He began to move along the wall, sniffing as he went. He pa.s.sed the mouths of two blocked runs, came to an opening between thick tree roots and stopped. The place was evidently very big--bigger than the Council burrow at Efrafa. Since they were not being attacked, he could turn the s.p.a.ce to his own advantage by getting some more rabbits in at once. He went back quickly to the foot of the shaft. By standing on his hind legs he could just rest his forepaws on the ragged lip of the hole.

"Groundsel?" he said.

"Yes, sir?" answered Groundsel from above.

"Come on," said Woundwort, "and bring four others with you. Jump to this side"--he moved slightly--"there's a dead rabbit on the floor--one of theirs."

He was still expecting to be attacked at any moment, but the place remained silent. He continued to listen, sniffing the close air, while the five rabbits dropped one by one into the burrow. Then he took Groundsel over to the two blocked runs along the eastern wall.

"Get these open as quick as you can," he said, "and send two rabbits to find out what's behind the tree roots beyond. If they're attacked you're to go and join in at once."

"You know, there's something strange about the wall at the other end, sir," said Vervain, as Groundsel began setting his rabbits to work. "Most of it's hard earth that's never been dug. But in one or two places there are piles of much softer stuff. I'd say that runs leading through the wall have been filled up very recently--probably since yesterday evening."

Woundwort and Vervain went carefully along the south wall of the Honeycomb, scratching and listening.

"I believe you're right," said Woundwort. "Have you heard any movement from the other side?"

"Yes, sir, just about here," said Vervain.

"We'll get this pile of soft earth down," said Woundwort. "Put two rabbits on it. If I'm right and Thlayli's on the other side, they'll run into trouble before long. That's what we want--to force him to attack them."

As Thunder and Thistle began to dig, Woundwort crouched silently behind them, waiting.

Even before he heard the roof of the Honeycomb fall in, Bigwig knew that it could be only a matter of time before the Efrafans found the soft places in the south wall and set to work to break through one of them. That would not take long. Then he would have to fight--probably with Woundwort himself; and if Woundwort closed with him and used his weight, he would have little chance. Somehow he must manage to hurt him at the outset, before he expected it. But how?

He put the problem to Holly.

"The trouble is this warren wasn't dug to be defended," said Holly. "That was what the Slack Run was for, back at home, so the Threarah once told me. It was made so that if we ever had to, we could get down beneath an enemy and come up where he wasn't expecting us."

"That's it!" cried Bigwig. "That's the idea! Look, I'm going to dig myself into the floor of the run just behind this blocked opening. Then you cover me with earth. It won't be noticed--there's so much digging and mess in the place already. I know it's a risk, but it'll be better than just trying to stand up in front of a rabbit like Woundwort."

"But suppose they break through the wall somewhere else?" said Holly.

"You must try to make them do it here," replied Bigwig. "When you hear them on the other side, make a noise--do a bit of scratching or something--just above where I am. Anything to get them interested. Come on, help me to dig. And, Silver, get everyone back out of the Honeycomb now and close this wall completely."

"Bigwig," said Pipkin, "I can't wake Fiver. He's still lying out there in the middle of the floor. What's to be done?"

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do now," replied Bigwig. "It's a great pity, but we'll have to leave him."

"Oh, Bigwig," cried Pipkin, "let me stay out there with him! You'll never miss me, and I can go on trying--"

"Hlao-roo," said Holly as kindly as he could, "if we lose no one but Fiver before this business is ended, then the Lord Frith himself will be fighting for us. No, I'm sorry, old chap, not another word. We need you, we need everyone. Silver, see that he goes back with the others."

When Woundwort dropped through the roof of the Honeycomb, Bigwig was already lying under a thin covering of soil on the other side of the south wall, not far from Clover's burrow.

Thunder sank his teeth into a piece of broken root and pulled it out. There was an instant fall of earth and a gap opened where he had been digging. The soil no longer reached to the roof. It was only a broad pile of soft earth, half filling the run. Woundwort, still waiting silently, could smell and hear a considerable number of rabbits on the far side. He hoped that now they might come into the open burrow and try to attack him. But they made no move.

When it came to fighting, Woundwort was not given to careful calculation. Men, and larger animals such as wolves, usually have an idea of their own numbers and those of the enemy and this affects their readiness to fight and how they go about it. Woundwort had never had any need to think like this. What he had learned from all his experience of fighting was that nearly always there are those who want to fight and those who do not but feel they cannot avoid it. More than once he had fought alone and imposed his will on crowds of other rabbits. He held down a great warren with the help of a handful of devoted officers. It did not occur to him now--and if it had, he would not have thought it mattered--that most of his rabbits were still outside; that those who were with him were fewer than those on the other side of the wall and that until Groundsel had got the runs open they could not get out even if they wanted to. This sort of thing does not count among fighting rabbits. Ferocity and aggression are everything. What Woundwort knew was that those beyond the wall were afraid of him and that on this account he had the advantage.

"Groundsel," he said, "as soon as you've got those runs open, tell Campion to send everyone down here. The rest of you, follow me. We'll have this business finished by the time the others get in to join us."

Woundwort waited only for Groundsel to bring back the two rabbits who had been sent to search among the tree roots at the north end of the burrow. Then, with Vervain behind him, he climbed the pile of fallen earth and thrust his way into the narrow run. In the dark he could hear and smell the rustling and crowding of rabbits--both bucks and does--ahead of him. There were two bucks directly in his path, but they fell back as he plowed through the loose soil. He plunged forward and felt the ground suddenly turn beneath him. The next moment a rabbit started up from the earth at his feet and sank his teeth in the pit of his near foreleg, just where it joined the body.

Woundwort had won almost every fight of his life by using his weight. Other rabbits could not stop him and once they went down they seldom got up. He tried to push now, but his back legs could get no purchase in the pile of loose, yielding soil behind him. He reared up and, as he did so, realized that the enemy beneath him was crouching in a scooped-out trench the size of his own body. He struck out and felt his claws score deeply along the back and haunch. Then the other rabbit, still keeping his grip under Woundwort's shoulder, thrust upward with his hind legs braced against the floor of the trench. Woundwort, with both forefeet off the ground, was thrown over on his back on the earth pile. He lashed out, but the enemy had already loosed his hold and was beyond his reach.

Woundwort stood up. He could feel the blood running down the inside of his near foreleg. The muscle was wounded. He could not put his full weight on it. But his own claws, too, were b.l.o.o.d.y and this blood was not his.

"Are you all right, sir?" asked Vervain, behind him.

"Of course I'm all right, you fool," said Woundwort. "Follow me close."

The other rabbit spoke from in front of him.

"You told me once to start by impressing you, General. I hope I have."

"I told you once that I would kill you myself," replied Woundwort, "There is no white bird here, Thlayli." He advanced for the second time.

Bigwig's taunt had been deliberate. He hoped that Woundwort would fly at him and so give him a chance to bite him again. But as he waited, pressed to the ground, he realized that Woundwort was too clever to be drawn. Always quick to size up any new situation, he was coming forward slowly, keeping close to the ground himself. He meant to use his claws. Afraid, listening to Woundwort's approach, Bigwig could hear the uneven movement of his forepaws, almost within striking distance. Instinctively he drew back and as he did so the thought came with the sound: "The near forepaw's dragging. He can't use it properly." Leaving his right flank exposed, he struck out on his near side.

His claws found Woundwort's leg, ripping sideways; but before he could draw back, Woundwort's whole weight came down on him and the next moment his teeth had met in his right ear. Bigwig squealed, pressed down and thrashing from side to side. Woundwort, feeling his enemy's fear and helplessness, loosed his hold of the ear and rose above him, ready to bite and tear him across the back of the neck. For an instant he stood above the helpless Bigwig, his shoulders filling the run. Then his injured foreleg gave way and he lurched sideways against the wall. Bigwig cuffed him twice across the face and felt the third blow pa.s.s through his whiskers as he sprang back. The sound of his heavy breathing came plainly from the top of the earth pile. Bigwig, the blood oozing from his back and ear, stood his ground and waited. Suddenly he realized that he could see the dark shape of General Woundwort faintly outlined where he crouched above him. The first traces of daylight were glimmering through the broken roof of the Honeycomb behind.

47. The Sky Suspended

Ole bull he comes for me, wi's head down. But I didn't flinch ... I went fo 'e. 'Twas him as did th' flinchin'.

Flora Thompson, Lark Rise Lark Rise When Hazel stamped, Dandelion leaped instinctively from the gra.s.s verge. If there had been a hole he would have made for it. For the briefest instant he looked up and down the gravel. Then the dog was rushing upon him and he turned and made for the raised barn. But before he reached it he realized that he must not take refuge under the floor. If he did, the dog would check: very likely a man would call it back. He had to get it out of the farmyard and down to the road. He altered direction and raced up the lane toward the elms.

He had not expected the dog to be so close behind him. He could hear its breath and the loose gravel flying under its paws.

"It's too fast for me!" he thought. "It's going to catch me!" In another moment it would be on him and then it would roll him over, snapping his back and biting out his life. He knew that hares, when overtaken, dodge by turning more quickly and neatly than the pursuing dog and doubling back on their track. "I shall have to double," he thought desperately. "But if I do, it will hunt me up and down the lane and the man will call it off, or else I shall have to lose it by going through the hedge: then the whole plan will fail."

He tore over the crest and down toward the cattle shed. When Hazel had told him what he was to do, it had seemed to him that his task would consist of leading the dog on and persuading it to follow him. Now he was running simply to save his life, and that at a speed he had never touched before, a speed he knew he could not keep up.

In actual fact Dandelion covered three hundred yards to the cattle shed in a good deal less than half a minute. But as he reached the straw at the entrance it seemed to him that he had run forever. Hazel and the farmyard were long, long ago. He had never done anything in his life but run in terror down the lane, feeling the dog's breath at his haunches. Inside the gate a big rat ran across in front of him and the dog checked at it for a moment. Dandelion gained the nearest shed and went headlong between two bales of straw at the foot of a pile. It was a narrow place and he turned round only with some difficulty. The dog was immediately outside, scratching eagerly, whining and throwing up loose straw as it sniffed along the foot of the bales.

"Sit tight," said a young rat, from the straw close beside him. "It'll be off in a minute. They're not like cats, you know."

"That's the trouble," said Dandelion, panting and rolling the whites of his eyes. "It mustn't lose me; and time's everything."

"What?" said the rat, puzzled. "What you say?"

Without answering, Dandelion slipped along to another crack, gathered himself a moment and then broke cover, running across the yard to the opposite shed. It was open-fronted and he went straight through to the boarding along the back. There was a gap under the broken end of a board and here he crept into the field beyond. The dog, following, thrust its head into the gap and pushed, barking with excitement. Gradually the loose board levered open like a trapdoor until it was able to force its way through.

Now that he had a better start, Dandelion kept in the open and ran down the field to the hedge beside the road. He knew he was slower, but the dog seemed slower, too. Choosing a thick part, he went through the hedge and crossed the road. Blackberry came to meet him, scuttering down the further bank. Dandelion dropped exhausted in the ditch. The dog was not twenty feet away on the other side of the hedge. It could not find a big enough gap.

"It's faster than ever I thought," gasped Dandelion, "but I've taken the edge off it. I can't do any more. I must go to ground. I'm finished."

It was plain that Blackberry was frightened.

"Frith help me!" he whispered. "I'll never do it!"

"Go on, quick," said Dandelion, "before it loses interest. I'll overtake you and help if I can."

Blackberry hopped deliberately into the road and sat up. Seeing him, the dog yelped and thrust its weight against the hedge. Blackberry ran slowly along the road toward a pair of gates that stood opposite each other further down. The dog stayed level with him. As soon as he was sure that it had seen the gate on its own side and meant to go to it, Blackberry turned and climbed the bank. Out in the stubble he waited for the dog to reappear.

It was a long time coming; and when at last it pushed its way between the gatepost and the bank into the field, it paid him no attention. It nosed along the foot of the bank, put up a partridge and bounced after it and then began to scratch about in a clump of dock plants. For some time Blackberry felt too terrified to move. Then, in desperation, he hopped slowly toward it, trying to act as though he had not noticed that it was there. It dashed after him, but almost at once seemed to lose interest and returned to its nosing and sniffing over the ground. Finally, when he was utterly at a loss, it set off over the field of its own accord, padding easily along beside one of the rows of threshed straw, trailing the broken cord and pouncing in and out at every squeak and rustle. Blackberry, sheltering behind a parallel row, kept level with it. In this manner they covered the distance to the pylon line, halfway to the foot of the down. It was here that Dandelion caught up with him.

"It's not fast enough, Blackberry! We must must get on. Bigwig may be dead." get on. Bigwig may be dead."

"I know, but at least it's going the right way. I couldn't get it to move at all, to start with. Can't we--"

"It's got to come up the down at speed or there'll be no surprise. Come on, we'll draw it together. We'll have to get ahead of it first, though."

They ran fast through the stubble until they neared the trees. Then they turned and crossed the dog's line in full view. This time it pursued instantly and the two rabbits reached the undergrowth at the bottom of the steep with no more than ten yards to spare. As they began to climb they heard the dog crashing through the brittle elders. It barked once and then they were out on the open slope with the dog running mute behind them.

The blood ran over Bigwig's neck and down his foreleg. He watched Woundwort steadily where he crouched on the earth pile, expecting him to leap forward at any moment. He could hear a rabbit moving behind him, but the run was so narrow that he could not have turned even if it had been safe to do so.

"Everyone all right?" he asked.

"They're all right," replied Holly. "Come on, Bigwig, let me take your place now. You need a rest."

"Can't," panted Bigwig. "You couldn't get past me here--no room--and if I go back that brute'll follow--next thing you'd know he'd be loose in the burrows. You leave it to me. I know what I'm doing."

It had occurred to Bigwig that in the narrow run even his dead body would be a considerable obstacle. The Efrafans would either have to get it out or dig round it and this would mean more delay. In the burrow behind him he could hear Bluebell, who was apparently telling the does a story. "Good idea," he thought. "Keep 'em happy. More than I could do if I had to sit there."

"So then El-ahrairah said to the fox, 'Fox you may smell and fox you may be, but I can tell your fortune in the water.' "

Suddenly Woundwort spoke.

"Thlayli," he said, "why do you want to throw your life away? I can send one fresh rabbit after another into this run if I choose. You're too good to be killed. Come back to Efrafa. I promise I'll give you the command of any Mark you like. I give you my word."

"Silflay hraka, u embleer rah," replied Bigwig.

" 'Ah ha,' said the fox, 'tell my fortune, eh? And what do you see in the water, my friend? Fat rabbits running through the gra.s.s, yes, yes?' "

"Very well," said Woundwort. "But remember, Thlayli, you yourself can stop this nonsense whenever you wish."

" 'No,' replied El-ahrairah, 'it is not fat rabbits that I see in the water, but swift hounds on the scent and my enemy flying for his life.' "

Bigwig realized that Woundwort also knew that in the run his body would be nearly as great a hindrance dead as alive. "He wants me to come out on my feet," he thought. "But it's Inle, not Efrafa, that I shall go to from here."

Suddenly Woundwort leaped forward in a single bound and landed full against Bigwig like a branch falling from a tree. He made no attempt to use his claws. His great weight was pushing, chest to chest, against Bigwig's. With heads side by side they bit and snapped at each other's shoulders. Bigwig felt himself sliding slowly backward. He could not resist the tremendous pressure. His back legs, with claws extended, furrowed the floor of the run as he gave ground. In a few moments he would be pushed bodily into the burrow behind. Putting his last strength into the effort to remain where he was, he loosed his teeth from Woundwort's shoulder and dropped his head, like a cart horse straining at a load. Still he was slipping. Then, very gradually it seemed, the terrible pressure began to slacken. His claws had a hold of the ground. Woundwort, teeth sunk in his back, was snuffling and choking. Though Bigwig did not know it, his earlier blows had torn Woundwort across the nose. His nostrils were full of his own blood, and with jaws closed in Bigwig's fur he could not draw his breath. A moment more and he let go his hold. Bigwig, utterly exhausted, lay where he was. After a few moments he tried to get up, but a faintness came over him and a feeling of turning over and over in a ditch of leaves. He closed his eyes. There was silence and then, quite clearly, he heard Fiver speaking in the long gra.s.s. "You are closer to death than I. You are closer to death than I."

"The wire!" squealed Bigwig. He jerked himself up and opened his eyes. The run was empty. General Woundwort was gone.

Woundwort clambered out into the Honeycomb, now dimly lit down the shaft by the daylight outside. He had never felt so tired. He saw Vervain and Thunder looking at him uncertainly. He sat on his haunches and tried to clean his face with his front paws.

"Thlayli won't give any more trouble," he said. "You'd better just go in and finish him off, Vervain, since he won't come out."

"You're asking me me to fight him, sir?" asked Vervain. to fight him, sir?" asked Vervain.

"Well, just take him on for a few moments," answered Woundwort. "I want to start them getting this wall down in one or two other places. Then I'll come back."

Vervain knew that the impossible had happened. The General had come off worst. What he was saying was, "Cover up for me. Don't let the others know."

"What in Frith's name happens now?" thought Vervain. "The plain truth is that Thlayli's had the best of it all along, ever since he first met him in Efrafa. And the sooner we're back there the better."

He met Woundwort's pale stare, hesitated a moment and then climbed on the earth pile. Woundwort limped across to the two runs, halfway down the eastern wall, which Groundsel had been told to get open. Both were now clear at the entrances and the diggers were out of sight in the tunnels. As he approached, Groundsel backed down the further tunnel and began cleaning his claws on a projecting root.

"How are you getting on?" asked Woundwort.

"This run's open, sir," said Groundsel, "but the other will take a bit longer, I'm afraid. It's heavily blocked."

"One's enough," said Woundwort, "as long as they can come down it. We can bring them in and start getting that end wall down."

He was about to go up the run himself when he found Vervain beside him. For a moment he thought that he was going to say that he had killed Thlayli. A second glance showed him otherwise.

"I've--er--got some grit in my eye, sir," said Vervain. "I'll just get it out and then I'll have another go at him."

Without a word Woundwort went back to the far end of the Honeycomb. Vervain followed.

"You coward," said Woundwort in his ear. "If my authority goes, where will yours be in half a day? Aren't you the most hated officer in Efrafa? That rabbit's got got to be killed." to be killed."

Once more he climbed on the earth pile. Then he stopped. Vervain and Thistle, raising their heads to peer past him from behind, saw why. Thlayli had made his way up the run and was crouching immediately below. Blood had matted the great thatch of fur on his head, and one ear, half severed, hung down beside his face. His breathing was slow and heavy.

"You'll find it much harder to push me back from here, General," he said.

With a sort of weary, dull surprise, Woundwort realized that he was afraid. He did not want to attack Thlayli again. He knew, with flinching certainty, that he was not up to it. And who was? he thought. Who could do it? No, they would have to get in by some other way and everyone would know why.

"Thlayli," he said, "we've unblocked a run out here. I can bring in enough rabbits to pull down this wall in four places. Why don't you come out?"

Thlayli's reply, when it came, was low and gasping, but perfectly clear.

"My Chief Rabbit has told me to defend this run and until he says otherwise I shall stay here."