Runaway Ralph (3 page)

A big brown dog, barking furiously, came bounding toward Ralph, who stopped, frozen with terror. The dog stopped, too, so suddenly he nearly sat down in the gravel. He recovered himself and approached, snuffling
with his wet black nose. Ralph sat with his paws clutching his handle grips in fear while the horrible black nose sniffed him.

“And just who do you think you are?” asked the dog.

“Quiet, Sam!” yelled a boy.

“A m-mouse.” Ralph felt very, very meek.

Sam eyed Ralph with curiosity. “Where did you get the motorcycle?” he wanted to know.

“A boy gave it to me.” Ralph was
beginning to feel slightly braver, but only slightly. That big dog could gobble a mouse in one gulp. But not if I hang onto my motorcycle, thought Ralph, feeling that his courage had not deserted him entirely. A dog would not eat a motorcycle.

“No kidding,” said Sam. “A mouse-sized motorcycle! Where did you come from?”

“The Mountain View Inn.”

“That run-down place,” said Sam. “I'm not surprised the mice are deserting it. Where are you going?”

“Well…here, I guess,” said Ralph. “I followed the sound of the bugle. I wanted to be near medium-sized children and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

“Sorry,” said Sam. “You can't come in here. I'm the watchdog of Happy Acres Camp, and it's my job to protect the camp.”

“Aw, come on,” said Ralph, who was beginning to see that Sam was not really a
ferocious dog. “I'm just a mouse.”

Sam looked uncomfortable. Obviously he was a dog that liked to please everyone. “I would let you in if I could, but my orders are to keep out anyone who doesn't belong here.”

Ralph hunched down on his motorcycle. “Please. I'm just a teeny little brown mouse. Nobody would even notice me.”

Sam's honest brown face looked worried. “No,” he said at last. “I can't let you in. I have my orders from Aunt Jill and Uncle Steve in the camp office. They are in charge here.”

“I've had a long, hard trip,” said Ralph. “I'm tired and I'm hungry.”

Sam looked so worried that Ralph pressed his advantage. “You know boys like mice. They would be glad to have me.”

Sam looked back toward a white building under the walnut trees. Then he looked
down at Ralph. “I tell you I can't do it,” he said. “If I let you come in I'd be breaking my orders. I'm already in trouble because a car came along in the middle of the night and dumped a box of kittens. It got away before I could rouse anybody.”

“Kittens!” squeaked Ralph in horror.

“I have the worst time with kittens.” Sam's voice was gloomy. “People are always dumping kittens here, because they know girls will beg their parents to let them take them home.”

“Very many kittens?” asked Ralph, who was feeling nervous once more.

“Too many,” said Sam. “We already had three kittens that belonged here, and the other night six more were dumped. And once they are here, I'm not allowed to chase them. I tell you, it isn't fair. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's kittens. Silly little things with no sense of responsibility.”

Sam's troubles made Ralph feel cocky once more. “If you're a watchdog, watch me!” he said, and taking a deep breath he shot between Sam's legs and out the other side before the surprised dog could turn around. Ralph swerved around a green walnut lying on the ground and into a patch of weeds beside a nearby building.

“Come back here,” barked Sam. “You aren't supposed to do that.” He began to snuffle around in the weeds.

Ralph had not expected to be snuffled for. He had thought that once he was inside the camp, Sam would give up.

Sam growled and moved his nose around in the weeds like a doggy vacuum cleaner. Unable to ride, Ralph pushed his motorcycle farther back into the weeds. The wet black nose parted the stalks, but Ralph was saved by a gopher hole. He dragged his motorcycle into its shelter.

“Oh, no, you don't,” growled Sam, and began to dig with his powerful front paws. Dirt began to fly. Pulling his motorcycle after him, Ralph waded farther back through the loose dirt into the gopher hole. Faster went the paws.

“Hey, everybody! Sam's after a gopher!” a boy yelled, and Ralph could feel feet pounding on the ground overhead.

“Go get him, Sam!” urged another boy.

“Sickum, Sam,” everyone seemed to be saying at once.

“You're being mean to the gopher,” protested a girl.

Several girls' voices began to yell, “Go, gopher, go!”

Faster and faster flew the paws with their strong toenails. Sam was panting now. Ralph pushed farther and farther back into the gopher run until a disagreeable voice ahead of him said, “And where do you think you're going?”

“Eek!” squeaked Ralph, face-to-face with the owner of the gopher run. He hastily pushed his motorcycle, which he had been pulling, ahead of him for protection.

“Beat it,” said the gopher, squinting at Ralph. “I didn't dig this tunnel for mice.”

The digging paws were coming closer. “Attaboy, Sam!” shouted the boys.

“Go, gopher, go!” shouted the girls.

Even the gopher looked uneasy. “Please,” pleaded Ralph, “save me from that beast.”

The gopher was more interested in saving himself. Already he was beginning to move farther down the run. “You can stay until that dog stops digging and no longer,” he said, and fled off into the network of tunnels.

Not far away a bell clanged. “Breakfast! Chow time!” yelled the boys, and the feet that went pounding off in the direction of the bell shook the ground overhead. The paws stopped churning, but overhead Ralph could hear the sound of panting. Sam poked
his fearsome snout into the gopher hole for one last sniff before he too trotted off for breakfast.

“Whew!” gasped Ralph, leaning against his motorcycle. He had pictured camp as a place where boys would bring him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, not this dark and dusty tunnel inhabited by a grouchy gopher.

R
alph did not rest long.

“On your feet, mouse,” said the gopher, appearing from the dark recesses of the gopher run. “You can go now.”

“Do I have to?” pleaded Ralph, nervously eyeing the gopher's long curving teeth. “I've come a long way, and I need a day's sleep.”

“Go on, beat it.” The gopher stared at Ralph with his nearsighted eyes. “This is my
run, and I don't want it cluttered up with mice.”

“Please.” Ralph tried to sound pitiful. “I'm just a little mouse, and I've had a long, hard trip.”

“I know you mice,” answered the gopher. “You are little and you look helpless, but when you move in you take over.” Then he added in a more kindly tone, “Anyway, you had better get out while you can. That dog will eat his breakfast and go off on his round of inspection, and when he sees all the dirt he churned up, he'll start digging again.”

“Maybe you're right,” admitted Ralph, who was not eager to share a tunnel with a grouchy gopher. He pushed his motorcycle up toward the circle of light that was the entrance to the gopher run. There he paused until his eyes became accustomed to the sunlight.

A stray chicken wandered across the lawn
under the walnut trees. A horse whinnied from the barn, and from the dining hall came the laughter and chatter of boys and girls and the clatter of silverware. The place seemed safe enough at the moment. Ralph permitted himself a leisurely but bumpy ride
along a path that led to a small weathered building shaded by an arbor of grapevines. At the corner of the building he found a clump of bamboo, which offered the possibility of shelter. The fallen leaves and husks of the young bamboo shoots were broad and smooth, and the dried edges curled. He laid his motorcycle at the foot of the bamboo and pulled a husk over it. The edges curled around it so that it was hidden completely. He put his helmet under another husk, and too tired to scrounge for food, Ralph crawled under a third husk.

Ah-h
. Ralph curled himself into a cozy ball. The leaves beneath him were springy. The husk above him was smooth and silky and curled protectingly around him. Ralph had not been so comfortable for a long, long time. A delicious fragrance of hotcakes drifted from the dining hall, reminding Ralph of the dining room of the Mountain
View Inn. The campers began to sing:

Ralph wondered if Matt had wound the clock in the lobby. Perhaps Matt was searching for a broken motorcycle in the shrubbery at the foot of the steps of the Mountain View Inn. Well, he wouldn't find it! Now all Ralph wanted was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich…. Ralph slept more soundly than he had ever slept before.

The next thing Ralph knew a weight was pressing him into the bamboo leaves. He squirmed, but the weight pressed harder. He heard a cat's voice say, “Now watch carefully. This is the way to handle a mouse.”

That greeting opened Ralph's eyes in a
hurry! He saw to his horror that he was pinned to the leaves by the paw of a coldhearted tomcat and was surrounded by a mother cat and a litter of wide-eyed kittens. Ralph simply closed his eyes again and tried to pretend he was not there. He could not believe what was happening. Cats were something that happened to other mice, not to Ralph. Now he wished he had listened when his mother had tried to warn him, as she so often did, about cats, owls, people, traps, poisoned grain, and vacuum cleaners.

“Children, pay attention,” said the mother cat to her kittens. “A live mouse is an interesting and instructive plaything.”

Ralph felt quite miserable enough without having to be educational as well.

“Now watch this,” said the tomcat.

The weight was removed from Ralph's body. A paw scooped him up and tossed him into the air. Nothing like this ever had hap
pened to Ralph before. He landed on his feet and stood, frozen with terror, facing the cat. He waited with every muscle tense for the cat to pounce but nothing happened. The cat, who wore an interested expression on his horrible furry face, simply sat and watched. Ralph was aware of the campers leaving the dining hall and scattering to different parts of the camp, but he dared not look at them. If he watched his chance he might be able to make a run for it. The cat, apparently distracted by a butterfly, glanced away. Ralph leaped for freedom only to be brought to earth by a paw.

“That's the way to do it,” said the tomcat. “Mice are stupid creatures who are easily fooled.”

Ralph lay limp and still, the cat's evil claws curling around his body. If Ralph moved even a hairsbreadth, he would be stabbed in five places. Maybe if I play dead
they will go away, he thought. Children walked in and out of the screen door nearby, but no one came to the rescue of the small, brown mouse behind the bamboo.

“He's trying to play dead,” explained the
tomcat, “but I can feel his heart beating beneath my paw.”

Unfortunately, there was nothing Ralph could do about his heartbeat. If he ever got away from this cat, he would be a better mouse. He would listen when his mother warned him about cats, owls, people, traps, poisoned grain, and vacuum cleaners. He would set a good example for his little brothers and sisters and cousins.

“Children, forget that butterfly and watch closely,” instructed the mother cat.

“This is the scoop-and-toss play,” explained the tomcat, and the next thing Ralph knew he had been scooped up by the cat's paw and tossed into the air. He managed to land on all fours in the bamboo leaves, but he was too terrified of that clawed paw to move. The attention of the kittens, he was pleased to see, had wandered. One rolled over and tried to catch his tail. Another scampered off after a
leaf. A third trotted after a girl, who picked him up and carried him away. The tomcat appeared to lose interest in Ralph and sat calmly, his tail curved around his feet, looking up at the leaves fluttering on the bamboo stalks.

He thinks he's got me fooled, thought Ralph. If he moved, the cat was sure to pounce. If he did not move, the cat would pounce anyway. There was no way Ralph could win. He was doomed—doomed to be a mid-morning snack for a cat.

Luckily, Ralph did not have to make a decision. There was a sudden whacking noise on the fallen leaves, and a cloud of something light and soft settled over him. Then he found himself being tumbled about as he was lifted from the ground.

“Good for you, Garf,” said a woman's voice. “What kind of butterfly did you catch?”

“It isn't a butterfly,” answered the boy. “It's a mouse. I rescued him from Catso.”

By now Ralph had managed to get his feet down and his head up and could see that he was suspended in the air in some sort of net. Through the mesh he could see a plump, cheerful woman, who was wearing slacks and a blouse. He also could see the boy, the same boy who had clumped through the Mountain View Inn in new cowboy boots, who was now holding him so ignominiously in the butterfly net.

Better a net than a paw, thought Ralph philosophically, because he felt that where there was a boy, there was hope. Boys liked mice.

“A mouse!” exclaimed the woman. “You caught a mouse in a butterfly net?”

“Yes,” answered the boy, “and I'm going to keep him.”

Where? wondered Ralph. In his pocket?
He hoped so. A boy's pocket was apt to be warm and dark and full of crumbs. The cat, cheated of his prey, stalked off with his tail in the air, trying to pretend in a most dignified manner that he did not want a mouse anyway.

“Good,” said the woman enthusiastically, surprising Ralph. All the women he had known—the housekeeper, maids, and guests of the hotel—referred to mice as nasty creatures or pesky rodents and from Ralph's point of view spent their time trying to outwit perfectly harmless little animals. “We can find a place for him in our nature corner,” suggested the woman, who Ralph decided must be the Aunt Jill Sam had mentioned. “Come on into the craft shop. I'm sure we have an old cage somewhere.”

Ralph was disappointed. He had looked forward to a dark and crumby pocket. At the same time he was anxious. If he was to be
trapped in a cage, how could he get back to his motorcycle?

The screen door creaked as it was opened, and Ralph found himself looking through the net at a room with long worktables and walls lined with shelves full of boxes, jars, and odds and ends. Seated on a bench were three girls, who were busy braiding with long thin strips of colored plastic. They appeared to ignore the boy until the woman rummaged around on the shelves and produced a small wire cage with an exercise wheel inside and a bottle for water fastened at one end. Suddenly the girls were interested.

“What's the cage for, Aunt Jill?” asked one of them, as all three jumped up from the bench.

“Garf caught a mouse in his butterfly net,” explained Aunt Jill. “He wants to keep it.”

“In a butterfly net!” The girls found this
feat funny. “Let me see! Let me see!” they begged.

Ralph found himself being poked out of the net and into the cage. The door was closed behind him and fastened. He scurried behind the exercise wheel, where he sat
trembling, partly from fright and partly from relief at being safe from the cat.

“Isn't he a darling?” cried the girls, their faces large and close to the cage bars. “Isn't he
sweet
? Those teeny-tiny ears. Look at those itsy-bitsy paws!”

Ralph looked for help toward the boy, who had stepped aside and now stood scowling beside the screen door.

“Aunt Jill, can we feed the mouse?” begged the girls. “Please, let us feed him.”

Ralph turned his back and curled up into the smallest possible ball.

“The mouse belongs to Garfield,” said Aunt Jill. “He gets to feed his own mouse.”

“Skip it.”

Ralph thought Garf sounded angry. He heard the boy's footsteps leave the craft shop and the screen door screech and slam as it opened and closed.

“What's the matter with him?” asked one
of the girls, who sounded as if she did not really care.

“Girls, do you know what I think we should do?” asked Aunt Jill. “I think we should all help Garfield enjoy camp. This is his first time away from home, and he doesn't know anyone here. I think he's lonely.”

“But he's
mean
,” protested the girl with the sunburned nose. “He just stays off by himself.”

“There's nothing mean about that,” Aunt Jill pointed out.

“I know….” admitted the girl. “But he…oh, I don't know. Anyway, Garf is a funny name.”

“Maybe he doesn't think so,” said Aunt Jill.

Ralph could feel one of the girls trying to poke her finger through the bars of his cage.

“At meals he won't talk or sing,” she said,
jabbing Ralph with a stick. “He just eats and then he gets up and walks out.”

Ralph tried to draw himself into a tighter ball.

“See, he's outside just standing there,” said another girl. “He practically never talks to anybody.”