“But what if they don’t?� insisted her mate.
“Why, then I’ll show him where they have their holes and help him hunt them, that’s all,� she answered.
“A-ha!� said Killer to himself. “That won’t be a bad plan. I won’t quarrel with her yet. I’ll let her help me all she can before I get even with her. All the same, I want to know what that man is doing out here, and why she didn’t warn me.�
He meant Louie Thomson.
If those little owls had known there wasn’t another thing for him to eat in all the Woods and Fields except the flittery bats, which he couldn’t catch, and Chatter Squirrel, safely hidden in his secret nest, they’d have had the appetites scared right out of them—and that’s the most you can possibly scare an owl. But they didn’t. So there they perched, feasting on the robins they had stored in their hole, which they used for a pantry.
“Speaking of holes,� said the little he-owl, “I’ve been wondering if we oughtn’t to look up some more. This one we have will never hold all we’ll have to hide when that weasel begins killing the Woodsfolk.�
“It’s no use,� answered his wicked little wife. “Those Woodsfolk are all too big for us to carry. We’ll have to eat them where he leaves them, like we did when Silvertip was doing our hunting.�
“Silvertip!� bristled the weasel. “O-ho! I remember that fox. He couldn’t catch me. I’m too smart for him. But I’d better keep an eye out. I wonder where he is now?�
“I wish Killer would catch some more robins,� said the little he-owl, wiping his beak clean of the feathers that were sticking to it. “They’re very convenient, and we’ve eaten all but the very last one. Shall I get it?�
“Um-hm!â€� the weasel nodded to himself. “Now I understand. You birds invited me here to do your hunting, did you? Well, I’ll see to it you don’t get anything you don’t earn.â€� But of course he didn’t say it—not yet. He wanted to hear what else they’d talk about.