The Golden Flight by Michael Tod

lips. ‘No one but me. Understand?’
    The youngsters nodded, proud to have been selected, though they were disappointed to be missing the hunt.
    ‘Wait until we have gone, then follow your noses. I will expect a report tonight. If we are not here – follow our trail.’
    He turned back to address the others, surprised and pleased to see how many had turned out for the chase. Not only were most of those who had been at Rowan’s current training present, but yet another new batch of colonists had just arrived and they were eager to join in.
    The squirrels crossed the Dogleg Field in a grey mass and flowed over the road in the early light. Scouts had been sent ahead to find the scent and they guided the hunters through the furze, heather and fern of the Great Heath.
    By High-sun the scouts had reported that the quarry were trapped on an island in a pool, with a tree-trunk bridge leading to it.
    ‘I don’t think they have seen us,’ Malachite was told by the scout leader. ‘Most of them are asleep, but the traitor, Hickory, and a Red female are on guard.’
    ‘Rot his tail,’ said Malachite to Sitka. ‘How do you fancy single combat on the bridge? That should be good sport.’
    Sitka looked apprehensive. ‘He was my friend,’ he said.
    ‘Not now, surely – he’s a proven traitor. You kill him, then we’ll deal with the natives.’
    ‘Let’s see exactly what the situation is first,’ said Sitka. ‘The Red ones taught us a saying–
     
    ‘In a strange country,
    Be careful. Time spent looking
    Is seldom wasted.’
     
    ‘Humph,’ said Malachite, but sent out parties of squirrels to surround the pool, in case the quarry tried to escape by swimming, then approached the edge of the bank where they could all look down on to the island.
     
    Hickory was sitting on the bridge with Bluebell at his side, both facing the Mainland. He felt her body stiffen.
    ‘Don’t look at once,’ she whispered, ‘but I am sure there are squirrels up there on the bank, watching us.’
    ‘Red or Silver?’ Hickory whispered back.
    ‘Grey,’ she said.
    ‘Go as casually as you can and wake your father. Tell him what you’ve seen. I’ll stay here.’
    Bluebell stretched and went slowly back along the fallen trunk and relieved herself behind a clump of rushes, conscious as she did so, that, though out of sight of her party, she was in full view of ‘lots’ of enemy Greys.
    Then she went over to where her father lay at the foot of one of the pines and said, ‘Rowan-Pa. Wake up, the Greys are here. Slowly now, they don’t know we have seen them.’
    ‘Climb the tree and tell the others,’ he said calmly. ‘I’ll cover the bridge with the Woodstock.’
    ‘My Hickory is down there, call him back if you have to use it, don’t curl his whiskers,’ Bluebell told her father, then slowly climbed the tree, as though she was going up to sleep there.
    Hickory was watching the top of the bank. Bluebell had been right, there were lots of Silvers there. He turned his head – there were more to be seen on the opposite bank, all just sitting and watching. The fur on the back of his neck rose slowly and his tail started to swish from side to side, betraying his fear.
    He saw a Silver come down the bank towards him, tail low, in the ‘Parley’ position. It was Sitka.
    Hickory sat still as he approached.
    ‘Hickory-Friend,’ Sitka said quietly. ‘That old fool Malachite wants me to challenge you to single combat. What should I do?’
    ‘Look fierce,’ said Hickory, ‘and talk.’
    Sitka raised his tail, arched his back, stamped his feet on the bridge and churred the Challenge. Hickory did the same.
    ‘Hickory, come back here,’ Rowan called, ‘clear of the bridge.’
    Hickory signalled an unmistakable ‘leave me alone’ with his tail, while still facing Sitka.
    ‘What do you want to do?’ he hissed at Sitka.
    ‘Find a mate, live in peace and bring up a family under the Sun – that Great Lord Silver business is a sham.