Tiny streams leapt and gurgled, rivers overran their banks, the rain poured relentlessly down on Mossflower Woods, rattling off the leaves, slopping in the undergrowth, spattering summer flowers until they bent their heads under the weight of water. Beneath the shrubbery between the oak and the beech trees, the young prisoners chained on the slave line slept fitfully, knowing that in a short time they would be brutally roused and forced to march again.

*   *   *

Midafternoon found Matthias, Basil and Jess still striking east into Mossflower. They were constantly finding evidence that the cart had travelled in this direction, such as crushed leaves, broken branches and bruised bark, but Mathias noticed that Basil did not look too pleased with the situation.

“What’s the matter, Basil? We’re on the right trail, aren’t we?”

The lanky hare pawed rainwater out of his left ear, shaking his head. “Oh, we’re on some sort of trail, old mousemate, but there’s quite a few things I’m not happy about, doncha know. One is this infernal rain. I was built for dry sunny flatlands, not great soppin’ forests. Then there’s this cart. There’s supposed to be a band of slavers with at least three captives, though I’d say a bunch more if they’d been out robbin’ young uns. Doesn’t it strike you as peculiar that there are very few pawtracks about? We’ve only seen the odd one, or maybe two at the most. Now, they can’t all travel in the cart, ’cos there’s nothin’ to pull it, except themselves. Got me? And if they were pullin’ it an’ walkin’ alongside it, there’d be a lot more tracks of pawprints, mud churned up and so on.”

Matthias agreed with Basil’s shrewd observations. “You’re right of course. That suggests two things: either we’re walking into a trap, or it’s just a ruse to lure us away from the real trail that the fox and his band have taken.”

Just then Jess Squirrel tumbled down from a sycamore. She was holding a paw to her mouth for silence.

“Ssshh! I was climbing a few trees to get my bearings and guess what? I’ve spotted the cart up ahead.”

“Where?” Matthias asked.

“About half a short march away on the bank of a stream. There doesn’t seem to be any beast with it, though. No sign of our young uns.”

Matthias drew his sword. “Let’s go carefully. They may be somewhere about, so keep low. Jess, you lead the way.”

*   *   *

Silently as rain mist the three slid through the trees and bushes, their senses alert, ready to spring into action at the turn of a leaf. Matthias grasped the great sword of Redwall tight in both paws. Holding it upright, he peered across its double-edged blade, hoping fervently for a single glimpse of Slagar the masked fox.