Watership Down (66 page)

       
"It doesn't matter," said Woundwort. "Let them go. There'll be three less when we get in. What, you again?" he snapped, as Ragwort appeared beside him. "What is it this time?"

       
"The open run, sir," said Ragwort. "It's been broken in and stopped from down below."

       
"Then you can start doing something useful," said Woundwort. "Get that root out. No, that one, you fool."

       
The digging continued, as the first streaks of light began to come into the east.

*
     
*
     
*

       
The great field at the foot of the escarpment had been reaped, but the straw had not yet been burned and lay in long pale rows upon the darker stubble, tenting over the bristling stalks and the weeds of harvest--knotgrass and pimpernel, fluellen and speedwell, heartsease and persicary--colorless and still in the old moonlight. Between the lines of straw the expanse of stubble was as open as the down.

       
"Now," said Hazel, as they came out from the belt of hawthorn and dogwood where the pylon stood, "are you both sure you understand what we're going to do?"

       
"It's a tall order, isn't it, Hazel-rah?" answered Dandelion. "But we've got to try it, that's certain. There's nothing else that'll save the warren now."

       
"Come on, then," said Hazel. "The going's easy, anyway--half as far now the field's been cut. Don't bother about cover--just run in the open. Keep with me, though. I'll go as fast as I can."

       
They crossed the field easily enough, Dandelion running ahead. The only alarm came when they startled four partridges, which whirred away over the hedge to the west and sailed down, spread-winged, into the field beyond. Soon they reached the road and Hazel halted among the quickset on top of the nearer bank.

       
"Now, Blackberry," he said, "this is where we leave you. Lie close and don't move. When the time comes, don't break too soon. You've got the best head of any of us. Use it--and keep it, too. When you get back, go to ground in Kehaar's run and stay there till things are safe. Have you got your line clear?"

       
"Yes, Hazel-rah," replied Blackberry. "But, as far as I can see, I may have to run from here to the iron tree without a check. There's no cover."

       
"I know," said Hazel. "It can't be helped. If the worst comes to the worst, you'll have to turn for the hedge and then keep popping in and out of it. Do whatever you like. There's no time for us to stay and work it out. Only make sure you get back to the warren. It all depends on you."

       
Blackberry burrowed his way into the moss and ivy round the base of the thorn. The other two crossed the road and made uphill toward the sheds beside the lane.

       
"Good roots they keep there," said Hazel, as they passed them and reached the hedge. "Pity we've no time just now. When this is over we'll have a nice, quiet raid on the place."

       
"I hope we do, Hazel-rah," said Dandelion. "Are you going straight up the lane? What about cats?"

       
"It's the quickest way," said Hazel. "That's all that matters now."

       
By this time the first light was clear and several larks were up. As they approached the great ring of elm trees, they heard once more the quick sighing and rustling above them and one yellow leaf came spinning down to the edge of the ditch. They reached the top of the slope and saw before them the barns and the farmyard. Bird-song was breaking out all round and the rooks were calling from high in the elms, but nothing--not even a sparrow--moved on the ground. Straight in front, on the other side of the farmyard, close to the house, stood the dog kennel. The dog was not to be seen, but the rope, tied to the eye bolt on the flat roof, trailed over the edge and disappeared across the straw-covered threshold.

       
"We're in time," said Hazel. "The brute's still asleep. Now, Dandelion, you mustn't make any mistake. You lie in the grass just there, opposite the kennel. When the rope's gnawed through you'll see it fall. Unless the dog's ill or deaf, it'll be alert by then; probably before, I'm afraid, but that's my lookout. It's up to you to attract it and make it chase you all the way down to the road. You're very fast. Take care it doesn't lose you. Use the hedges if you want to; but remember it'll be trailing the rope. Get it down to Blackberry. That's all that matters."

       
"If we ever meet again, Hazel-rah," said Dandelion, as he took cover in the grass verge, "we ought to have the makings of the best story ever."

       
"And you'll be the chap to tell it," said Hazel. He moved away in a half-circle to the morning side and reached the wall of the farmhouse. Then he began to hop cautiously along the wall, in and out of the narrow flower bed. His head was a tumult of smells--phlox in bloom, ashes, cow dung, dog, cat, hens, stagnant water. He came to the back of the kennel, reeking of creosote and of rank straw. A half-used bale of straw stood against it--no doubt clean bedding which, in the dry weather, had not been put back under cover. Here at least was one piece of luck, for he had expected to have trouble in getting on the roof. He scrambled up the straw. Across part of the felted roof lay a torn piece of old blanket, wet with dew. Hazel sat up, sniffing, and put his forepaws on it. It did not slip. He pulled himself up.

       
How much noise had he made? How strong was his scent over the tar and straw and farmyard? He waited, tense to jump, expecting movement below. There was no sound. In a terrible miasma of dog smell, which gripped him with fear and called "Run! Run!" down every nerve, he crept forward to where the eye bolt was screwed into the roof. His claws scraped slightly and he stopped again. Still there was no movement. He crouched down and began to nibble and gnaw at the thick cord.

       
It was easier than he had thought it would be. It was a good deal easier than the cord on the punt, though about as thick. The punt cord had been drenched through with rain, pliant, slippery and fibrous. This, though dewy on the outside, was dry-cored and light. In very little time the clean inside was showing. His chisel-like foreteeth bit steadily and he felt the dry strands rip. The cord was as good as half through already.

       
At that moment he felt the heavy weight of the dog move beneath him. It stretched, shuddered and yawned. The rope moved a little and the straw rustled. The foul smell of it came strong, in a cloud.

       
"It doesn't matter if it hears me now," thought Hazel. "If only I can get the rope bitten through quickly, it doesn't matter. The dog'll go to Dandelion, if only I can be quick enough to make sure that the rope breaks when it begins to tug."

       
He ripped at the cord again and sat back for a quick breath, looking across the track to where Dandelion was waiting. Then he froze and stared. A short distance behind Dandelion, in the grass, was the white-chested tabby, wide-eyed, tail lashing, crouching. It had seen both himself and Dandelion. As he watched, it crept a length nearer. Dandelion was lying still, watching the front of the kennel intently, as he had been told. The cat tensed itself to spring.

       
Before he knew what he was doing, Hazel stamped on the hollow roof. Twice he stamped and then turned to leap to the ground and run. Dandelion, reacting instantly, shot out of the grass to the open gravel. In the same moment, the cat jumped and landed exactly where he had been lying. The dog gave two quick, sharp barks and rushed out of the kennel. It saw Dandelion at once and ran to the full extent of the rope. The rope went taut, held for an instant and then parted at the point where Hazel had gnawed it to a thread. The kennel jerked forward, tilted, fell back and struck the ground with a jolt. Hazel, already off balance, clawed at the blanket, missed his footing and fell over the edge. He landed heavily on his weak leg and lay kicking. The dog was gone.

       
Hazel stopped kicking and lay still. There was a spurt of pain along his haunch, but he knew that he could move. He remembered the raised floor of the barn across the farmyard. He could limp the short distance, get under the floor and then make his way to the ditch. He raised himself on his forelegs.

       
On the instant he was knocked sideways and felt himself pressed down. There was a light but sharp pricking beneath the fur across his back. He lashed out with his hind legs, but struck nothing. He turned his head. The cat was on him, crouched half across his body. Its whiskers brushed his ear. Its great green eyes, the pupils contracted to vertical black slits in the sunshine, were staring into his own.

       
"Can you run?" hissed the cat. "I think not".

46.
   
Bigwig Stands His Ground

Hard pounding this, gentlemen. Let's see who will pound longest.

The Duke of Wellington (at Waterloo)

Groundsel scrambled up the steep slope of the shaft and rejoined Woundwort in the pit at the top.

       
"There's nothing left to dig, sir," he said. "The bottom will fall in if anyone goes down there now."

       
"Can you make out what's below?" asked Woundwort. "Is it a run or a burrow we shall be into?"

       
"I'm fairly sure it's a burrow, sir," answered Groundsel. "In fact, it feels to me as though there's an unusually big space underneath."

       
"How many rabbits are in it, do you think?"

       
"I couldn't hear any at all. But they may be keeping quiet and waiting to attack us when we break in."

       
"They haven't done much attacking up to now," said Woundwort. "A poor lot, I'd say--skulking underground, and some of them running away in the night. I don't fancy we'll have much trouble."

       
"Unless, sir--" said Groundsel.

       
Woundwort looked at him and waited.

       
"Unless the--the animal attacks us, sir," said Groundsel. "Whatever it is. It's not like Ragwort to imagine anything. He's very stolid. I'm only trying to think ahead," he added, as Woundwort still said nothing.

       
"Well," said Woundwort at last, "if there is an animal, it'll find out that
I'm
an animal, too." He came out on the bank, where Campion and Vervain were waiting with a number of the other rabbits.

       
"We've done all the hard work now," he said. "We'll be able to take our does home as soon as we've finished down below. The way we'll go about it is this. I'm going to break the bottom of the hole in and go straight down into the burrow underneath. I want only three others to follow, otherwise there'll be complete confusion and we shall all be fighting each other. Vervain, you come behind me and bring two more. If there's any trouble we'll deal with it. Groundsel, you follow. But you're to stay in the shaft, understand? Don't jump down until I tell you. When we know where we are and what we're doing, you can bring a few more in."

       
There was not a rabbit in the Owsla but had confidence in Woundwort. As they heard him preparing to go first into the depths of the enemy warren as calmly as though he were looking for dandelions, his officers' spirits rose. It seemed to them quite likely that the place would be given up without any fighting at all. When the General had led the final assault at Nutley Copse he had killed three rabbits underground and no more had dared to oppose him, although there had been some hard tussles in the outer runs the day before.

       
"Very well," said Woundwort. "Now, I don't want anyone straying away. Campion, you see to that. As soon as we get one of the blocked runs opened from inside, you can fill the place up. Keep them together here till I let you know and then send them in fast."

       
"Best of luck, sir," said Campion.

       
Woundwort jumped into the pit, flattened his ears and went down the shaft. He had already decided that he was not going to stop to listen. There was no point, since he meant to break in at once whether there was anything to be heard or not. It was more important that he should not seem to hesitate or cause Vervain to do so; and that the enemy, if they were there, should have the shortest possible time in which to hear him coming. Below, there would be either a run or a burrow. Either he would have to fight immediately or else there would first be a chance to look round and sense where he was. It did not matter. What mattered was finding rabbits and killing them.

       
He came to the bottom of the shaft. As Groundsel had said, it was plainly thin--brittle as ice on a puddle--chalk, pebbles and light soil. Woundwort scored it across with his foreclaws. Slightly damp, it held a moment and then fell inward, crumbling. As it fell, Woundwort followed it.

       
He fell about the length of his own body--far enough to tell him that he was in a burrow. As he landed he kicked out with his hind legs and then dashed forward, partly to be out of Vervain's way as he followed and partly to reach the wall and face about before he could be attacked from behind. He found himself against a pile of soft earth--evidently the end of a blocked run leading out of the burrow--and turned. A moment later Vervain was beside him. The third rabbit, whoever he was, seemed to be in difficulties. They could both hear him scrabbling in the fallen soil.