Re: Whilst The Cat's Away, The Mice Will Play

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: : : : : : Seems to me, Old Crone, since everybody is leavin' town for the Gatherin', it would be a good time for you and me to go searchin' for your pig. After all, with the whole place as quiet as an Indian Burial Ground, all that pig has to do is scratch, and we could hear him!  And while we're ahuntin' the pig, we might could gather us a few pelts to trade for needfuls when the Traders come flockin' back, that is assumin' they haven't lost all their goods in the games that's goin' to be played at The Gatherin'.

: : : : : : What's that, Old Crone?  Ye refuse to paddle the canoe this time?  I can't imagine why not.  Seems to me, last time, ye got fair crafty at it once ye figgered out how to go straight for'ard and stopped makin' circles around that fool rock in the middle o' the river.  Now, don't put yerself down, Old Crone.  Ye're a fine huntin' companion, and ye can be useful in a multitude o' ways, and I promise I won't make ye paddle the canoe.  How's that?

: : : : : : Let's see, now.  We need our blankets, and our powder and shot and flints and waddin', and a fryin' pan, and and an extra pair o' moccasins apiece.  A parcel o' parched corn, salt, coffee, some wampum to trade in case we get in a tight spot. . . no, no, I'm not sayin' we're likely to run into hostile Indians.  Just bein' on the safe side, ye know.  Never can tell . . . now, don't get nervous . . . I'm just sayin' . . .

: : : : : : All right.  Forget the wampum.  If yer goin' to have the heebie jeebies the whole way, just acause we got it along, we'll do without it.  Never pays to borrow trouble.  Right.

: : : : : : Oh, yes, and don't let's forget this jug o' spruce I have stored away behind the fireplace.  Useful for snakebites and for doctorin'  in the event o' havin' to extract an arrow or bullet . . . wait a minute, Old Crone - come back here!  I didn't say we were goin' to get bit by snakes or pierced by arrows or bullets!  I just said . . .

: : : : : : All right.  Say we take it for relaxin' by the fire at night.  That easy enough to handle?  Good.  As soon as both yer teeth stop chatterin', we'll get on with our plannin'.

: : : : : : O' course, we got to have a fire when we camp at night.  How do ye think we cook our supper and keep the bears and painters away?  Well, o' course there's bears and painters in the forest.  Did ye think we were goin' huntin' in the middle o' town?  COME BACK HERE!  Ye're the skeeriest piece o' work I ever did see!  Oh, all right.  There's no bears and painters in the forest.  I was just teasin' ye.  Now, stop yer snifflin' and sobbin' and help me get these supplies in the canoe.  We'll take along yer favorite book o' fairy tales and I'll read ye to sleep every night. How's that?  Make ye feel better?

: : : : : : She Who Tracks La Longue Carabine

: : : : : ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

: : : : : Now, Old Crone, we been up and down this part o' the river all day hollerin' "HERE, PIG PIG PIG PIG PIG!!!!". We have not seen hoof nor bristle o' the creatur', and I'm beginnin' to think we aren't goin' to iffn we stay in the canoe all the time.  Dusk is acomin', and it's time we camped for the night.  Good thing ye netted us a fish or two for our supper, for it's far past time to bring down anything in the meat line tonight.

: : : : : I'll beach the canoe here on this sandy strip, and we'll find a good place to build our fire and cook up somethin' to separate our backbones from our bellybuttons.  If ye'll carry the supplies, I'll go ahead with the rifle and see to it that we arrive safe, for ye never can count on where those Mingos are skulkin' in the woods - - - COME BACK HERE!  Get back out o' the canoe - it is not goin' anywhere stuffed under a bush on the sand, and anyway, I was just usin' a figgur  o' speech - - - no Mingos here.  No sir, not a Mingo in sight.  Quiet as a baby's nursery in the woods tonight.  Right.

: : : : : Stand still while I strap the backpack to ye.  Can't get the parcel o' parched corn and the salt packet and the fryin' pan on top o' the blankets if ye keep  wrigglin' and hoppin' up and down like there's a river snake in yer moccasin - - -  DURN IT, IT WAS JUST A FIGGUR O' SPEECH!  There's no river snakes on the landin' here.  Now, look what ye done - the whole pile o' goods is scattered far and wide.  Lordy, lordy, but yer a Nervous Nelly, and we're like to never get to a good campin' place if ye keep twitchin' and whinin'.  

: : : : : There, that's better.  Not too heavy for ye, is it?  I'll go slow, so's ye can keep up easy.  Through these broken down bushes here and skirt around this trampled up mud, and now we're on firmer ground. . . . . trampled up mud? . . . broken down bushes?  Hmmmmm.  Seems as if there's somethin' significant here, but I can't think what it could be.  

: : : : : RUSTLE SNORT SNUFFLE

: : : : : Did ye hear somethin', Old Crone?

: : : : : SNORT SQUEEEEAL

: : : : : By the Almighty, I do believe we have found yer pig.  But he appears to be mighty disturbed about somethin'.  What's that ye say, Old Crone?  Yer pig does not have tusks?  Whoaaaaaaah.  That one has a fine pair, sartain, and he appears to be plannin' a charge in this DI-rection.  Quick! Up this pine tree.  YOUCHHH!  When I said "quick", I didn't mean run up my back and step on my head.  Whoops!  No  time to complain - -  LEAP to the first branch.  Climb climb climb climb.  Where are ye, Old Crone?  Oh, there, just above me.  Good.  We're safe for the time bein'.  Now, don't ye worry.  I'll just get myself steadied on a branch and take aim at that tusker with my trusty rifle, and . . . lift up yer foot, Old Crone - ye're standin' on my hand!!!!  ooooooops!  There goes the rifle down through the branches.  Dang, we could be up in this tree forever while the fool pig eats our parched corn, which is what he is settin' out to do, since he figgurs he's goin' to have no more trouble from us!

: : : : : Hold on . . . the rifle is caught on the top o' that bush right below me.  I think by gettin' on the lowest branch here, I can juuuuust about reach down . . . no, it's no good, Old Crone, I need about another two feet reach to grasp the rifle.  If I was just as long as you and me combined . . . hmmmmm, there's an idee.  Tell ye what.  I'll just grasp ye firm by the ankles and lower ye down from this branch, and ye should be able to grab the rifle.  Then I'll pull ye back up, and we can show that pig a thing or two about whose goin' to eat the parched corn for supper!

: : : : : She Who Tracks La Longue Carabine

: : : : That was sure one fine shot, Old Crone! There ye were, hangin' upside down from the pine tree by yer ankles,  yer skirt hangin' down over yer head, yer head buried in the top o' the bushes, and yet ye managed to get off a shot that caught that tusker right between the eyes!   I never reckoned on ye bein' such a fine Markscrone, or I'd a brought along a musket for ye to carry yerownself.  Wait 'til we get back to town and the folks all get back from The Gatherin', and we tell them how ye - - - what's that?  Oh - pull ye up!  Sorry.  I was so taken by yer feat o' markscroneship, that I clear forgot ye're still hangin' in the bush.  Here goes, I'll just ease ye up a little at a time.  *pull puff pant yank puff puff pull*  What's that?  The rifle is caught in the branches and yer finger is caught in the trigger and yer hair is wrapped around a what?  Well, no wonder I can't get ye comin' in an upward direction.  It appears to me the only direction yer like to travel in this case is down.  Guess we have no choice, Old Crone.  Here goes!

: : : : crash splinter screeeeeech  bounce bounce . . . thud

: : : : Well, there now.  That wasn't so bad was it?  Amazin' how those thick bushes can ease a fall.  Awwwww, ye got a bruise on yer knee and a scratch ableedin' on yer forehead, and dang if ye haven't got a little swatch o' hair torn right out with the scalp hangin' right onto it.  Awesome!  SEW sorry, Old Crone, but we'll get ye patched up quick as a frog can snap at a gnat.  I'll get some water from the river and wash off that wrinkly little face o' yourn and put a corn plaster on yer little scalped spot, and ye'll be good as new. 

: : : : Snuffle snuffle --- hiccup!

: : : : Don't ye cry, Old Crone.  Ye know I can't stand to see ye cry.  Here's the jug o' spruce to keep ye contented while I get the water and get ye fixed up.

: : : : She Who Tracks La Longue Carabine

: : : ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

: : : If this isn't the consarned foolishest pickle I've gotten myself into, I don't know what is!  Now I got this boar skinned and butchered, salted and packed up ready for takin' home, and I can't get The Old Crone into the canoe.  Come on Old Crone, put down that infernal jug o' spruce and be some help here!

: : : The Old Crone (dancing happily around the clearing with the jug of spruce)  

: : : I'm in the mood fer luvvvvvvvv
: : : Simply because yer near me.
: : : Funny   * hee hee hee ha ha gasp*
: : : but when yer near me  - - -- Hawwwkeyyyyyye
: : : I'm in the mood fer luuu -hic! - uuuv.

: : : Heaven is in yer Hawwwwwk - eyyyyyes
: : : Bright as the stars we're under.
: : : Deer - - - (slayer) *chuckle chortle ha ha ha!* is it any wonder?
: : : I'm in the mood fer luuuuuuuv

: : : *oh, hahahah heeheeheehee - I break myself up*

: : : WHACK!

: : : WATCH OUT, OLD CRONE!  Ohhhhh, no, right into the trunk o' the pine tree.  This is gettin' disGUSTin'!  Well, iffn  she can't walk a straight line, I guess the only way to get her into the canoe is to dump her in myself.  (shaking head and muttering to self)  Lordy, lordy, the sinful ways o' the settlements has gotten her at last - - she's given herself over to the demon rum - in this case, spruce - and there'll be no peace in the wattle hut from now on.  It falls to me to bring her to herself again, before we get back to town and the folks there discover that she has this little failin'.  And to think I was the cause o' her goin' astray by givin' her that jug o' spruce which was purely for medicinal purposes and never meant to lead her off the path o' uprightness.  Ah's me, it's a heavy burden to bear.  *sigh*  I think it's time to head back down the river for home - we are not goin' to find The Old Crone's pig this way, sartain.

: : : She Who Tracks La Longue Carabine

: : ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

: : Wake up, Old Crone. We are pullin' in to the cove by the cabin.  We are home. Old Crone!  Old Crone?

: : snorrrrrrrre.

: : Fine thing.  I been paddlin' up the river all day long, through rapids, down falls, around rocks and under overhangin' branches, through rain showers and through hot sun, and all The Old Crone has done is sleep!  Well, poor soul, she has had a rough trip.  She'll be glad enough to see the old wattle hut, but sore distressed if there is no sign o' Ramshot or the pig.  I bet Ramshot skittered off and hitched a ride with somebody to The Gatherin' and is havin' the time o' his life.  But as to the pig, that is a mystery, and we must find the creatur' afore he falls prey to a rovin' redskin in the woods.  Old Crone!  Wake up - we are at the cabin, and ye have to get out o' the canoe, lessen ye want to sleep on top o' the powder horn and the skillet all night!

: : snuffle snuffle SNORK!  snooooore.

: : Ah's me, it seems that The Old Crone is out for the long haul.  I'll just load her on top o' the bag o' parched corn and carry her up to the cabin.  After I settle her on the bearskin in front o' the fireplace, I can lay myself down and get some much needed rest, for I am fair worn out with the trials o' the last few days, and I must be up and about afore the sun rises to go lookin' for that pig.

: : She Who Tracks La Longue Carabine  

: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

: She:  Well, Old Crone, I must say this has been a fine and profitable day.  Ye were up bright eyed and bushy tailed before the mist was off the river, and that sleep on the old bearskin musta done ye good.  There's a touch o' roses in yer wrinkly ol' brown cheeks that does the heart good to see, and I must say, ye have been in a tolerable good mood all day.

: Old Crone:  mutter mutter.

: She:  Now I wouldn't be worrited about what folk will say when they get back from The Gatherin'.  After all, look what we have to show them!

: Old Crone:  Some showin'.  I'll git run outta town on a rail, that's what.

: She:  I agree with ye, the Gnome is goin' to be a mite sore when he sees the mushroom patch by his family stump.  Since when has a pig passed up a good stand o' mushrooms, and they were just sittin' out there lookin' all plump and fresh and ready for harvestin'.  That was one hungry pig, I'll allow.  Yes it was.

: Old Crone:  grumble grumble.  Won't never be allowed near the Town Liberry again, that's fer sure!

: She:  Since when did ye need to borrow yerself a book?  Ye can't read a word, anyway.  Besides, those tulips were done bloomin' long afore yer pig ate the bulbs outten the ground.  Miss Gaylee is like to have a good laugh over it, bless her kind heart.

: Old Crone:  hmpf!  Bigger troubles 'n that when Miss Marcia gits home and discovers . . . .

: She:  There ye have me, Old Crone; there ye have me.   Miss Marcia's like to be fair ruffled up by the turn o' events.  We must do some plannin' as to how to handle the situation.  Howsever, it never does to make plans with an empty stomach and a weary body.  Set yerself down here  by the fire, and we'll eat our fill o' this good pork and smashed potatoes and greens, and down a sociable mug o' ale.  In the morning we'll consider what's best to be done. 


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