Dinosaur Hideout

1. Title Page
   
2. Book & Copyright Information
   
3. Dedication
   
4. Chapter One
   
5. Chapter Two
   
6. Chapter Three
   
7. Chapter Four
   
8. Chapter Five
   
9. Chapter Six
   
10. Chapter Seven
    
11. Chapter Eight
    
12. Chapter Nine
    
13. Chapter Ten
    
14. Chapter Eleven
    
15. Chapter Twelve
    
16. Epilogue
    
17. Bibliography
    
18. Vocabulary/Descriptions
    
19. Acknowledgements
    
20. About the Author
    

© Judith Silverthorne, 2003.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Edited by Joanne Gerber

Cover and text illustrations by Aries Cheung

Cover and book design by Duncan Campbell

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Silverthorne, Judith, 1953-

Dinosaur hideout / Judith Silverthorne.

ISBN 1-55050-226-3

I. Title.

ps8587.i2763d56 2003 jc813'.54 c2003-910494-x

pz7.s54di 2003

Available from:

Coteau Books

2517 Victoria Avenue, Regina Saskatchwan Canada S4P0T2

www.coteaubooks.com

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the financial assistance of the Saskatchewan Arts Board, the Canada Council for the Arts, including the Millennium Arts Fund, the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development
Program (
BPIDP
),
and the City of Regina Arts Commission, for its publishing program.

This book is dedicated to my son, Aaron,
who shared his curiosity and his dinosaur books,

and to my parents, Stan and Elaine Iles,

and to my nieces “down-under” –
Tayla, Zara, & Shania

Chapter One

T
he darkness of early morning enveloped Daniel
as he slipped out the back door of the two-storey house. From the shadows of the snowy lane, he glanced back warily at his mother framed in the yellow glow of the kitchen window. He hoped she wouldn’t notice him leaving. He didn’t want to explain where he was headed.

At the moment, she had her back to the window and was sweeping her shoulder-length blonde hair into an elastic to keep it out of the way while she cleaned the kitchen. Daniel could see her determined face reflected in the mirror. She had the same dark brown eyes as him, but she was short and a little on the stocky side, while he looked more like his father – tall and slender.

Beyond his mom, he could see his plump six-month-old baby sister, Cheryl, in her high chair, playing with her pablum. Her blue eyes were probably sparkling with delight as she mushed it into the soft curls of her blonde hair. She loved to make a mess. As she plonked her spoon onto the floor, Mom bent to retrieve it. Daniel hurried past the large window. Mom would be kept busy preparing Cheryl for the babysitter before she left for her part-time nursing job in Climax, their nearest town. Mom had hoped to quit working after she had Cheryl, but they needed the money, so she still took as many hours as she could.

Daniel yanked his toque down on his head and quickened his pace. He’d have to hurry to get back home in time to do his morning chores before the school bus arrived, but he didn’t care. He just
had
to check out his latest discovery. And that meant going to his special hideout. He might not have another chance till the weekend.

Shoving his mittened hands into his pockets, he plunged ahead. His boots squeaked and crunched across the snow-encrusted farmyard. He headed past the corrals where several horses milled about. Their snorts of recognition created puffs of fog in the brisk air. Gypsy whinnied at him.

Daniel walked over to his grey pinto mare and patted her soft warm neck. Gypsy nuzzled his toque and nibbled at his ear, messing his already unruly mass of dark brown hair even further. He slipped her a small carrot from his pocket, and gave her one more neck scratch before continuing on towards the pasture. Gypsy followed for a few steps, her hoofs crunching on the frozen ground, but Daniel shook his head.

“Not now, girl,” he said, straightening his hat. Gypsy tossed her head with a snort and went back to the trough of grain.

To the east streaks of reddish gold emerged just over the horizon, casting the barn and granaries in shadowy outlines. Daniel passed a dark line of spruce and elm trees that encircled the buildings. Then he reached the open rolling landscape of the snow-covered pasture, all greyish white and billowy like endless clouds hanging low in the drab sky.

For all of his eleven years, Daniel had lived on the family farm, like his father, his grandparents, and great-grandparents before him. In the late 1800s, his great-grandfather Ezekiel Bringham had staked out the usual 160-acre quarter-section homestead, which lay in southwest Saskatchewan.

Daniel thought about the stories he’d heard, sitting on his grandfather’s lap. How the family had managed to expand the farm by buying more land, but over the years it had dwindled again during the bad droughts, and other bouts of serious crop failure and low cattle prices. All that was left of the Bringham farm now was the home quarter with the house and outbuildings on it, one quarter for crops, and the quarter of pasture land that Daniel walked across. Not much for a prairie mixed-farm operation.

Tugging his toque farther down over his ears, he watched his breath emerge in the frosty air. Then he caught sight of his dog. He whistled.

“Dactyl, here boy.”

A tail-wagging, slobbering golden retriever mutt greeted him from an adjacent bluff of trees. Daniel balanced himself on a hard ridge of snow as he murmured and patted his excited pet.

Dactyl had been given to him two years before by his parents, for his ninth birthday. He’d named the pup after one of his favourite Cretaceous period dinosaurs, because he’d dashed about and dive-bombed on his prey as if he were airborne like the flying reptile, the pterodactyl. The name was quickly shortened to Dactyl.

“All right, boy. All right.” He grabbed the dog’s collar and settled him back on the ground. He gave him one last scratch behind the ear, and then said, “We’ve got to hurry. Come on.”

They trudged across the snow-covered ground, winding through several gullies and over gentle slopes. Dactyl occasionally disappeared around scrubby bush or over a dip, sniffing in search of an elusive rabbit. A slight breeze made the air brisk and tingly on Daniel’s cheeks. In the distance, he heard the drone of a snowmobile. It was probably Doug Lindstrom, his best friend’s dad, checking on his cattle.

As they walked, Daniel grabbed a stick from the ground and began throwing it for Dactyl to fetch. The dog made quick returns, slobbering and prancing about in front of him. It wasn’t long before Daniel felt himself getting warmer. He loosened the ties at his neck and unzipped his jacket a few inches.

As the sun crept over the horizon behind him, he rounded the crest of a hill and dipped into a small side gully. He paused. The path snaked downward into a coulee – a deeply etched ravine and ancient riverbed, evidence that the land hadn’t always been dry. Instead of following the steep track, he veered to the left and headed down to a snow-covered tangle of overgrown boughs and fallen logs.

More than a year earlier, he had discovered an abandoned cave lodged between the bases of the two hills. He’d dug the space deep enough for his own use, following a natural incision that had been created by spring runoff over the years. There were a few low bushes growing outside, but he’d hidden the entrance even more by dragging dead trees and branches across it.

Although it was well camouflaged, he quickly located the opening and began clearing a path through the drift of snow against the barricade. Then he crept under the branches and crawled inside the mouth of his hideout.

Instantly, he felt the cosy warmth of the shelter and smelled the damp earthy mustiness. Dactyl pushed his way in beside him and shook the snow off his furry coat, before dashing off to explore the interior. Daniel grimaced and brushed the moisture from his face with his mitts.

Then, careful to keep his head down, he crawled across the dirt floor. The cave was low around the edges, but once he reached the centre, he stood up easily. Next, he cleared the snow away from a football-sized opening overhead that let the emerging daylight filter in.

While Dactyl sniffed along the edges of the cavern, Daniel quickly scanned his collection of treasures. A bird’s nest, a couple of deer antlers, several arrowheads, a rattlesnake skin, and some rusted coffee tins stuffed with special stones lined the floor along one side. Some low rock formations stood beside them, next to an old rolled-up sleeping bag.

He also had a collection of sticks and twine, and a pile of animal bones that he’d gathered from the pasture. Most of the things, he’d found in little digging and scavenging expeditions over the last two summers. He’d also tucked into a crevice a secret stash of emergency chocolate bars, some beef jerky, and a tattered paperback on dinosaurs that he used for reference. Right next to that, he’d placed his excavation tools: a small hammer, a chisel, a compass, and a fine paintbrush he used for brushing dirt from specimens.