Runaway Ralph (9 page)

I
'm a failure, Ralph told himself, as the bird chorus announced the dawn and a rooster crowed down by the barn. I'm a miserable rotten failure.

Ralph had returned to his perch in the bamboo after a night spent hurrying, scurrying, and worrying. Every building at Happy Acres Camp was built on ungnawable mouseproof concrete. Every screen door was
above a clifflike concrete step. The watch still lay hidden in the bamboo leaves, Garf would soon learn that his name was not to be cleared after all, and Ralph would not get his motorcycle back. Drat, he swore to himself. Drat, drat, drat! He felt especially bad because Garf actually had left a quarter of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at the foot of the bamboo for his supper the night before.

Ralph was about to climb down the bamboo to hide from Garf when the alarm clock rang, and the bugler stumbled out to rouse the sleeping camp. Campers washed their faces at washbasins outside their lodges, and then, before they went to breakfast, the girls carried their sleeping bags out to air. Some draped their unzipped bags on fences. Others, including Karen, spread theirs on the grass in the sun in the girls' area.

Why, here's my chance after all, thought Ralph in wonder, as a plan, simple but dan
gerous, sprang into his mind.

After noticing that Catso was sitting expectantly by the kitchen door waiting to be fed, Ralph leaped to the ground and found the watch under the bamboo leaves. Seizing it by the buckle on the leather strap, he began the labor of dragging the watch toward Karen's sleeping bag.

The watch was heavier than Ralph had remembered. He pulled and strained and managed to tug it across the gritty path to the craft shop and into the shelter of the grass. The watch slid more easily through the grass, and Ralph soon learned to choose the smoothest way, avoiding clods of dirt and prickly weeds.

The campers finished breakfast and came bursting out of the dining hall. Ralph toiled on, pulling the watch toward Karen's sleeping bag a fraction of an inch at a time, knowing that Garf must be searching for him by the bamboo. Ralph began a long hard detour
around a fallen walnut and hoped that sometime Garf would at least know he had tried even if he might not succeed.

Suddenly the fur along Ralph's spine began to prickle, and he froze in his tracks. Catso! The hunter's eyes of the cat had caught the movement of the grass. Ralph crouched motionless beside the watch.

Catso slunk close to the ground, moving so quietly he seemed to flow through the grass. Only the tip of his tail twitched. Ralph knew that trying to run was useless. Running would only make the hunt more interesting for Catso and prolong the misery for Ralph. Catso stopped and waggled his hindquarters experimentally, as if he were trying to find the most efficient position for pouncing.

Where was Lana? Ralph's life passed before his eyes—his family mouse nest back at the Mountain View Inn, his mother and Uncle
Lester and all his brothers and sisters and cousins, the boy who had given him the motorcycle that had changed his life, the cage in the craft shop, Chum, Garf—

Catso crouched even lower and waggled his hindquarters once more in preparation for the pounce.

Ralph's eyes were distracted from Catso by Sam, who trotted purposefully across the grass. If one doesn't get me, the other will, thought Ralph, as he tried to shrink even smaller beside the watch. Surely a dog would not want to crunch a watch between his teeth.

Sam growled deep in his throat. Distracted, Catso stopped waggling and glared at Sam.

“Get me in trouble, will you?” growled Sam to the cat.

Catso stood up, arched his back, and appeared to double in size. “See here, Sam,”
he hissed. “I'm supposed to exterminate pesky mice.”

“Not this one,” growled Sam, advancing. “He belongs here, and you got me in trouble by letting him escape.”

“Is that so?” Catso hissed back, as he
swiped at Sam's nose with an evil clawed paw. “What about me? I'm unjustly accused of eating him.”

“And what are you up to now?” demanded Sam, and with that question he snapped at Catso, who turned his back and with his tail proudly erect stalked off toward the craft shop, before he suddenly remembered he had not washed lately.

While Catso sat grooming his toes, Sam eyed Ralph with interest. “You're a busy little fellow,” he remarked, not unkindly. “First a motorcycle. Now a wristwatch.” He thought a moment before he said, “Say, where did you get that watch? You didn't happen to steal it, did you? No. You couldn't. You're too little.”

“That's right. I'm too little,” agreed Ralph. “But Catso stole it, and I'm trying to return it to its rightful owner.” He told Sam the whole story, explaining why Garf could
not return the watch.

Sam glanced at Catso and growled, but Catso merely paused in washing his left hind foot to look disdainfully at Sam, who then said to Ralph, “You're pretty little to be pulling that watch over this rough ground. Maybe I can help you out. Here, let me take it for you.”

Ralph trembled to see that great snout coming close. He crept away from the watch and stared fascinated as Sam delicately picked up the leather strap in his teeth and trotted over to Karen's sleeping bag, where he dropped the watch on the flannel lining.

Ralph crept closer. “Thank you, Sam,” he said, genuinely grateful to the big dog.

“It was all in line of duty,” said Sam. “Still, one thing bothers me. Boys don't come into the girls' area, but couldn't a boy throw a watch over here? A boy could stand on the other side of the fence and toss a watch onto
a sleeping bag. I'm not sure Garf's name will be cleared when Karen finds the watch.”

“I never thought of that,” admitted Ralph, “but give me a little time and I can take care of it.” He scurried over to the watch and began to gnaw a hole in the fabric of the sleeping bag. Garf might be able to throw a watch, but he couldn't gnaw a hole. Sam settled himself with his nose on his paws to guard Ralph.

Ralph used his sharp teeth so efficiently that he soon had a hole in the dry and tasteless lining. He waded into the Dacron stuffing, dragging the watch behind him.

“You all right in there?” asked Sam.

“Of course, I'm all right,” answered Ralph, shoving the Dacron aside to make room for the watch. The Dacron was softer than the most finely shredded Kleenex. It was softer than nylon stockings or pillow feathers or any other soft thing Ralph had
experienced at the inn.

“Then I'd better be on my way,” said Sam. “I still have the barn to inspect.”

Ralph popped his head out of the hole in the sleeping bag. “Thanks a lot, Sam,” he said. “You saved my life. I really mean it.” The watchband still protruded from the hole, so Ralph crawled back inside and tugged some more until he was sure it was safely out of sight. There. When Karen climbed into her sleeping bag that night she was sure to feel a lump, investigate, and discover her missing watch in a place where Garf could not have hidden it.

The Dacron was deliciously soft, and Ralph was tired after a sleepless night. I've got to get out of here before rest time, he told himself, but part of him answered, Go on, take a short nap, only a minute or two. Rest time is a long way off, and you need some sleep. The Dacron was soft and cozy,
the sounds of the camp were muffled, and Ralph was tired….

The next thing Ralph knew, the sleeping bag was moving. He heard the swishing sound of a long zipper being closed and felt himself being lifted. Then a screen door slammed, the sleeping bag was set down, and a pair of hands smoothed it.

Drat! thought Ralph, now I've done it! He heard the muffled sound of boots being thrown on the floor. The cot beneath him heaved, and a sudden weight seemed to flatten Ralph, even though he was cushioned by Dacron.

Ralph could not help himself. He squeaked. The weight pressing on him was removed instantly. The springs bounced, two feet hit the floor, and Ralph heard Karen's muffled voice say, “That's funny. I'm sure I heard a squeak.”

“It's your springs, silly,” said another girl.

“No,” said Karen. “It was more like a mouse, and it was right under me.”

“Quiet, girls. It's rest time,” said the counselor.

I better get out of here, thought Ralph, crawling out of his Dacron nest and in between the two layers of flannel lining. As he started toward what he hoped was the open end, he heard the swishing sound of the zipper. The top of the sleeping bag was thrown back, and Ralph was exposed for all to see.

“E-e-ek!” squealed Karen. “It
is
a mouse! And he isn't even squashed!”

Ralph leaped to the floor and was aware of a double row of girls staring at him from their bunks. He darted toward an overturned riding boot, realized that he would be trapped inside, and darted the other way without knowing where he was going.

Now all the girls were squealing. “Catch
him!” “Don't let him get away!” “Isn't he darling?”

“He isn't darling in my sleeping bag!” said Karen.

Sock-clad feet hit the floor. “Get a washbasin!” someone yelled. “Catch him under a washbasin.”

“Girls!” cried the counselor.

Ralph darted this way and that. No matter which way he ran he met feet. He was frantic. He knew he had to find a way to escape before someone clapped something over him. The screen door creaked, so he knew someone had run outside for a basin.

“A hat!” someone shouted. “Where's a hat?”

In his panic Ralph ran up and over a foot in a white sock. Its owner screamed. Sam, alerted by the scream, began to bark.

A straw cowboy hat plopped down on the concrete floor, making a dark dome over
Ralph. The daylight that shone between the straws seemed like starlight to a mouse.

“Look!” shrieked Karen. “A hole in my sleeping bag! He chewed a big hole right in
my sleeping bag!”

Sam, frantic to protect the girls, scrabbled his paws against the screen door.

“It's only me,” squeaked Ralph, but no one could hear him.

Ralph was alert, waiting for someone to lift the hat so that he could make a dash, if not for a knothole, at least for the shelter of a bunk.

“There's something in the hole in my sleeping bag,” cried Karen. “My watch. Look! It's my missing watch!” Feet went padding to Karen's bunk.

The screen door opened. One set of dog footsteps and two sets of human footsteps entered, those of the girl who had gone for the washbasin and those of someone else. “Girls, what is going on in here?” asked Aunt Jill. “This is supposed to be rest time.”

Ralph could hear Sam snuffling around in circles with his nose to the floor.

The girls all tried to speak at once, but Karen managed to tell about the finding of the watch. “So Garf couldn't have taken it,” said another girl.

“And we have the mouse in person right here under that hat,” said another.

Sam's nose came to a halt at the hat brim.

“Hey, Sam. It's only me,” squeaked Ralph in alarm. He was relieved to have Sam sit and begin to pant. Ralph pressed his eye to a crack in the straw and saw Sam's long pink tongue hanging out.

“But what I don't understand,” said Karen, “is how the watch got inside the hole. A mouse couldn't put it there.”

You'll never know, thought Ralph in grim amusement.

“Aunt Jill, what shall we do with the mouse?” Ralph heard one of the girls ask. “We're going to scoop him up in this washbasin.”

Not if I can help it, thought Ralph.

“Why don't we give him to Garf?” suggested Aunt Jill. “I'm sure he misses his mouse, and I know his feelings were hurt because some people thought he had taken the watch.”

“Good idea!” agreed Karen.

Well, thought Ralph, that takes care of a lot of things. When the brim of the hat was lifted and the rim of the plastic washbasin scraped against the floor, Ralph hopped into the basin and, with hat still held over him, felt himself being lifted. Then the hat was raised a few inches on one side of the basin, and Ralph saw a row of eyes staring at him. Ralph could not help trembling, even though he was sure he had nothing to fear.