But no Nibble came. Nibble Rabbit was still hiding in the Quail’s Thicket, listening to Mr. and Mrs. Screech Owl, who were perched right above him.
“That bird’s telling him about Silvertip,” said one. “If it had been any other bird in the woods he’d have spoken so we could overhear him.”
“I wish he had,” said the other. “We’ve picked that last hen so clean we’ll have to hunt for ourselves if we can’t find him. I wonder what that muskrat wants of him. He’s been asking every bird who came down to drink for the last three days. I heard Chaik the Jay talking to Chewee the Chickadee about it just when I was going to sleep this morning.”
“What did they say?” demanded Mrs. Screech Owl. The lady owl is always the more thoughtful. They both live in trees. Silvertip never bothers them.
“I didn’t understand,” said her mate. “Chaik was insisting that they must all hunt hard for Silvertip. He said that it concerned every good friend of Tommy Peele’s.”
“You pinfeathered idiot!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me that before? That explains why Tommy Peele and his dog were sniffing about Silvertip’s fence corner. And that rabbit was with them. He’s at the bottom of all this. Something’s wrong there. I never knew a wild rabbit to be friends with a dog in all my life. If he’ll do that he’ll do anything. Silvertip must be warned. We can’t let anything happen to him. Besides, think how much he could do for us if he felt grateful.”
“Grateful? Not much. A fox is never grateful. But he’d know we were useful and that amounts to the same thing. I wonder why that rabbit doesn’t answer Doctor Muskrat?” and Mr. Screech Owl flew cautiously over the doctor’s house in the middle of the pond. Back he came to where his wife was still thinking. “He must have meant that call for the whippoorwill,” he said to his mate. “He’s gone to bed.”
“We must get some friend who lives on the ground to keep watch for us, too,” said the Lady Owl thoughtfully. “Only Silvertip has no friends. He’ll eat anybody.”
“Excepting old Foul Fang the Rattlesnake,” said Mr. Screech Owl. “We could buy Foul Fang’s service for a mouse a day. I’ll just do that, and you go up to the house, not the barn, mind, and see if you can get a word with that grandson of Ouphe the Rat who lives there. Silvertip’s never hunted him. By the kitchen door—now flutter!” And away they went.
But Nibble waited until he was perfectly sure they had gone before he crept down to talk with Doctor Muskrat in the bulrushes.