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Authors: Kate McMullan

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“Coach?” Erica called out. “I made up a Bloodhound marching song.”

“Good work!” Coach cried. “Why don’t we sing it as we march?”

Erica sang her song through once. Then all the Bloodhounds marched through the Dark Forest, singing:

“We’re the mighty Bloodhounds!
We’re dogged and we’re bold!
We’re the mighty Bloodhounds!
We’ll track down Seetha’s gold!
We’ll put our noses to the ground!
We’ll give a mighty sniff!
Will we ever loose the scent?
No! No! Not us! As if!
’Cause...we’re the mighty Bloodhounds!
Hear us when we yell!
We’re the mighty Bloodhounds!
And do we ever smell!”

The Bloodhounds looked in twelve caves that morning. Most were empty. But not all. The Cave of Really-Loud-Snoring housed a family of sleeping bears. Cave Hole-in-the-Roof was full of puddles. And Jolly-Good-Times Cave was piled high with old mead flasks.

Inside Jolly-Good-Times Cave, the Marleys started yelling and whooping and picking up the flasks. They shook them upside down over their mouths. They were hoping for a drop or two of mead, but the flasks were empty.

“Charlie!” cried Coach. “Parley! Whatever your names are! Cut that out!”

He lined everyone up again. Off they marched down Snakes’ Path.

“Say, my manly men!” Coach called as they marched. “Who is going to find the gold?”

“The Bloodhounds!” Erica veiled.

Wiglaf hoped Erica was right. That would make all his pain worthwhile. The heavy pack hurt his back. He had blisters on every toe. He was hungry. And it wasn’t easy keeping up with Erica.

At a bend in the road, Wiglaf heard a low growl.

“Is that your stomach?” he asked Erica.

“No,” she said. “I thought it was yours.”

The growling grew louder.

Suddenly a wild man leaped out at them! He had thick white hair. His beard hung down to his knees. He swung a pointed stick over his head and charged at the Bloodhounds!

Chapter 3

W
iglaf ran behind a tree for cover. The Marleys hid behind a big rock. Angus hid behind Wiglaf.

Erica stood her ground beside Coach.

The wild man shook his stick. “Danger!” he cried. “Do not go to the Cave of Doom!”

“Doom?” Wiglaf whispered. “Did he say
doom?”

“I think so,” Angus whispered back. “I’m not going into any cave called Doom.”

“Danger!” the hermit cried again. “Do not pass go! Do not stick rocks up your nose!”

“Be gone!” Coach called with a toss of his head, which made his wig slide to the left.

“First hear my tale!” the hermit cried. “It’s a sad tale. Nothing like a fish tail. More like a pig tail. Kind of twisty...”

“Get on with it!” Coach ordered.

“Seven brave men followed me into the Cave of Doom,” the hermit said. “We were looking for Seetha’s gold!”

“Seetha?” Wiglaf cried. “The dragon?”

“No, Seetha the chipmunk!” The hermit glared at Wiglaf. “Yes, Seetha the dragon. Now, seven men followed me in. But I alone came out alive. Alive, yes. But nutty as a fruit-cake. That’s why they call me Crazy Looey!”

Wiglaf hoped Looey wasn’t both crazy and dangerous. He felt for his lucky rag.

“Oh, we read Seetha’s warning,” Crazy Looey went on. “But still I led my men deep into the cave. On the cave floor we saw a gold coin. I picked it up. And before you could say, ‘The eensy, weensy spider went up the water spout...’ ” Crazy Looey started making little spider-climbing movements with his fingers.

“Go on, man!” Coach cried. “Go on!”

“Before you could say that,” Crazy Looey said, “the cave filled with smoke. Poison smoke! I had set off a booby trap! My seven brave men dropped in their tracks. Dead as ducks. Deader, some of them. Me? I ran. Ran so fast, my hat fell off. It was my best hat, too. The one with a turkey feather—”

“Stop!” Erica called out. “I don’t believe a word of this silly story!”

Wiglaf wasn’t so sure. True, there was no Cave of Doom on Coach’s map. But it sounded like a place Seetha would hide her gold.

“A red-and-white striped turkey feather,” Crazy Looey went on. “The prettiest darn feather you ever did see.”

“Enough, Cuckoo Looey!” Coach Plungett cried. “Let us pass!”

“That’s Crazy Looey,” the hermit said. “And I won’t let you pass! No way. Not a chance. Never!”

Coach Plungett drew his sword.

“Ah ha!” said Crazy Looey as the tip of Coach’s sword touched the tip of his nose. “I see your point!”

The hermit did a little dance. Then he ran away down Snakes’ Path, singing: “Down came the rain and washed the spider out....”

The Bloodhounds watched until he disappeared.

Coach put away his sword. “Shame on you for hiding, Bloodhounds!” he said. “You must face danger! Be manly men, like me!”

“Coach?” said Angus. “I don’t want to die in the Cave of Doom! I want to go home to DSA! We could make it by sundown.”

“Angus, you know Bloodhounds never turn back,” Coach scolded. “Now, let’s march!”

Wiglaf picked up his pack and started marching. He thought about what Crazy Looey had said. He didn’t mind poking about in caves with old mead flasks. Or even bears, so long as they were asleep. But the Cave of Doom sounded like a very different sort of cave. Wiglaf hoped Crazy Looey had made the whole thing up.

On they marched down Snakes’ Path. They passed a large rock. It was shaped like a cow.

The Marley brothers began yelling, “Moo! Moo!”

Erica stopped marching. “Look!” she cried, pointing down at her feet.

Wiglaf looked. Spread across the path in front of him was a giant footprint.

“Is th-that a dragon print?” Angus asked.

“I think so,” Erica said. “But we must be sure.” She took The
Sir Lancelot Handbook
from her tool belt. She handed it to Wiglaf. “Read me Chapter Two: Are You Sure It’s a Dragon Print?”

Wiglaf turned the tiny pages of the book.

At last he found the spot.

“Dragon prints
are big,”
he read.
“Very big.”

Erica dropped to her knees. She looked at the print through her magnifying glass.

“Yes!” she cried. “This print is very big.”

“A dragon
foot has three
large toes,”
Wiglaf read.
“So does a dragon print.”

“One, two, three!” Erica counted. “Yes!”

“At the tip of each toe will be a deep hole made by a dragon claw,” he read.

Erica brought her magnifying glass to the tip of the first toe. “Yes!” she cried. She jumped to her feet. “This is a dragon print!”

“Let’s get out of here!” Angus howled.

Had this print been made by Seetha ? Wiglaf
wondered.

Erica called, “Coach! Come here! Quick!”

Coach Plungett hurried back to the spot.

“Egad!” he said when he saw the footprint.

“It’s definitely a dragon print, sir,” Erica told him.

“And look!” Wiglaf cried. He pointed to the side of the path. “There’s another print! And another! They lead into the forest!”

“Put your noses to the ground, Bloodhounds!” cried Coach Plungett. “We shall follow these prints. For as sure as I’m a manly man, they were made by Seetha. And surely they shall lead us to her gold!”

Coach Plungett followed the giant footprints through the Dark Forest. The Bloodhounds followed Coach Plungett.

Wiglaf tried to keep up. But it wasn’t easy. Branches scratched his face. Thorns tore at his britches. He had too many blisters to count. And the Marleys were burping again.

Angus turned around. “Here,” he said. He handed Wiglaf a stick of his Wild Boar jerky. “This always makes me feel better.”

“Thanks,” Wiglaf said. But it did not make him feel better. It only made him thirsty.

On the Bloodhounds marched. At last the dragon prints led to a creek. It was wide and deep. It smelled of dead fish. Thick green ooze lay on top of the water like a blanket. It reminded Wiglaf of something. But he could not think what.

“This is either Clear Water Creek,” Coach said. “Or—” he turned the map sideways, “Stinking Green Creek.”

Wiglaf had a pretty good idea which creek this was. And now he knew what it reminded him of—his mother’s cabbage soup!

Erica took the spyglass from her tool belt. She held it to her eye. “I see dragon prints on the far side of the creek,” she told Coach.

“Then we must wade across it,” Coach said.

“No!” Angus cried. “Not
across that!”

The Marleys began to grumble.

“There is no bridge,” Coach pointed out. “Wading is the only way. Stop being such babies,” he added. “What’s a little stinking green ooze to manly men? Now follow me!”

“Sir?” Erica said. “There is another way.” Erica took the rope from her tool belt. She threw one end over a tree branch that hung above the creek. Next, she made a loop. She pulled it tight around the branch. Then she knotted the end of the rope.

“Tah dah!” Erica cried. “We can swing across!”

Wiglaf grinned. Back home, he had swung across Pinwick Creek hundreds of times.

“I’ll go first,” Erica said. She backed up. Her tool belt jangled as she ran for the rope. She jumped on the knot. She swung easily across the creek and hopped off on the far bank.

“Well done!” cried Coach Plungett.

Erica beamed. “Who’s next?” she called. She threw the rope over to the other side. Coach caught it. He swung across.

Charlie Marley went next. Then Barley. Then Farley. Harley burped as he swung over.

Harley threw Angus the rope. “Alas, Wiglaf!” Angus whispered. “I’m scared!”

“You can do it,” Wiglaf said.

Angus made a few false starts. Then he stood on the knot. Wiglaf pulled the rope back. He gave Angus a mighty push.

Angus sailed over the creek. He landed on the far bank. “Easy as pie!” he exclaimed.

Angus threw Wiglaf the rope. Wiglaf caught it. He backed up. He began to run. He jumped and swung out over the creek.

It was just like swinging over Pinwick Creek—except for one thing. Back home, he never had a great big heavy pack on his back.

Wiglaf felt his fingers slip down the rope.

He lost his hold!

The next thing Wiglaf knew, he was falling toward the slimy green water.

Chapter 4

“H
yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” Wiglaf screamed. He splashed down into Stinking Green Creek.

Stinking was right! The water smelled exactly like his mother’s cabbage soup. Slimy green ooze trickled into Wiglaf’s eyes. And his ears. And his mouth. Yuck!

On the bank, the Marleys roared with laughter.

“Wiggie!” Erica called. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t swallow!” Angus yelled. “That water will kill you!”

Wiglaf spit out as much ooze as he could.

Coach held out a long tree branch. Wiglaf took hold of it. He struggled toward the shore. At last he waded out of the water. He was stinking, green, and oozy.

The Marleys were laughing their heads off.

“Cut it out!” Erica growled at them. “It’s not funny.” She looked at Wiglaf. She put a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. “Well, maybe it is. A little.”

Angus couldn’t help smiling, too.

Great, Wiglaf thought. Now even
my friends are laughing at me!
How he wished this class trip was over.

Wiglaf untied his lucky rag from his sword. He wrung it out. With it he wiped the green slime from his face and arms. He dried his hair. He patted off his clothes.

Coach slapped Wiglaf on the back. “Up and at ’em, now. That’s the way. Are you ready to hit the road like a manly man?”

Wiglaf nodded. “Ready,” he said. He was sticky and wet. But he wasn’t a quitter. He still wanted to find Seetha’s gold.

“Take the lead, Eric,” Coach said.

Erica grinned. “Let’s march!” she called.

The Bloodhounds marched. They followed the prints onto a road. It was the very road Wiglaf had taken from his home in Pinwick to DSA. Soon the prints led back into the forest again. The afternoon sun dipped low in the sky. And still they followed the dragon prints.

Suddenly Erica stopped. “Coach!” she cried.

“Keep going, Eric,” Coach said. “I see more prints over there.”

“But we have seen them before!” Erica said. “We are back on Snakes’ Path! See? The prints led us in a circle!”

“No jokes!” Angus cried. “I beg of you!”

“Upon my honor, I am not joking,” Erica said. “Over there is the rock that looks like a cow. And here is the first print we found!”

Wiglaf saw that Erica was right. “Oh, flea bites!” he cried.

“Alas and alack!” Angus said sadly.

Only the Marleys didn’t care. They’d found an anthill and were poking it with sticks.