sounded exhausted. “There isn’t much hope in farming anymore, Son. It’s the same all over the prairies. We just have to face facts.” He rose and carried the pail to the milking room. He’d forgotten to take the stool. Daniel followed behind with it.

“Face facts? You haven’t even given anything else a chance,” he criticized, shoving the stool against a wall near the milking-room door. “I know times haven’t been so good, but there has to be something we can do. What about you taking a job off the farm for a while? Maybe on the oil rigs or something.”

“I looked into that, Daniel, but I’m too old to get on the rigs. And work on the highway crews doesn’t start until the late spring. I don’t have much education, and there’s no work around here. We’ll have to move someplace where I’ll have a shot at finding something. And where your mom can get a better-paying nursing job, too.” Dad shook his head and concluded in a quiet voice, “The only way is to sell. Sounds like the Nelwins are interested in buying our place.”

“No, you can’t be serious,” Daniel blindly stumbled to the feed room, fighting back tears. The decision seemed final.
I won’t cry, I won’t,
he told himself as Dactyl ran to him with his tail wagging excitedly. Jumping on his chest, the dog licked his face. Daniel’s arms tightened around his pet for several minutes.

“Come on boy,” he said eventually, his voice cracked and muffled. “Let’s go feed Gypsy.”

Mechanically, he fed his horse and patted her muzzle. As Daniel talked to Gypsy in a soothing voice, Dactyl sniffed about the barn. Then Daniel noticed that his dad had left the door open to the milk separating room, with the pails of fresh milk sitting on the floor. The kittens were already heading in that direction. He hurried over to close the door, then turned to watch Dad leave. His shoulders were slumped and he seemed to shuffle instead of stepping quickly. It was like he had nowhere to go. There was something definitely wrong with him.

Daniel fed the rest of the cattle, and then moved mounds of straw around the stall with the pitchfork and readjusted Gypsy’s pail of water several times. Finally though, he had no other reason to stay. He closed the stable door as quietly as he could. Outside, glancing at the house, he decided he wasn’t ready for another confrontation, especially with Mom, who he could see in the kitchen window preparing supper.

Instead, he headed on foot for the wood-covered hills behind the barn. He’d visit his hideout for a few minutes before dark and try to come up with a plan. He peered at the dark smudges of cloud streaked across the indigo sky.

He picked up a stick and threw it. Dactyl sprang to retrieve it. Again and again, Daniel threw the stick as they crossed the pasture. He was oblivious to his changing surroundings and the leaden sky. After awhile, the golden retriever grew tired of fetching the branch. He was more intent on sniffing out animal tracks instead.

Then suddenly, Dactyl caught a fresh scent and bounded off through the bush in frenzied pursuit. Lost in thought, Daniel hardly noticed the dog disappear, nor did he see the buildup of threatening clouds to the west, until the first snow crystals stung his face.

“Dactyl, come on, boy. It’s time to get back,” he shouted. The increasing wind flipped the ties from his parka hood into his face. “Here, boy.”

He repeatedly called Dactyl to come. He could hear the yips of the dog closing in on his prey. There was no calling him back now; Daniel would just have to wait until he tired and returned to him. That’s when he noticed that the heavily falling snow was making everything look a deceptive white.

Urgently, he began calling his dog again, but the escalating pitch of the wind blew his voice away before it could reach Dactyl’s ears. He would just have to start back without him. Dactyl would find his own way. As he turned for home, the snow began coming down more thickly, and the wind increased. He squinted and bowed his head to keep the driving snow out of his face, plodding forward.

All at once, he realized he wasn’t sure anymore which way to go. The trail of footprints he’d made through the snow had disappeared and he couldn’t see a foot in front of him! The intensifying snowfall and blustering wind obscured his vision. It was getting dark. He peered into the blankness. Should he head instead to his hideout? When he turned around there was only a white wall.

He gasped as an icy blast of wind took his breath away. Eddies of snow swirled all around him. Jerking his toque down over his numb forehead, he nestled his chin as far down as it would go into his coat collar. Turning, he thought he’d retrace his trail, but as quickly as he had stepped, his footsteps had disappeared in the blowing snow.

He trudged on, stumbling through the shifting snow, hoping he was headed towards home. Hunger pangs gnawed at his middle, but all he found in his pockets were a couple of sticks of gum. He couldn’t take his mitts off to open them. If he could find his cave, he should be snug until the storm blew over. He’d be able to eat those chocolate bars and beef jerky he had stashed in the old coffee tin for an emergency, too. At the time, he hadn’t imagined anything as serious as the blizzard howling around him now.

Blindly he pushed on, staggering through the knee-deep drifts, wallowing and falling and rising again. Where was Dactyl? He hoped he was all right in a natural shelter somewhere. Or maybe he’d gone home and someone was right this minute out looking for Daniel. On the other hand, where would they look? Daniel couldn’t see a thing with the snow stinging his eyes. How could anyone see him?

Almost at that instant, he tripped over a branch. He fell on his knees against a tree, gasping. The snow continually swirled around him, and a gust of wind blew some inside his coat collar and down the back of his neck, making him shiver even more. Then he thought he glimpsed a shaft of light through the trees. Great! He would head that way. Maybe it was the yardlight and he wasn’t far from home.

Dragging himself to his feet, he continued to struggle along, clapping his hands together to keep the numbness away. The more he walked though, the farther away the light seemed to be, until abruptly it disappeared and he knew he was lost. Urgently, he began calling Dactyl, again and again. But there was no answering bark.

His thoughts jumbled and crashed together. He knew he must stay calm.
Think,
he reminded himself. What had he learned last year in 4-h about wilderness survival? Hadn’t even pioneers known enough to dig themselves into a snowbank to keep warm?

As icy crystals stung him, he spotted a likely looking snowed-under embankment. He fell to his knees and frantically began burrowing into the drift. From out of nowhere, Dactyl whimpered and scrabbled in the deep whiteness beside him. The dog seemed to sense the urgency and pawed into the snowbank next to him.

Clawing and scooping handful after handful of the drifted snow, Daniel was making progress, but he was also beginning to tire.
Mustn’t stop, mustn’t fall asleep. Whistle!
He tried, but could only hiss through his teeth. Then, puffing and grunting, he struggled to carve out a circular shelter.

How deep should he tunnel? His dog whined. Daniel had to make the indentation big enough for both him and Dactyl to crawl into.

Ouch! His mittened hand hit something hard. A rock? No, it sounded hollow. More like some sort of wood, maybe boards with an empty space behind them. He clawed faster, uncovering a knob. It was an old door of some sort! What was a door doing out here?

With a shock, Daniel realized he had no idea where he was. He only knew he’d come a long way and he really needed to find a good shelter, and fast. As it was, he could hardly feel his legs, feet, and hands. He was exhausted and chilled to the bone. He could freeze to death if he didn’t get warm soon. And he didn’t want to be alone in this maelstrom. He cleared away more snow, then began pounding on the wooden slab with his mittened fists.

“Help! Somebody help me!” he yelled, hammering on the boards. As he tried kicking at the door, tingling slivers of cold shot into his numbed feet. Why wouldn’t anyone answer? Of course! The door had been buried in snow. It was probably never used. Maybe it was just an old root cellar. Or maybe it didn’t lead anywhere. What if it wasn’t even a door? Just a piece of scrap? What was he going to do?

Abruptly a heavy padded hand or paw grasped his shoulder and spun him around. Daniel gaped at the snow-encrusted mass. His whole body shuddered. Who or what was it? Then he heard a low growl. He cowered. Why wasn’t Dactyl reacting? What was he going to do?

Chapter Nine

A
ll at once, exhaustion overcame Daniel.
He sagged. Even Dactyl seemed too tired to fight. They all stood frozen. Then Daniel took a peek. He still couldn’t make sense of the looming shape. Then he heard another growl. All at once, the one figure separated into two. Bear and Pederson!

Bear whined, watching Pederson.

“Oh, it’s you is it?” Pederson rasped out through a fit of coughing. “I wondered who was making all the racket at my back door. What in tarnation are you doing here on a devilish night like this?”

He didn’t seem to be looking for an answer, so Daniel just stared up at him.

“We can’t get in this way. Follow me, you darn-blamed young fool,” Pederson gasped, once he had caught his breath. “And bring your mutt with you.”

Daniel obeyed trancelike, summoning Dactyl to his side. He struggled to keep up with Pederson’s disappearing back in the dark, tried to follow his footprints through the swirling layers of snow. They seemed to be circling around a huge bluff of trees that would probably lead them to the front of the old man’s shack.