Bones On Black Spruce Mountain Read online

  THEY HAD SPENT A FULL DAY CAMPING.

  THEY LOOKED FORWARD TO A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP. . . .

  Then suddenly from behind the lean-to, off toward Eagle Ledge, came a heart-stopping scream—not a howl, not a wail, but a scream. unlike any sound either boy had ever heard before. It was a horrifying, insane sound that gripped the boys with fear.

  "What was that!" Seth whispered.

  "I don't know."

  Both boys lay frozen in their sleeping bags, too afraid to, blink . . . .

  - BONES ON BLACK SPRUCE MOUNTAIN

  "Budbill achieves suspense and pace effectively . . . and is particularly adept at making the wilderness setting vivid."

  —Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books

  "Characterization is skillful."

  —The Horn Book

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  BONES ON BLACK SPRUCE MOUNTAIN

  A Bantam Book I published by arrangement with Dial Books for Young Readers

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Dial edition published May 1978

  Bantam Skylark edition I February 1984

  9 printings through April 1989

  Skylark Books is a registered trademark of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and elsewhere.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1978 by David Budbill.

  Cover art copyright © 1984 by Vicente.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

  in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording, or by any information

  storage and retrieval system, without permission in

  writing from the publisher.

  For information address: Dial Books for Young Readers.

  a Division of E. P. Dutton. Inc.,

  2 Park Avenue, New York. N.Y. 10016.

  ISBN 0-553-15596-2

  Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group. Inc. Its trademark consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marco Regis-trada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York. New York 10103.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  0 13 12 II 10

  For Frank and Eva,

  Keepers of the mountain

  Bones On

  Black Spruce Mountain

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 1

  “Do you think they’ll let us do it?” Daniel questioned.

  “I Don’t know,” Seth replied. “Let’s do it anyway. Just take off.”

  “They’d think we ran away. They’d send a search party.”

  “So what. We could hide. If they came looking for us they’d get lost.”

  “We wouldn’t?”

  “You want to back out? I think you’re scared.”

  “I am not! I want to make this trip as much as you do.”

  “Well if your getting cold feet sitting in your own dooryard, what are you going to be like up there on the mountain?”

  Seth and Daniel lay stretched out under the huge pine tree in Daniel’s dooryard staring at the mountains in front of them. They liked looking at the mountains and especially at the Mountain, Black Spruce Mountain. Four miles away as the crow flies, it stood above its neighbors like a huge fist thrusting againsr the sky. Just now the bare rock cliff on its western face shone darkly in the afternoon sun.

  Ever since the boys had been friends, they had watched the mountain together. It was more than just a mountain to them. They couldn’t say exactly what it represented but it was Important. Ravens nested there; bears lived in the cracks and caves; the big deer, the wise ones, the ones the hunters never shot, wandered there. Coyotes howled from its upper ridges, and even though no one had seen one, there were still stories that up there, somewhere near the top, a panther prowled the night. It was a place for no man, not to mention two thirteen-year-old boys. Yet, in an odd way, the mountain drew the boys to it. It was as if the mountain had a voice, as if it sang to them, calling them out and away from the safety and comfort of their homes, away from the ordered brightness of their daily lives and into the murky dangers of a mystery. The mountain was a wild and strange place, a place for dark creatures and marvelous adventures.

  “You think I can’t take it up there?” Daniel asked. “You can’t be serious. I know as much about the woods as you do, maybe more.”

  “You do not. I’ve lived around here all my life.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything? Just cause I haven’t been around here since I was a baby doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Well, I can take care of myself.”

  “So can I. I know what it’s like out there too. I know a hell of a lot more about how to survive than you do.”

  “Big man. Come off it, Daniel. Besides, nothing’s going to happen we can’t handle.”

  “I’m not saying it will. All I’m saying is, we better not get too cocky about this thing or we might end up being sorry.”

  “Okay. We won’t.”

  “I just don’t want to runaway, that’s all. Taking off like that is no good. You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “You Do?”

  Daniel stared at the ground. “I . . . ah, forget it.”

  It was late in August. Summer was almost gone. On the far hills the boys could see here and there a poplar or a soft maple turning yellow, red. Cries of insects filled the air. It was a frantic, intense sound, heard only at the end of summer, in those few weeks before the first killing frost. The green world was giving away. Soon the trees would stretch their skinny fingers against the sky. Fall, that cold invader, stood waiting impatiently on the other side of the mountains.

  Seth and Daniel knew they were like the insects; their summer lives were coming to an end. Two weeks from now, every morning, they would leave their hill farms and travel down the mountain to Judevine, the village in the valley below. School again. Their days of freedom were almost over.

  “Go ahead,” Seth said. “What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Daniel, you always do that! You’re always starting out on something and then stopping, like I wouldn’t understand. What is it?”

  “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. Look let’s not fight. It’s just our folks have got to k
now; we’ve got to ask them. I’m not going unless we do.”

  “Okay! Okay! We’ll ask.”

  From where they lay, the boys could see off to their right the upper end of Bear Swamp. The Great Blue heron who lived there moved about more now. He too knew the time to leave was coming. They could see the brook winding through the middle of the swamp. In their mind’s eye they could see the trout, the ones they hadn’t caught, finning quietly in the shadows. To their left the dirt road that passed in front of them slipped down into a small ravine, then climbed a hill and disappeared around a bend toward Seth’s house and a farm a mile further up the road. In front of them, beyond the barn the meadow, the woods began. From there as far as the two boys could see, there was nothing but trees and mountains. They were surrounded by trees; In fact, both Seth’s and Daniel’s farms were little more than small open places in a forest that seems to stretch endlessly away in every direction.

  “Daniel, we’ve just got to make this trip; we’ve got to climb Black Spruce. I want to know whats up there; I’ve always wanted to know, ever since I can remember.”

  “we’ll go. It’s important to me too.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “I think we ought to give ourselves a week, five days at least,” Daniel Continued. “It’s a long way up there and there’s no point in getting all the way up and having to turn right around and come back. We could start getting our stuff together in the morning, take off the next day.”

  “Good,” Seth said. “I’m going home. I’ll ask Dad. No, Mom. No Dad would probably be best. Tonight, before chores. You do the same. Come up to my house after breakfast and We’ll start packing. That is if . . .”

  “Don’t worry. They’ll say yes.”

  By the time Seth reached home, supper was on the table. Halfway through the meal he could contain himself no longer. He couldn’t wait to find his father alone. Besides, it might be better if he asked them both at once. “Ah, Daniel and I want to go camping in the mountains, okay?”

  “Not so fast,” his father said. “where do you want to go?”

  “We thought we’d go up to Tamarack Brook to Raven Hill and make a camp up near Morey’s old sugarhouse, where I was last fall. Then we could explore lost boy brook ravine from there and climb around on Eagle Ledge and Black Spruce. We’d be gone about five days.”

  “I don’t know,” his father said. “That’s a long time to be away. It sounds like risky business to me.”

  “It does to me too,” his mother said, “but he spent the night alone in the swamp last fall and that went all right. He works around the farm like an adult now; he’s getting older. I’m worried too, but I think we should let them do it.”

  “Well I suppose. But I don’t like it much.”

  Seth wanted to shout, but he didn’t. All he could think about was what was happening a mile down the road.

  The next morning as Seth and his parents sat eating breakfast, Daniel came running up the lane. He Burst into the house panting like a dog. The smile on his reddened face said it all. Seth’s mother laughed. “Well, I guess that settles it.”

  His father wasn’t laughing, only smiling a kind of halfhearted smile. “I suppose it does.”

  “Come on, Daniel, let’s go into the living room.”

  Seth spread the topographical map out on the living room floor.

  “We could take off from your house,” Seth said. “We can work our way up the Tamarack, up through here, and fish as we go. Then we can make camp near Morey’s sugarhouse the first night.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t spend time fishing until we get our camp built,” Daniel said. “we don’t know exactly how long it’ll take us to get to the sugarhouse. It looks like it’s about four miles from my place.

  That’s a pretty good walk for one morning through that kind of country with our packs. If we could get there in time for lunch, we’d have the afternoon to fish and get camp built”

  “You’re right,” Seth said. “We probably shouldn’t fish on the way up. It took me a long time to get up there last fall. Hey maybe we won’t have to build a camp the first day. Maybe we can spend the first night in the sugarhouse. There’s a shed off the back; I saw it last fall. There’s even a bunk and a stove in it. I bet if we cleaned it up a little, it would make a good camp. We could dump our stuff and go down to Lost Boy Brook and catch our dinner.”

  “Good idea. Then the next day we could fish, lie around and stuff, and get ready for our climb to Eagle Ledge and Black Spruce.”

  “Yeah.” Seth lowered his voice so his parents couldn’t hear. “maybe we could climb down the cliff on Black Spruce. Let’s take some rope.” Then his voice grew louder again. “When we got back, we could spend another night or two in camp and come home. Four or Five days. That’s what I told Dad.”

  With that settles, the boys began to get their equipment together. They tried to divide the weight evenly between the two packs.

  Each pack weighed about twenty-five pounds, easy to carry across a room, but another matter entirely to carry miles and miles up a mountain.

  Early the next morning Seth and his parents arrived at Daniel’s house. As the boys prepared to leave, their parents stood chatting nervously, trying not to show the concern they felt. Old man Bateau was in the kitchen too.

  Mr. Bateau was the next neighbor down the road. He lived alone. Almost every morning he came by to pay a call and gossip. The boys liked Mr. Bateau. He was the oldest man on the hill and full of stories about the wilderness. Until his wife died, Mr. Bateau had milked cows like the rest of the farmers on the hill, but he was never what you call a farmer, not the way Seth’s and Daniel’s fathers were. Old man Bateau never really cared for cows. He was first and foremost a woodsman, a logger. He was always the first man into the woods in the spring to cut next year’s fire wood. He was never really happy unless he smelled of sweat and pitch. Mr. Bateau was seventy-five now, but he could still work a day in the woods as well as any man. It seemed to the boys he knew more about the woods and the animals than any person alive.

  He had taught them everything they knew about camping. He was the one that showed them how to make a lean-to out of poles and boughs, how to start a fire with yellow birch bark, how to build a fire pit so that food would cook slowly and not burn. He had been a good teacher.

  When he heard the boys were making a trip, the old man’s eyes sparkled. He seemed almost more excited than they were. The boys knew somehow that only old man Bateau understood how much they wanted to go to the mountain.

  “So you babies go to da woods, eh?” Mr. Bateau often called the boys babies. Had anyone else in the whole world referred to them that way they would have been fighting mad, but coming from Mr. Bateau it was okay. They understood; in fact, they liked it. “I wish I could go too. You little fawns be careful. Da woods is good. Dey make you grow, ‘cause you see strange t’ing der. You see fear. Dat good for you. But be careful! Da woods don’t care for you da way your mudder and fadder do. Day soon as see you die up der as come back. Da woods don’t hurt you, but dey don’t he’p you neider. You mus’ be smart in da woods, not dumb like a cow. Da woods dey stronger dan little babies. Watch like a deer, den you be okay.

  “You boys go to da mountain too, no? Yes. I know. I go der once too, long time ago. You boys go look for da bones, too. I know, I know. Da bones no good! Stay away from da bones! Dat little baby lost and starved to death in dat cave, poor little t’ing, he go crazy; dey heard him cryin’ in da night. Stay away from da bones! My fadder seen ‘em once when he was young and dey turn his hair white as January. He see da fear too, only he be lucky; he come back. Babies you do what I ask you; don’t go near da bones!’

  There it was again. Seth and Daniel had heard the story of the bones on Black Spruce Mountain a thousand times it seemed. Every kid in Judevine knew the story.

  Seventy-five years before, in hardwick, the town on the otherside of the mountains, there was an orphan boy whose foster father beat him mercilessly. The b
oy ran away one day, off into the mountains, and was never seen again. Although search parties were formed and the mountains combed throughly, not a trace of the boy was ever found. Years later someone, nobody knows exactly who, found the skeleton of a boy in a cave on the western face of Black Spruce Mountain. The bones lie there to this day, or so the story went. Some people said that since the boy was never properly buried, his ghost haunted the mountain.

  For a few years after the boys disappearance, during haying, always during haying, people could hear howling, or maybe it was crying, from the mountain. Everyone agreed there was a strange sound up there, but they couldn’t agree what made the sound. Some said it was just bears howling like they sometimes do in the summer. Others claimed it was young coyotes. Others said it was proof there was still a panther up there. Still others said it proved the spirit of the boy really did haunt the mountain.

  Mr. Bateau’s version of the story said that the boy didn’t die right away, but rather that he learned how to survive and lived up there in the cave for years. Mr. Bateau claimed that the cries the villagers heard weren’t made by a ghost but by the boy himself and that the cries were cries of loneliness.

  For a few years after the boy disappeared, strange things happened on Mr. Bateau's farm. At that time Mr. Bateau's family lived on Daniel's place. The first year, in the fall, some canning jars of vegetables and meat disappeared from the cellar, and a couple of horse blankets and an old pair of woolen pants disappeared from the barn. The Bateaus were never sure that the things were actually stolen; maybe they were just misplaced, but it was strange nonetheless. Then the second year no food or clothing disappeared, but a shovel and a hoe came up missing. After that, for a few years nothing very unusual happened, but occasionally a part of an old machine or a piece of scrap metal or a small can of nails would be gone. Then nothing, no strange cries from the mountain, no little thefts, nothing.