tommy peele was mighty busy the day of the thrashing. he had to run for oil, and monkey wrenches, and drinks for the men, and i don’t know what else, all day long. so were the men. so was that noisy, hungry old thrashing machine that kept eat, eat, eating up the mouse’s stack, shaking out the grain for tommy’s winter food, and the pigs’ and cows’ and the chickens’. but none of them was any busier than watch.
the mouse’s stack grew smaller and smaller. every time a man lifted off any straw, the mice beneath it dived deep down into the little low heap there was left, until it really held more mice than grain. and something else. for killer was hiding down in the very deepest bottom of it.
he couldn’t think what was going on. the noise outside frightened him. when he put out his nose to see what was happening, there was a man standing right in front of him; so he pulled back in a great hurry. the next time he tried it, he found the big green eyes of the cat staring right at him. they made shivers run up his spine and took away his appetite. how he wished he’d never come away from home! but all he could do now was to sit still and listen.
awful things began to happen. whole families of baby mice, too little to run, went into the maw of that machine, and nobody knew what became of them. mice began bursting out of the crowded stack. some of them ran any which way. some of them saw the new strawpile and scuttled over there. then——
“squeak—wee-ee-ak!” that was the end of them. for it hid tad coon and stripes skunk and his three kittens. that’s what watch had been doing. he’d been sneaking them in there when nobody was looking. and doctor muskrat was there, too, with those three jolly white ducks who’ll gobble a mouse gladly if any one will kill it for them. and nibble rabbit and the whole bunny family were on guard to make sure nobody got past the fighters while they were busy.
mrs. tabitha puss-cat knew that’s what would happen when the thrashing machine ate up the straw from over the very heads of the mice. but she was the only one who was clever enough to think about it.
yet she wasn’t proud. she was worried. she’d seen killer the weasel run into that stack. where was he if he wasn’t hiding in the little bit of it that was left? and if he was—well, she didn’t want the woodsfolk to spend their time catching mice and leave her to fight him. she wanted them to do it. that’s why she took the trouble to make friends with them. so she kept walking about on top of it saying “mewaur-r-r. mewaur-r-r,” in a troubled voice.
“what’s up now?” asked watch, bouncing over to hear what the old cat was saying. but she felt so sneaky about what she’d been hiding from them all that now she didn’t care to explain. she just danced about like someone was biting her toes on the bottom and yowled. so of course he began sniffing and digging.
“there’s something else here,” said tommy’s father. “let’s see.” he took up his fork and made the straw fly. the other men came to help him. they kept the old cat jumping.
“yaur-r!” she squalled. her tail swelled up with fright and her eyes began to gleam. a dark streak had shot out of the straw—the very thing she had been looking for—killer the weasel! my, but he was going!
and nobody seemed to have any wits about him. nobody you’d expect to have them. nobody but little tommy peele and stripes skunk’s children. they thought killer was a rat, and they just had to hunt him. they weren’t afraid of men; the only men they knew were tommy peele and louie thomson, and they were good friends. wow! but just didn’t they take after him!
the woodsfolk began bursting out of that strawpile.
paws were surely flying. under the stack they went, over the engine, through the thrashing machine, in and out and up and down. but killer was smaller and faster than any one. and how he could climb! better than any one but the cat, and she was afraid of him. it he could have reached the elm tree or a rat hole—but the skunks hadn’t practised on rats for nothing.
there was one more thing to climb—the long arm of the thrashing machine, reaching almost to the roof of the barn. up he went. he was way out in the far-out end when tad coon bounced, four-footed, on the bottom of it. upsy-daisy, it flicked the weasel off like chatter squirrel’s hickory tree had done. killer went rolling and tumbling down the slippery side of the new strawpile.
for a moment nobody moved, hide nor hair nor skin—nor overalls. killer the weasel rolled and slid and clawed and grabbed at the loose straw. didn’t he send it flying! and wasn’t he cursing and snarling! the men held their breath. the woodsfolk gulped hard for theirs because they’d lost it all chasing him.
suddenly tommy’s dog watch began to bark: “he’ll dig in! he’ll dig in! there’s nobody guarding the bottom of it! if he digs in we’ll lose him!”
he forgot about old doctor muskrat! the wise old fellow doesn’t like to fight. he can’t run fast enough. but if fighting comes his way——
well, he’d been sitting all this time in the bottom of the straw just nibbling his whiskers because he wasn’t any help to the rest of them. killer came tumbling right down on top of him. and killer was surely fighting!
snap! doctor muskrat can snap fast enough to catch minnows with their flicky tails. i guess he could snap fast enough to catch killer, no matter how swiftly he was passing. they rolled out into the barnyard, slashing and biting. and the cat arched her back and squalled, “kill him! kill him!”
a lot of help she was! neither of the fighters knew where he had a hold of the other fellow, though they each knew mighty well where the other fellow had a hold of him.
flop! came tad coon with his teeth all ready. but the three skunk kittens were before him. their bright little eyes were blazing, their jaws were snapping. they wiped what was left of the wicked beast all over the barnyard, snarling: “you killed our mammy, you did! you killed her!” they hadn’t forgotten. but killer’s killing days were done.
he hadn’t even killed doctor muskrat; he had just slashed a horrid hole in the old fellow’s skin. but the old muskrat sat up, as soon as he’d caught his breath again, pawed the straw and dirt off his ears, and flopped over to the cows’ drinking trough for a dip in cold water to stop the bleeding. then he was all right.
and those men. they clean forgot all about going home. they stood and talked over what a grand fight it had been. and you ought to have heard tommy peele’s father arguing with louie thomson’s about which was the best ratter to have about the barn, a skunk or a coon.
mrs. puss-cat was so jealous she mi-aued right out loud—but nobody would pay any attention to her at all. nobody but watch, and he hid his grin, but he shook to the tip ends of his fur, laughing at her. so she held her tongue and put her crafty wits to work planning just how she could get the woodsfolk all back to their pond—without quarrelling. you’d better believe after what she’d seen of their fighting she didn’t want any. she did it, too. but just how—that’s another story.
