The remainder of the day went smoothly enough, with the patrol following the vermin track steadily. Late afternoon brought them to the banks of quite a sizeable river. Major Perigord halted them within sight of it.

They crouched in a patch of fern, viewing the scene ahead. Through a screen of weeping willow, elder, sycamore, and holm oak, the river made a welcoming sight, with patches of sun-burnished water showing amid cool islands of tree shade. Tammo was wondering why they had halted and concealed themselves, when he heard Perigord and Twayblade discussing their next move.

“Looks very temptin’ indeed, eh, gel?”

“Exactly, good spot for an ambush, I’d say.”

Tammo remembered the last time he had rushed forward to water. The hares were right, this time he would be on his guard.

The Major issued orders in a whisper. “Sergeant Torgoch, take young Pasque an’ scout the terrain downstream. Cap’n Twayblade, do likewise upstream, take one with you.”

“Permission t’go with you, Cap’n. Please, marm, I’d like a chance t’be a real part of the patrol!”

Twayblade could not help smiling at the eager Tammo. “Stripe me, but you’re a bright’n’brisk ’un. Still, one volunteer’s worth ten pressed creatures. C’mon then, young Tamm.”

Leaving the edge of the fern cover, Twayblade drew her deadly long rapier and stooped low. “Follow me, Tamm, duck an’ weave, take advantage of any cover, keep your eyes open an’ do as I do. That is until I give you an order, then it’s do as I say!”

Tammo enjoyed learning from an expert. He kept low, rolling behind mounds, bellying out to crawl over open spaces swiftly, then stopping dead and remaining motionless, disguised among bushes. Never traversing in a straight line, they headed east, keeping with the outer edge of the tree fringe until Twayblade decided they had gone far enough. She flattened herself against a gnarled dwarf apple tree, and for a moment Tammo lost sight of the Captain. She blended in with the tree bark until she was almost invisible to the casual observer, and only by staring hard could the young hare make her out.

“Great seasons, Cap’n,” he chuckled admiringly, “you nearly vanished altogether then! Mayhaps you’ll teach me that trick, marm?”

Twayblade shook her head vigorously. “Not me. Little Midge Manycoats is the chap, he’ll teach you all about disguise an’ concealment, he’s the best there is. Righto, let’s make our way to the riverbank an’ follow it back down t’where we left the patrol. Everythin’ seems to be safe enough hereabouts, but let’s not get careless, Tamm. Keep that splendid blade o’ yours at the ready, wot!”

They took a drink at the river’s edge; the water was cold and sweet. Splashing through the shallows, they cooled their footpaws as they went. Tammo noticed a good patch of watercress, fronds streaming out around a limestone rock beneath the water. He did not stop to gather it, but noted the spot and carried on in Twayblade’s wake. The rest of the journey back was pleasant and uneventful, and they arrived at the ferns as noontide shadows lengthened.

The Captain made her report: “Well, well, I see you lot’ve had a nice little nap whilst we were gone, wot! Nothin’ to report, the coast’s clear up that way.”

Torgoch and Pasque returned; the Sergeant threw a brisk salute. “River narrows downstream, sah, lots o’ rocks stickin’ up. That’s where the vermin made their crossin’, still wet pawprints on the stones. We’d catch ’em up by midnight if the patrol got under way smartlike, sah.”

Perigord judged the sun’s angle. “I think we’ll make camp here, Sergeant. No sense in chasin’ our tails off, wot. Early start tomorrow, good fast march, an’ I’ve little doubt we’ll encounter ’em about high noon. Camp down, troop.”

*

Insects skimmed and flitted on the river surface in quiet twilight, and the campfire flickered warmly. Tammo and Russa opened their haversack. The squirrel dug out the last of her pancakes and distributed them, saying, “Warm these over by the fire, toast ’em up a mite, they’re good!”

Rockjaw spitted his on a willow twig and held it over the flames. “How’s the soup a comin’ along, Rubbadub?”

Corporal Rubbadub pulled a wry face as he took a sip from his ladle. “Brrrrumbum dubadub!”

Lieutenant Morio raised an eyebrow. “As bad as that, eh? Nothin’ hereabouts we can add to it?”

Tammo rose and winked at them. “Wait there. I spotted some fresh watercress earlier on. Won’t be a tick!”

It was slightly eerie being alone in the gathering gloom as Tammo made his way back upriver. Once or twice he thought he heard noises, and each time he drew his blade and halted, listening, but the only sounds he could make out were those of the flowing water. The young hare gripped his weapon tightly, chiding himself aloud, “Not very good form, sah, behavin’ like a ditherin’ duckwife!”

Squaring his shoulders, he loped onward until the limestone rock showed pale and ghostly through the gloom. Wading out to it he gathered pawfuls of the fresh watercress, lopping it off below the waterline with his dirk. Carrying the delicious treat back to the bank, Tammo stuck his blade in a sycamore trunk and began tying the cress in a bundle, using his shoulder strap to secure it.

Four dark shapes dropped out of the branches overhead, making Tammo their target. Footpaws whamming onto his back, shoulders, and head drove Tammo flat, stunning him. Before he had a chance to recover and fight back, a cruel noose slid over his head, pulling tight about his neck. Cords were whipped skillfully around his paws. Tammo was unable to cry out; groggily he tried to headbutt one of the wraithlike figures, but a heavy stick struck him in the midriff. Doubled up and fighting to suck air through his wide-open mouth, Tammo was shoved roughly into a cradle made from woven vines. In a trice he was hoisted up into the tree foliage, high among the leafy branches. A dirty gag was bound around his mouth, and the noose loosened.

Savage green-black faces came close to his, lots of them—they seemed to be everywhere.

“Mayka move! Goo on, beast, mayka move! Choohakk! Cutcha t’roat an’ eatcha iffya mayka move!”

A paw stroked Tammo’s long ears, and a deep grating voice chuckled, “Choohoohoo! Dis a nicey wan, dis wan ours!”