Trapped: A Tale of Friendship Bog

by Gloria Repp

  Chapter 1. Robber!

  Chapter 2. Missing

  Chapter 3. Do Something!

  Chapter 4. The Bridge

  Chapter 5. Puzzles

  Chapter 6. Teamwork

  Chapter 7. Cheeco Knows

  Chapter 8. Back Door?

  Chapter 9. Traps

  Chapter 10. Hurry!

  Chapter 11. Stuck

  Chapter 12. The Fest

  Map of Friendship Bog

  Frog Photos

  Robber!

  The fat black beetle scurried under a fallen tree, but Pibbin scooped it up. What a fine snack!

  He hopped over the tree, and on the other side, he stopped to look at a hole. Who lived here?

  It had a large gate, and the gate was open, so he crawled past it into a tunnel.

  This was the biggest tunnel he’d ever seen. It had a roof that rose high over his head and sides that curved away into the darkness.

  Maybe a nice old chipmunk lived here. He could give her one of the Cookie Box chips and tell her why he was handing them out.

  The tunnel began to turn, and it grew darker. He didn’t mind the dark. Or the damp. Or even the smell, which reminded him of something rotting.

  But he’d feel better if he knew where he was going. Big snakes used tunnels like this, and so did skunks and weasels. They’d think he was a tasty bite to eat.

  He thought about a long, thin weasel creeping after him, with its quick paws and teeth, and he hopped more slowly. Should he go back? Would anyone here care about the Cookie Box?

  His backpack still felt heavy, but that was okay. He’d handed out nine cookie chips already. Only six left, and then he’d have that star, and he could pin it onto his backpack. Keep going!

  A layer of dry, crisp leaves covered the tunnel floor. He could hop through the leaves without making a sound, but if someone big was creeping up on him, he would hear them.

  He came to the opening. Was it another tunnel? No, it looked like a room.

  He hopped closer. This must be a storeroom because someone had stacked bags of leaves in it. He could hide behind them if he had to.

  And here was a rotted stick with black ants crawling all over it. Just right for a snack! He licked up some ants and grinned. Now he knew this wasn’t a snake’s burrow. Snakes didn’t pile up bags of stuff.

  He started off again, hopping fast, until the tunnel began to slant downward. Why? It should be going up to someone’s back door, not down. He could hear the trickle of water. How much farther did he want to go?

  Take it slowly, he said to himself. Careful.

  He stopped at the edge of a wide crack. It looked deep and wet, and it stretched all the way across the tunnel. On the other side, the tunnel slanted up again, as if it had remembered where it was going.

  He crept along the wall to get past the crack. Just go a little bit farther.

  Steps rose in front of him. He stopped to count. Five of them. They must have been made for someone big because he had to jump high and hop twice for each one.

  He reached the top and took a quick look around. Ahead of him was a flat place covered with leaves, and beyond that, dried vines and roots hung down against a wall of dirt. Dead end.

  But he could see a round hole—like a window—at one side of the vines, and he started toward it.

  Whoosh! Something under his feet lifted up, closed over him, and jerked him into the air.

  A net?

  A trap!

  He kicked and squirmed, but the net pulled tight. It swung around, and he could see the hole that looked like a window.

  Who lived here? Were they coming to eat him?

  “Help!” Pibbin shouted.

  A tiny face showed in the window, but the net swung away and he lost sight of it.

  He had to get out of here. He poked his leg through a hole. Too tight. He pushed his head up through a bigger hole at the top and looked around.

  It was a long way down, but he had to try it.

  He pulled his leg back, slowly squeezed himself up through the hole, and jumped.

  He landed on soft leaves. He scrambled as fast as he could toward the steps.

  Behind him, a voice yelled, “Thief! Robber! BACK YOU COME!”

  He kept going.

  Quick! Down the steps.

  Past the crack—careful!

  Past the storeroom. Hurry!

  The tunnel grew lighter and lighter, and finally, here was the gate.

  He rushed past it into the fresh air, and hopped over the fallen tree in one long jump.

  He hopped all the way to Singing Stream, slipped into the water, and swam as fast as he could.

  At last he crawled out onto the bank and sat down to rest. He glanced back. That old fallen tree looked like all the others in Fox Woods. Who would ever guess what was on the other side?

  But no one had followed him, and he was safe here. He could stop shaking.

  The little stream beside him was one of his favorites. It flowed down from Friendship Bog, hurrying past banks of moss and rippling over logs, and he liked its cheerful song.

  He watched the foam making fancy white swirls in a dark pool and felt better. Now he could breathe. Now he could think about the chips in his pack and what to do next.

  Footsteps pattered through the woods, somewhere behind him. A hungry weasel? A fox?

  He jerked sideways and ducked under the closest leaves. Who was coming?

  Missing

  Pibbin couldn’t see anything from under the leaves, so he listened. The footsteps came closer, quick and light. He took a peek.

  It was Cheeco the Chipmunk, with a sack on his shoulder, eating a mushroom.

  Pibbin crept out from his hiding place.

  “Hey Pib! What’s new?” Cheeco grinned at him. “Whatcha doing over here?”

  “Giving out Cookie Box chips,” Pibbin said. “We want to get a whole bunch of cookies.”

  Cheeco shrugged. “I’m picking up stuff,” he said. “Better than cookies any day. Lookit!”

  He dropped his sack to the ground and pulled out a spoon. And four fat acorns. And a blue button. And three small spotted eggs.

  “Looks good,” Pibbin said. “Your mom will be happy.” For himself, he’d rather have some nice red bugs.

  “And I got a treasure!” Cheeco put one paw into the sack, stopped, and gave Pibbin a sideways glance.

  “What kind of treasure?” Pibbin said. Cheeco was always pretending. “Let’s see.”

  Cheeco lifted out something round and shiny. It was the size of a small plate and bright as the moon shining on water.

  “Wow! What is it?” Pibbin hopped closer. “Where’d you find it?”

  Cheeco looked scared. “I don’t know.”

  He dropped his treasure back into the sack.

  “Never mind,” he said, and closed it up.

  “Getting late—I’ve gotta go.” He scurried off.

  “Well, now!” A voice squeaked close by, and a large brown mouse nodded to Pibbin.

  She twitched her little nose. “Cheeco doesn’t want to talk?” she said. “Makes me wonder!”

  The mouse smiled down at him, and Pibbin thought she was the cutest mouse he’d ever met, with her white feet and big, soft-looking ears.

  “I’m Marteena Whitefoot,” she said. “And I know who you are. Are you collecting things too?”

  Pibbin smiled back. “I’m giving out Cookie Fest invitations.”

  He opened his pack and handed her one of the wooden chips Carpenter Frog had made.

  “Oh, good!” she said. “I heard about this from the peepers.”

  She turned the chip over to read what Ma Chipmunk had written on the back:


  HELP FILL OUR COOKIE BOX!

  Pibbin watched her. “Can you make some cookies for us?” he asked.

  “I’d love to! I’m on my way home, now.” She waved at a hole, high in a nearby tree.

  She started toward the tree and stopped. “Wait! Hear that?” she said. “It’s Bo and his brothers. I want to get the news.”

  “Missing young Duffy Squirrel,” said Bo.

  “Still missing, still,” said Mo.

  They turned and looked at Slo.

  He shook his head. “No clues!”

  Marteena began climbing up the tree. “Thank you, good friends,” she said. “We need to do something about this.”

  The peepers watched her climb.

  “Marteena makes things happen,” said Bo.

  “She knows everybody,” said Mo.

  They turned and looked at Slo.

  He grinned. “She bakes the best grasshopper cookies!”

  The three tiny frogs hopped away, and Pibbin closed up his backpack.

  What had happened to Duffy?

  Marteena leaned out of her tree hole. “You’re still here, Pib? Good. Please come up and try a cookie?”

  Cookies? Of course!

  Marteena’s kitchen smelled good. He liked her tiny red table and chairs, and the soft grass rug on the floor, and he liked her cookies too.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Nice and crunchy.”

  “Yes, the grasshoppers give a bit of color and some crunch.” She handed him a plate of cookies. “I’m worried about Duffy. He’s so little!”

  “How long has he been gone?”

  “A couple of days. His mother is terribly upset, poor thing.”

  Pibbin took another green-speckled cookie.

  Marteena smiled. “I remember when you found Gaffer’s story shell,” she said. “Maybe you could find Duffy too. It would be an adventure!”

  Pibbin put his cookie down. No more adventures today! Finding the shell had been hard enough, but finding a baby squirrel like Duffy? Impossible!

  “I’m kind of busy,” he said. “I have to hand out the rest of my cookie chips.”

  “You want to earn that star, don’t you?” she said.

  The look in Marteena’s black eyes made him squirm.

  “I’ve still got five chips left,” he said and stood up to leave.

  “Oh! I almost forgot.” She picked up a small box. “I made an acorn pie for Zip. Could you take it over for me?”

  “Okay,” he said, and slid it into his pack.

  Marteena followed him to the door. “The last time I saw Duffy, you know what he was doing? Playing with Cheeco.”

  She twitched her little nose. “Makes me wonder!”

  Do Something!

  Pibbin hopped back through Fox Woods toward Friendship Bog. He would deliver Marteena’s pie and tell Zip he was sorry about Duffy. Maybe he’d talk to one of the other squirrels, like Duffy’s big brother Alix.

  If he hurried, he could hand out the rest of his cookie chips before the deadline.

  When he reached Zip’s tree, everything seemed strangely quiet. Alix stood on the porch by himself. His black eyes looked dull, and his tail drooped.

  “Where’s everybody?” Pibbin asked.

  “Out,” Alix said. “Doing cookie chips.”

  “I thought you’d be helping,” Pibbin said. “The Cookie Fest is tomorrow!”

  “I know.” Alix sat down with a thump.

  Pibbin took off his pack and sat beside him. “You’re worried about Duffy?”

  “I sure am. And Mom’s acting strange.” Alix closed his eyes. “I need to keep track of her.”

  “Maybe Duffy just wandered away,” Pibbin said, hoping he was right. “Has he ever done this before?”

  “No,” Alix said with a groan. “We were building a tree fort, and he was excited because it was up real high, even higher than our shed.”

  He pointed to the sticks piled on a branch at the top of the tree. On a lower branch stood the neat storehouse Zip had built.

  Pibbin glanced at the other trees growing nearby. “Did you ask your neighbors?”

  Alix shrugged. “We don’t have any, except one old squirrel behind us. He doesn’t talk much. Not even to Mom.”

  “What does she think happened? What’s she saying?” Pibbin asked.

  “Nothing that makes sense. First she says we’ll never find him, and then she says, ‘Do something!’ and then she goes on and on about the babies she’s lost. Here she comes again.”

  Zip poked her head out of the storehouse, ran to the top of the tree, and ran back down again. “Do something!” she cried.

  She ran to the end of a branch that hung out over the water, bounced up and down, and ran back up the tree. “Do something!”

  “I don’t know what to do about her,” Alix muttered.

  She ducked into the storehouse and came out with a small wooden box. She carried it along a branch over their heads and stopped to look down at Pibbin.

  “Hello there! Hello! Do you think it’s going to rain?”

  Before he could say anything, she went on.

  “My baby is lost, did you know?” she said. “Nobody knows! Where is a clue?”

  Her voice grew louder. “Nobody knows.”

  She opened the box and took out something that looked like a leaf. She leaned down so far that Pibbin could see the sadness in her dark eyes. She whispered, “Was it a fox or a rat or a snake? Nobody knows!”

  The leaf slipped out of her paw and floated down toward them. Pibbin leaned over to catch it.

  Something was written on it.

  He handed it to Alix, and Zip gave a screech. “That’s mine!”

  Alix said, “I’ll keep it safe for you, Mom.”

  “No! Give it back!” She darted down, snatched away the leaf, and scrambled back up to the storehouse.

  Alix looked at Pibbin. “See what I mean? Now she’s writing stuff that doesn’t make sense.”

  Something inside Pibbin began to hurt. These were his friends, and they needed help. What could he do?

  He picked up his backpack, remembered Marteena’s pie, and took it out. “Marteena sent a pie for your mom.”

  “Thanks. She’s not eating.” Alix put the box beside him without looking inside.

  Pibbin slipped his backpack into place. Marteena had said something about Cheeco and Duffy. Why not start with Cheeco?

  “I’ve got an idea,” Pibbin said. “Let me ask around.”

  “Sure.” Alix curled up and began chewing on one of his paws.

  Pibbin hopped back toward Fox Woods. First, he had to find Cheeco.

  He searched through the ferns along the stream, and he checked the oak trees that grew nearby.

  He spoke to a gray squirrel, a rabbit, and three red squirrels. Two of them wanted to help with Cookie Fest, so he gave them a chip, but no one had seen Duffy or Cheeco.

  He stopped by a pond for lunch, but the water bugs didn’t taste as good as usual. How was he going to find Cheeco?

  Peepers began to sing in the bushes, telling the noon news. Duffy was still missing.

  He followed the sound of their voices and asked them about Cheeco. These peepers weren’t Marteena’s friends, but they happily sent out the question to the other news-peepers.

  Soon an answer came back: Cheeco had last been seen in Ticklegrass Field, heading for home.

  “Thank you!” Pibbin said. He’d better hurry.

  As he reached the edge of the field, he saw Ma Chipmunk trotting toward him.

  “I’ve been thinking about you,” she said. “This is going to be the biggest Cookie Fest ever. We’ve never had flying squirrels move here until now, so I want the Fest to be a really good one. Are you getting all your cookie chips handed out?”

  “Sort of,” Pibbin said.

  “Good! Remember, tonight’s the deadline, and tomorrow’s the Fest. I hope you’ll get one of our blue stars.”

  “Me too,” Pibbin said. “Is Cheeco at home?”
>
  “He just got back—he found a lot of nice things last night. Our storeroom is filling up.”

  “I guess Cheeco plays with Duffy,” Pibbin said. “Have you seen Duffy around?”

  Ma Chipmunk shook her head. “I heard he’s missing. Poor Zip! I should go over and see her. Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “I will,” Pibbin said and started off again.

  The grass swayed over his head as he pushed through it, and tiny grasshoppers bounced in front of him, but for once he didn’t feel like eating a snack.

  Cheeco might have been the last one to see Duffy alive. The problem was, sometimes Cheeco made up things when you asked him a question.

  How could he get that clever chipmunk to tell him the truth?

  The Bridge

  Someone had left the door open, so Pibbin hopped inside. Cheeco was lying on the sofa, eating a bowl of grass seeds.

  “Hi ya,” Cheeco said. He stuffed another seed into his mouth. “What’s new?”

  “I need your help,” Pibbin said.

  Cheeco sat up, looking pleased. “You do?”

  Pibbin jumped up onto the sofa beside him. “You go to a lot of places around here. I think you could help me find someone.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m looking for Duffy.”

  Cheeco put down his bowl and yawned.

  He said, “I’ve been out all night, you know.”

  “I know.” Pibbin tried to keep his voice friendly. “We’re all looking for Duffy, and I was hoping you’d seen him somewhere.”

  Cheeco scratched behind one ear. His face scrunched up as if something worried him. “Um, nope,” he said. “Not all day.”

  “Do you know where he might have gone?”

  Cheeco scratched at his other ear.

  Finally he said, “You heard how Uncle Dip is building a bridge?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Duffy wanted to go up there and watch.”

  “Where’s the bridge?” Pibbin asked.

  “Up on the Dike.” Cheeco yawned again, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

  “But Marteena said—”