Blondie's Kitchen was pleasantly full of T-shirted vacationers, but there was one unoccupied booth left. The smell of coffee permeated the air, sharpening Janice's hunger.

As they perused the menus, she became aware of an animated conversation behind her back in the adjoining booth.

"That's not English-what is it?" asked Jeff.

Janice listened for a few seconds. "French, but with a southern accent, not Parisian."

He stared at her. "Wow, I'm impressed. How did you do that?"

She looked up from the menu and smiled at him. Her frequent trips to Europe as a child had given her fluency in French and Italian and the ability to distinguish regional accents.

"Southern accents are the same all over. People speak more slowly and hang onto the ends of their words. In Australia their south is the north, but the same thing happens."

As she turned in again on the conversation behind her, something about it caught her attention. She motioned Jeff to silence.

"Wait a minute, I want to hear this...." She turned her head to hear better and concentrated.

A man was talking, a long barrage spiked with exasperation and cries of disbelief from others. Janice listened for a few minutes. Finally there was loud laughter from the table behind.

She turned back to Jeff. "He was complaining about squirrels stealing food. A bunch of squirrels, tout un tas, he said. They apparently worked over his pack and he couldn't get them to stop. He was pretty upset about it, especially when his friends didn't take him seriously. He kept insisting that they were doing something unusual."

"Where did it happen?"

"Unfortunately, I missed that part, so it could have just been a campground. But there are campgrounds in France, so he should be used to pesky squirrels."

"These were squirrels, or chipmunks?"

"He called them squirrels. But I doubt he'd know the correct name for chipmunks anyway. Most people don't distinguish between the local rodents. They're all just generic squirrels. No, what's funny is that I was discussing this kind of incident with Amy just yesterday, and now it's happened."

"Maybe you have chipmunks on the brain. Here comes the waitress. Ready to order?"

After breakfast they headed out of town on the winding asphalt ribbon of the scenic loop. There were few other cars, in contrast to the busy interstate. The brilliant blue sky illuminated steep-sided hillsides thickly grown with tall stately fir trees.

Janice looked around as she drove. Not a menacing forest at all, in fact a rather straightforward one, she thought. Still, she couldn't help wondering if the placidity hid the secret rustlings of new activity. As if answering her thought, a ground squirrel erupted out of a roadside shrub and dashed across the road infront of them. She slowed the jeep, but it was moving very fast and was in no danger of being hit.

"What was that-a greased chipmunk?" asked Jeff.

"I think it was a golden mantled ground squirrel. The head was orange, and it was a bit bigger."

"How could you tell? All I got was a glimpse."

"It was moving pretty fast. Last time I saw a squirrel run like that, there was a weasel behind it."

"Maybe the chipmunk mafia was after it." He grinned.

"Don't you start now."

She turned off onto a gravel forest service road and parked the jeep at the base of a hill. As they walked around the rocky ap.r.o.n of the hill they came to a wooden nest box mounted on a pine tree, one of many scattered throughout the forest. Earlier in the summer she and Amy had amused themselves by guessing what birds were using the boxes, gleaning information from an occasional dropped feather. But as they approached, Janice saw something was wrong. Nest material protruded from the entrance hole, and many feathers were strewn around the forest floor beneath it.

"Something must've raided this box," she said. "Look at the entrance hole-it's chewed all around."

"So what animal could do this? Don't they build these boxes so only birds can get in?"

"I thought so. I've never seen one messed up like this, and it must be a rare event or the Forest Service wouldn't bother putting boxes up."

"Seems to me it'd be easy for squirrels or chipmunks to get into one of these anytime they wanted."

Janice considered for a moment. "I always thought so too, and maybe that's the answer. They don't usually want to."

"But now they do? Your chipmunks again?"

She stared at him. "Well, maybe I'm just jumping to conclusions, but if they were starting to hunt, these would be the easiest prey. Here in the boxes, and in all the dead trees where the other birds nest."

She shivered despite the warmth of the late morning sun.

Amy killed the headlights on the pickup truck as they reached the territory of Owl #6. The site was a clump of Jeffrey pines on a low rocky bluff overlooking a pumice flat and the interstate, about a quarter mile north of Highway 203.

"So what's special about this owl?" asked Jeff.

"Well, basically, locating a Great Grey would burnish my credentials as a field biologist. It'd be a real find on this side of the mountains. They're pretty rare even in lusher forests on the west side. I've put in a lot of hours trying to find this puppy. Maybe tonight's the night."

They unloaded the tape recorder, and Jeff slung it around his neck. It was a big bulky job, an ancient model from the lab.

"So you're not actually going to hoot?" asked Janice.

"Nah, my hoots have a Chinese accent, not 'furry' enough. Owls hate 'em. This way is better."

A flicker of movement caught Janice's eye. A darker shape was gliding noiselessly into the green-black branches of the pines on the edge of the bluff. She touched Amy on the shoulder and pointed.

"There it is. What luck!" Amy whispered.

They walked carefully over the fallen branches and pine cones to a small clearing close to where they had seen the owl.

Jeff set the recorder on the ground and Amy flicked it on. The throaty hoots of a Great Grey floated into the darkness. She repeated the sequence several times, but there was no answering call.

"Well, maybe it's just a Great Horned Owl after all."

She fumbled in the backpack for a small flashlight. "I've got horned owl hoots further along on the tape."

"Here, I've got one," said Janice. As she flicked the light on she heard soft rustling noises among the dry needles of the forest floor. Holding the light at eye level, she scanned around her. A few spider eyes gleamed back at her, and several sets of larger eyes. One set was close enough to discern the striped body behind the eyes. "Look, a chipmunk! Well, that proves they're out at night all right.""And that's why my owls are catching them."

"Yeah, but what are they doing out?" asked Janice.

"What difference does it make? Snakes come out on summer nights, why not chipmunks?" asked Jeff.

"The snakes only do it because their body temperature is still warm enough to hunt. It's basic physiology for a cold-blooded animal. And it's not something new," she explained.

"Right," put in Amy. "And remember, just a few years ago the owls weren't catching chipmunks."

"So they probably weren't out at night."

"The only other possible explanation was that a new species of owl with slightly different hours had moved in," sighed Amy. "I was counting on a Great Grey, but they almost always answer the tape if they hear it."

The tape recorder was still running and Great Horned owl hoots filled the air. In the recorded silence after the calls they heard again the soft rustling noises. The tape called again, but the owl stayed silent.

The rustling sounds increased.

"No wonder those chipmunks get caught-they make a racket."

"I sure wish this one would hoot. Say, you guys, would you mind moving away from the tree? Take a walk or something? Maybe there are too many of us here."

Janice and Jeff moved away from the clearing, walking slowly back toward the truck, then past it down the dirt road and into the forest. A few minutes later, as they rounded the first bend, Janice suddenly stopped and put her hand on Jeff's arm. "Listen. The owl."

The sound of the live owl's answer floated lightly over the forest.

"It's in a higher pitch, but the song's the same," whispered Jeff.

"That's what it usually sounds like. Poor Amy, it's unmistakably a Great Horned Owl."

"Hoping to nail chipmunks, probably," said Jeff.

"Yeah. The Great Horned owls are top predators. Pretty ferocious hunters, the terror of the night to anything smaller. We enjoy the sound of the hooting, because they don't threaten us." She paused. "I wonder if the mice shiver when they hear it."

"Like we do at the scream of a cougar?"

"Or the snarl of a grizzly? Actually, besides the odd tiger attack in India, there are precious few large predators left to threaten humans. We've erased them, starting back about ten thousand years when we-"

They heard Amy curse and stamp her feet.

"What's she doing over there?" wondered Jeff. "I thought the idea was for us to be quiet."

"I don't know. Shhh."

The owl continued to call from the tree every few seconds in response to the tape. As they stood quietly in the darkness Janice slowly became aware of soft rustling sounds around them. She fumbled for her flashlight, but it slipped through her hands onto the duff. She reached down to pick it up, groping around with her hand.

From the darkness something furry leaped at her hand. Warm fur, sharp teeth. "Ow!" she yelled, and shook her attacker free while straightening up.

"What's the matter?"

Janice was nearly speechless with surprise. "It...bit me! It leaped on me and bit me!"

"What? Where?" Jeff was instantly all motion and concern.

"On my hand. G.o.dd.a.m.n chipmunk bit me. It's absolutely incredible!"

Suddenly from the clearing they heard the sound of running feet, a crash, and Amy yelling.

"What's she saying?" asked Jeff.

"I'm not sure. It sounds like 'stop it.' We'd better get over there."

They retrieved the flashlight and half-ran back to the clearing, stumbling over pine cones and branches. The tape recorder was tipped over on its side.

"Amy? Where are you? What's happening?" yelled Janice.

A rustling commotion in the branches of a tree above them. She looked up. Scrambling noises on thetrunk traced the descent of many small bodies.

"Lord, the tree must be full of them!"

From the direction of the owl tree came a strangled screech and sounds of thrashing. Amy was yelling "Stop it, stop it, stop it, you d.a.m.n things!" In the distance they could see her flashlight playing in the branches of the tree, its stabs raking across shrouded vaults.

"The owl! They're attacking the owl," yelled Janice. They ran to join Amy. Suddenly she was filled with loathing for the swarming rodents.

They found Amy two branches up in the tree, flashlight clenched in her teeth, yelling wordlessly.

There was more commotion in the branches, sharp squeals and thrashings.

Then above her Janice heard something falling, thumping into branches and crashing to the ground on the far side of the tree. She guessed it was the owl, but it sounded too heavy. She had a sudden vision of a cadre of chipmunks attacking the owl as it sat helpless on the branch, the brief death struggle, the failed takeoff becoming a plunge taking both attackers and prey to their doom.

Above them, Amy yelled in pain and stopped climbing. She yelled again and her flashlight fell to the ground.

"Ahhh! I'm being attacked!"

A hastening, liquid sound-made up, Janice realized, of many excited squeals.

"They're swarming all over," Amy shrieked. "I'm coming down."

With a cry she fell from the tree, landing in a crumpled heap. They rushed over to her.

Jeff helped her up.

"Amy..." began Janice.

"Oh, my ankle. I must've landed wrong." Her terrified face stared up at them in the flashlight gleam.

"D-d.a.m.n things are all over the tree! One of them b-bit me on the shoulder. They're like in a frenzy or something."

The branches above them were alive with swift scurrying noises.

"Let's get out of here," said Janice. "This is bad news. Maybe these things are sick."

"No," said Jeff. "It's what you said. They've taken the next step. They're hunting."