THE BAD LITTLE OWLS

The Bad Little Owls

CHAPTER ITHE WOODSFOLK LEARN THE RULES ABOUT FIRE

“Take to the water, quick!” shouted Doctor Muskrat. “Climb a tree!” advised Chatter Squirrel, balancing on the tip end of a limb. And they had the Woodsfolk so excited they didn’t know what to do. Most of them couldn’t climb if they wanted to, and mighty few of them like to swim. So those who were there tried to run away, and those who weren’t came to see what was going on. Tommy Peele’s woods were just alive with scuttling and fluttering. All because Louie Thomson had brought a lantern to light his party with. He had brought all sorts of things to eat, too, and he planned to sleep all night in the Woods and Fields, in a tent made of one of his mother’s blankets.

Of course Louie couldn’t think what was the matter with the Woodsfolk. But Tommy Peele’s big furry dog, Watch, who was with him, knew well enough. He sat there with his tongue out, laughing at them.

When Tad Coon saw Watch laughing he got over being frightened, and then he was curious. He waded out of the pond and came over to look at the little sputtery flame dancing inside the lantern. Of course he thought it was a bug. Most everything that hasn’t leaves or fur or feathers is a bug to Tad Coon. Bugs do themselves up in very funny packages sometimes before they’re all through hatching. He put out his handy-paw to catch it.

“Look out!” barked Watch. “Let it alone!” But he didn’t say it before Tad had touched the glass with his little wet claw. Before he could jerk it back the water began sizzling and he got a bit of a burn. “Ow, ow!” howled poor Tad, dancing around with his paw in his mouth. “It’s a buzzer with a hot tail.” (He meant a paper wasp.) “Ow, ow!” he sobbed. “It bit me!” So that scared all the Woodsfolk all over again.

Doctor Muskrat knew all about the fires that sometimes burn up the marshes, but Tad didn’t, because he’s always gone to sleep for the winter before they begin. Nibble Rabbit knew something about them, because Watch tried to explain when he told what was happening to Grandpop Snapping Turtle. (Tommy Peele’s mother was cooking him.) But nobody ever dreamed Stripes Skunk would understand.

Stripes did know. He knew the rule of tents because his people were friendly with the Indians just like cats are friendly with us housefolk. They hunted around the campfires to catch creepy-crawley things. He didn’t know the difference between Louie’s blanket and a real tent, nor between Louie’s lantern and a real campfire because he’d never seen them. So he was just as pleased as though this was a real camp and Louie a real Indian. “Come along,” he called to his kittens. “This is the rule of fires: When the men aren’t walking around them you can lie down three tail lengths from the light and get your whiskers warm.” So down they lay. And weren’t they just conceited because all the other Woodsfolk had their eyes popped out, staring at them.

All this time, Tad was sitting right squash on his bushy tail in the edge of the pond, using all his other three paws to hold the poor burned one in his mouth—because it hurt him so dreadfully—at least he thought it did. Tad Coon’s always thinking he’s killed when he’s hardly more than mussed his fur. (He made an awful fuss the time Grandpop Snapping Turtle nipped his tail, and after all, Grandpop only pulled a couple of hairs out.) “Oo-h-ow-h-ow!” whimpered Tad, licking himself between each sniffle.

“Let’s see, let’s see!” said Doctor Muskrat. He began peering at it in the darkness way off away from the lantern.

“Come up here by the fire,” giggled Watch. “It’s not hurting Stripes. If you don’t get too close to its cage you’re all right. It can’t jump out and bite you.” Now wasn’t that a sensible way to explain about a lantern to the Woodsfolk? It surely is just a little flame of fire all shut up safe inside of its glass, like a goldfish in a bowl.

So Tad and Doctor Muskrat crept up close, jumping just a little whenever the flame danced, and peeked at the poor burned paw. It had just the teeniest, weeniest little pinhead of a blister. When Tad saw how very little it was he felt quite cheerful again, and forgot all about it.

Indeed, he was more curious than ever about the lantern. “Where did Louie catch it?” he wanted to know. “What does it eat? Doesn’t it ever run wild at all?”

“Sometimes,” said Watch with a little shiver. “Then it grows very, very fast and eats up everything it can reach. I’ve seen a little bit of a fire like that eat up a whole haystack in about the time it takes the sun to set. But men are very, very careful never to let it get out if they can possibly help it. They keep it in strong black cages (he meant stoves, of course), and feed it cold black stones. (That was coal, you know.) Or they keep it in a cave and feed it a bit of wood. (Watch meant an open grate.) It spits and sputters and sometimes a little piece jumps out, but someone always catches it. And they keep a lot in little cages like this and feed it water with a funny smell.” (That’s lamps burning kerosene.)

But you couldn’t expect the Woodsfolk to believe such things!

Now Louie brought that lantern to the pond just to light up his feast because there wasn’t any moonlight. But he did much better than that—or worse, according as you look at it. For by the time the Woodsfolk had learned a few things about it the buzzwings came to learn about it, too, ’specially some great big shelly-winged beetles, with great big stabbing-beaks on their ugly faces. And wasn’t it nice; most everybody there except Nibble Rabbit’s family and Doctor Muskrat just love to eat them!

As soon as they saw the light, a whole flock of these fellows came over from the pond to investigate it. Some of them lit on the glass and burned their feet a whole lot worse than Tad Coon burned his handy-paw, because they didn’t know enough to take them off again. They stuck right there and ran out their jabbers until they blunted the ends of them. And all the time they kept buzzing their war cry, calling the rest of the beetles to come and help them fight it. Foolish things, they didn’t know that if one beetle can’t hurt a thing even a thousand of them can’t. “Brz-brz-brz!” they roared. “Brz-brz!” roared all the others, coming to help them.

My, there were a lot of them! But the Woodsfolk didn’t mind them a little bit. They just thought this was an extra feast Louie had so cleverly provided. You ought to have seen Stripes Skunk’s children dancing around on their little hind legs, slapping them with their paddy-paws. Tad crunched and crunched until his jaws were tired. Even Chatter Squirrel and Chaik the Jay could see to catch them. They’d snap a bug, and then they’d eat some more of Louie’s corn; then they’d go back to the buzzwings again. And the more they ate the more desperate the buzzwings grew. But they blamed it all on the lantern.

It was a long, long time before they got so blind angry they began to fight everything they saw. They couldn’t hurt the furry folk, and they couldn’t catch Chaik, but they did get poor Louie Thomson, who was sitting there laughing at their goings on. Wow! But didn’t he squall! He squalled louder than Tad Coon. He hopped around sucking his poor hand just as Tad sucked his handy-paw, with all the Woodsfolk staring at him. It didn’t take them long to guess what had happened. And weren’t they just sorry as anything!

Poor Louie! It hurt lots worse than that little bitty burn of Tad Coon’s. But he didn’t make nearly so much fuss about it. He didn’t like even the Woodsfolk to hear him. ’Specially when they were so sorry. And Watch just whined his sympathy, plain as words, and licked the sore spot for him.

Even that didn’t stop it from hurting. So Louie ran down to the pond and stuck it in the water. Then he picked a bulrush and squeezed the nice, soft, juicy end against it. Of course that interested Doctor Muskrat. He flopped over to see what root Louie was using.

“Hey, Watch!” he said. “That poor boy has the right idea, but he’s got hold of the wrong root. Tell him to try this marsh marigold. It’s fine.”

“Or dock,” suggested Nibble Rabbit. Dock is a favourite remedy in a rabbit hole.

“No, leeks,” suggested Tad Coon. He didn’t mean to rub them on, but to eat them. They’re little wild onions, and they taste so good to Tad he forgets about everything else when he’s eating them. But there weren’t any by the pond.

“I can’t talk to him,” sniffed Watch. “Anyway, the best thing is that blue mud you put on Tad’s nose. Where do you find it?”

“Right in the bank here,” said Doctor Muskrat, giving a scratch with his paw to show him. And Louie didn’t need any more telling. He knew about that mud himself—his mother had put some on a bee-sting. So he scooped out a good handful and slapped it on his bite. Then he did feel better. He felt well enough to remember that he was so sleepy he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Over by his tent there were just as many beetles as ever, buzzing over his lantern. They were still fighting it, and the little skunks were still catching them. They couldn’t eat another one, but they thought it was fun to jump up and bat them. But Louie could see they’d never in the world catch them all. The only thing for him to do was to turn out his light and then the rest of the bad buzzwings would go back to the marsh where they belonged. “Pouff!” My, how dark everything was!

“Oh-h!” sighed Tad Coon in a sorry voice; “he killed it! What did he do that for? It bit me, all right, but I didn’t want it killed. And the buzzwing was the one who bit him. I saw it.” You see he thought the flame was alive.

“It’s only gone dark,” Watch comforted him. “It does that quite often, like the fireflies over in the marsh do when they fold their wings. But it always shines when he wants it to unless he forgets to feed it.” You know a lantern won’t burn if it hasn’t any oil. Watch knew that much, but he was really most as puzzled as Tad.

Inside his blanket tent Louie was already fast asleep.

CHAPTER IICHAIK JAY CARRIES BAD NEWS

When Louie’s lantern went out, all the Woodsfolk scurried to their holes as fast as ever they could go. All but Watch, Tommy Peele’s dog, who curled up just outside Louie’s blanket tent and went to sleep with one ear open, and Chaik the Jay.

Poor Chaik was in a bad way. It was easy enough to fly over to the feast while the lantern was lit, but now, in the black dark, he couldn’t get home. He tried to fly. Bump! He hit a tree. “Ough! I can’t risk that again,” he thought to himself. “Wonder where I am? What’s more, I wonder where those Bad Little Owls are?” He began tiptoeing around the trunk. First thing he knew his foot found a woodpecker hole. In he popped, without stopping to think. “Ah,” he chuckled, “this is luck! Mussy nest, though, I must tease Taps Woodpecker about his housekeeping. Whatever is this I’m stepping on?” He scratched round, feeling carefully with his claws. Then his feathers fluffed out with fright. “Great acorns!” he gasped. “It isn’t Tap’s nest at all any more. This is a mouse’s bones I’m standing on. I’m in the hole in the dead hickory where they killed Tap’s wife last year and stole the nest for themselves.” True enough. He had a right to be scared; he was in the little owls’ own hole.

There was a soft flutter just outside. He held his sharp beak ready for a fight, but he didn’t stir. He didn’t even breathe for quite a while. Nothing happened. “It’s the queerest thing,” he thought. “I should think this place should smell owlier than it does. Yes, and those bones are certainly old. I wonder——”

Right then a whispering interrupted him. It certainly was those owls. “What did you get?” said one. “I’ve got a mouse, a pretty good one, too.”

“More fool you,” said the other. “We could have cleaned up all those beetles who were lying around and then had a mouse apiece if you hadn’t grabbed that one right off. He squeaked, and now that dog is on the lookout for us.” Chaik guessed the mice had come out to pick up what the Woodsfolk left near Louie’s blanket tent, where Watch the Dog was asleep with one ear open, and the owls found them. “Give us a leg,” the owl went on.

“Go get one for yourself,” said the other rudely.

“I can’t,” whined the scary one. Chaik guessed it was the he-owl. “I’m scared of that dog. He moved when your mouse squeaked. I’d have had one, too, if you hadn’t been so greedy.”

“Oh, here, then. I’ll get another easy enough. That dog can’t catch me,” snapped his wife, clicking her beak. “But this thing has got to stop. We can’t be bothered with dogs and boys and everything right here on our hunting ground.”

“How can we help it?”

“I’m going to hunt up Killer the Weasel. That’s what the mice ought to have done. He wouldn’t kill any more mice than Stripes Skunk and Tad Coon do between them, and if he settled here I can just tell you everybody else would have to move away—or get eaten. He’s the one to bring.”

“So would we,” protested the scary owl. “You can’t nest with him anywhere about. He can climb like Chatter Squirrel.”

“Well, what nesting did we do this year?” she snarled back. “After those nasty jays pulled out all our feathers when they caught us in the Brushpile we couldn’t hunt enough to lay eggs, let alone raise a family!”

Suddenly the he-owl, who was much the scarier of the two, put up his beak and sniffed uncomfortably. “I smell feathers,” said he. “You haven’t been catching any birds, have you? I’m sure it’s feathers I’ve been noticing for the longest while.”

“Just suppose you stop plaguing me about that young seagull,” snapped his wife. “I like eating them, even if you don’t. It was a good half a hatching ago that I caught her, and you’re still yapping about it. The old ones never found who’d taken her.”

“Luckily they didn’t,” he said sulkily. “They’d have shouted it all over the marsh. It’s no use having the birds picking on us, I tell you. We have troubles enough without that. Now that I’ve got a full set of feathers growing in I mean to keep them. This flying about without my tail is no fun.” He was so full of his troubles he forgot all about what he smelled. “Now you say you’re going to bring Killer the Weasel into these Woods and Fields. That’ll make the most trouble of all. He won’t do any more good than Silvertip the Fox nor Slyfoot the Mink, and they were a whole lot safer for us. They didn’t climb. Why, his very mate can’t trust him.” He said this in a very shocked voice because he was just a little bit afraid of his own bossy wife.

“Teeth and toenails!” she squawked. “Don’t you ever think? I don’t expect to do any of the trusting; I’ll leave it all to that whining skunk who’s even afraid of Bob White Quail, and that sly, slippery-clawed Tad Coon, and that honey-whiskered Nibble Rabbit. They want to make friends, do they? I’ll show them a new friend all right enough. Killer can eat every last tail-tip of them if he’ll listen to me, and just so long as he keeps away from the barns, the men won’t bother to come after him.”

Chaik Jay heard every last word. Then he heard one of the owls flit away, but the sound was so faint he couldn’t tell whether the other had gone, too. He began to move, very carefully. But just the least scratch of his wings caught the ear of that scary little he-owl, who was still sitting on the limb outside. Pit-pit-pit, he clawed over toward the hole. Chaik could hear him sniff. Now he’d look into it and see.

“Wauk! Waourr!” shrieked his wife from over by the pond. He stopped to listen. She was fluttering about like a crazy bird just outside of Louie Thomson’s tent. “Wah! Ur-r-rh, yah!” yapped Watch who had been sleeping with one ear open. “Wuk-uk-uk!” answered the bad little bird who had just been going to peek and see poor Chaik crouching inside, ready for a battle in the dark, a battle which could only have one ending, a bunch of mussed blue feathers at the foot of the tree.

But the little owl never looked. He flapped his wings noisily because he was too excited to fly in proper owl fashion.

Off he flew to help his mate.

And that smart Chaik Jay did the cleverest thing—he flew right after the owl. He knew that owl hole wasn’t any place to hide in, and he knew he couldn’t find his way home. And the only way he could find Watch was to follow the owl.

It wasn’t any good for Chaik to fly quietly; his wings were so mussed he couldn’t, anyway. And he couldn’t dodge in and out of the twigs because he couldn’t see them as plainly as the little owl. All he could do was to follow the sound and be ready to dodge if the bad little bird took it into his head to pounce at him.

But the owl wasn’t thinking about anything in the world but his mate. He really did love her, even if they quarreled. And he really meant to fight for her as bravely as ever he knew how. But he didn’t have to. For she came to meet him, squawking between each flop, so crazy scared that she flew right past him and all but collided with Chaik, who was following close on his stubby tail.

Chaik dipped, to get out of her way, and struck his wing against a branch. He went whirling tail over crest, not a bit like a bird, but quite like a cluster of leaves the caterpillars bite off for an airplane to carry them back to earth when they want to dig down and make their homes for the winter time. He struck a bush and then went bouncing and sliding to the ground. For a minute he lay there, almost dazed, his poor little head in a whirl. How his poor wing did ache! He listened.

“It’s funny I don’t hear Watch,” thought Chaik. “I certainly heard him a minute ago.” He gave a little raspy whisper.

“Oh!” came a startled voice right above him. “I thought you were a mouse. Is that you, Chaik?” Watch must have been holding his breath as well as his paw, ready to pounce on him.

“Yes,” Chaik answered back. “What was all the racket over? What’s happening?”

“Those pesky whisktails,” Watch answered. He meant the mice. “Stripes Skunk or Tad Coon ought to have stayed to help me. They’ve been squeaking and scuffling over those corncobs left after Louie’s party, and the beetles Stripes’s kittens left lying round, until I couldn’t get a wink of sleep. Finally I snapped a paw to quiet them and hit feathers instead of fur. I guess I most squashed all the squawk right out of that little owl before I knew who she was and let her go again.”

“And I wish you’d killed her!” hissed Chaik. “Put down your head. Their ears are so frightfully keen and they mustn’t hear a word. Listen! They’re going to bring Killer the Weasel to these Woods and Fields!”

“Great beef-bones! They can’t! They mustn’t! Oh, that’s too awful!”

“But they will,” Chaik insisted. “You’ll see. He’s going to fool us all into making friends and—well, you know what then! Not even my nest will be safe from him. Not even their own, but they’ll take that risk to get even with us because we jays pulled out their feathers so they couldn’t hunt enough this year to do any nesting. Now do you see?”

CHAPTER IIIMRS. OWL INVITES KILLER THE WEASEL TO THE WOODS AND FIELDS