hollows to hibernate in for the winter. She only hoped she wouldn’t fall into a bear’s chosen hollow. She recognized no Indian trails, saw no signs of human habitation, saw no more large animals except for a family of deer on the mountain where the mountain ash grew.
She found a huckleberry bush by a stream with a few berries on it the bears had missed. Greedily she stuffed them into her mouth. Then she sat down, took off her moccasins, and rubbed her tired feet. She leaned back against a large rock and listened to the rhythmic roar ofthe distant waterfall. After a few minutes she began to doze.
“No, I mustn’t,” she cried, and the sound of her own voice frightened her into wakefulness. She shoved her feet back into her moccasins. She searched the trees — probably for the fiftieth time that day — for moss and spiders and woodpecker drillings, then started off once more.
About an hour later, when the shadows had begun to lengthen across her path, Phoebe glimpsed a small meadow through the trees. She heard the growling and snarling of animals. She crept forward to the edge of the meadow. Over on the far side, by a small stream, she could see a pack of wolves tussling with something. Phoebe took a hasty step back. She felt a tree behind her. She grabbed a limb and swung herself up. Frantically, she reached for the next branch. She touched rough fur and let out a terrified squawk. The animal squawked, too, and scrambled farther up into the tree.
Oh, dear Father in Heaven, it’s a catamount, Phoebe thought. Above her the animal moved. She began to pray. There was no more movement on the branch above her. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up. A pair of terrified round black eyes looked back at her.
“You’re a bear,” gasped Phoebe. She almost let go of her branch, she was so frightened. Her thoughts raced: Wolves ate other animals all thetime — they could eat people — bears didn’t eat people, but they had such terrible claws. She looked up at the bear. She looked down and across the meadow. She could see, from this height, what the wolves were tussling over. It was the carcass of a large black bear. For a moment her stomach heaved. She took a deep breath and looked up again. The bear way above her in the tree looked quite small, not full grown. What’s more, it still looked as frightened as she felt. I think I know who you are, she thought; that was your mama, wasn’t it?
“I won’t hurt you, if you don’t hurt me,” whispered Phoebe. She hiked up her skirt, wrapped her arms securely around the limb of the tree, and settled herself on the branch. A few branches above her, the bear stared down at her. It did not move. It did not make a sound.
“Bear,” she whispered, after a few minutes, “we might be here all night, just the two of us, and those villains down there.”
She had no sooner spoken when she heard a loud meow and a large orange cat sprang into her lap. She stifled a scream and clutched her tree branch frantically. George glared at her and dug his sharp claws into her knees.
“I was wrong,” croaked Phoebe. “There are three of us. George, where did you come from? Where have you been all day?” She hugged him with one arm. He bit her. She slipped andgrabbed George by his tail. He yowled and dug his claws in deeper. She managed to right herself, shaking with fright. She turned her head quickly to see if the wolves had heard the noise, but if they had they paid no attention.
They had finished with the carcass of the bear. One by one, they were loping off into the woods.
She waited a while after the last one had gone. Then, holding tightly to the cat, she eased herself from the branch and slid down the tree trunk. George jumped to the ground. Phoebe stood leaning against the tree with her head back, her eyes closed. Gradually, she sensed the presence of someone close by. She opened her eyes to see the bemused face of a tall, young Mohawk man not a foot from her.
Peter
She found a huckleberry bush by a stream with a few berries on it the bears had missed. Greedily she stuffed them into her mouth. Then she sat down, took off her moccasins, and rubbed her tired feet. She leaned back against a large rock and listened to the rhythmic roar ofthe distant waterfall. After a few minutes she began to doze.
“No, I mustn’t,” she cried, and the sound of her own voice frightened her into wakefulness. She shoved her feet back into her moccasins. She searched the trees — probably for the fiftieth time that day — for moss and spiders and woodpecker drillings, then started off once more.
About an hour later, when the shadows had begun to lengthen across her path, Phoebe glimpsed a small meadow through the trees. She heard the growling and snarling of animals. She crept forward to the edge of the meadow. Over on the far side, by a small stream, she could see a pack of wolves tussling with something. Phoebe took a hasty step back. She felt a tree behind her. She grabbed a limb and swung herself up. Frantically, she reached for the next branch. She touched rough fur and let out a terrified squawk. The animal squawked, too, and scrambled farther up into the tree.
Oh, dear Father in Heaven, it’s a catamount, Phoebe thought. Above her the animal moved. She began to pray. There was no more movement on the branch above her. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up. A pair of terrified round black eyes looked back at her.
“You’re a bear,” gasped Phoebe. She almost let go of her branch, she was so frightened. Her thoughts raced: Wolves ate other animals all thetime — they could eat people — bears didn’t eat people, but they had such terrible claws. She looked up at the bear. She looked down and across the meadow. She could see, from this height, what the wolves were tussling over. It was the carcass of a large black bear. For a moment her stomach heaved. She took a deep breath and looked up again. The bear way above her in the tree looked quite small, not full grown. What’s more, it still looked as frightened as she felt. I think I know who you are, she thought; that was your mama, wasn’t it?
“I won’t hurt you, if you don’t hurt me,” whispered Phoebe. She hiked up her skirt, wrapped her arms securely around the limb of the tree, and settled herself on the branch. A few branches above her, the bear stared down at her. It did not move. It did not make a sound.
“Bear,” she whispered, after a few minutes, “we might be here all night, just the two of us, and those villains down there.”
She had no sooner spoken when she heard a loud meow and a large orange cat sprang into her lap. She stifled a scream and clutched her tree branch frantically. George glared at her and dug his sharp claws into her knees.
“I was wrong,” croaked Phoebe. “There are three of us. George, where did you come from? Where have you been all day?” She hugged him with one arm. He bit her. She slipped andgrabbed George by his tail. He yowled and dug his claws in deeper. She managed to right herself, shaking with fright. She turned her head quickly to see if the wolves had heard the noise, but if they had they paid no attention.
They had finished with the carcass of the bear. One by one, they were loping off into the woods.
She waited a while after the last one had gone. Then, holding tightly to the cat, she eased herself from the branch and slid down the tree trunk. George jumped to the ground. Phoebe stood leaning against the tree with her head back, her eyes closed. Gradually, she sensed the presence of someone close by. She opened her eyes to see the bemused face of a tall, young Mohawk man not a foot from her.
Peter
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