“That owl never killed them, did he?” asked Nibble when he came up with the hen.
“Not while I was with them,” she answered, ruffling up her feathers. “He wouldn’t dare. No. It was a furry thing with stripes. He’d reach in his paw and draw them out from under me—so gently at first I didn’t know what he was doing.”
Now that certainly did sound a lot like Tad Coon. “Did he have a black mask across his face?” Nibble wanted to know.
“It was so very dark I couldn’t see,” she clucked. “He had a bushy tail and no matter where I tried to attack him he kept his back turned.”
No wonder Watch the Dog had thought it was Tad. Even Nibble felt doubtful. He was a very sober rabbit when he hopped over to where Watch and Tommy Peele were examining the chicks.
“They’re not all here. The killer’s come back for them!” Tommy was just shouting excitedly. “We’ve been with him all the time, so it’s not the coon. What is it?” But Nibble knew that the little owl had taken them, and he certainly wasn’t the killer, either.
Watch sniffed very carefully. “It isn’t Tad’s smell,” he whined, circling about. Suddenly he barked, bristling. “But it certainly is his trail!” For there right beneath his nose was a hind footprint, something like a baby’s, and very much more like Tad Coon’s. “He won’t fool me again,” Watch raged. “I’ll fix him!”
“Wait a minute,” Nibble protested.
“That’s too small to be Tad. It might be another coon. No, no! It hasn’t a handy-paw. Look!” For the print of the forefoot was clawed and padded like Watch’s own, and not a bit like any coon’s.
Watch sat right down. This was too puzzling for him.