“What’s a lot worse, we’ll have hardly a thing to fly with, until our fall feathers come in,” he complained. “My wings aren’t very bad, but I’ll never be able to steer until my tail grows.”
“I’m going to watch Chaik’s nest,” scolded the Lady Owl, “and let Mrs. Hooter drag his wife out by the claws as soon as ever she gets back here. Her owlets are out already, so it won’t be long. And I’ll smash every one of Chaik’s eggs with my very own beak—see if I don’t!” Mrs. Owl was still nearly crying over her ruffled feathers.
“No, you won’t!” snapped her husband. The husband, you know, is always the timid one of an owl family. “We’d have Tommy Peele shooting us next! What do you think made Chaik take after us, eh? He was helping Tommy. That boy wouldn’t have a chance of finding that clever fox if half the Woodsfolk weren’t helping him. It’s a bad thing to have any man so friendly with them.” Of course it was, for a bad bird like the owl or a bad beast like Silvertip.
“It certainly is,” she agreed. “Tommy would be hunting them all just as hard as we do if it weren’t for that rabbit. It’s all his fault. We’ve got to get rid of him. Let’s tell Silvertip about the flat stone where he thumps for Doctor Muskrat.”
“Let’s find his hole,” said her husband. “Every mouse in the Woods and Fields knows about it; they went there this spring for woodchuck fur to make a charm against us owls. I’ll show them if it can keep me from catching one. Then we’ll offer to let him go if he tells us.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “and then we can eat him afterward, so he won’t run and warn that rabbit.”
“Thank you so much for all this information,” said Nibble to himself. “If Silvertip stays in the woods tonight I can sleep very comfortably in the haystack.”
Nibble slept in the haystack that night, but he didn’t sleep any too well, because the news of Foul Fang’s death had travelled ’way up to the barn and the mice were celebrating. Besides, he had to sleep with one ear up, listening for Watch.
He heard the old dog padding past early in the morning, before even the birds were awake, and thumped to call him. In another minute Watch and Trailer the hound, who was with him, were sniffing at the door of Ouphe the Rat’s old tunnel under the hay. “What’s on your mind?” the big dog whined softly. “Trailer won’t chase you.”
“I know he won’t,” Nibble chuckled. “I’m not going to run for him. I’m going to stay snuggled up in here until I hear him busy after Silvertip.”