Burble explained in part as the Swallow shot along the river like a glittering arrow. “Ah well, y’see, missie, that Gray One is a real slybeast. The Swallow don’t belong to ’im, she belongs to the River’ead tribe, but they all think Gray One traded his ole boat for yore Leafwood, an’ he never told ’em different. They’ll come after us soon, oh yiss yiss, sure as trout like mayflies. The River’ead’ll want their Swallow back.”

Dann dug the paddle deep, his jaw tight with anger. “So we’re sailin’ a stolen vessel. That ole watervole tricked us. He gets the Leafwood, but if they catch up with us we get nothin’!”

The prow dipped and rose beautifully, skirting a rocky outcrop poking from the river as they feathered their paddle blades. “Rotten old swindler!” Song burst out, expressing her dislike of the Gray One.

However, Burble was smiling fit to burst, now that he judged there was some distance between themselves and the Riverhead voles. “Heeheehee! Don’t git yore paws in an uproar, pals. Gray One thinks that ’cos he’s old it makes ’im smart. But I’m younger an’ smarter than ’im by a good stretch o’ river. Yiss yiss!”

Song eyed Burble curiously. “How so?”

The little fat creature shook with unconcealed glee. “’Cos I tricked ’im! When that ole barrelbelly wakes up ’e’ll find ’imself clutchin’ a stew ladle in ’is paws, not a Leafwood. Yiss yiss, I pinched it back off ’im. Yore Leafwood is inside that sack o’ grub I fetched wid me. Heeheehee!”

Song looked sternly at the watervole. “That was very wrong, Burble. Gray One deceived the tribe, but we kept our part of the bargain. Now we’ve got double trouble!”

Dawnlight had begun filtering over the river in a pale wash of cerise and gold when a cry rang out faintly from behind them, echoing down the tree-shaded banks.

“Waaaaylaaahoooo!”

Burble’s chubby face blanched with fright. “River’eads! Paddle for yore lives, pals!”

“But I thought this Swallow could outrun anythin’ on the river?” Dann called out as they wielded their paddles furiously.

Burble blew spray from his face. “Mebbe, but they got eight rowers to a boat, an’ River’ead voles know these waters a lot better’n you do, squirrel. They’ll take every shortcut, fast current an’ riverdodge the Gray One can think of. Look for a cutoff. We gotta get off the mainstream!”

Bending their backs, the four young creatures labored at their paddles, mouths wide open as they sucked in air, every muscle and sinew of their bodies throbbing with strain. Behind them the cries of the Riverhead voles grew louder. They were getting closer, gaining on the Swallow with their riverskills and greater numbers. Shaking perspiration and riverwater from his eyes, Dann gestured with his chin, nodding forward to a spot farther upriver on the south bank.