The otter chieftain nodded. “Aye, Tam, so ’tis. Those vermin’ll have the paws run offa theirselves, tryin’ to follow the bankside. We could do with sailin’ a bit slower, if’n we want to keep ’em on our tails.”
A shout from Togey in the bow interrupted them. “Ho there, back-water, Guosim, tree ahead!”
Tam grinned wryly. “Well, that’ll slow us down if anything does. Let’s go an’ see this tree!”
The other Guosim craft had pulled into the bank shallows. Aboard the big boat, shrews back-watered energetically with their long paddles, fighting the swift current. A massive old willow had collapsed across the stream, blocking it completely. Heeling about until it was broadside on, the big logboat slowed down, coming to rest against the willow trunk with a gentle bump amidships.
The Guosim chieftain turned to Skipper and Tam, sighing irately. “Well, this is a nice liddle mess we’ve run into. I’ll have t’see wot can be done.”
A young shrew called out from the shallows, “Looks like we’ll ’ave to portage the boats, Chief!”
Log a Log Togey eyed him sceptically. “Portage, y’say? Ten tribes o’ badgers couldn’t lift this craft o’ mine to carry it over that ole monster!”
Lancejack Wilderry leaned against the protruding willow trunk. “Well, what the dickens d’you suggest, sah?”
Togey laughed humourlessly. “I dunno, sah. Ye got any bright ideas yoreself?”
Corporal Butty Wopscutt emerged from under the awning where he had been assisting the Guosim cooks. “Bloomin’ great log, ain’t it, chaps? Can’t go under it or bally well over it, wot!”
Togey glared at him. “Is that all the help ye can offer, matey?”
Wopscutt dusted flour from his paws, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, sorry, sah. Were y’lookin’ for suggestions? Well, how’s about the old fulcrum’n’lever, wot?”
The one called Fiveshrew clapped the hare’s back soundly. “That’s it, fulcrum’n’lever! Ye could shift anythin’ that way!”
Shrews like nothing better than a good argument, and the Guosim crew were no exception. One shrewmate after another exchanged comments vociferously.
“Fulcrum’n’lever . . . rubbish! There’s no movin’ that thing!”
“Ah, who asked you? Get me a fulcrum’n’lever an’ I’ll move it!”
“Huh, you an’ whose army? Ye’d never find a lever long enough t’shift that trunk. Don’t talk twoddle!”
“Ahoy, big gob, I’ll twoddle you if’n I comes over there. I’ll tell ye how t’do it!”
“Oh ye will, will ye? Go on then, clever clogs!”
“S’easy, ye use two o’ the smaller logboats. One fer a fulcrum, the other fer a lever. Ain’t that right, Eightshrew?”
“Oh aye, but while yore leverin’ one end, ye’ll have to get the other end movin’, too.”
“Move the other end . . . why’s that?”
“Don’t ye know nothin’, thicktail? So as the log’ll lie straight in the water an’ get washed downstream outta our way. That’s why!”
Soon everybeast was shouting, with clenched paws raised and snouts butted together truculently.
Log a Log Togey broke up the argument, bellowing, “Rifto, get yore boat over ’ere, that’ll be the fulcrum. Streambob, yore craft’ll do as a lever. Use both of yore crews t’do it. The rest of ye, start shovin’ wid paddles agin the root end o’ that trunk. Come on Guosim, get an ole heavie ho goin’!”
The shrews leaped into action as Log a Log murmured to Tam, “See that? That’s the way to solve a problem Guosim fashion—by democratic an’ sensible debate!”
Skipper stifled a chuckle, whispering to the Borderer, “It looked so democratic an’ sensible there fer a moment, I thought they was all goin’ to knock one another out flat!”
As the shrews went about the business of moving the fallen tree, Tam took Skipper and the hares back up the bank to watch out for signs of Gulo and his vermin pursuing them. As they moved cautiously along, using the trees close to the water as cover, Tam shook his ears in vexation. “Listen to those shrewbeasts singin’ their heads off. The vermin are sure t’hear ’em if they’re in the area!”
Skipper took a more philosophical view. “Well, it ain’t as if ole Gulo don’t know we’re up this way, mate. The Guosim are only singin’ to ’elp the job get done.”
Corporal Butty wrinkled his nose. “I say, catchy little tune, ain’t it, wot?”
Tam set his jaw, trying to ignore the heaving song.
“Shove an’ push! Heave an’ ho!
Bend yore backs, each mother’s son.
Lean down haul! One an’ all!
’Tis the only way the job gets done.
Shove an’ push! Heave an’ ho!
Do yore best, ’tis all I ask.
Lean down haul! One an’ all!
Git yore paws into this task.
Shove an’ push! Heave an’ ho!
Guosim don’t ye slack about.
Lean down haul! One an’ all!
Bring ’er round an’ drag ’er out!”
Since young Eissaye had the best sight and the sharpest ears of all the vermin, Gulo had despatched him to scout ahead. The wolverine was still weary, but reluctant to give up and rest. In high bad temper, he followed up the rear of his command as a threat to any who would dare to stop or drop out.
After a long and arduous march along the streambank, squelching through mud and sliding over wet rocks, Eissaye came hurrying back to report, “Lord, I heard singing ahead!”
Gulo called his band to a halt. One look from him warned them to be silent. He strode several paces ahead of where the rest stood, bringing Eissaye along with him. “Singing . . . where? I hear no singing.”
Eissaye could hear it, but he knew better than to contradict the wolverine. Cupping a paw around one ear, Gulo continued his interrogation. “No, I cannot hear it! What was the singing about?”
All the ermine could do was to explain and suffer the consequences. “Mighty One, I could not hear the words, but my ears are keen. I heard the sound of singing.”
His answer did little to improve Gulo’s mood. The wolverine’s paws shot out, buffeting Eissaye so heavily about both his ears that the force knocked him down.
Gulo stood over him, snarling, “Now I’ll wager thy ears are singing aloud. Idiot, we are wasting time here. Get up and fetch the others!”
Moving the willow trunk by fulcrum and lever was not as easy as the shrews had figured. The mere size of the huge, ancient tree was a daunting sight. Long, thick limbs, branches, boughs, twigs and foliage covered the fallen giant’s crown. A mass of twisted and tangled roots, some half as thick as the actual trunk, formed the base, protruding in all directions above and below the waters of the broadstream. The Guosim laid one of their logboats sideways at the top of the trunk; the second, lifted clear of the water, was placed across the middle of the first craft amidships, forming a type of seesaw. At the rooted end of the willow, shrews crowded the shallows—some ready to push, whilst others attached ropes at the other side, ready to pull. The principle of the scheme was to move the tree until it floated in the water, parallel to both banks, enabling the entire thing to drift off downstream, clearing the navigable waterway.
But theory and practice were strange bedfellows to the argumentative Guosim. Log a Log Togey stood on the centre of the mighty trunk, roaring orders, whilst his shrews squabbled and disputed furiously.
“Take the strain on those ropes, Guosim! Right, now dip the for’ard bow of the top boat down, underneath the tree. Puddenhead! I said the for’ard end, not the stern!”
“Ahoy, Chief! When we pull on these ropes, we might drag the tree over on top of us!”
“No ye won’t, dulltail. You just pull an’ we’ll push!”
“Huh, that’s easy fer yew t’say, rumblegut. Yore over on the safe side!”
Togey did a dance of rage. “Shuddup, all of ye! Ready, now all at once. Puuuuush! . . . Shoooove!”
Within moments, the crossfire of shrew comments began anew.