It was only now, as the trapper and his helper were hurrying away, that Mr. Tippet became aware of Clarence for the first time.
He stared and abruptly burst out, “My word! How did you get here? You’d better explain yourself, Clarence!”
Clarence said politely, “I sort of followed my nose here, Mr. Tippet.”
“Followed your nose? Nonsense! You’re not a hound!”
“Oh, the Forest Service helped me, sir. And I spent some time studying the creeks. This seemed the most likely area. Trouble is, sir, that the gentleman yonder, Mr. Sykes—he has the trout farm you probably saw on the road—feels that we’re trespassing—”
“You’re danged right you’re trespassing!” Grady Sykes sputtered wrathfully. “An’ if that fool varmint’s found around here, I’m claiming part of the reward.”
“I’ve never heard such drivel!” Mr. Tippet snapped, eyeing him sternly. “My good man, I happen to have a map that shows all this land along the creek to be part of a wildlife refuge area. I find it very strange that you would pretend to claim it. You’d better tell me why.”
There was a moment’s silence. Suddenly Penny, white-faced but defiant, cried, “I’ll tell you why! It—it’s because he hates otters, and—and he’s got traps set all over the place!”
“Traps?” Mr. Tippet echoed.
“Traps!” said Clarence hoarsely. “Good Lord!”
“Danged varmints!” Grady Sykes muttered. “That’s all them otters are. A man’s got a right …” All at once, with a baleful look at Penny, he snatched up a stick and started toward her. “I’ll learn you to watch your tongue, you worthless, no-account …”
As Penny darted away, the newsman, who had silently been taking pictures all the while, quickly turned his camera upon them. Penny dodged behind Clarence, and Grady Sykes stopped abruptly. At the same moment a blast of sound came from Mr. Tippet’s walkie-talkie.
“Traps!” roared that famous voice. “Do something, Tippet! Get rid of the things! If Swimmer is harmed in any way by a trap, I’ll sue that rascal for everything he’s got. I’ll wreck him! Do you hear me, Tippet?”
“I hear you, sir.” Instantly Mr. Tippet pointed a stern finger at the owner of the trout farm. “And I trust you heard it, Sykes. Dr. Hoffman is not a man to be trifled with. If he says he’ll wreck you, he will. I want all those traps accounted for. How many are there?”
Grady Sykes cursed. “That’s my business!”
The newsman said, “Don’t be a fool. If the game warden finds out about those traps, it’ll cost you plenty. And I’ve just taken some pictures that won’t make you look very good in court. How many traps did you set out around here?”
Penny said, “He had eight to start with.”
“Then get them, Sykes,” Mr. Tippet ordered. “And get them fast, or you’ll learn what trouble is!”
Grady Sykes started grimly back up the creek, with Weaver shuffling angrily at his heels. Swimmer, watching them go, could feel the fury in them, and he was aware of Clarence’s uneasiness.
Clarence said to Penny, “You were very brave to tell us what you did. But I hate to think how those people will act when you go home this evening.”
“Oh, I’ll tough it out, somehow. I always have. And Mrs. Sykes, she—she’s not too bad. I mean, she licks me once in a while, but as long as I’m in the house she won’t let the others do it.”
“Humph!” Clarence grunted. “Such nice folks!” He glanced at Mr. Tippet and said quietly, “That was an awfully big reward Doc offered. It sort of threw everybody around here.”
Mr. Tippet carefully switched off his walkie-talkie, and said, “I feel the reward was excessive, but Dr. Hoffman was terribly upset. He was beside himself, literally beside himself. In fact, Clarence, he was roaring—and I’ve never heard Dr. Hoffman roar before. The truth is, he thinks more of Swimmer than he does of anything on earth.”
Up at his peephole Swimmer almost said “Phooey,” but managed to control himself. The only thing old Doc really cared about was being the great Dr. Hoffman.
“So naturally,” Mr. Tippet went on, “his first thought was to get as many people as possible out searching. Therefore the large reward. We had no idea Jules would be able to trail him so easily.”
“Well, now that Swimmer’s practically found,” said Clarence, “don’t you think it would be a good thing to cancel the reward? I mean, people are starting to swarm through the woods with everything from clubs to pitchforks. He’s already hurt, and if some idiot happens to stumble over him before we do …”
“My word!” Mr. Tippet exclaimed. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He turned on the walkie-talkie and called, “Dr. Hoffman! Dr. Hoffman!”
It seemed to Swimmer that the chance to talk to Clarence, so he could find out what had happened, would never come. Impatiently he waited. While the traps were being located, Mr. Tippet and the newsman cruised back and forth along the creek, checking the progress made by Grady Sykes in one direction and Jules and his helper in the other. During a moment when they were alone at the tree, Penny told Clarence that she would try to slip down tomorrow after school. Then she hurried away to do her chores.
By twilight all but one of the traps had been found. It was too late to continue, and Mr. Tippet called a halt until morning. When the coast was finally clear, Swimmer crept out to the edge of the pebbly area, taking care not to step from the water and leave a telltale scent. Clarence watchfully sat down on the rock beside him.
It was evident to Swimmer that Clarence was uneasy as well as upset. It added to his own uneasiness, which had been growing ever since the arrival of the trapper.
“Where’s Snake Eyes?” he asked Clarence first.
“Who?”
“I mean that scumpy Jules. He worries me. Didn’t you know that he’s the one who caught me when I was little and—and killed my mother?”
“No! Good Lord!” Clarence was shocked. “I never saw the fellow before, though, of course, I’ve heard about him. He and his man are camping downstream a little way. I’ll be on the watch for them.”
Swimmer started to ask about the van, but Clarence suddenly peered at him closer in the fading light, and exclaimed softly, “Say, your bell’s gone!”
“Sure is, praise be! And I don’t miss it a bit.” The moment he spoke he knew that wasn’t quite true. He did miss the bell. Of course it was great not to have it there tinkling all the time and catching on things, but he’d become so used to the blatted nuisance that now he felt a little lost without it. And Ripple missed it too. She had loved it.
“How’d you get rid of it?” Clarence asked.
“Penny cut it with a hacksaw. That skrink of a Grady almost caught her at it—he found the hacksaw just before you came.”
“I see.”
“Clarence, can’t we do something about her?”
“I’d like to. An idea has been buzzing around in my head, but I’m not sure what I can arrange. Right now we’re all in a spot.”
“What’s happened?”
“Swimmer, if I don’t get you away from here tonight, you’re going to be caught. Don’t you realize that?”
Swimmer shivered in the chill air drifting down the creek. He hated to admit it, but Clarence could be right. Until a few hours ago he’d thought the den was safe. But no longer. Not with Snake Eyes here, and that big black glump of a dog. If that dog was any good at all, he’d sniff out the tree in the morning. Then Snake Eyes would go to work.
He had tried to forget that awful day when Snake Eyes had caught him, but suddenly it all came back again: the horror of the choking gas that had been forced into their den, the panic, and the blind scramble to get outside to air. Only, there’d been the big bag net over the entrance, and no way to escape it.
“Clarence,” he began, “I’m not going anywhere without Willow and Ripple. If I can talk ’em into going up to the van, will you take us to another creek?”
Clarence sighed. “That’s what I’d hoped to do. But
I can’t do it tonight. We’ll have to think of something else.”
“What’s wrong?” Swimmer asked. “Did the van break down?”
“You’re so right,” said Clarence, nodding. “Everything seemed okay when I got back to it this morning, but I’d hardly left the bridge behind when I hit a rough spot in the road, and the front axle broke. I think it was already cracked from that jolting we took the other night when we missed the landslide, so all it needed was a final bump.”
Clarence sighed again. “Anyway, there I was. Ten miles from town on a back road in the mountains on a Sunday morning. I’m the wrong color to expect a ride from anybody, so I started to hoof it. But I hadn’t gone a half mile when a fellow stopped and picked me up. Swimmer, you’d never guess who he was.”
“An—an Indian?” Swimmer offered, cocking his head to one side.
“You read my mind!”
“Aw, fiffle. Even a frog can do that.”
Clarence spread his hands. “We ought to go in business together. Like you said, he was an Indian. A Cherokee—their reservation is just over the mountain yonder. A little old man he was, with a face like a dried apple. He’d been in the Army too, and we hit it up just right. Name’s Owl. Mr. Hiram Owl. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t be here now. On Sunday everything’s closed, but he got a man to come out with a wrecker and haul the van in to a garage. Tomorrow they’ll start working on it.”
Clarence paused and shook his head. “So you see, we’re in a spot. It may be a couple days or more before we have any transportation. We can’t wait that long.”
Swimmer pondered his predicament. Alone, it wouldn’t be any superfeat to get clean away, even with a bum leg. Without the bell and harness to worry him, he could make it easily to the next creek. All he needed was for Clarence to carry him over the next ridge, so he wouldn’t leave a trail leading away from here.
But Clarence couldn’t carry them all. And he doubted if Willow would allow anyone but Penny to touch her, even if she were willing to leave. This was Willow’s own den on her favorite creek, and if she went anywhere, it would be downstream in water that she knew.
It was a problem.
Suddenly he asked, “Clarence, what’s the creek like between here and the bridge?”
“Rough,” came the answer. “There are some fine pools, but there are a lot of mean spots you’d have to walk around even if you were in top swimming condition. And wherever you put foot to ground and leave a scent …” Clarence shook his head. “And that’s not all. I’ll bet every kid in the country, and his old man, is out trying to spot you.”
“Aw, blatts! Without the van we really are stuck. Guess we’ll have to take it the way Penny does—just tough it out somehow. But maybe I can fool Snake Eyes.”
“Yeah? How?”
“Our place has another entrance. Let me do a little figuring, and I’ll come up with something.”
“It better be good!”
“It will be. You—you’re going in town in the morning? With Mr. Owl?”
Clarence whistled softly. “I can’t keep anything from you, can I?”
“Not much. You two have got something cooking.”
Clarence nodded. “We have, but I’d rather not talk about it yet. Sometimes it’s bad luck to talk about schemes until you’re ready to jump. But I will tell you a mighty interesting thing about Mr. Owl. He’s a lawyer.”
“Is that good?”
“You can bet your webbed feet it’s good! Having that van break down when it did could be about the best thing that ever happened—if you can just keep from being caught for a while. Are you sure you can manage it?”
“Sure enough. But like people say, Clarence, only two things are really sure in this vale of tears. Anyway, in a pinch, we’ll leave the tree and swim down to the beaver pond. We can hide out in one of their dens.”
“They’re called lodges.”
“Aw, fiffle, it’s all the same. We ought to be safe there for a while.”
“Until that fellow Jules cuts the dam and drains the pond,” Clarence muttered. “And don’t think he won’t if he learns you’re there. And he couldn’t care less that this is a wildlife refuge area. H’mm. That gives me an idea. I’ll tell Mr. Owl about it and see what he thinks. I’ve told him all about you, Swimmer. He’s mighty interested in meeting you—”
“Watch it!” Swimmer’s warning was a froglike croak as he caught the hound scent, suddenly strong. He had been aware of it all the time without thinking about it, just as he had been aware of other scents and many sounds in the early dark. They had told him of the family of skunks living under the bank not many yards away, and of the flying squirrels that had left their hollow high overhead to play in the night, and of the presence of a dozen other creatures near and far. But the scent of the trapper’s dog was all at once much too close.
Swimmer settled down against the rock so that only his face was above the water. A coldness and a hardness came over him. His lips drew back, and his feet dug into the pebbles for a firmer grip.
The big dog suddenly appeared, a black shape against the shadowed rocks. It gave a low growl as it neared Clarence, but Clarence did not move. He spoke to it sharply and ordered it away. Instead, the hound snarled and sprang down to the pebbly area, barking furiously.
Hate flooded Swimmer. Had he been alone he would have attacked the dog on the instant and taken his chances on pulling it into the water, even though it outweighed him by many pounds. But too much was at stake tonight. He must get the hound into the creek and jerk it under, before Snake Eyes came. And this time he would kill. If he didn’t, it might cost Willow and Ripple their lives.
He waited, every muscle tense. Still barking, the hound reached the water’s edge. Swimmer drew a deep breath, taking in enough air to last him nearly five minutes in a struggle. He prepared to spring. But almost instantly, as if realizing his danger, the beast retreated.
Without a sound to announce his approach, the dark curved shape of the hound’s master loomed above the rocks. The beam of a flashlight played over the swirling surface of the stream. Swimmer submerged completely. Seconds later he came up in the safety of the tangled roots immediately behind Clarence.
“You was sittin’ right here all the time,” the trapper was saying in his grating voice. “Sittin’ right here, an’ you didn’t see nothin’?”
“I was enjoying the night,” Clarence said mildly. “Until your dog came.”
Snake Eyes cursed. “There’s something mighty queer about you! Once my dog’s on a scent, he don’t never let go. The way he barked, that otter was right here close.”
“Well?” said Clarence.
“I bet you know where he is! If you do, you dang sure better tell me!”
“If I knew, Mr. Jules, you’re the last man I’d ever tell.”
There was a moment of dangerous silence. At last Snake Eyes ground out, “I got a mind to break your ugly neck.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to try it, Mr. Jules. I spent more than twenty years in the Army teaching men how to break other men’s necks, and how to do all sorts of other unpleasant things. But if you want me to prove it to you, I’ll be glad to oblige.”
Snake Eyes cursed again, muttered some threats, growled an order to his dog, and turned away.
Swimmer waited until his senses told him the danger had passed, then he swam back to his former place.
“Drat that Snake Eyes!” he grumbled. “He came too soon. I was all ready to take that dirty glump of hound.”
“Swimmer, are you out of your mind? You couldn’t handle a dog that size—not with a broken leg!”
“Phooey! I could handle one twice that size in the water. And my leg’s doing fine; I hardly feel it now. I sure wish I’d taken that dirty glump. I’ve got an awful feeling about him …”
“Well, forget about him for tonight. How about a can of tuna fish to help you go to sleep?”
“Huh? Tuna fish? Say, have you got another can with you?”
“Sure thing.”
“Well, open them up, because I want you to meet a friend of mine. Clarence, she’s really something! I mean, she may be sort of young, but she’s cute as a water bug and smart as they come. Why, I’ll bet it wouldn’t take any time for her to learn to talk as well as I do.”
“Well, I declare!” said Clarence. “I’d sure like to meet her.”
Swimmer made a quick trip through the tunnel, and returned presently with Ripple. She stood up timidly beside him, and held out her small webbed “hands” to touch Clarence’s fingers as she was introduced.
Swimmer said, “Wouldn’t we make a pair onstage, Clarence? I mean, if each of us wore a silver bell, and answered questions together. See? What d’you think, Clarence?”
Clarence shook his head. “I—I just don’t have words for it, Swimmer.”
7
He Speaks to Mr. Tippet
A sleepy chickadee, somewhere in the tangle high above him, was trying to announce the dawn when Swimmer climbed to his post in the hollow limb. Below in the vague light Clarence was swiftly rolling up his sleeping bag, preparing to leave.
When he was ready, Clarence glanced up and whispered, “Are you there, old pal?”
“Right here,” said Swimmer.
“I’ve got an awful lot to do,” Clarence told him, “but I’ll be back just as soon as possible. This is going to be a day.”
Swimmer had the unpleasant feeling that this was going to be a whumping whale of a day, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. But all he said was, “If I’m not here, you’ll know that we’ve all gone down to the beaver pond.”
He watched Clarence fade silently into the blackness of the slope, then he turned his attention downstream. The place where Snake Eyes had camped was far beyond his range of vision, but he knew that the trapper and his helper were up. A faint smell of coffee was coming from that direction.
Suddenly he heard the muttering of the hound. It was in the distance at first but swiftly drew nearer until he saw it directly below, a dark threatening shape with its nose to the ground, weaving on the old scent, undecided. It paused and glared up at the tree, and instinctively Swimmer turned his attention away from it lest the beast become aware of him. Almost angrily the dog sniffed the ground again, then raced around the tree and disappeared upstream.
The Preposterous Adventures of Swimmer Page 6