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Updated: May 13, 2025
It wasn't too hot nor too cold; and early in the morning the field- and forest-people began gathering at Grumpy Weasel's hunting ground, where the stone wall touched the clearing. About the only persons that objected to the time set for the race were Benjamin Bat and Solomon Owl.
But he likes fish, and likes the water, and for many generations now has been simply a fisherman, with many of the quiet lovable traits that belong to fishermen in general. That is one thing to give you instant sympathy for Keeonekh he is so different, so far above all other members of his tribe. He is very gentle by nature, with no trace of the fisher's ferocity or the weasel's bloodthirstiness.
Crow's word for it that is, all except Grumpy Weasel's cousin, Peter Mink. He spoke up and said that as for him, he would wait and see what happened. He didn't believe old Mr. Crow knew what he was talking about. Mr. Crow grew almost a purplish black with rage. "We'll all wait," he said stiffly. "We'll all wait. And when the race is over you will apologize to me." Peter Mink merely grinned.
The heavy cavalry was composed of the nineteen hundred remaining guardsmen of the Legion, covered with plates of vermilion bronze, like the Assyrian Clinabarians. He had further four hundred mounted archers, of those that were called Tarentines, with caps of weasel's skin, two-edged axes, and leathern tunics.
Up near the top of the dead tree, a pair of pine martens had made their den in the hollow trunk, and reared a family of young martens that drew Kagax's evil thoughts like a magnet. The marten belongs to the weasel's own family; therefore, as a choice bit of revenge, Kagax would rather kill him than anything else. A score of times he had crouched in this same place and waited for his chance.
Plump little Mr. Meadow Mouse wished he had stayed away from Grumpy Weasel's hunting ground. He would have scampered off, had he not known that Grumpy could overtake him before he had made three leaps. So he saw no way out of his trouble, though he could think of nothing less agreeable than trying to slip through a small hole with Grumpy Weasel close at hand, watching him narrowly.
While Tamada got splints and did what he could for the badly shattered arm, Lund taunted Deming until the hunter's face was seamed with useless ferocity, like a weasel's in a trap. "I wonder you fix him at all, Tamada," he said. "He wanted to cut you out of yore share. Called you a yellow-skinned heathen, Tamada. What makes you gentle him that way? You've got him where you want him."
Mentally, he granted these fashionable darlings fleetness, but absolutely withheld from them the killing powers they are credited with. "Bah!" one may imagine Finn muttering to himself. "Foxy tails, weasel's faces, terrier's legs you are almost toys!" Heavy-coated, massive old Dermot Asthore took no more notice of Finn than of the rest of the show.
Crow made a queer noise in his throat, which showed that Solomon Owl had made him angry. "I never said anything about Grumpy Weasel's filling any bills," Mr. Crow spluttered. "Knot holes were what I had in mind. I've no doubt, though, that you'd like Grumpy Weasel to fill your own bill." Now, if Solomon Owl had not tried more than once to catch Grumpy Weasel perhaps Mr.
Capture thim all, even to that cratur," pointing to a little, thin, spiteful-looking man, with a face much like a weasel's. His skin was the colour of the leaf of the silver poplar, his eyes were very quick, and they snapped and scintillated upon the smallest provocation.
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