KILLER THE WEASEL MAKES A PLAN LIKEWISE
With a still tongue and a waving tail Watch galloped back from the
Robins’ Roost, Bobby Robin flitting along beside him. They were
hunting trouble, and that was the very wisest way in the world to hunt
it. Because the very trouble they were hunting was peering through a
crack between two big stones on the bank of Doctor Muskrat’s Pond. It
was a little bit of a crack--so little you wouldn’t think a garter
snake could much more than squeeze into it. But it held a lot of
trouble. Because trouble is brains--not size.
Trouble was the meanest of all the things from under-the-earth who
came up to spoil Mother Nature’s nice plans in the far-back, First-Off
Beginning of Things. Trouble was Killer the Weasel, with his snaky
head and his cruel beady eyes and his conceited smile. And he was
peering through that crack to see how the Woodsfolk behaved before he
tried a very funny trick the wife of the Bad Little Owls had whispered
to him.
The first thing he saw was Watch the Dog bounding along with his tail
in the air as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “Ho,” said the
wicked weasel to himself, “that clumsy beast would carry his tail
between his legs if he knew I was here!” I told you he was conceited.
The next thing he saw was Bobby Robin flitting past as careless as a
butterfly in a breeze. “A-ha!” said the weasel to himself, “that
foolish bird would set up a fine squawking if he knew I was here.”
Wasn’t he just conceited?
Then he laid his ear to the crack to hear if they were talking about
him. But they weren’t--not a single word. It really hurt his feelings.
That’s how conceited he was!
All he heard was Chaik Jay waking up in the bottom of the bush where
he’d crept the night before. “What a place to sleep!” thought the
wicked weasel. “It’s a pity I didn’t see him.”
Chaik gave himself a little shake; then he tried to stretch.
“Ye-a-a-ak!” he squawked. “Ow, my sore wing! Oh, my cramped claws!
Whee! my stiff feathers!”
“What a noise to make!” growled the wicked weasel to himself. “I don’t
believe he can fly a little bit. Now that dog will make a quick meal
of him.”
But the dog didn’t at all. He just said: “Here, Chaik, let me lick the
soreness out, the way we dogs do.”
“No, thanks,” Chaik almost giggled, because the idea was really funny.
“I’d never find head nor tail of myself again if you mussed me up with
your great wet tongue. I’d much rather have Doctor Muskrat bring me a
blister beetle if he can find one.”
And the wicked weasel didn’t know what to make of that. Chaik was
sitting on the lowest branch where anybody could have caught him, and
Watch wasn’t even trying to eat him!
Instead of that, he went down by Doctor Muskrat’s big flat stone and
barked. And instead of diving down to the deepest bottom of the pond
and hiding beneath the water lilies, up swam Doctor Muskrat himself,
and he flopped on his stone. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did any
one want me?”
“Ye-ah,” called the bird. “I’ve hurt my wing. And I’m sore all over. I
feel like a mouse after a cat has been playing with it.”
“You do, do you?” said the good old muskrat, flopping over to him.
“Well, you look as if you’d been caught in a hailstorm. Let’s see
what’s the matter with your flapper. M-m-m. It isn’t broken. Just give
it a day’s rest.”
“How about a blister beetle?” asked Chaik. “I feel scary here on the
ground. I want to get to flying again.”
“Fine for fur, but no good at all for feathers,” the doctor explained.
“There, there! Don’t flutter yourself. I guess you had too much party
last night by the looks of you. You’d better be careful about eating.
I recommend a little acid. Try an ant or two. Or perhaps you’d like a
nice red sumach berry from the Quail’s Thicket. I’ll cut down a branch
so you can reach them.” Sumach berry, indeed! You know how Chaik loves
them. Off he hopped, dragging his wing.
“Queerer and queerer,” thought the bad beast hiding under the stone.
The next thing he saw was Nibble’s bunnies trooping down to drink--my,
but they made his mouth water! And he could hear all the birds
spluttering and splashing at the edge of the sand where it would be
easy to catch them! Still, he stayed hidden.
But when Stripes Skunk came strolling down with his three fat kittens
behind him and the bunnies actually began playing with them he made up
his mind. “That little owl told the truth!” said the weasel to
himself. “She said the Woodsfolk were all friends, but I couldn’t
believe her. Well, if they’ve made friends with my cousin Stripes
Skunk, they’ll make friends with me. How nice that will be. They’ll
walk right into my jaws. I’ll do exactly what the owl told me to. Her
advice is worth having!” And he began to prick up his ears and
carefully slick back his whiskers.
He didn’t have very much elbow room in that narrow crack between the
two big stones but the way he managed to fix himself up was surely
surprising. The wife of the Bad Little Owl would never in the world
have known he was the bristly whiskered ruffian with red in his eye
she found gnawing a robin in the door of his den.
When he squeezed through the crack and shook himself he was really a
very elegant-looking creature. His little ears were perked up as pert
as he could prick them. His tail didn’t stick straight out behind; it
was all fluffed out and he cocked it up the way Chatter Squirrel does.
He didn’t slink along like a snake gliding through the bushes; he
arched his neck and he arched his back and he hopped as neatly as a
rabbit. I won’t say he was comfortable, but he really did look
handsome.
Well, the first beast he met was that very bunny who had been locked
up in the cage in Louie Thomson’s cellar. “Good morning, Miss Rabbit,”
said he in his politest voice. “Can you tell me where I can find my
cousin, Tad Coon? I’ve come to visit him.” He said that because he
wanted to find out where Tad was. He was the least little bit scared
he might have to be careful about Tad.
The bunny opened her eyes very wide. You remember Tad Coon was the
fellow who taught her how foolish she was to trust strangers. He told
her that his family ate little rabbits. If this was a cousin of Tad’s
she wasn’t going to risk being eaten. She didn’t even stop to answer;
she just flicked her white tail in his very face and made for the
Pickery Things.
“That’s funny,” thought the weasel. “But maybe she’s only young and
foolish.” So he edged along by some tall grass to where Stripes Skunk
was catching some grasshoppers. “Good morning, Cousin Stripes,” he
said. “I’m your cousin Slick.” (He thought maybe he could fool even
Stripes, just a little, because he looked so different.) “Won’t you
introduce me to your friends? I’m tired of living in the Deep Woods. I
want to be good and happy like the rest of you.” (That’s what the Bad
Little Owl had told him to say.)
Stripes was most as scared as the bunny. But he could see something
the bunny didn’t see--something the wicked weasel didn’t see, either.
For that good old dog Watch was standing right behind him. And he
looked different, too. He wasn’t sleek and good-tempered any more. He
was red-eyed and bristly, thinking about what the weasel had done to
the poor robins. He didn’t take a step, or Killer’s sharp ears would
have heard him. He crouched for a great big spring, and then----
[Illustration: The Doctor said Chaik had had too much party and
should be careful about eating]