The trail, which was quite narrow, went straight for a few yards and then looped around a tree. Beyond that it took another sharp turn around a boulder, all of which made it impossible to see ahead very far. Poppy crept along carefully, her pink nose up, sniffing. Her legs—even as they carried her forward—were poised to spring back and flee.
The farther Poppy went, the stronger was the smell she had detected. Without question it was an animal smell, but not one Poppy knew right away. What’s more, as she went on, the sounds grew louder. It occurred to her that whatever was around the bend was more than one creature.
She paused and wondered if her sister might be right— if she was too much of a risk taker. No, she thought. I am not going to let Lilly tell me how to act.
Resolved, Poppy crept forward. When she spied a tangle of roots by the side of the path, she threaded her way through. That brought her around the bend. After making sure she was hidden, she poked her head up.
Seated in the middle of the path ahead was a bear.
CHAPTER 10
The Bears
TO POPPY’S EYES, the bear, cinnamon brown in color with a patch of white splashed on her chest, was enormous, quite the largest animal Poppy ever had seen in Dimwood Forest. Not nearly so huge—but big enough—was the bear cub tumbling about between his mother’s legs. The cub was in a flurry of motion, climbing awkwardly on his mother only to tumble down and dart away, then to dash back, trip, hug his mother, and give her a lick before tumbling off again, but never too far.
Poppy might have found mother and infant cub a charming scene if it had not been so terrifying. Bears, she knew, were perfectly willing to eat mice.
As it was, she stared at the bears a moment too long. The little bear spied her, too. Bright brown eyes very large, mouth partly open, pink tongue extended, the cub gawked at Poppy, as if not believing what he was seeing, as if he had never seen such a little creature before. Poppy, captivated by the bear’s childish, comical expression, looked back.
The next moment the cub made a sudden leap to where Poppy was lodged. Poppy ducked just in time. But the cub, squealing and chuffing, stuck his drippy nose deep among the roots. Poppy squirmed away, only to find herself squeezed against another root, one she could not pass.
The cub shoved a paw down among the roots, close to Poppy. Heart hammering, Poppy pressed herself as flat as her spine would allow against a root. The cub’s claws stroked down her furry side. It was close but harmless. Still, Poppy knew it was only a matter of time before the cub did her real damage.
She looked for a way to escape, saw a small hole, dived into it, then scratched her way up, only to come up against the cub’s snorting wet nose again. Once more she dived, dropping into a crevice bounded by roots on three sides. With the excited cub clumping all about, pawing wildly, Poppy was momentarily safe—but trapped. She told herself to be patient: the cub would grow tired and back off. Instead, the cub began squealing, “Mama! Mama! Look!”
To Poppy’s horror, the mother bear rose up and lumbered over to see what was so interesting to her cub. Each step she took made the ground tremble.
“Help!” squealed Poppy in her highest voice. “Help!” Whom she was calling, she had no idea. She had told Junior to stay behind.
“All right, Brutus,” said the big bear as she came up to her cub. “What do you have there?”
“I don’t know what you call it,” said the cub.
“Let me see,” said the mother bear. She thrust her large black nose deep down among the roots very close to Poppy—so close her strong breath made Poppy gag. While the bear couldn’t quite reach her, Poppy could see her yellow teeth. There were a lot of them, all long and jagged.
The mother bear withdrew her snout. “Brutus,” she informed her cub, “what you have caught is a mouse.”
“Can I eat it?”
“If you want to. But you’ve only trapped it. Now you have to catch it.”
“How do I do that?” cried the little bear, hardly able to contain his excitement.
“Now Brutus, be patient. That bitty thing isn’t going anywhere, so just keep clawing and scratching. You’ll get to it soon enough. If it tries to run off, just slap it with your paw. That will kill it, but you can still eat it.”
“Can you show me how, Mama?”
“Of course I can. What you do is . . . oh my, what do we have here?” She turned about. So did the cub.
Poppy, taken equally by surprise, managed to look around. Mephitis was trotting around the bend. Riding just behind the skunk’s head was Junior. The young mouse called, “Hey, Mama, where are you?”
“Is that . . . mouse calling you ‘mama’?” the cub asked.
“No, Brutus, honey, I’m not the mouse’s mother. . . . Now come here with me.”
“Why?” said the cub. “Why can’t I play with that large one, too?” He bounded toward Mephitis.
“Brutus!” cried the mother bear. “Don’t!”
It was too late. As Brutus tumbled toward Mephitis, the skunk swiveled around, stood up on his forepaws, aimed his backside, and sprayed a double cloud of stink. The cub took it right in his face.
“Yipes!” he shrieked.
Trying to reverse his forward rush, the cub thrust out his paws and skittered to such a sudden halt that he tumbled forward, did a somersault, and landed flat on his back. “Mama!” he screamed. “Mama! It stinks! It stinks!”
The mother bear rushed forward, only to be met by a second smelly squirt from Mephitis.
With a roar, the bear smacked the skunk to one side, sending Junior flying in a different direction. Without pause
