Tales from the Backwoods

By Lunsford

Dive into the enchanting and untamed world of the backwoods with "Tales from the Backwoods: Stories of the Wild," a compelling collection of short stories that bring the raw beauty and fierce challenges of wilderness life to vivid life. Each tale immerses readers in the rugged landscapes and vibrant wildlife of the great outdoors, capturing the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tracey Lunsford
• Release date: Jun 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798330215317

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Group Default_Create_a_captivating_book_cover_for_Tales_from_the_Bac_3.jpg Tales from the Backwoods : Stories of the Wild… Tales from the Backwoods : Stories of the Wild Line Line Tracey Lunsford

The White-slashed Bull

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With her back crushed under the enormous weight of a deadfall, the mother moose lay dying, her life ebbing away into the sweet spring air. The cunningly rigged log, loaded with rocks, had pinned her just above the shoulders, forcing her forward so that her front legs were trapped beneath her, and her neck was outstretched, unable to lift her muzzle from the wet moss. Though her eyes were glazing and her nostrils filled with frothy, blood-streaked breath, she periodically struggled to raise her head, yearning to lick the wobbling legs of her bewildered calf, which stood close by, unable to understand why she wouldn't rise to nurse him.

The dying moose lay in the middle of an old, nearly forgotten logger's road, stretching straight east into the glowing spring sunrise. Young birches and poplars, lightly veiled in early green, crowded close to the trail, interspersed with rose-blooming maples and towering, somber hemlocks. The early air was fresh and soft, fragrant with the scent of opening buds. Faint mists rose into the sunlight along the mossy trail, and the only sounds breaking the wilderness silence were the sweet calls of two rain-birds, slowly answering each other over the treetops. The tenderness of the colors, the air, the mating birds' calls, and the waking world's hope and expectancy seemed cruelly at odds with the stricken mother's anguish and her calf's plight in the solitude of the trail.

Suddenly, a twig snapped sharply in the undergrowth beside the trail, a few paces beyond the deadfall. Instinctively, the calf lifted his big, awkward ears in apprehension and drew closer to his mother's crushed body. Moments later, a gaunt black bear emerged from the undergrowth, surveying the scene with shrewd, savage eyes. He was hungry, and to his palate, nothing in the spring wilderness compared to the delicacy of a young moose calf. But the situation gave him pause. The mother moose was evidently trapped, and the bear was wary of traps. He sank back into the undergrowth and crept closer to investigate. In his suspicious eyes, even a calf might be dangerous under such unusual circumstances. As he vanished, the calf shuddered violently and tried to climb onto his mother's mangled body.

Seconds later, the bear's head reappeared near the base of the deadfall. Craftily, he sniffed at the timber pinning the moose cow. The calf was almost within reach of his deadly paw, but the strong scent of man on the deadfall made the bear hesitate. While he deliberated, the sound of footsteps approached from a bend in the trail. The bear recognized the sound: a man was coming. Certain now of a trick, he grunted in indignant disgust and shrank back into the thicket, fleeing stealthily from the dangerous vicinity. Hungry as he was, he had no desire to confront a human.

The woodsman, striding hurriedly down the trail, rounded the turn and stopped abruptly. He instantly recognized the evil work of poachers. With indignant pity, he stepped forward and mercifully drew his knife across the suffering animal's throat. The calf shrank back, staring anxiously at the man, torn between fear and the possibility of trust.

For a moment, the man hesitated. He was certain of one thing: the poachers who had set the deadfall would not benefit from their cruel trap. Moreover, fresh moose meat would be welcomed at his backwoods cabin. Turning, he retraced his steps at a run, fearing other spring predators might arrive in his absence. The calf, more terrified than ever by his mother’s stillness, watched uneasily as the man disappeared.

For half an hour, nothing happened. The early chill faded from the air, replaced by a comforting warmth that settled along the trail. The two rain-birds continued their long, persuasive, melancholy calls, and the calf stood motionless, waiting with the patient endurance of the wild, not knowing what to expect. Then came the sound of clanking chains, the trampling of heavy feet, and around the bend appeared the man again, this time with a pair of big brown horses harnessed to a drag-sled. The calf backed away as the man approached and watched in dull wonder as the great log was rolled aside and his mother’s limp, crushed form was laboriously hoisted onto the sled. This done, the man turned and approached