"See you sometime about autumn!"

"Aye, we'll be waitin', with a potful of shrimp'n'hotroot soup to welcome ye!"

"Good, we'll be lookin' forward to it!"

"Watch out for Folgrim at night. He's a terrible snorer!"

"Hurr hurr, if'n ee can outsnore this lot, zurr, ee must be a good 'un!"

"You speak for yourself, Dinny mole. I don't snore!"

"Ho yuss ee do, miz Trimp. Don't 'er, zurr Gonff?"

"I wouldn't know, Din. When you're snorin', it drowns out every thin', even thunderstorms!"

The curious raft, with logboats tied to both sides, sailed off downstream into the soft summer morning. Tungro and his crew gave a final wave before sliding into the water and gliding sleekly upstream, home to their holt.

It was midday when Log a Log Furmo steered into a curving recess. Martin looked up at the shrew as he scrambled atop the steep rocky bank.

"What've we stopped for, Furmo? Surely it's not time to eat already. We've hardly been afloat today."

"Come up 'ere'n'look at this, Martin."

The Warrior joined his friend on the banktop. Far ahead he could see thick extending pine woods, flanking both sides of the stream. Martin peered hard at the dark ma.s.s. "Trouble, d'you think?"

The Guosim Chieftain voiced his thoughts. "I noticed the stream's startin' to run swifter, so I thought it best t'pull in an' scout the land. No sense dashin' into danger, that's if there's any there."

Martin mused for a moment, looking from the raft to the pines and back again, before making up his mind. "Right, here's what I suggest. You take Gonff, I'll take FolgrimI wager he can smell vermin a league off. We split up and go both sides of the bank to scout those pine woods out. Leave the rest with the raft. Throw a kedge anchor over the sternthat'll slow them up so they won't be speeding into the pine wood area."

Furmo agreed with Martin's strategy. An old waterlogged willow limb, forked at one end, was weighted by lashing big chunks of rock to it. When it was cast over the raft's stern, it dragged heavily on the streambed, slowing the vessel's progress considerably.

Furmo and Gonff took the north bank, the raft dropped Martin and Folgrim off on the south bank. Chugger shook a tiny paw at the Warrior. "You take good care of mista Fol, or I smacka you tail!"

Martin nodded seriously at the little fellow. "Aye aye, capn Chugg, I'll watch out for him, never fear."

Log a Log Furmo had been right. The broad stream was surely moving taster, running deeper, too, Martin noticed as he trotted along the bank with Folgrim at his side. Without the kedge anchor on its stern, both raft and logboats would go hurtling downstream. moving taster, running deeper, too, Martin noticed as he trotted along the bank with Folgrim at his side. Without the kedge anchor on its stern, both raft and logboats would go hurtling downstream.

At noon they reached the fringes of the pine woods. Gonff and Furmo waved across at Martin on the opposite side. He held both paws up, signaling them to wait. After a while Folgrim returned from scouting inside the fringe. He was carrying some ashes and a clump of gra.s.s, stained dark purple, along with a dab of ochre, still wet from the stream. Urgently he gestured for them to back off, away from the pines.

When he judged they were far enough from the conifers, the otter signaled them down to the shallows, where they could converse across the stream. Gonff and Furmo waded in as deep as they dared. Martin and Folgrim followed suit, the strong current pulling at them. The otter held up the stained gra.s.s and spoke. "Painted Ones, in the woods. Beware!"

Gonff and Furmo waded back to dry land. Folgrim called after them, "See you back at the raft!"

Trimp helped the Guosim shrews haul her friends aboard and looked questioningly at Furmo as he ordered the craft into the south bank, behind a curve. "What is it, what's happening?"

The shrew Chieftain explained. "Painted Ones are in those pine woods ahead. Folgrim found traces o' the blaggards."

Trimp was plainly puzzled. "What d'you mean, Painted Ones?"

"n.o.beast knows fer sure, missie, but most of us thinks they're some kind o' tree rats. My Guosim ain't been down this far in seasonsweren't any about then. I reckon they must've been driven out o' their own territory an' settled in the pines yonder. Painted Ones is vicious savages, never just a few. They always come in big gangs. Those woods'd be ideal for 'emthey paints themselves all over, like sunlight stripes an' shadows. Painted Ones live up in the trees, an' woe betide any pore traveler tryin' to pa.s.s through their stampin' grounds. Killin's second nature to 'em! They're very good at disguisesyou could be walkin' in the pines, thinkin' n.o.beast is there, then bang! The villains 'ave got you, an' yore a dead 'un!"

Dinny shook his head sorrowfully. "Et be a gurt pity, 'cos we'm be orfully near ee seash.o.r.es. Oi cudd feel et in moi diggen claws."

Trimp sighed sadly. "But we can't go any farther now."

Gonff chucked her gently under the chin. "Lackaday, lookit that long face, like a toad with toothache. Cheer up, pretty one, or you'll have it rainin'. Leave it to me, I've got apian!"

Dinny wrinkled his nose. "You'm got ee plan, zurr?"

Gonff adopted his devil-may-care expression. "Why d'ye think they call me Prince of Mousethieves? Of course I've got a plan, you ole tunnel-grubber!"

Martin prodded his friend's well-fed middle. "I hope 'tis a plan that'll work, matey?"

"Oh indeed, an' did you ever know any o' my plans that didn't work, O swinger of swords?"

"Aye, lots of them, O pincher of pies!"

"Well this won't be one of that sort, O n.o.ble whiskers!"

"It had better not be, O pot-bellied soup-swigger. Now tell on."

"We won't wait 'til lightwe'll set sail and shoot past them in the dark. They won't expect that."

The raft stayed tied to the bank until midnight; then they cut loose the kedge anchor and hoisted the sail. Drifting out into a moonless dark midstream, Gonff nodded to Furmo, who was seated in the logboats with his Guosim. Digging paddles deep, they shot the craft off downstream, with Martin, Dinny and Folgrim punting long poles at the stem. A light breeze caught the sail, billowing it out beautifully. Gonff and Trimp laid out slings and heaps of well-rounded stream pebbles where they could be easily reached. The Prince of Mousethieves chuckled. "The speed she's goin', we'll be through an' past 'em afore they even guess we've arrived, eh, missie?"

Covering Chugger's sleeping form with foodsacks and loose canvas, Trimp snuggled down by him. "I hope you're right, Gonff, for all our sakes, but mainly for this little mite's. I don't know what I'd do if any harm befell Chugger."

Folgrim turned from his pole, file-sharpened teeth glinting in the darkness, his one good eye roving wildly. "If'n yer wants t'see deadbeasts, pretty miss, take a look at any vermin puttin' a paw near my pal Chugg!"

Trimp shivered, certain that the scar-faced otter did not issue idle threats.

As the flotilla of raft and logboats neared the pine wood, myriad eyes, aglow with evil intent, watched it from the bankside trees on both sides. Small harsh excited whispers sounded through the conifers.

"Yikkyikkyikkyikk! Heerdee comm.!"

"Many many lotsa shroobs'n'micers, too. Yikkayikka!"

"Betcher deez viddlez, too, loddza viddlez!"

"Fa.s.sta fa.s.sta inta dee trapp. Yeehikkayikka!"

"Fattee moledigga an' 'edgepiggee, avva fun wid dose!"

Then the raft was into the wooded area. Martin congratulated Gonff quietly on his daring scheme. "Well done, mate. We're shooting through like a shaft from a bow. Not much can stop us now!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the raft hit a thick series of vine ropes, stretched at different heights above and below the water. Everybeast aboard was thrown flat with the impact, and both leading logboats and the front of the raft were jammed fast in the cunning trap.

Chapter 11.

Martin was first to spring upright. He lashed about with the long punting pole as Painted Ones dropped from the trees onto the raft. Several were sent screeching into the water. Furmo and his shrews began laying about them with their logboat paddles, hollow thonking noises sounding as they struck tree rats in midair. Screams and splashes mingled with roars and shouts rent the blackness of the stream between the dark spreading pines. It was a scene of total chaos. Folgrim groped his way to the canvas protecting Chugger and Trimp and stood over them, flailing viciously, the air thrumming as he wielded his long pole. Whack! Thwock! Thunk! Splat! Gonff and Dinny were hard at it with their poles.

Panting heavily, Martin called to them, "There's too many of 'emwe can't keep this up. Hold the vessel as best you can. I'll be back soon. If not, go without me. That's an order!" He broke his pole over the backs of three who were trying to climb aboard, then dived into the fast-flowing stream.

As soon as he felt himself hurled against the ropes by the current, Martin latched his footpaws onto the heavy vines and unsheathed the great sword from his back. It was tremendously hard trying to swing his blade in the rushing water, but swing it the mouse Warrior did. He hacked and hewed with might and main until his grip was frozen to the sword by cold water and weariness. By a superb feat of will he forced himself to continue. Heavy wet strands struck his face as the razor-sharp blade whipped through them, and water filled his mouth as he roared like a wild beast, battling the powerful woven ropes of wet vine. Lowering the blade underwater, Martin sawed furiously at the ones that he had twined his footpaws into, ducking his head beneath the surface and hunching both shoulders to put more force into his efforts. Then the raft was running overhead, sc.r.a.ping his back as it was liberated from the trap. Martin went head over tail, automatically shifting the sword to one paw and reaching out frantically with the other as the vessel sped forward.

Dinny felt somebeast grab his footpaw as he stood astern, swinging his pole. He was about to deal whoever it was a resounding blow with the pole b.u.t.t when Martin's head emerged from the streamwater.

"Dinn, the pole, quick!"

The mole shot his pole into the water and Martin grabbed it. Throwing his sword onto the raft, he struggled aboard with Dinny's help. The raft was still swarming with Painted Ones. Martin seized the fabulous blade, and whirling it aloft, he gave full cry to the battle call of Badger Lords.

"Eulaliaaaaaa!"

Screeching with fright, the tree vermin threw themselves from the raft, splashing frenziedly for sh.o.r.e.

Gonff threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Hahahaha! Look at 'em go! The ole Eulalia's worth a dozen fighters, an' let me say, matey, that 'un of yores was a right blood-freezer. I near jumped out o' my fur!"

Martin was grinning as he slumped wearily down to the deck. "Let's just say it was an additional idea to make your plan work. I was far too tired t'do anything except shout. Owow! What're you villains doing to me?"

Trimp and Chugger scrubbed roughly at the Warrior with clean dry foodsacks. The little squirrel growled, "Be still an' stoppa shoutin', we dryin' you off. Don't wanna catcha deff o' cold, do ya?"

The hedgehog maid was hard put to keep a straight face. Her squirrelbabe was becoming quite a one for being severe with otherbeasts. She cleaned Martin's ears out roughly. "That's the stuff, Chugg, you tell him. Warriors have to get dry, too, same as any other creature!"

Luckily none of the friends were seriously injured, though there were the usual number of b.u.mps, cuts, scratches and sc.r.a.pes sustained, as in any rough-house encounter with vermin. Trimp and Log a Log Furmo set about ministering to the slight casualties, while Gonff and Dinny kept a weather eye out for any likely berth, now they had left the pine wood behind. A small midstream island loomed up out of the darkness, perfect as a resting place for the remainder of the night.

However, after their hazardous sc.r.a.pe with the Painted Ones, they were far too keyed up for sleeping. Guosim cooks built a small fire in the shelter of some bushes and cooked up a cauldron of vegetable soup. Gonff took some soft bread and chopped scallions, made Bubbling Bobbs and tossed them in the cauldron. Trimp sat around the fire with the rest, feeling a strong sense of camaraderie with them, laughing, chatting and fishing for Bubbling Bobbs with clean sharp twigs. Furmo regaled them with a comic song called "The Festive Fight."

"One dark an' stormy night, As the sun set in the east, To Granma's house I went, For to partake of a feast, With frogs an' fat hedgehogs, Some otters an' a sparrow, An' a squirrel who attended, too, Armed with a bow an' arrow.

The seedcake had been served, When a dormouse in a bonnet, Took one bite, oh what a sight, She broke her teeth upon it.

Then backward fell a mole, Tail first into the custard, Ole Granpa grabbed his spoon, An' lookin' quite disgusted, He hit the mole a smack, Then like a flash of lightnin', An otter brained him with a flan, That started off the fightin'.

We fenced with celery sticks, With pies an' puddens pelted, The squirrel with the bow, By a pot of soup got belted, A sparrow flung a scone, It laid the otter senseless, Then Granma swung her pan, An' left us all defenseless, Two frogs sailed out the door, A hedgehog up the chimney, Whilst me an' ole Granpa, To the mantelpiece hung grimly.

So hark an' hear my tale, Stay safe at home an' starve sir, Steer clear of Granma's house, When there's goin' t'be a feast there!"

Chugger had fallen asleep leaning against Folgrim, a soggy Bubbling Bobb still clutched in his grubby paw. After the fight with the Painted Ones, Trimp trembled fitfully, thinking what might have happened had they fallen into the claws of the foe. However, the feeling pa.s.sed as she looked around at the cheery faces of her friends. Ribbing one another good-naturedly and chuckling, they sat around the fire, finishing off the meal with gusto. n.o.beast would guess that but a short while ago, they had been battling for their lives, and hers. Allowing her eyes to close slowly, she snuggled down on some dry moss. Who would not feel safe in the company of such brave creatures?

Murmuring streamwater soon had them all lulled, with the exception of Martin and Folgrim, who sat, outwardly relaxed, but inwardly alert. Fading to glowing embers, the fire burnt down. Somewhere a nightjar called, and moonshadows cast soft patterns through lazy breeze-stirred foliage. Peace lay over the little island in midstream, awaiting the calm hours of dawn.

Day broke fine and clear, with a warm summer wind blowing westerly. Log a Log Furmo hopped aboard the raft, wetting a paw and holding it up. "Hoist that sail, mates, an' ship the paddles. We're on a good fast run t'the big sea!"

Picking up speed, the raft fairly zinged along the broad watercourse. With his bushy tail blowing forward over both ears, Chugger perched backward in the bows of a lead logboat, shouting aloud with exhilaration. "Whooooeeeeee! Us goin' a sea!"

Dinny clung nervously to a stayrope, not too sure whether he was fond of the vessel's wild ride downstream. "Hurr, zurr Log, bain't us'n's a-goin' ee bit farst yurr?"

Log a Log laughed and performed a nimble jig round the edges of the logboats flanking the raft. "Fast, me liddle fat mate, fast? See the way those banks down yonder take a deep dip? When she 'its there, you'll know wot fast means!"

The mole shut his eyes tight, grabbing the stayrope tighter as Furmo gave it a mischievous tw.a.n.g. Folgrim and Trimp rescued Chugger from his precarious position and tied a line to his chubby middle, whereupon he promptly hopped back to his former position. Furmo began booming out a song in his wonderful ba.s.s voice.

"You stay aft mate, I'll stay fore, Mind the rocks an' watch the sh.o.r.e, Like good shipmates you an' me, Roll down t'meet the sea!

Fast as fast as you can wish, Through the waters like a fish, Our ole craft do wend its way, On this bright summer's day!

Wid spray in yore face, An' a crackin' pace, An' a runnin' stream afore, If y'never lack a wind at y'back, Then who could ask for more!

Ooooooh rum a doodle aye doh Go where I go Rum a doodle aye doh follow me!"

The raft bucked sharply, entering a canyon of buff-hued rock. Everybeast yelled and held on to something. Chugger was thrown into the water from his perilous perch. Trimp screamed in alarm, but Folgrim had a good grip on the line, and with a powerful heave he swung the little fellow back on board.

"Up y'come, rascal. 'Ere, Gonff, look wot I caught, a Chuggfish! Funny liddle critter, never seen one wid a tail that long!"

Shaking water from his ruffled fur, the baby squirrel drew himself imperiously to his full height. "I norra Chuggfish, h'i a likkle squiggle!"

White water boiled about the surface, while high banks narrowed and dipped sharply downward. Furmo gave orders to stow the sail, and his Guosim shrews took up their positions at the logboats' oars, keeping the vessel in midstream with strong skillful strokes. Soon they were all thoroughly drenched by spray and unable to hear each other talk because of the roaring waters. Log a Log and Martin with long poles sculled at the after end. The Warrior mouse noticed that the shrew Chieftain was no longer singing and smiling. Grim-faced and silent, he struggled to keep the raft on course.

Now the raft really began to buck, side to side and up and down, sometimes rearing high out of the stream and returning to hit the water with a resounding splash. Twice it was whirled completely around on the treacherous current, Martin and Furmo poling furiously to turn it. Trimp knew they were in trouble when Gonff pushed her and Chugger flat, shouting at them to hold tight. Gripping the tough vines that held their craft together, Trimp locked both footpaws around her little friend. Lifting her face, the hedgehog maid took a quick glance ahead. What she saw took her breath away.

A rainbow bridged either bank, shining through a misty curtain of cascading watermist. The raft rushed through it. Then there was nothing!

Martin heard himself yell with surprise as his pole snapped on a rock at the waterfall's edge. The entire vessel, raft and logboats, sailed out into s.p.a.ce. Log a Log's voice cut across the sudden silence.

"Hang on, maaaaaaaaaates!"

Then the thunderous roar of falling water took over. They were falling, down, down, with a view of beach and sea to the front and an awesome sheet of rushing water at their back. Gripping fiercely to anything within reach, the breath torn from their mouths, they plunged downward, tilting as the raft went head first, for what seemed like an eternity. Down, down, down ... Whooooooom!

The broad surface of a pool at the bottom exploded with the impact. By its own momentum the vessel was plunged deep into the pool, breaking into pieces as it went.

Water rushed into Trimp's mouth. Her eyes opened. Everything was cold, silent and vague. Half conscious, she stared about. Somewhere high above, the water was billowing in thick white clouds, and she tried to fight down panic as she felt Chugger pawing feebly at her. They were both trapped under a log from the raft, which had become wedged in the rocks at the pool's bottom. Then the little squirrel's paws went limp. Panic surged through Trimp with the sudden realization that both her and Chugger's lives were going to end, trapped underwater and alone. Bubbles burst from her mouth as water flooded relentlessly in. Forgetting her plight for a moment, the hedgehog maid felt a tremendous wave of pity tug at her heart for Chugger. The little squirrel was still a baby. What a sad way for him to end a tragically short life. She reached down and held his paw, thinking that at least he would have her with him. Then the arrival of Folgrim jolted her failing senses.

Setting himself between the rocks, he bent his body, levering outward with all four paws, veins standing out on his neck as he added the strength of his rudderlike tail and the back of his broad skull. Folgrim pushed until the scars on his face stood out like blue ropes. There was a grinding crunch, followed by a m.u.f.fled clonking noise. The log floated upward, free, the rocks trapping it having been forced apart by the otter's wild strength. Folgrim seized Chugger by his tail and Trimp by one paw. Setting himself firm in the sand, he thrust mightily upward, tail and footpaws working in unison. In a stream of bubbles all three shot to the surface. Willing paws pulled them ash.o.r.e.

Martin took a quick check of his crew. "Dinny, where's Dinny?"

The words had hardly left his mouth before Folgrim plunged in again, streaking underwater like an arrow. White sand and sh.e.l.l fragments, together with weeds and grains of rock, clouded the bottom a pearly gray color. Folgrim swam to an overturned logboat and wormed his way underneath. The otter's head broke water in a small air pocket trapped in the upturned vessel, and Dinny's head was facing him. The mole tugged his snout in polite relief. "Gudd day to ee, zurr. Oi 'oped sumbeast'd c.u.mm afore ee air runned out in yurr. Oi doan't moind tellin' ee, oi'm gurtly affrighted o' liven unnerwater. Us moles be loik that, 'appy unnerground, but sad unnerwater, ho urr!"

The otter showed his filed teeth in a smile. "Then shut yore eyes, 'old yore breath an' 'ang on t'my paw, mister Din. Soon 'ave y'back on land, matey!"

Chugger shot fountains of water everywhere as he recovered. Trimp, who was no worse for her ordeal, sat watching Furmo anxiously. "Oh, say he's going t'be all right, sir?"

Chuckling, the Guosim leader pressed gently on the little squirrel's stomach and another jet of water arose. "This 'un'U be fine, missie, don't git yoreself in a fret. I seen shrewbabes swaller twice that amount.i.t never seemed to 'arm the liddle fellers a bit!"