"Move y'paws left a touch, Stiff ... bit more . . . that's it!"
"Now lie flat on y'tummy an' wriggle along!"
"See that crevice? Wedge into it an' climb up there!"
Gradually, bit by painstaking bit the boxing hare made his way upward until he reached the stalactite they were certain was the coiling snake. Leaning out from the ledge, he took hold of it, inspecting the dark ceiling above. Bramwil called up to him. "D'you see the big plum cake? That's what the rhyme says you want t'look for. Any sign?"
Stiffener arched his neck back, searching. "Sire, can you move one o' those big lanterns this way?"
Stonepaw shifted a lantern directly beneath the hare.
"So there y'are, me beauty! I found it, mates," Stiffener called. "Be back down in a tick. Stan' clear, now!"
The makeshift rope unraveled, its end hitting the floor. Stiffener came down it paw over paw in a manner that would have done credit to any squirrel. He landed lightly.
"Up there, just right o' that coilin' snake thing, there's the fat, wide end of a stalactite which must've snapped off. Looks jus' like a big ole plum cake, though not as good as the ones you bake, Blench marm. T'other side of it is a hole, goes straight through the ceilin', sah. Any'ow, I swung across there an' tied the rope 'round a liddle nub o' rock, inside the hole, so we can all climb up there. I reckon the holespace might be wide enough to take a beast yore size, sah."
Lord Stonepaw hugged Stiffener fondly. "Splendid work, Stiffener. You're a real corker!"
Bramwil was the first to go, with Stiffener right behind him, lest the old fellow got into difficulties. Surprisingly he did quite well, though at one or two points Stiffener had to get his head and shoulders beneath Bramwil and push. Heaving the ancient hare through the hole, Stiffener started back down again.
Stonepaw noticed the boxing hare was beginning to breathe heavily. "You won't last out, clambering up and down that rope all the time. We'll have to think of an easier way."
Stiffener squatted until his breathing eased. "Yore right, sah, I ain't gittin' any younger. I got an idea though. Let's get two of our strongest up there with me, say, Purlow an' Trobee. The three of us can stay up in the hole, run a fixed noose into the rope an' hoist the rest up one by one. Wot d'ye think, sah?"
Stonepaw agreed readily. "An excellent idea! Trobee, up y'go, friend. Purlow ... Purlow?"
A worried frown flashed across the badger's face and he hurried to the concealed entrance, picking up a torch as he went. There was no sign of Purlow standing sentry in the narrow rift. Stonepaw heard yelling and clattering from outside. Forcing his great bulk through the crack, the Badger Lord pushed out into the passage and followed the sounds.
Around the first bend, Purlow was being set upon by six or more vermin. He fell with two on top of him, the rest scrabbling to get at him. Stonepaw came hurtling into the fray, laying about him with the blazing torch.
"Eulaliaaaa!"
Ripping the two Hordebeasts off Purlow, the Badger Lord dispatched both by smashing them head-on against the rock walls of the passage. Taking to their heels, the others fled, running wildly for their lives. Stonepaw pulled Purlow upright and retrieved his torch. "Are you badly hurt, my friend?"
Though blood ran from Purlow's jaw and back, he shook his head. "I'll be all right, sah, but they've found our cave! 'Twas my mistake to step out into the passage holding a torch. I heard sounds, y'see, and walked right into the vermin like a fool!"
The badger threw a paw about Purlow to steady him. "Come on, we'll soon have you up through the hole and out!"
But even as he found the cavern entrance, Stonepaw could hear the din of many vermin charging along the underground tunnels toward the secret cave that was no longer a secret.
Chapter 17
Surrounded by a virtual flotilla of shrew logboats, which were a bit more sophisticated than Ruff's simple treetrunk, having been hollowed out and crossbenched, Dotti and Gurth sat for'ard on their elm log, digging their paddles deep and calling out the pace in true Guosim fashion along with Log a Log Grenn's shrews. Dotti liked the shrews, aware of a real sense of comradeship in their company. The vessels sped downstream together with a big shrew called Kubba calling the stroke in his fine bass voice.
Taking his orders from Grenn, he bellowed out, "Ahoy, Guosim, we ain't stoppin' 'til we join the river, so let's git our guests there good'n'fast. The stream's a-runnin' well an' we'll camp near the river fork. So bend yore backs, an' let's show our friends how Guosim shrews do it. Right, take y'stroke from me. One ... two ... waylaheykoom!"
Everybeast bent to the paddles, roaring back at Kubba, "Shrumm! Shrumm!"
Kubba called the stroke on every third beat: "Waylaheykoom!"
Dotti and her friends joined the Guosim's answer: "Shrumm! Shrumm!"
"Oh the river is deep an' swift an' wide."
"Waylaheykoom!"
"An' there's my matey at my side!"
"Shrumm! Shrumm!"
"With the sunlight beamin' through the trees."
"Waylaheykoom!"
"We'll all remember days like these."
"Shrumm! Shrumm!"
"Oh oh waylaheykoom shrumm shrumm shrew, I won't forget a friend like you!"
Brocktree and Ruff cheered when the Guosim quickened the pace. Showing off their prowess, experienced shrews twirled their paddles high on alternate strokes, clacking the blades against those of their neighbors and dipping back without breaking pace. Ruff was full of admiration for their skill. "Haharr, wot a fine ole bunch o' waterbeasts this gang are!"
Before long Gurth and Dotti had learned the trick.
"Hurr hurr, miz Dott, us'n's be gurt pagglewallopers, burr aye!"
Then the entire thing developed into a race. The log-boats fairly flew downstream, spray shooting up from their bows. The four friends were caught up in the exhilaration of it all, keeping up with the breakneck stroke, yelling out friendly gibes and exchanging banter with the Guosim.
"Hah, there's woodworm in that log paddlin' faster'n you lot!"
"Ho, is there now, cheekychops? You'll soon be eatin' our spray from behind, matey!"
"Gurr, doan't ee strain you'mselfs, zurrs. Jus' ee stop in us'n's wake, naow!"
"Wake, is it? We thought ye were asleep, hohoho!"
"Scallywag, I'll bend my paddle o'er yore 'ead fer that!"
"Tut tut, me ole messmate, you'll 'ave to catch us first! Give 'em vinegar, Kubbashow 'em the ole double-stroke!"
"Come on, sah, wield that paddle as if it were your sword, wot!"
Kubba's booming shout rang out over the sunflecked waters.
"Ship yore paddles, stop that fuss,
Let the stream work carryin' us!"
Everybeast stowed paddles, allowing the boats to skim elegantly along on the silent current.
Brocktree leaned back, breathing heavily. "Whew! We must have covered a day's distance in half a morn there. What d'you say, Ruff?"
"Aye, we made the fishes look as if'n they was stannin' still."
Dotti flopped down upon the prow, wiping spray from her ears. "By the left an' by jingo, I'm kerfoozled! What about you?"
Gurth's smile split his dark-furred features almost in half. "Uz floo loik burds, miz. Et wurr wunnerful!"
The remainder of that memorable day on the stream passed in similar fashion, sometimes racing, other times cruising, with banter, shanties and good comradeship prevailing over all. In the late afternoon Grenn passed on orders to make landfall at a recognized Guosim camping spot, a shallow sunlit cove. They waded in the clear water, stretching and getting the feel of paws on solid ground again. A few of the younger shrews went deeper for a swim. Gurth watched the cooks setting up their fire and digging out supplies and cauldrons. The kindly mole gave their rations a quick look over before having a word with Dotti.
"Gurth says you lot can have the evenin' off," the haremaid announced to the delighted shrewcooks. "He'll be chef today. You chaps are in for a treatmy molepal's going to make gurt tunnel stew, followed by preserved apple'n'plum pudden with sweet chestnut sauce. How does that sound, wot?"