Alec was discouraged. Wherever he turned, it seemed, a refusal of help was the answer.
"But there is someone else," said his own subconscious mind. He had forgotten all about the word of Manibozo. Mowheen, the black bear! Would he help? And who would find out? He tried to catch himself, suddenly realizing that if the thought of a bear frightened him, it would probably paralyze the others, the smaller animals. But he was too late.
"What's that?" Whisperfoot said quickly. "What did you have in your mind? That huge thing? What's he got to do with this? Why are you frightened?"
"I didn't want to show him to you," the boy said miserably. "The, well, the Person whom I talked to when I lay down there, down in the woods, he told me that Mowheen might help us. I learned that Mowheen meant a bear. That means there's a bear around here somewhere."
"Bear!" The mouse's tone was shocked. "That giant animal? He only passes through the wood once in a great while. When he does, the forest falls silent until he is gone. I have never seen him but others have. He can break a tree with one blow. What would he do for us?"
"Yes, what are you thinking about?" demanded Scratch. "Not of asking that old terror, are you? We don't even know where he is, not now. He only comes here later in the summer. He's in a terrible temper most of the time, always mad about something."
"I don't know," said Alec. "But the great Person who spoke to me, and who made you get a human to help, said the bear might help, too. You know, I was told by my Grandpa that there were no more bears in this area. They're all supposed to be dead and killed a hundred years ago."
"So much for what humans know," Scratch said. "I told you, he doesn't live around here. He's supposed to live away up west, in the hills. But he comes down now and then. There's a patch of blueberries beyond the swamp that he goes to. Every one of us knows right away when he comes and we all hide."
Whisperfoot shivered. "He eats us, or anything else he finds ants, bee's nests, skunk cabbage, there's nothing he won't eat."
Alec thought for a moment. Then he said, "Look, if there's a truce going on, nobody around The Lot hunting, why wouldn't he behave? He can't want a gang of garbage rats in The Lot running things and chasing everything else out. Why shouldn't he be asked?"
The picture of what the animals all thought about the big bear was that of a great, snarling, destructive force, ranging the woods in a growling fury. He smashed bushes flat for no reason at all, and attacked any animal he saw, large or small, even when not hungry. It was a frightening picture and Alec felt goose pimples come out on his skin as he took it in.
"No, that's not what we meant, not quite," said the raccoon in a critical manner. He was like an English teacher who wants every sentence to say exactly what he means. "We're all afraid of him; who wouldn't be? But we're sorry for him, too. You see he's always alone. We think that's why he's in such a bad temper all the time."
"He's very old," put in Soft Wing. "Owls live a long time, but my mother told me when I was an owlet that the bear had always been alone, even when she was a young bird."
Alec began to see some of the reasons why the animals pitied the ferocious old creature. There were no other bears around, perhaps none anywhere in Connecticut, and the old brute was desperate for lack of company. He probably never had a mate or cubs or anyone to talk to about things that interest bears, thought the boy. No wonder he was bad tempered!
"Maybe we'll have to think about getting him to help. I don't know how, but the great Person I talked to said that the bear might help. We'll just have to think about it some more. I think you should all pass the word around to keep an eye out for Mowheen. If he should come around, we'd want to know about it right away."
"No fear of that," snorted the woodchuck. "As soon as that old brute appears, everyone in the forest knows at once. No one wants to be in his way when he's on the rampage."
"He leaves some of us alone," said Stamper in a somewhat smug tone. Even an angry bear would probably want nothing to do with a skunk.
"I'm all right if there's water around," said Slider. "I'd hate to meet him on land, though," he admitted frankly. "With deep water under me, I'm only afraid of humans and traps."
"Too bad we can't get the rats into deep water," said Scratch reflectively. "I can swim and dive pretty well myself. I could handle three times as many rats in the water as I could on land."
"I could handle thirty all by myself," boasted the otter. "But what good does it do to talk about it? We might even get that whole clan of weed-eaters down in the pond to help. There must be fifteen of them at least. But who can get the brown rats to go swimming?"
Alec was interested in this exchange and forgot the problem of the bear for a moment. "What do you mean 'weedeaters'?" he asked. "Are there some more animals who might help us?"
"Yes," said Stamper. "Actually, they are relatives of Stuffer's. He can tell you about them."
The old woodchuck stirred slightly as if awakened from a doze. From his mind came a picture of a low, rounded pile of dead reeds and sticks, projecting from water, on which sat several stout, brown animals with small ears and fat, round, naked tails. "They're all for us, I guess," he said slowly. "But they won't leave the water." The woodchuck's picture now showed one of the animals eating a freshwater mussel, cracking the shell with his big square teeth. "That's the boss," said Stuffer. "Clam-Eater. He runs the whole pack of them. But I don't think they can do much."
Alec had been searching his mind for a memory of what these creatures might be. Their tails were too thin and round for beavers. Muskrats, he thought, that was it. And apparently there were quite a lot of them.
"They look pretty tough," he said to the others.
"Won't they even leave the water for one fight, if they understand how important it is?"
"No," answered Stamper bluntly, "they won't. They wouldn't even come to the meeting place last night. They say that water is where they belong, and it's too bad and they'd like to help, but they can't leave. Stuffer was pretty rude to Clam-Eater, but it didn't do any good.
The boy crouched, his chin on his hands, apparently staring at the trunk of the fir tree. Finally, after several minutes had passed, he began to talk.
"We need to know two things badly, the way I see it," Alec said, speaking slowly. "Mowheen the bear, now. When he comes back to this part of the country, someone has to talk to him, to find out if he'll help. We have to know that for sure."
He looked around at the animals, none of whom had anything to say, and then went on.
"Next and this ought to come first, really, because we don't know when the bear will come back, or even if he'll ever come at all we need a live, healthy, dump rat."
"Why?" said Slider at once. "What good is that? They're hard to catch now, I can tell you, because they don't leave the dump except in gangs and big gangs at that."
"We need information," said Alec, "and I don't know any other way of getting it. We have to have a rat; not just any rat, either, a leader rat who knows something. If we don't get exact information, they can bury us with numbers. The only chance is to be sure what they plan to do, how they'll attack, see?"
Already a plan was beginning to take shape in the boy's mind, although he was hardly aware of it himself.
"I'll see what can be done," said Soft Wing.
Now Whisperfoot said, "What about that bear? We must get him to help us. But it won't be easy. He only comes at night, because of humans with traps and killing sticks. And I've told you twice, he doesn't live here, but just comes through."
"We can't wait for him to come to us. We'll have to go and look for him," Scratch decided. "But I don't know where he is right now."
"You can find out," said Whisperfoot, in a firm voice. "Send the birds out. Soft Wing can look himself when it's dark. He usually comes from away up west, so that's where to look first."
"And what if we find him?" said the raccoon irritably. "What then? Are you going to ask him to come down here? He loves mice for breakfast."
/> "No," said the mouse calmly, "at least not alone. Watcher and I will ask him, along with one other." Alec felt a qualm pass through him.
"Who's the other?" said Scratch hollowly. "Me?"
"Stamper," said Whisperfoot, "and I'm sure he's not afraid." Again there was a pause while this new thought was considered.
The skunk spoke first. "I'll go," he said quietly. "Even a bear thinks twice before walking into it. And if he goes for Watcher, I can get in between and at least delay him."
This was a very brave speech, as the animals realized, although it was some time before Alec himself appreciated it. He was, frankly, too scared to notice. No one knows what an angry bear will do, skunk-scent or no. But the woods creatures do know that a bear can go crazy with rage in a way no other beast ever does. Bears have charged into fires and even leapt from cliffs trying to reach their enemies, seeking only to deal death and never caring for the consequences to themselves.
During this conversation, Alec felt cold to the very center of his bones. He had said nothing when Whisperfoot volunteered him for the mission of seeking out savage old Mowheen. Pride kept him from shouting "No!" But the very idea of deliberately looking for the morose monster filled him with dread. The deermouse, and the others too, could see that he was frightened and they simply waited for him to make up his mind.
"Somebody has to go see him," he said at last, "and I guess it had better be me. I'll take Whisperfoot and Stamper when and if the bear is located. But the business of catching a rat won't wait that long. I'm going into town to the dump for a prisoner tonight. Who's coming on that trip?"
Again there was a pause. Then Soft Wing spoke. "I can fly ahead, keep watch and maybe grab a rat who isn't looking."
"I'm going everywhere you do, Watcher," said Whisperfoot firmly, "so I'm coming."
"I just had an idea," put in Scratch suddenly. "We're fighting rats, right? Well, why not get a rat on our side? He might be the biggest help of all."
"How do you expect to do that?" said the big otter. "Do you think you can win over a rat into being like us, thinking like us? Sounds to me like you've stopped thinking yourself."
The raccoon chuckled. "But listen, Slider, we have a rat who thinks like us. What about Whisperfoot's large cousin, the one who collects things?"
Into Alec's mind now came a picture of a beautiful animal, a large rat, but with lustrous, brown fur, a spotlessly brushed white belly and great dark eyes. The animal was as immaculate in appearance as any cat, and no more like the dump rat he had seen than a dirty city sparrow is like a song sparrow of the wild. Although he had never seen one except in pictures before, the boy realized that he was seeing a woodrat or pack rat, famous for the habit of moving human campers' belongings and leaving sticks or pine cones in their places.
"Why haven't we tried to get him before?" said Alec. "This is the first I've heard of him."
Whisperfoot said from her branch, "Wandertail's very shy and doesn't like being near most other animals. And he lives deep in the wood with his family and won't come out, even a little way. Or at least he wouldn't before."
"Try him again," said Alec, thinking fast in turn, "and make sure to tell him that the whole wood is depending on him. It's life or death for all of us. Take Stuffer along. He's very convincing. I want both of you to try and persuade your cousin to go into the inside of the rat hill at the dump. There's supposed to be a big cave there, and I'll bet that's where they have their headquarters."
"That's an idea, all right," said Stamper, after the animals had thought a moment. "But," continued the skunk, "animals use their noses mostly, not their eyes, you know. The dump rats would pick Whisperfoot's cousin up right away by smelling him, even in the dark."
"Get him anyway, Whisperfoot," said Alec. "I'll try to think up some way around the smell business."
Around them the dimness of the great tree was a fitting background for their various thoughts, all of which were now rather black and gloomy. The light and life of the forest outside was only shown in occasional spots of sunlit green, visible through small gaps in the mantle of dark needles and long boughs. The birds sang on in the outer world, but under the tree there was only silence and reflection, none of it very cheerful.
Chapter Seven
LATER THAT same morning, after his return from the meeting in the wood, Alec lay face down under a great spreading apple tree in the orchard above the house. Although he had striven to control himself, the confident leader of earlier in the day had vanished.
The full responsibility he was shouldering, the planned meeting at some future date with the dreaded bear and the dangerous trip planned for that very night to examine the dump and spy on the rats all these things had got him down badly. He was feeling very young and miserable as he lay with his head pillowed on his arms, trying not to let the last remnants of his courage ebb away.
He was aroused by a rasping purr and the touch of a coarse tongue licking his right ear. Sitting up abruptly and wiping dirt from his face with a grubby hand, he saw Worthless eyeing him calmly. Impulsively he reached out and gathered the big orange cat into his arms and hugged him tight. He squeezed rather hard, he was so grateful for someone to share his apprehension; but Worthless did not seem to mind and his purr grew to a loud rumble. The cat even reached up and dabbed at the boy's chin with one broad, velvet paw and then lay back in the lap Alec had made by crossing his legs.
"I wish you could talk, Worthless," he said out loud, his voice choked with the remnants of hard-fought tears. "I sure need someone to talk to. Cats are supposed to be awful smart and I sure could use someone smart right now." What he didn't realize was that he had become so accustomed to the mind speech of animals, that he was thinking, even while he actually spoke, the same thought that he had spoken aloud. He hugged the cat again, his misery and fear of the future beginning to return in fresh waves of emotion.
"Now then, don't crush me, Watcher! I'm not made of old rags," came a voice into his brain. Alec froze, his arms locked around the cat, his whole body stiff and rigid. Had he been dreaming? Was he awake now?
"Of course you're awake," said Worthless. The cat's mind-voice was rather like his purr, a sort of rumbling, growly voice, but with an up-and-down rhythm in it which rose and fell as the mind-pictures came and went, something like background music in a Western movie.
Slowly, Alec loosened his grip. He looked down at the big cat and sent out a thought.
"You can talk? Why haven't you talked to me before? Do the other animals know you can talk?"
The great yellow eyes stared at him with a hint of supercilious amusement far back in their depths. Worthless got off Alec's lap and stretched luxuriously, then sat up and looked at the boy with an unblinking stare.
"To all of your questions," said the cat, "there are several answers. I don't talk to the other animals. I listen. Most of what they say isn't interesting anyway. I was brought here as a small kitten and I couldn't talk this way until I was full grown. And I don't think all cats can talk. It's this place, I think."
"Yes," interrupted Alec, "it is. That's why I can talk anyway."
"I don't go into the woods much," the cat went on calmly. "No need to. I have everything I want up here. And there's something down there I don't like, that sets my fur on edge. I have been down in the forest under the trees, although not far and only at night. In fact, that's when I first heard the other animals talking and learned how to listen to them. But they never heard me. You're the first one I ever tried to talk with." He yawned widely, exposing long, ivory fangs and then began to wash his sleek, orange coat. But his mind-speech still went on.
Alec leaned back against the broad base of the old apple tree, feeling weak from reaction. He was tired from pent-up emotion. The realization that Worthless could talk, and even seemed to know all his plans as well, was hard to take in.
"I know about the rats," Worthless continued, "and I know you've got the woods animals organized pretty well. I listen to those silly mice in the
walls at night. That's why I don't try to catch them. It's more fun listening and not having them know I can hear them. That's how I learned your name, too. The other day, when you tried to talk to me up here, I wasn't sure yet. But now I think you need my help."
"Do you still listen to the others from the woods?" asked Alec. He was feeling slowly more relaxed.
"Once in a while," said Worthless. "I could probably do better if I tried harder, tried to talk to them myself, perhaps. I've never been that interested until now." He yawned again. "I know most of what you're doing, but not all. I thought about it for a long while and decided I'd better go along with you. You need more help than those stupid mice and things. It should be interesting. I like the idea of killing rats, too, lots of rats." His thoughts were suddenly very bloody and grim, and Alec winced at the pictures he received.
"Are you really going to help us?" said the boy after a pause. "We can use more fighters and you look like a good one."
"I am a good one," said the cat. "All cats are good fighters. Have you got that big stump-tailed animal from the woods to help? He's some kind of cat and should be useful." A picture of the bobcat appeared in Alec's head.
"No," said Alec regretfully. "He wouldn't help at all. He wouldn't even keep the truce."
"Too bad," said Worthless. "Cats are the best fighters of all. He would have been useful. Who cares about an army of chipmunks or rabbits? They can't fight and they're no good in this business. The bobcat could have been a lot of use to you."
Alec was getting a little annoyed. The cat's bland assumption that cats were superior beings, who need abide by no rules except their wishes, was irritating.
"Now listen," he said. "I don't care how good cats are at fighting. We have maybe thousands of rats to fight, and everybody has to obey the rules. If you want to help in the war, you obey, too. Otherwise, you can stay here and eat catfood and mind your own business."
"No cat takes orders if he doesn't want to," said Worthless, his eyes glowing. "Either he helps or he doesn't. I thought you needed help."
The War for the Lot Page 10