DAGGER BILL AND THE WATER BABIES
"What's that?" demanded the Babe nervously, as a peal of wild, crazy
laughter rang out over the surface of the lake.
"Why, don't you know what _that_ is yet?" Said Uncle Andy with a
superior air. "That's old Dagger Bill, the big black-and-white loon.
Sounds as if he was terribly amused, doesn't he? But he's only calling
to his big black-and-white mate, or the two little Dagger Bills they
hatched out in the spring."
"What does _he_ do?" asked the Babe.
"I don't _know_ much about that fellow," answered Uncle Andy. "Now you
see him, and now you don't. Mostly you don't; and, when you do, as
likely as not it's only his snaky black head, with its sharp dagger of
a bill, stuck up out of the water to keep track of you. He's _most_
unsociable. If anyone tells you he knows all about a loon, you wink to
yourself and pretend you are not listening. But I'll tell you who _do_
know something about old Dagger Bill--the Water Babies.
"Who're the Water Babies?" demanded the Babe.
"Why don't you know _that_? The little muskrats, of course, that live
in the warm, dry, dark nest under the dome of their mud house, out in
the water--the house with its doors so far under water that no one can
get into it without diving and swimming."
"It must be cozy and awfully safe," said the Babe, who began to want a
place like that himself.
"Yes, _fine_!" agreed Uncle Andy. "And safe from everything but the
mink; and if _he_ came in by one door, there was always another door
open for them to get out by, so quick that the mink could never see
their tails.
"Old Dagger Bill, of course, could never get into the house of the
Water Babies, for all his wonderful swimming and diving, because he was
so big--as big as a goose. But, as a rule, he wouldn't want to bother
the Water Babies. Fish were much more to Dagger Bill's taste than
young muskrat; and he could swim so fast under water that few fish ever
escaped him, once he got after them.
"This summer, however, things were different at Long Pond. Hitherto it
had fairly swarmed with fish--lake trout, suckers, chub, red fins, and
so on. But that spring some scoundrel had dynamited the waters for the
sake of the big lake trout. Few fish had survived the outrage. And
even so clever a fisherman as Dagger Bill would have gone hungry most
of the time had he not been clever enough to vary his bill of fare.
"'If we can't have all the bread we want,' he said to the family, 'we
must try to get along on cake!'"
"Dagger Bill _might_ get _bread_ from some camp," interrupted the Babe
thoughtfully, being a matter-of-fact child. "But _what_ could he know
about _cake_, Uncle Andy?"
"Oh, come on! You know what I mean!" protested Uncle Andy, aggrieved
at the Babe's lack of a sense of humor. "You're too particular, you
are! _You_ know bread meant fish with Dagger Bill--and cake meant
things like winkles and frogs, and watermice, and--Water Babies, of
course!
"Well, you know, it was no joke hunting the Water Babies, for the old
muskrats could fight, and would, and did! And after Dagger Bill and
his family had breakfasted on two or three Water Babies, there was
great excitement in all the muskrat homes.
"Dagger Bill was a new enemy, and they were not quite sure how to
manage him. The mink they knew, the fox they knew, and the noiseless,
terrible eagle owl, and the swooping hawk. All these they had their
tricks for evading. And the savage pike they would sometimes fight in
his own element.
"But Dagger Bill, swimming under water like a fish, and spearing them
from beneath with the deadly javelin of his beak, this was a new and
dreadfully upsetting danger. Furry heads got close together, and there
was a terrible lot of squeaking and squealing before anyone could make
up his mind what to do. And meanwhile Dagger Bill was feeling quite
pleased, because he had found out that Water Babies were good--and
safe!--to eat.
"Now the Water Babies, I must tell you, had two nests--one in the
waterhouse, a few yards out from shore, and one at the end of the
burrow leading up into the dry bank. Their favorite amusement, as a
rule, was playing tag in the quiet water around the house, sometimes on
the surface, sometimes beneath it. They would catch and nip each other
by the tails or the hind legs, and sometimes grapple and drag each
other down, for all the world like a lot of boys in swimming--but how
they could swim! You'd give your eye teeth to swim like they could."
"Bet your boots, Uncle Andy," agreed the Babe enthusiastically.
"Specially _these_ teeth, 'cause they're my first, and I'll lose 'em
soon, anyway."
"Huh!" grunted Uncle Andy, looking at him suspiciously. "But, as I was
saying, the Water Babies _could swim_. They were no match for Dagger
Bill, however, who was quicker than a fish. And when Dagger Bill took
to hunting Water Babies, it was no longer safe for them to play far
from home. They would get themselves well nipped by their relations, I
can tell you, whenever they went outside the little patch of shallow
water between the house and the bank.
"Now the sharpness of Dagger Bill's eyes was something terrible. From
away across the lake, where no muskrat could see him at all, _he_ could
see the ripple made by the brown nose of the littlest muskrat swimming.
So one day, when the Water Babies were playing tag in what was really,
you know, nothing more nor less than their own back yard, he saw the
swift ripples and splashes crossing and recrossing--and he laughed!
_You_ know how he laughed.
"And when the muskrats heard that wild laughter, they bobbed up their
furry heads, those in the water; and those on land sat up like
squirrels to listen, and all were as delighted as possible because the
sound was so very far away! Then the Water Babies all began to play
about as boldly as you please, because they knew Dagger Bill was away
over at the other side of the lake.
"But do you suppose he really was?
"Not much! The moment he was done laughing he dived, and swam as hard
as he could straight across the lake, under water. He swam and he
swam, a sharp, black-and-white wedge rushing through the golden deep,
as long as he could hold his breath. When he could not hold it a
moment longer he came up, stuck his bill just above water, took a long
breath, and dived again. He was halfway across the lake when he came
up that time. Next time he was _all_ the way across; but, being very
cunning indeed, he came up under a grassy bank, where his black bill
was hidden among the stems.
"He was not more than twenty paces now from the place where the Water
Babies were splashing and racing and squeaking, and having such a good
time on the smooth, sunny water, under the blue, blue sky. They were
very happy. Dagger Bill sank back into the deep water so noiselessly,
you would have said it was a shadow sinking. Then he rushed forward
like a swordfish, down there in the brown glow, and darted up right
into the game of tag.
"He had aimed his cruel thrust at the Water Baby who, at that
particular moment, was IT. But, in that same second, as luck would
have it, IT caught the one he was pursuing, nipped his tail, and
doubled back like lightning to escape getting nipped in return. So,
you see, Dagger Bill missed his aim. That javelin of his beak just
grazed the brown tip of IT'S nose, scaring him to death, but nothing
more."
"Ah-h!' breathed the Babe, relieved in his feelings.
"In a wink, of course," went on Uncle Andy, "all the Water Babies, with
a wild slapping of tails on the water to warn each other, were
scurrying desperately for the nest. Some dived as deep as possible;
but others lost their wits and swam on the surface. A moment more, and
Dagger Bill, who had sunk at once, darted up again, and this time his
terrible beak pierced right through a little swimmer's body, severing
the backbone."
"Oh-h-h!" murmured the Babe, drawing in his breath sharply.
"I can't help it," said Uncle Andy. "But that's the way things go.
Well, now, Dagger Bill rose right out on top of the water, as a bird
should, and swam toward shore with the victim hanging limply from his
beak. But every old muskrat, along the bank or around the waterhouse,
had seen and had understood. Those folks that think muskrats and other
wild creatures have sense, would have said it was all planned out
ahead--it happened so quick. Every muskrat dived like a flash into the
water and disappeared.
"Dagger Bill was coolly making for shore, not dreaming that anybody
would dare interfere with him, when suddenly his black head went up in
the air, his great beak opened with a hoarse squawk, and he dropped the
dead Water Baby. His dark wings flopped, and his tail was drawn under
so violently that he nearly turned over backward. It seemed to him
that nothing less than the Great Sturgeon, which lived far down the
river, must have grabbed him by the feet."
"Wish it had been!" said the Babe.
"Just you wait!" said Uncle Andy. "Well, the next minute he looked
down, and, lo and behold! all the water underneath him was alive with
swimming muskrats, darting up and closing in upon him. Three or four
already had their sharp teeth in his feet. He was mad and frightened,
I can tell you.
"He struggled and flopped, but his short wings could not raise him from
the water with those weights fastened upon his feet. Then his black
head shot under, and he jabbed savagely this way and that, making
dreadful wounds in those soft, furry bodies. But the muskrats never
heeded a wound. They swarmed upon their enemy with a splendid,
reckless rage. _They'd_ teach him to stab Water Babies!
"And they did, too! In a minute or so they had pulled the old robber
clean under, where they could all get at him; and, my! you should have
seen how the water boiled! But it was only for a minute or two. Then
two muskrats came up, bleeding, but proud as you please, and then two
or three more; and they all went ashore to lick their wounds and make
their toilets, for, as you may imagine, their hair was somewhat
disarranged.
"And then, while they were combing their fur with the claws of their
little forepaws, like hands, who should come up but Dagger Bill; but
his feet came up first, and he didn't come up far, anyway, and he
didn't stir. In fact, he was good and dead--so dead that presently a
young chub, and a red-fin, and two sunfish, came up and swam round him
curiously.
"You see, they thought they might never have another chance to get such
a _good, comfortable_ look at a loon, and be able to talk about it
afterwards."