Janglur took a dangerous-looking thorn dart, tufted with dried grass, from his belt pouch. Placing the missile in his mouth, he tucked it against one cheek, then sat back against the elm trunk. Idly he began playing his reed flute. Outwardly the big squirrel appeared calm, but inside he was poised like lightning ready to strike. In a short while he made out the two foxes moving expertly from a patch of fern to the cover of some bushes, coming closer to him by the moment. Janglur took the flute from his lips, calling out sternly, “Quit sneakin’ about an’ walk on the path like decent creatures!”

Ascrod and Vannan had thought the squirrel was unaware of their approach. They hid their surprise by putting on a bold front, swaggering up to where Janglur sat. Ascrod kicked the squirrel’s footpaw, just hard enough to warn him that he and his sister were well in charge of the situation.

“You there, who was that singing a short while ago?”

Janglur did not bother to look up at Ascrod, though his voice was menacingly low. “None o’ yore business, snipenose. Now get goin’, an’ take that other one with ye!”

Vannan winked at her brother and smiled nastily as her paw began to stray toward the single-bladed ax she carried beneath her cloak. Janglur appeared to ignore them, and went back to playing his flute. Ascrod leaned close to the squirrel, baring his teeth.

“You’re very insolent for a fat lazy squirrel. Shall I show you what we do to beasts with insulting tongues?”

Pffutt!

Janglur Swifteye shot the dart from his flute, burying it deep in the tip of Ascrod’s nose. As the fox shrieked out in agony, Janglur sprang upright. Whipping forth a loaded sling from around his waist, he hurled himself upon Vannan, who had her ax halfway out. She went down in an unconscious heap as the hard oval river pebble in the sling’s tongue thwacked heavily across her skull. Ascrod was hopskipping about wildly, both paws clapped across his muzzle as he screeched with pain.

“Yeeeeeeek! Yaaaaarreeeeek!”

“Tails’n’scuts preserve us all! Who’s kickin’ up that awful din?”

Shaking with anger, Janglur turned to see his family dashing toward him, with Ellayo in the lead, brandishing a blackthorn stick.

Janglur stared accusingly at his daughter. “Song, I thought I told you to stay put an’ keep ’em quiet?”

Rimrose placed herself between them. “’Tweren’t no fault o’ Song’s. You jus’ try stoppin’ that ole mamma of yours when she starts swingin’ that stick!”

Janglur’s paw shot out. He caught the tip of his mother’s stick and held it tight.

Heaving on the blackthorn and stumbling on her long apron hem, the old squirrelwife berated her son. “Leggo o’ me stick, y’great boulder-bellied tree-walloper, leggo or I’ll spank ten seasons’ daylights out of ye!”