LITMIR.BIZ

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eagle, swooped down and landed on a nearby stump.

      “Zornova, there is no time to explain, you must travel up over Spiny Ridge, then go down across the highway,” said Menki, who was almost out of breath.

      I hopped down from Zornova’s back. “You don’t need to carry me now,” I said, “I can easily keep up with the skunks.”

      Zornova took the lead while I brought up the rear. As you can imagine, it was hard to keep nine skunks moving. Even though we were in great danger from the fire they could not resist hesitating to overturn rocks and fallen branches in search of nuts, pinecones, and other edibles. Soon we were all out of breath from the climb. We looked back only to see that the fire had consumed most of Willow Meadow and would soon reach the base of the ridge we had just ascended. After a short minute’s rest we scrabbled quickly down the other side. Soon we reached a faint trail, which allowed us to quicken our pace. But Spritzer, the youngest skunk, and Skeezer, the oldest, were beginning to tire.

      “Zornova,” I cried from the rear of our procession, “Skeezer and Spritzer are tiring rapidly. Could you give them a ride?”

      Zornova retraced her steps towards us and then knelt down as the two ungainly skunks scrabbled up onto her back. All of us were now able to quicken our pace. The underbrush became thicker and thicker as we descended the far side of Spiny Ridge. Zornova charged through the underbrush helping to clear the path as we struggled through the tangle of shrubby plants and vines. I could not help but notice that she was bleeding in several places from wounds made by sharp limbs that had pierced her fur and skin. We kept on at this faster pace for what seemed like hours. Then suddenly Zornova halted. It was a moment before we could all catch our breath. Soon Zornova turned toward us and whispered, “Skeezer and Spritzer you must climb down from my back immediately. There are firefighters coming through the trees towards us. We will find a gap between them, but they still may see us, so we must look as we are expected to look. Just over the next small rise is the highway, so no more talking until we cross the highway and are out of earshot of the humans.”

      Skeezer and Spritzer dismounted as best they could. Again we headed on through the underbrush. Below us and to our right a squad of firefighters was starting a backfire in an attempt to contain the blaze before it reached the highway. I think two of them may have seen us, so it was good that Skeezer and Spritzer were not bison-back riding. That might have seemed a bit odd, even under the present dire circumstances. People just never give us any credit for our intelligence. We moved on down and over the small rise before Zornova stopped us several hundred yards from the highway.

      “Blinkers, you go ahead and find us a good place to cross the highway, someplace where there are no fire trucks or cars,” whispered Zornova.

      So down I went following a small streamlet that dribbled merrily down the rocky, brush covered slope. The sounds I heard as I approached the highway did not bode well. As soon as I was close enough I climbed a tree, only to discover a major traffic jam on the highway that stretched out below me. Cars, campers, and vans were bumper-to-bumper, moving southward very slowly. This was not good. How could our tired group of skunks make it across this crowded highway? I looked both south and north trying to find some alternative route. Then I recognized the bridge crossing over the south fork of Spiny Creek, about three hundred yards to the north. That bridge was high enough that even Zornova could fit beneath it. Quickly but carefully I climbed back down from my evergreen perch before I rushed back up the hill to report to Zornova.

      “So you see,” I said, breathing rapidly “we must go north, and then go under the bridge that crosses the south fork of Spiny Creek. Even you can fit beneath that bridge, and Skeezer, Spritzer, Rutorina, and the others can avoid the highway, which is just packed with tourists in their vans, campers, and cars.”

      “Good thinking, Blinkers,” interrupted Zornova “let’s get going. I will feel much better once we are on the other side of the highway.”

      Soon we were making our way beneath the bridge. Zornova had only a couple of inches clearance, but was able to pick her way along the creek as it flowed under the bridge. The honking cars and the sirens made the skunks nervous. They had to be soothed so they wouldn’t raise their tails and spray in response to their fear. Once we reached the edge of the forest beyond the highway we climbed up out of the creek bed. The skunks became calmer, but Skeezer began to complain that his legs ached and Spritzer whined and complained that his paws hurt. The rest of the skunks looked a bit bedraggled as well. It was then that Zornova announced that she knew of a safe haven for us.

      “We are not far from Big Sky Lake. Skeezer and Spritzer, you may climb up on my back again. We must hurry on to Beaver Island; there is no time to waste.”

      Wearily Skeezer and Spritzer ascended the slope of Zornova’s back. Some of the other skunks grumbled, mumbling that they were tired too. But they all hurried on as best they could as the smoke moved across the sky to block out the sun. It was another two miles to Big Sky Lake, and then another half mile beyond that to Beaver Island. I made a mental note to cross skunk herding off my list of possible career alternatives.

      Beaver Island

      When we reached the lakeshore, Zornova stopped and crouched down so that Spritzer, and Skeezer could dismount. Then she said, “We can rest when we reach the island. Right now all of you must forage and fill your stomachs for there will not be much to eat on Beaver Island.”

      Nobody argued, for it had been a long and difficult day with no time for eating. The skunks set about devouring seedpods and berries while Zornova cropped the tall grass near the water’s edge. I dug up some edible tubers and waded out into the lake to wash them. One by one, as each belly was filled the skunks returned to the water’s edge and rested. Spritzer, the least accomplished forager, was the last to return.

      As Spritzer ambled back towards our small group of refugees, Zornova spoke again “I can take five of you at a time. Blinkers you stay here with the four that remain.

      It was almost a hundred yards from the shore to Beaver Island. Most of the distance was shallow water. The skunks had to be coaxed up onto Zornova’s back, for they all feared the lake that seemed deep to them, even the shallow part that they would ford. Zornova waded slowly into the dark waters and then worked her way carefully between boulders and sunken logs. About two thirds of the way across, there was a shrill squeal from Skeezer; he became unsettled as Zornova began to swim through water too deep for wading. Soon they were on the island and Zornova struggled up out of the lake and unloaded her passengers.

      Zornova returned quickly to collect the remaining skunks for her second trip to the island. Rutorina had to be awakened before she could climb aboard.

      “Blinkers you climb on up too,” Zornova said, “there’s enough room on my back for you as well.”

      Though I could swim across, I was glad for a bison-back ride right now, for I was simply exhausted. It seemed like several days, rather than just part of one day, since we left the Geyser District Ranger Station to rescue this skaggle of nine very stubborn but timid skunks.

      Zornova was approaching the deeper water, where she would need to swim, when she stumbled over an unseen log hidden within the darkness of the lake. Rutorina tumbled into the water squeaking madly. Without thinking I jumped in after her.

      “You go on Zornova,” I cried from the water, “I can bring Rutorina by myself.”

      Soon I regretted my confidence, for Rutorina, even though she was exhausted, thrashed and struggled so that I thought I would never get hold of her. Finally she began to tire and sink. I grabbed the thick fur of her neck with my jaws just before her nose sank below the surface. Rutorina, now totally wearied, was more cooperative. Even though my heart was pounding rapidly and my forelegs ached from paddling towards the shore, we soon reached the shallows surrounding Beaver Island. Rutorina, once released from my jaws, shambled ashore rapidly. Once ashore she climbed up onto a flat rock ledge and shook herself until she was no longer waterlogged.

      “Oh, thank you Blinkers!” she gushed, as she gave me a skunk-stinky kiss on my cheek.

      “Just think nothing

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