got’n thirty-two.”
“Hardly enough for eleven bold chaps’n’chappesses like us,” Riffle snorted scornfully. “Thirteen if y’count Tamm
an’ Russa. I say, thirteen, is that unlucky?”
Lieutenant Morio stood up, dusting off his paws. “Aye, unlucky for them when we catch up with ’em. Everybeast
fit now, Pasque?”
The beautiful young hare was closing up her medicine pouch. “Yes, Midge took a slight cheek wound and Turry
nearly lost the tip of an ear. I’ve seen to them both. Now there’s only the Major’s jacket, but I can do that this
evening.”
18?
The twins, Tare and Turry, ragged Tammo unmercifully.
“Heehee! Lookit the long face on ole Tamm!”
“Bet he wishes he’d been wounded, just so’s Pasque could bandage him up an’ bathe his brow a bit!”
“If I were him I’d chop me nose off, that’d get her attention!”
“Aye, she’d say, ‘Goodness nose, what’ve they done to your handsome hooter?’ Hahahaha!”
Pasque joined in the fun. Grabbing Turry she began reban-daging his ear fiercely. “Hello, what’s this ear?
Goodness knows, your bandage has come loose. Here, let me tie it a bit more snugly!”
Turry squeaked as he tried to get away. “Ow ow! You’ve cut off all the blood to me ear! Stoppit!”
Sergeant Torgoch loomed over the playful young ones. “Now then, young sirs an’ miss, I’ll cut off all yore ears an’
cook ’em for me supper if yore not all formed up an’ ready t’march two ticks from now. Up on yore paws, you idle lot!
Where d’you think y’are—on an ’oliday for ’ares? Move y’ selves!”
Pasque marched at the rear with Tammo. She smiled and waved to the Sergeant. To Tammo’s surprise, he smiled
and winked at her.
Tammo scratched his ear, completely puzzled. “Is he always like that, shoutin’ one moment an’ smiling the next?”
“Sergeants are all the same,” the young hare chuckled. “Bark’s worse than their bite. Torgoch is my favorite
Sergeant, he’s always there to look out for you if you get in any trouble.”
The remainder of the day went smoothly enough, with the patrol following the vermin track steadily. Late
afternoon brought them to the banks of quite a sizeable river. Major Perigord halted them within sight of it.
They crouched in a patch of fern, viewing the scene ahead. Through a screen of weeping willow, elder, sycamore,
and holm oak, the river made a welcoming sight, with patches of sun-burnished water showing amid cool islands of
tree shade. Tammo was wondering why they had halted and concealed themselves, when he heard Perigord and
Twayblade discussing their next move.
“Looks very temptin’ indeed, eh, gel?”
“Exactly, good spot for an ambush, I’d say.” Tammo remembered the last time he had rushed forward to water.
The hares were right, this time he would be on his guard.
The Major issued orders in a whisper. “Sergeant Torgoch, take young Pasque an’ scout the terrain downstream.
Cap’n Twayblade, do likewise upstream, take one with you.”
“Permission t’go with you, Cap’n. Please, marm, I’d like a chance t’be a real part of the patrol!”
Twayblade could not help smiling at the eager Tammo. “Stripe me, but you’re a bright’n’brisk ’un. Still, one
volunteer’s worth ten pressed creatures. C’mon then, young Tamm.”
Leaving the edge of the fern cover, Twayblade drew her deadly long rapier and stooped low. “Follow me, Tamm,
duck an’ weave, take advantage of any cover, keep your eyes open an’ do as I do. That is until I give you an order,
then it’s do as I say!”
Tammo enjoyed learning from an expert. He kept low, rolling behind mounds, bellying out to crawl over open
spaces swiftly, then stopping dead and remaining motionless, disguised among bushes. Never traversing in a straight
line, they headed east, keeping with the outer edge of the tree fringe until Twayblade decided they had gone far
enough. She flattened herself against a gnarled dwarf apple tree, and for a moment Tammo tost sight of the Captain.
She blended in with the tree bark until she was almost invisible to the casual observer, and only by staring hard could
the young hare make her out.
“Great seasons, Cap’n,” he chuckled admiringly, “you nearly vanished altogether then! Mayhaps you’ll teach me
that trick, marm?”
Twayblade shook her head vigorously. “Not me. Little Midge Manycoats is the chap, he’ll teach you all about
disguise an’ concealment, he’s the best there is. Righto, let’s make our way to the riverbank an’ follow it back down
t’where we left the patrol. Everythin’ seems to be safe enough hereabouts, but let’s not get careless, Tamm. Keep that
splendid blade o’ yours at the ready, wot!”
They took a drink at the river’s edge; the water was cold and sweet. Splashing through the shallows, they cooled
their footpaws as they went. Tammo noticed a good patch of watercress, fronds streaming out around a limestone rock
beneath the water. He did not stop to gather it, but noted the spot and carried on in Twayblade’s wake. The rest of the
journey back was pleasant and uneventful, and they arrived at the ferns as noontide shadows lengthened.
The Captain made her report: “Well, well, I see you lot’ve had a nice little nap whilst we were gone, wot! Notnin’
to report, the coast’s clear up that way.”
Torgoch and Pasque returned; the Sergeant threw a brisk salute. “River narrows downstream, sah, lots o’ rocks
stickin’ up. That’s where the vermin made their crossin’, still wet paw-prints on the stones. We’d catch ’em up by
midnight if the patrol got Under way smartlike, sah.”
Perigord judged die sun’s angle. “I think we’ll make camp here, Sergeant. No sense in chasm’ our tails off, wot.
Early start tomorrow, good fast march, an’ I’ve little doubt we’ll encounter ’em about high noon. Camp down, troop.”
Insects skimmed and flitted on the river surface in quiet twilight, and the campfire flickered warmly. Tammo and
Russa opened their haversack. The squirrel dug out the last of her pancakes and distributed them, saying, “Warm these
over by the fire, toast ’em up a mite, they’re good!”
Rockjaw spitted his on a willow twig and held it over the flames. “How’s the soup a comin’ along, Rubbadub?”
Corporal Rubbadub pulled a wry face as he took a sip from his ladle. “Brrrrumbum dubadub!”
Lieutenant Mono raised an eyebrow. “As bad as that, eh? Nothin’ hereabouts we can add to it?”
Tammo rose and winked at them. “Wait there. I spotted some fresh watercress earlier on. Won’t be a tick!”
It was slightly eerie being alone in the gathering gloom as Tammo made his way back upriver. Once or twice he
thought he heard noises, and each time he drew his blade and halted, listening, but the only sounds he could make out
were those of the flowing water. The young hare gripped his weapon tightly, chiding himself aloud, “Not very good
form, sah, be-havin’ like a ditherin’ duckwife!”
Squaring his shoulders, he loped onward until the limestone rock showed pale and ghostly through the gloom.
Wading out to it he gathered pawfuls of the fresh watercress, lopping it off below the waterline with his dirk. Carrying
the delicious treat back to the bank, Tammo stuck his blade in a sycamore trunk and began tying the cress in a bundle,
using his shoulder strap to secure it.
Four dark shapes dropped out of the branches overhead, making Tammo their target. Footpaws whamming onto his
back, shoulders, and head drove Tammo flat, stunning him. Before he had a chance to recover and fight back, a cruel