“First a watch, now a mouse,” said another camper.
“A thief in our midst!” cried Lana, eager for excitement and mystery.
“All right, boys and girls, let’s pick up the nails and seeds and roll up the plastic.” Aunt Jill’s voice was calm. This crisis was not the first she had met at Happy Acres, nor would it be the last.
Then Ralph heard Garf’s voice saying, “Look at that hole in the screen door. It’s big enough for a cat to squeeze through.”
Good thinking, Garf, said Ralph to himself. He had picked up this phrase from the many schoolteachers who had stayed at the Mountain View Inn while on their summer vacations.
“I’ll bet Catso got my mouse,” said Garf, adding sadly, “and he was such a good mouse, too.”
Ralph could not help being pleased by this compliment, and a little sad, too. Of course, he was a good mouse. He had known that fact all along, but hearing himself spoken of in the past made him feel that the world would have been a sadder place without him.
“Garf, you’re a good detective,” said Aunt Jill. “Catso must be the guilty one.”
“Aunt Jill, you don’t think Catso—ate the mouse, do you?” Lana was awed by the enormity of such a crime.
“I hope not, for Garf’s sake,” said Aunt Jill.
What about my sake? thought Ralph indignantly.
“We’d better look around,” said Aunt Jill. “Perhaps the mouse is hiding someplace.”
Instantly a mouse hunt was organized. Butterfly nets were seized, jars and boxes moved, craft materials lifted.
“Here, mousie, mousie,” called Lana. “Here mousie, mousie.”
As if I would come running, thought Ralph, huddled behind a dusty cobweb in the dark shadows.
“I guess he’s gone,” said Garf at last. “The first and probably the last mouse I’ll ever have.”
“Garf, I’m putting you in charge of repairing the hole,” said Aunt Jill. “Get a piece of screen and some wire from Uncle Steve, and we’ll make sure Catso won’t come in here again. We wouldn’t want him to annoy Chum.”
At that point the fur along Ralph’s spine began to tingle.
“There’s Catso now!” cried Lana. Ralph felt the slam of the screen door jar the building as Lana ran out. “Bad cat, Catso! Bad cat!” he heard her shout. The scolding did Ralph’s heart good.
Later that morning after his riding lesson, Garf returned with a piece of screen and some wire to repair the hole. His work was frequently interrupted as campers left the craft shop and drifted off to other activities. When Aunt Jill left, Ralph came down from his hiding place in a series of leaps. Through the screen door he watched Garf sitting on the step weaving the wire patch to the screen with a piece of thin wire, before he said, “Say, Garf, about my motorcycle—”
Startled, Garf looked up from his work. “You’re alive!” His obvious pleasure was most gratifying to Ralph. “I thought Catso got you.”
“How come you believed Catso got me when you wouldn’t believe Catso stole the watch?” demanded Ralph. “I can run and jump, you know, and a watch can’t.”
“It just isn’t logical for a cat to steal a watch,” Garf insisted.
“If I show you where the watch is, will you believe me?” asked Ralph.
With a look of interest Garf sat back on his heels. However, he said, “I don’t want to have anything to do with that watch. I don’t want to be seen near it, or people will start saying I took it again. Most everyone’s forgotten about it, and I want to keep it that way.”
“You don’t have to go near it,” said Ralph. “Just watch me.” Flattening himself, he squeezed under the screen door, jumped down the steps, and ran out into the bamboo leaves. Suddenly, all bamboo leaves looked alike. Which leaf was hiding the watch? Ralph did not know. He looked under one leaf, and then the next. He heard Garf mutter, “Huh!” and return to his work. Over by one of the lodges Lana shouted, “Bad cat! Bad cat!”
Ralph pushed some leaves aside and crawled under others. Where was that watch anyway? There was no telling how many leaves had fallen since Catso had dropped the watch. Ralph crawled deeper and deeper into the leaves and was finally rewarded by the touch of metal against his paw.
Next Ralph grasped the buckle on the leather strap and tugged. The watch was heavier than he had expected, but it slid across the smooth inside surface of the leaf. Ralph waded up through the leaves, pulling with all his strength, and at last emerged, dragging the watch behind him. “See!” he said. “I told you I knew where it was!”
“Well, what do you know?” Garf sat down on the step to the craft shop. “You really did. How did the watch get there?”
“I told you,” said Ralph impatiently. “Catso picked it up in his mouth, carried it out here, batted it around awhile, and finally dropped it where it slid under a leaf.”
“You know, I believe you’re telling the truth,” said Garf with wonder in his voice.
“Of course, I’m telling the truth.” Ralph was indignant.
“But what good does it do me?” asked Garf. “You know I can’t return it. And if I said Catso stole it, people would laugh.”
This moment was the one Ralph had been waiting for. First he pulled some bamboo leaves over the watch to hide it before he faced Garf. “All right, let’s talk business,” he said. “I return the watch and clear your name; you give me back my motorcycle.”
From the trampoline Ralph heard Lana say as she bounced, “Bad—dog—Sam! You’re supposed—to be a—watch—dog!” She stopped bouncing and began to scold Sam. “You’re a watchdog. Why didn’t you watch what Catso was doing? Why did you let Catso get that poor little mouse?”
Garf thought awhile before he said, “Why do you want the motorcycle? The ground is pretty uneven around here.”
“Why do you want it?” countered Ralph. “You’re too big to ride it. It is mouse-sized, not boy-sized.”
“I want it because I like to think about motorcycles,” said Garf. “I push it back and forth and think about riding a motorcycle when I grow up.”
“I want it to ride,” said Ralph. “Now. Back to the Mountain View Inn. I want to go home.”
“The Mountain View Inn!” Garf was incredulous. “That’s over a mile away. You’d never make it.”
Ralph recalled the long and thrilling downhill ride. He remembered how he had thought at the time that he would never be able to go back up the mountain road. “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted.
“Of course, you wouldn’t,” said Garf. He pulled the motorcycle out of his pocket and ran a finger over the front tire. “For one thing your tires would never stand the trip. They’re wearing smooth. There is still a lot of mileage left in them if you ride on floors, but they won’t hold up on a highway.”
“Oh.” Ralph had not considered the possibility of his tires wearing out.
“And another thing,” said Garf. “You’d probably get laryngitis from making a motorcycle noise before you were halfway there.”
Ralph was utterly dejected. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Bad—Sam! Bad—Sam!” scolded Lana from the trampoline.
Ralph ducked under a leaf while some campers walked past. “What am I going to do?” he asked pitifully, as he emerged. “I can’t stay here with the cats. I’m a hotel mouse. I’m not used to living on weed seeds out in the cold. When winter comes I’ll probably die—if the cats don’t get me first. I’ve got to try to make it back to the hotel.”
“You should have thought about things like that before you ran away,” chided Garf.
“I should, but I didn’t,” said Ralph coldly. “You don’t have to sound like a grown-up.”
“Sorry,” apologized Garf. The dinner bell rang, and campers began to run toward the dining hall. Catso, avoiding Lana with a haunted look on his furry face, darted from one hiding place to the next, on his way to the kitchen door. Poor old Sam, so conscientious and anxious to please, padded dejectedly across the grass with his tail drooping. He had
failed in his duty.
Ralph did not have much time. “Do we have an agreement or don’t we?” he demanded of the boy.
“I have a better idea,” said Garf. “I’ll take you back to the hotel myself when my family comes to get me. They’ll be spending the night there before they come to pick me up the day after tomorrow. The camp doesn’t serve us lunch on the day we leave, so I know we’ll stop at the inn for lunch before we start for home. It’s the only place around here. I could easily take you along in my pocket.”
This offer was more than Ralph had hoped for. “But the motorcycle,” he persisted. “If I return the watch, will you give it back?” Ralph felt he would rather perish at Happy Acres Camp than return to the hotel without his motorcycle.
“How will you return it?” Garf was curious. “You couldn’t get it up on the shelf in the craft shop or up on a desk in the office.”
“I didn’t say where I would return it,” answered Ralph. “I said I would return it. I’ll leave it somewhere where Karen is sure to find it.”
Garf thought this plan over. “But people might think I left it there.”
Ralph had an answer. “Not if I leave it someplace where the boys can’t go.”
“You mean the girls’ bathroom?” asked Garf, visibly impressed by Ralph’s idea.
“Maybe,” said Ralph carelessly. “Or Karen’s lodge. Or the girls’ dressing room by the swimming pool. You better make up your mind or you’ll be late for lunch.”
“It’s a deal!” said Garf suddenly. “You return the watch by tomorrow, and I’ll give you back your motorcycle. The next day I’ll take you to the inn. But remember, no watch, no motorcycle.”
“It’s a deal,” agreed Ralph, “and you might throw in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for my dinner.”
“Would you care to shake on it?” asked Garf.
Ralph extended his paw, which Garf took gently between his thumb and forefinger. They shook. “I’ll meet you by the bamboo tomorrow morning after breakfast,” said Garf, and he ran off toward the dining hall. “If you’re not there, I’ll come back later.”
I hope I’ll be there, thought Ralph, who knew that a night of peril lay ahead of him. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich would help to give him strength and courage.
Over in the dining hall the campers began to sing:
“You can’t get to Heaven on roller skates
’Cause you’ll roll right past those pearly gates.
You can’t get to Heaven with a nickel in your jeans
’Cause the Lord don’t allow no slot machines.”
9
A Dangerous Plan
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 dangerous, 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, bu
t 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.
Runaway Ralph Page 7
