“Oh, my gosh! Work as fast as you can!” Valerian urged Clover. “We’ll try to hold them off.” He gave Clover a quick hug, then tore around to the front of the boulder to see what was happening.
Thirteen beavers had waddled out of the pond. Arrayed all in a row, dripping wet, they were whacking their broad tails on the earth, making an awful racket. Their teeth, side by side, looked like an orange picket fence.
In the middle of the line was Mr. Canad, peering up at the boulder. Now that the mice’s work had progressed so far, he was able to grasp what it was the mice were attempting.
“Great balls of fire!” he raged. “They’re going to topple that boulder. If it comes down, it’ll hit the dam. It’s unfair! It’s wrongheaded! It’s a matter of life or death!”
Up he reared. “For the honor of Canad’s Cute Condos,” he bawled, “we’ve got to draw the line somewhere. Give me a dam or give me death! Go whole hog! Go for broke! Fight tooth and tail! Charge!” As one, the beavers began to waddle up the hill.
The mice, taken by surprise, stopped work on the boulder and the ditch. Too terrified to do anything, they simply stared at the advancing line of beavers.
Valerian rushed down. “Defend yourselves!” he cried. “If only for a few minutes. That’s what we need.”
Galvanized, the mice scrambled in all directions, running and tripping over themselves as they gathered up sticks, pebbles, and clods of dirt.
“Hold your fire,” Valerian cried. “Wait till you can see the gap between their teeth.”
The beavers, beating their tails, pressed up the hill. Their sheer bulk was enough to frighten away some of the mice.
Curleydock, unable to restrain himself, charged down the hill with a mud ball in either paw. “Come on,” he called. “Don’t stand there. Attack!”
Thistle, armed with a pointed stick, was the first to join him.
As soon as he was in throwing range, Curleydock chucked his mud balls at the beavers. When these balls bounced harmlessly off the beavers’ pelts, he gathered up more and threw them.
Unfazed, the beavers continued their advance. “Be warned!” Mr. Canad bawled up at the mice. “We don’t intend to let anything happen to that boulder!”
Valerian, meanwhile, was in a frenzy, organizing his sons, daughters, and grandchildren into three brigades.
“When I give the word,” he told them, “the first group will follow me. Go after one beaver at a time. It’s the only way. You other two groups, attack when you think it’s time. Now, chins up, whiskers straight, noses aquiver! Let’s show them what mice can do!”
Brandishing a twig, he dashed down the hill, his offspring trailing close behind.
Thistle and Curleydock were off on their own, poking and pricking a beaver’s feet with twigs. Maddened, the beaver spun about, lowering his tail shield. Brother and sister pressed their attack relentlessly. The beaver turned and fled back to the pond.
Meanwhile, Valerian and his pack of mice surrounded another beaver. They pelted her with mud balls, then followed up with a stick attack. The beaver responded by grabbing at them, snatching them up and flinging them off to one side. She also began to flail about with her tail, smashing down indiscriminately.
The mice, some hurt, retreated.
But even as they did, the second wave of mice—fifteen strong and squeaking madly—swarmed down the hill. “Mice to the fore! Mice to the fore!” they cried in unison. So furious was their onslaught—with sticks, pebbles, and mud balls—the attack of the beavers faltered. When one of the mice managed to shove a stick up a beaver’s nose, the beaver turned and scampered back toward the pond.
Mr. Canad reared up to block his way. “How dare you retreat,” he cried, shoving the frightened beaver back up the hill. “They’re only mice. Beavers never retreat! We have not yet begun to fight! Rally round the flag! Don’t give up the ship. Remember Canad’s Cute Condos. You’re fighting for the honor and glory of me!”
A third wave of mice, emboldened by the success of the first two groups, poured down the hill in a great wave, squealing, “Mice and freedom! Mice and freedom!” at the top of their lungs. Too excited to stay organized, they struck out at any beaver that was near.
It was Thistle and Curleydock who went after Mr. Canad. He snarled and snapped at them, and then, with one sweep of his tail, sent them tumbling head over tail.
Dazed but unhurt, they shook themselves up, then hurled themselves back into the fray. WHACK! WHACK! went Mr. Canad’s tail. The mice danced away.
The mice did manage to dent the beavers’ onslaught. Each beaver—surrounded by mice—was forced into fighting alone. But though the mice attacked and attacked again, the beavers gradually moved up the hill. Despite their stubborn resistance, the mice were forced into retreat. It was not a rout, but their strength was beginning to ebb.
Valerian, who was engaged with a particularly large beaver, had been knocked down twice. Each time he picked himself up, he cast an eye toward the top of the hill. When he saw that Clover and the other mice were still feverishly digging around the boulder, he threw himself back into the fray.
Clover, who kept looking from the frantic digging around the boulder to the equally frantic battle below, finally shouted, “We’re ready!” down to Valerian.
Valerian, who had just been brushed back, staggered up, heard the call. “Mice to the boulder!” he bellowed. “Mice to the boulder!”
The mice began an orderly retreat. But the beavers, sensing success, pressed harder, gnashing their orange teeth and smacking their tails down indiscriminately. “Drive them away!” Mr. Canad shouted. “Show no mercy! Flatten them! Turn them into lily pads!”
The attack worked. The mice began to scatter. Once dispersed, they grew panicky. They started to race in all directions. Now their orderly retreat became a rout.
“Swat them!” Mr. Canard cried.
