Chapter V: Part 5

The third round started dully. The brown shrew, shaken with exertion, lay on his back the better to refresh himself. The grey shrew, just as weary, crept to an eminence above and eyed him wickedly. The ring was all impatience.

Both soon revived.

The brown shrew twisted corkscrew-wise, and landed arched upon his toe points. The grey shrew shot beneath him like a whiplash. Then they lay head to tail, and tail to head. The ring drew closer. The field-voles on the skirts of it could only see between their betters' ears. The bat came to a halt and stared. The Pygmy climbed two inches up, and was rewarded. For now both combatants saw red.

They hurled themselves at random, they bit at random, they bucked and somersaulted, they spun entwined in loops and twists, in double-knotted tangles, in sinuous figures of eight. Now one was on his back and now the other--shrewmice reck little which way up they fight. Now they sped screaming up the trunk and all but reached the Pygmy; now they dropped earthward with twin thud, and grazed a red vole's nose. So without pause or respite. They tore and scratched and gripped and pulled and wrenched and tugged and jumped and squealed until----it was an earthquake, a rounded dull upheaval, a split and crackle of the moss, a sputter of dry dust, and, in the midst, like some queer fungus growth, the mole's red nose.

"Flick!" went a woodmouse tail, betokening danger. The amphitheatre emptied in a moment; voles helter-skelter into cover, bat loose into the sky. The Pygmy tumbled earthwards, shot forward, paused, whisked up again, and crept behind a flake of bark.

The two shrews lay amazed upon their backs, and in between them wagged the intruding nose.

Slowly it lengthened. Two naked paddle-feet passed on the surface, and, like some clumsy fish that quits its element, the mole plunged into air.

He missed both shrews, who, dashing right and left of him, entangled him in double-minded purpose. Rested the Pygmy, shrunk to a rigid wisp of apprehension, ear-straining, muscle-tautened, behind a flimsy screen of bark.

The mole lurched slowly forward, swaying his noddle-head from side to side, nosing each inch of ground. Blood had enticed him upwards, and blood he meant to taste. It seemed as though short measure must content him--a smear upon a grass stem, a drop upon a pebble. But presently his nose flung up; on either side of it the velvet starred, leaving two loop-holes for his pin-head eyes; he snuffed and peered about him; his brush-tail jerked and quivered; a snarl laid bare his teeth; and then, his instinct mastering circumstance, he charged, with swift alternate strokes, straight at the Pygmy's shelter. Had his eye seen? Had his nose smelt? At least he had a visible allurement--a half inch of the Pygmy's tail. The Pygmy curled it promptly, but, even as it moved, the mole was thundering at the bark. The Pygmy squeezed himself a half inch further, and this half inch meant life. The mole had bored his snout into the breach, and by a forward wriggle brought his teeth to bear.

The outworks broke and crumbled like a biscuit. His nose attained the citadel itself, but here the assault was checked. Strain as he would he could not get fair tooth-hold, for, working upwards in cramped quarters, he spent his strength in struggling for a purchase.

Only exhaustion stays the hunting mole, and such exhaustion ends in death. This mole was not exhausted yet.

He screwed his nose unceasingly, forced his teeth forward line by line, and ground the bark to powder; snatched out his head for air, and thrust his hand in place of it; snatched back his hand and used his jaws once more. Harder and harder still he worked, closer and closer still he drew, until one claw touched fur.

It was a graze, a skin scrape; the fur shrank out of reach, but the mere contact goaded him to frenzy.

He squirmed and writhed and strained until, by muscle strength alone, he forced his head and shoulders through the gap. His nose now touched his quarry, his hands were squared beneath his chin, palms back, and thus, in earth, he might have tunnelled far. But the stiff shell of bark was obdurate.

The white owl helped him out. She caught him at the bottom of her swoop, and loosed him high up on the elm-tree. Here the white owlets welcomed him.

Before she turned, the Pygmy had reached home.

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Transcriber's note:

Apparent typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in the use of hyphens have been retained.