Valerian raced toward the boulder. A blow from Mr. Canad sent him backward. Spinning about in corkscrew fashion, he collapsed to his knees, stunned.
Mr. Canad reared up and beat his chest. “We have them!” he cried triumphantly. “Strike while the iron is hot. Hit them where it hurts. Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing!”
Suddenly, from up behind the boulder came a great shout: “What the mice mollies is going on here? Where’s Poppy? Get out of my way, fur face! Hit the road, tooth brain.”
There was the sound of a slap, and a beaver—his nose a pincushion of quills—let forth a shriek, and began to bolt down the hill.
“Who’s in charge here?” Ereth yelled. “Where’s that seed brain, Poppy? Get out of my way, waffle tail!” WHACK! Another beaver went scrambling down the hill. “Beat it, buck tooth!”
Thistle approached him. “You are good. Just like Poppy said.”
“Don’t call me good, you furry inch of tail leavings. Just tell me what’s going on. What’s all this ruckus? Who are you, chisel mouth?” he demanded.
“The name is Caster P. Canad. But please, just call me Cas. We can be friends. You know what the philosopher said, A stranger is just someone you haven’t met. I mean that, sin—”
“Don’t tell me I’m your friend, buster!” Ereth interrupted with a roar. “I’m nobody’s friend!” With that he slapped Mr. Canad hard, right across the face, with his quill-covered tail. For a moment, Mr. Canad, nose bristling with quills, could do no more than stare at Ereth with shock, horror, and pain. Then he turned and fled down the hill toward the pond. Seeing their leader in a humiliating retreat, the rest of the beavers quickly lost heart and followed.
“Tumble the boulder!” Valerian cried. “Hurry!”
Regrouping, the mice raced up to the top of the hill. Some forty of them, including Clover, dug their rear toes into the earth and placed their front paws against the boulder.
“Push!” Clover cried.
The boulder trembled.
“Push!” she cried again.
The boulder shook. It moved. It began to roll forward. Quickly it gathered speed and momentum until, to the high, shrill cheers of the mice, the boulder plopped into Valerian’s ditch. Then, still rolling, it began to hurtle down the hill, moving faster and faster. Plummeting, it struck a stone, which caused the boulder to bounce high into the air, over the heads of the astonished and retreating beavers. When it came down, it struck the dam.
There was a tremendous THUMP! followed by absolute silence. The silence was broken by a sudden gurgling noise—the sound of the pond water emptying through the breach in the dam.
Neither beavers nor mice spoke. They could only stare.
It was Ereth who broke the profound silence by asking, “Where the busted bat bung is that Poppy, anyway?”
CHAPTER 27
Inside the Lodge (continued)
WHEN THE FIRST BEAVER cried out a warning that Rye was escaping, the second one spun about.
“Run!” Poppy cried and headed straight for the vine. Rye tore after her.
Poppy reached the vine first. She made a flying leap, grabbed it, swung wildly, steadied, then began to haul herself paw over paw until she made herself stop and see where Rye was.
To her horror she saw that Rye had not reached the vine. Moreover, one of the beavers had gotten to the center of the lodge first and was blocking his way. The other beaver, meanwhile, was circling behind him.
“There’s one behind you!” Poppy called.
Rye spun about, saw the beaver, and darted toward the side of the lodge.
Meanwhile the beaver just below the vine stood up and tried to grab Poppy.
Scrambling higher, she managed to elude the beaver’s claws. The beaver responded by grabbing hold of the vine and yanking, pulling it all down, including Poppy.
Down Poppy plummeted, landing with a thump on the soft floor of the lodge where she lay, dazed.
The vine, as it fell, dropped around the beaver. When the beaver tried to get rid of it, he became thoroughly entangled.
Rye, watching Poppy fall, gasped. Though the other beaver was coming right at him, he made a U-turn and shot back toward her. The beaver pursuing him was thrown off. She swiped at him but missed.
Rye approached the first beaver. Realizing that he was still enmeshed in the vine, Rye ran forward and reached Poppy’s side.
Poppy struggled woozily to get up.
Rye helped her. “Come on!” he cried, and led her back toward the broken cage.
The beaver entangled in the vine tore free. He hurried to where the other beaver was. Together they went after the mice, certain they had them cornered. Moving carefully, not wishing to miss their chance, they slowed down and began to creep forward.
“Are you all right?” Rye asked Poppy. He was whispering.
“I think so.”
“What should we do?”
Poppy twisted around. The beavers were approaching. “I’ll act as if I’m hurt,” she said, her voice low but urgent.
“Why?”
“Let them get close to us, then we’ll race off.”
“Which direction?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Poppy, they’ll trap us. It would be better if we split, you right, me left. We’ll meet at the water entry. We can swim from there.”
“Rye,” Poppy cried, “I can’t swim. I was lucky the first time.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be with you.”
“Rye . . .”
“There’s no other way out,” Rye insisted. “I’ll be with you. The vine is down.”
“But . . .”
“Here they come!”
The two mice approached the back wall. There they turned and waited. Poppy, keeping a wary eye, rubbed a leg as if it hurt. Rye acted as if he were tending to his friend.
The beavers advanced, sweeping wide to prevent any escape.
“Is your head clear?” Rye whispered Poppy. “Can you do it?”
“I think so. But Rye, swimming . . .”
“Shhh! Here they come.”
As the beavers advanced, Rye and Poppy pressed their backs against the wall.
“Don’t try to escape!” one of the beavers called. “Just slip into the cage. Both of you. If you do, we won’t hurt you.” They lumbered forward.
Just as they were about to grab the mice, Rye shouted, “Go!” The two mice tore off in opposite directions.
The beavers,
