“Goes without sayin’, young Pen. Bad form not to, y’know. Milord would never give up his jolly old mountain, but he’s a good ol’ stick—he wouldn’t leave two of his best chaps in the clutches of those vermin, you can bet your bally lettuce on that! I say, speak of the badger an’ here he comes. Sah!” Bart came smartly to attention as Urthstripe ascended the crater stairs.

“Thistledown, get your weapons ready. There’ll be you, Moonpaw, Catkin, Seawood, myself and some others. We’re going out tonight to rescue Sergeant Sapwood and Big Oxeye. Penny, you’ll stay here and guard the mountain with the rest. No arguments, missie! Bart, one hour after sunset, be ready at the main entrance!”

When Urthstripe had gone, Bart turned to the crestfallen young hare. “See, I told you, Pen—we’ll have ’em both back by mornin’. Now now, don’t stick your lip out like that, m’ gel—makes you look quite ugly. Some-beasts have got to stay here and mind the old place. Cheer up, I’ll slay a few for you, eh?”

*   *   *

By late noon the tide was swirling in. Fortunately for the two hares it was not a spring tide. They lay staked out with the water oozing around their backs and paws.

Sapwood shook his head several times. “Cor, it’s runnin’ down me ears. D’you think it’ll come much ’igher? Hi’d ’ate ter be drownded by the sea.”

Oxeye strained against the neck rope. “Me, too, Sap. Bad enough a chap gettin’ all his back ’n’ tail soaked in salt water. Where’s old stoatbottom an’ his pal got to?”

“Over there, see, sittin’ on those rocks an’ keepin’ their paws dry.”

Oxeye turned his head on one side, watching Migroo and Feadle as they sat on the warm dry rocks. The big hare wiggled his paw. “Now don’t get too excited, Sap, but I think I’ve got me bally paw free. Those dimwits prob’ly didn’t realize that these ropes are only twisted grass fibers, and the water makes ’em soft ’n’ stretchy. Hold fire a tick, there! That’s one paw free. Now for the other three. How are you doin’, old feller?”

“Workin’ on it,” Sapwood grunted. “An’ less of the ‘old feller’, you cheeky rogue. You must be at least two seasons older’n me.”

“One, actually. What drill d’you think we should follow when we’re loose? Personally I think that big hunk o’ driftwood looks like a good bet. We’d never make our way through all those vermin back to the mountain—they’d probably stick us so full of bally spears an’ arrows we’d look like a couple o’ pincushions.”

Sapwood wriggled his paws against the softening fibers. “An’ what ’as that cob o’ driftwood got to do with all this?”