The Story of Freginald (8 page)

“But later it will be too late,” protested the wren. “We can't put off building. It has to be done right away. Look here; you wanted me to carry a message for you. Well now, I'll make a deal with you. You get me enough hair for a nest and I'll carry your message.”

“I'm awfully sorry,” said Freginald. “I'm just simply awfully sorry I said anything about it at all. It's nice of you to offer, but under those conditions—well, please let's say no more about it. And—” He hesitated a minute, then he said: “Well, I'll be honest with you. I made the whole thing up. I wanted to get you to carry our message. But I'm not going to deceive you into doing it. So just let's forget it, shall we?”

But the wren didn't believe him. “Nonsense,” he said. “You don't fool me for a minute. If you'd made it all up, you wouldn't be silly enough to turn down my offer. Come along, now. You see if you can't do something with your lion, and if you can, I'll go tell Mr. Boomschmidt where you are.”

“Well,” said Freginald doubtfully, “I'll try. You wait here.”

But as soon as he got in the loft where the wren couldn't see him, he let the pleased feeling that had been bottled up inside him come out in a wide grin. He had gained his point and he hadn't told a lie either. Or at least he had told one, but he had said it was a lie. He had discovered something, too—that suspicious people are the easiest to fool.

But now he had to get some hair out of Leo's mane. That wasn't going to be easy. For what he had said about Leo was true; he was terribly proud of that mane. It would mean an argument. Of course, Leo would give in, because no animal would refuse to sacrifice a handful of hair to get his freedom. But Freginald thought he could avoid the argument, too.

He went downstairs.

“What luck?” said Leo.

“Oh, fair. I've got a wren interested. But we've got to wait awhile.” He went and sat down beside his friend. “My goodness, Leo,” he said. “Your mane is in a terrible state. All full of burs.”

“What of it?” said Leo grumpily.

“Why, I don't know,” said Freginald. “Only I should think you'd want to look your best in front of this gang. Just because they look like a lot of old mops there's no reason why we should. There's an old rake over in the corner. Suppose I comb it out for you.”

So he got the rake and set to work. He had to pull anyway to get the burs out, and every now and then he would yank out a few hairs. Leo snarled and protested a good deal, but by the time his mane was free of burs, Freginald had more than enough hair for the nest.

The wren was delighted and wanted to start building right away, but Freginald said no, he wasn't going to give him the hair until he was sure Mr. Boomschmidt had got his message. So the wren started off. And Freginald went downstairs again and told Leo.

CHAPTER 7

At dinner-time the guard was changed and a coarse but ample lunch was served the prisoners. About two o'clock the wren came back. He had seen Mr. Boomschmidt, who had at once halted the northward march and called a council of war. “He said not to worry; he'll get you out.”

“When will he get here?” Freginald asked.

“Well, he's got a good fifteen-mile march ahead of him,” said the wren. “I shouldn't expect him before tomorrow.”

Late that afternoon the rooster came back, to inquire if they had yet decided to join the Confederacy.

Leo blinked at him good-naturedly. “What's the use?” he said. “There won't be any Confederacy by this time tomorrow.”

The rooster jerked his head indignantly. “That's a very stupid way for you to talk,” he said. “You don't seem to realize the seriousness of your position.”

“Don't you worry about our position,” said Leo. “Boy, you'd better take a look at your own, my old bantam. Pretty proud of those tail-feathers, aren't you? Well, you'd better admire 'em all you can; you won't have 'em much longer.”

“You will regret this,” said the rooster vindictively. “Guards!” he shouted, his voice rising into a shrill squawk. “See that no straw is brought in for the prisoners tonight. They can sleep on the bare ground. And no supper for them, either. Captain's orders.”

“Yes, lieutenant,” said the guards.

Freginald thought it was rather silly to make the rooster mad, but before he could remonstrate with Leo there was a commotion outside. There was running, and excited talk, and the rooster, who was just leaving, stopped in the doorway and stared nervously up at the sky.

The prisoners got as near the door as the guards would let them and looked too. Across the littered barnyard was the back of the dilapidated house, and beyond, the close, leafy wall of the forest. And above the trees, swooping swiftly down toward the plantation, was a small flock of birds. Freginald recognized them. They were Mademoiselle Rose's pet pigeons. They were flying in formation, three by three, and just as it seemed as if they were about to alight in front of the barn, the leader, followed instantly by the others, swerved and swung up out of sight. But as he did so he dropped something that fluttered to the ground.

“That's one of Mr. Boomschmidt's checkered handkerchiefs,” whispered Leo excitedly. “They dropped it so we'd know they were coming.”

The pigeons were out of sight now, but Freginald and Leo could tell where they were by watching the animals who had gathered in the barnyard. For every head turned slowly as the pigeons circled and dipped. They had evidently been sent as scouts to spy out the enemy's strength and position.

In a minute or two they came into sight again, swinging over the house. But just as Freginald caught sight of them, he saw two hawks rise from a tall pine. They beat the air swiftly with their wide wings as they spiraled to get above the pigeons. The rooster flapped his wings and laughed shrilly. “Now we'll see some fun,” he said. Then he turned and looked at the prisoners. “I suppose this is the rescue party you've been waiting for,” he sneered. “Lot of silly pigeons, playing drop the handkerchief! Well, watch what happens to them.”

But Leo laughed at him. “We're watching, rooster. Look.” He pointed straight up in the air. Above the pigeons, above the hawks, a tiny speck that none of them had noticed before was growing rapidly larger. It shot downward like an arrow, straight for the larger of the two hawks. And a harsh scream drifted down from the upper air.

“Leo,” exclaimed Freginald excitedly, “it's the eagle! It's old Baldy.”

“Yes,” said the lion. “I knew the chief wouldn't send the pigeons out alone. You watch now. You'll see something.”

The hawks had seen the eagle now and had abandoned the pigeons and were diving for the trees. The smaller one tumbled anyhow in among the protecting branches. But the larger one was still fifty feet above the tallest pine when the eagle was upon him. He turned on his back to defend himself, talons uppermost, but Baldy's huge claws struck and held. With the fluttering hawk in his grasp he circled the plantation, screaming defiance. And then suddenly, as he swept over the barnyard, he dropped the hawk, swooped, and snatched the rooster from under the very noses of his comrades.

A roar of rage went up from the robbers as a solitary bright tail-feather floated slowly down among them.

Leo whacked Freginald on the back. “Didn't I tell go you?” he shouted. And he let out a full-throated roar which the eagle answered with a scream as he beat up to clear the trees. Through the angry shouting of the animals Freginald could hear the frightened squawks of the rooster growing fainter and fainter as he disappeared in the northern sky.

But the capture of their lieutenant had aroused the robbers. In a few moments the doorway was filled with a jostling crowd of threatening animals whom the guards had difficulty in holding back. There were shouts of “Lynch them!” and Leo began surreptitiously to try out the sharpness of his claws on a post, when the bull came shouldering heavily through the mob.

“Stand back!” he bellowed, thrusting right and left with his horns. In the doorway he stood with his head low, looking menacingly at the prisoners with his little red eyes. Then he turned and gave his orders swiftly.

Half an hour later Leo and Freginald had been taken out of the barn and shoved up into the attic of the house. There was a guard at the foot of the attic stairs and through the little windows at each end the could see sentinels being posted and sacks of grain being dragged into the cellar. The house was evidently being prepared for a state of siege.

When it began to get dark, Leo went to the head of the stairs and shouted to the guards, demanding something to eat. For some time there was no reply, but at last a voice said: “You might as well pipe down, lion. No supper for you tonight. Captain's orders.”

“Well, look here,” said Leo, “that's no way to treat prisoners. You can't starve us to death.”

“Why not?” said the voice.

Leo couldn't think of any answer to this, so he just snarled.

After a minute the voice said: “You'll get something to eat when your Mr. Boomschmidt agrees to go on about his business. Not before.”

“Oh, so that's the game, is it?” said Leo.

“Captain's orders,” said the voice.

“Well,” said Leo, coming back and lying down beside Freginald, “I guess we'll have to make the best of it. But we can irritate 'em a little. How's your voice, Fredg—can you sing tenor?”

“I'm not much of a singer,” said the bear, “but I guess I can carry a tune.”

“H'm,” said Leo. “Well, just so they can recognize it. Let's give 'em
Marching through Georgia
. You take the air.”

Now, some singing is very pretty, but Leo's voice was more suited to calling to friends a long distance away to making melody. And Freginald, like most bears, had no voice at all. So it is probable that the howls of anger that came from the robbers were due as much to the noise they made as to their choice of song. It was really pretty bad. And, although he was pleased to be able to annoy the robbers, Freginald refused to go on after they had finished the first verse.