Helga: Out of Hedgelands by Rick Johnson (historical books to read TXT) 📕

a moon, that he used as a toothpick. AFTER HE CHOPPED UP EARS WITH IT!” Grabbing Strufee by the ear she asked in her mild, innocent voice again, “Do your parents know that?”

“YES!” the little ones chorused gleefully. “Our Mamas say, ‘Go see Miss Hatchy, she’ll tell you what happens to Young’ins that don’t obey their Mamas!’”

Mol raised her eyebrows, and peered closely at the Young’ins. “So, do you little butter biscuits know what does happen to Young’ins that disobey their Mamas?” Mol moved her gaze slowly from face to face, then she said, “Well, I’ll tell you what happens to ’em—They become terrible villains and desperados and then Hatchet Mol has to hunt them down. And when I hunt them down, why, I chase ’em day and night, day and night, until I catches ’em. I don’t let bandits stop to eat, or drink, or sleep, and there’s nowhere for ’em to hide. I’m so close behind ’em; they see me in every shadow. And when I catch ’em, I make sure they end up hanging by their ears in a deep, dark dungeon. When I’m done with ’em, they say, ‘I should have listened to my Mama, I should have listened to my Mama,’ for the rest of their lives.”

“So, my dear little butter biscuits,” Mol continued, “I’ll tell you about one of the most famous, and dangerous, adventures I ever had...if you promise to be sure an obey your Mamas! Hatchet Mol doesn’t ever want to have to come track you down because you turned into some dastardly character like Wild Roar or Broken Eye.”

With the Young’ins clustered around her and listening anxiously to every word, Mol continued: “Now, Broken Eye is one of the nastiest, most cunning Cougar bandits that ever was. Once he was terrorizing and pillaging some WooSheep villages and they asked Mol to help bring him to justice. After a long chase, I cornered him and his sidekick, Slasher Annie. There was a ferocious fight...my hatchet against his machetes...We fought steel-to-steel for two solid days without rest, we fought across 30 square miles of country, battling up hill and down hill, through streams, through woods...Finally, my hatchet shattered the last of his three machetes, and I had him. I turned him over to the sheriff and he went to prison, but I hear he’s loose and maybe up to his old tricks again...”

Hatchet Mol was Dry Gulch’s most celebrated resident. A world-famous tracker and mountain beast, the aging Jackrabbit was still a household name. Long a popular hero, stories of her exploits were legion. Mol had grown up in Dry Gulch during its boomtown days, helping her father in his blacksmith shop. Many mountain beasts, explorers, and adventurers of all sorts came through Dry Gulch in those days. Mol liked to hang around these daring beasts and listen to their stories. One of her favorite mountain beasts was a Grizzly Bear known as Wind Tracker Bart because it was rumored he could ‘track the wind.’ Bart taught Mol to throw knives and hatchets with deadly accuracy. By the time she was ten, she could slice cactus needles in half with a hatchet at fifty paces. Soon, the excitement and adventure of the mountain beasts and explorers captured her imagination, and Mol left Dry Gulch to follow their ways.

After a life full of danger and adventure, and tired of celebrity, Mol returned to Dry Gulch to live out her life. Taking over her father’s small blacksmith shop, she sought to slip away into obscurity. She was happy making repairs to the broken tools and weapons that were brought to her smithy. On the side, she made exquisite custom hatchets—pearl handles, exotic wooden inlays, beautiful etching on the blades, specially designed blades...They were works of art. She had a fine collection of such hatchets mounted on the wall where they gleamed in the light of her forge. On Friday nights, Mol would sit on a barrel in front of her collection, surrounded by Young’ins, reliving her exploits, but grateful those days were finally in the past.

“Missy Hatchy,” Gilly Mufft asked with a quavering voice, “what if Broken Eye comes to Dry Gulch?”

“Don’t you worry your little butter biscuit head, Gilly,” Mol replied. “Broken Eye would never dare come to Dry Gulch, and if he did...” Mol said with a stern, determined look, “He’d have to deal with Hatchet Mol! And that fat old coward doesn’t want to do that!” Mol chuckled. The eyes of the Young’ins gathered around her were wide with adoring respect.

Mol was happy to tell stories about her past exploits, without having to actually confront the world’s worst villains anymore. She sighed with contentment…then screams and shouts erupted outside! With Young’ins howling in terror, Mol rushed outside to see what was happening.

The street was in chaos. Creatures were scattering and scurrying in every direction, hollering in panic, and running for cover.

“Bandits! Run for your lives!” a Mouse yelled at Mol as he ran past in the swirling dust.

“If it’s bandits, we must fight!” Mol yelled. “Save the town! Rally here!”

A few creatures that heard her stopped their rush toward the buildings. “What’ll we do?” Gungo Packrat asked.

“I don’t know,” the old Jackrabbit replied. “Let’s see what’s happening.” Then she saw it. Although it was too dark to make it all out, she saw the distinct shape of a shadowy beast swinging toward Dry Gulch on a rope! As it got closer, understanding flooded into her mind. “Cougar!” she yelled. “It’s a Cougar bandit! Grab whatever you can to defend the town!”

WHUMP! SCHREECH! Seeing that he could easily land on the ledge, Broken Eye did a rough, but upright landing on the main street of Dry Gulch.

As the Cougar bandit landed directly in front of her blacksmith shop, Mol quickly ran inside and grabbed several of the hatchets from her collection. Running back out in the street, she rapidly sized up the situation.

“Broken Eye! You old, worthless scoundrel! You came back so I could finish you off, eh?”

Broken Eye stopped short in his tracks. “Well, well, isht an old has been…Fancy mettin’ you here.”

“We’re not meetin’, Broken Eye, no slimy polecats are welcome here!” Mol replied. “You’ll be leavin’ now, or I’ll be fillin’ you full o’ hatchets.” Mol raised a deadly looking hatchet in her paw. Its blade glinted in the torchlight.

Mol looked around. Creatures of every age and size were gathering, brandishing every manner of weapon—torches, lanterns, knives, swords, machetes, scythes, picks, shovels, clubs, slingshots. The sheer numbers of those opposing the bandit, and their determined advance towards him, gave her pride.

The Jackrabbit smiled. “Now, Broken Eye, you have one chance to leave Dry Gulch alive,” she said. “You can swing back out on your rope, and get out of Dry Gulch forever, or—” She paused and looked to the crowd around her. “Or, you can deal with us! It’s your choice.”

Broken Eye hesitated, then in a show of bravado, he snarled, “Ya’s peace’ble ’fraidy beasts oughta go home to ya’s Mamas. We’s can slice you up! We’s can chop you ta bits! We’s can tear ya down ta fur and bones! We’s can...”

Before he could finish his sentence, Mol finished it for him. “You can get out of Dry Gulch!” she roared. “Charge!”

The Dry Gulchers rushed Broken Eye as a single mass, spitting and bellowing threats and curses. Being hit by thrown torches and lanterns, Broken Eye’s fur was smoldering in several places. One direct hit with a torch thrown by Gilly set his tail on fire. ZING! SWISH! ZING! ZING! A barrage of shovels, picks, spades and hammers flew at him from several directions, pelting him like hail. “OUCH! OOOCH! YEOW!” In addition to the crowd advancing on him, some town creatures were also throwing hot frying pans, kettles, irons and pots of coffee at him from windows. The mass attack took its toll. Broken Eye, yelling in pain and fear, jumped off into the night sky clinging to his rope.

“Annie,” he called desperately, “haul up da rope! Haul me up!”

But Mol had other ideas. Impressed with the spontaneous showing of courage from her Dry Gulch friends, Mol had reserved her hatchets, in case they were really needed.

“Well,” she mused, “this is a perfect use for my skills.” As Broken Eye dangled in open space waiting for Annie to haul him up, Mol said, “Would all the Young’ins help me please? I’d like you all to carry torches and lanterns over to the rim of the cliff. Gather all the light you can there, I need to see the rope holding Broken Eye.”

The Young’ins scurried to the rim, carrying every type of torch and lantern they could find. The light bathed Broken Eye. Mol, who could still split a cactus needle at fifty paces, took careful aim on the rope.

“Annie, Annie, hurry up!” he howled piteously. He inched upward as Annie pulled on him with all her might.

Mol’s skills were still sharp, however. Her aim was sure, and Broken Eye dropped out of sight with a long, long howl.

Somewhere in the darkness above, Slasher Annie fell backwards as the weight was suddenly removed from the rope she had been pulling...

 

Caught in a Tangled Web

“YEEEEEEOOOOW!” Annie listened to the long, long howl that could only be one thing: Broken Eye falling through thin air. Somehow the rope had snapped or been cut.

“Well, I guess that’s the end of him,” Annie said to herself, not without some glee. “Poor old good-for-nobody. I hope he takes a nice big bounce! Now, I can finish the job and take the loot for myself! You stupid fool,” she thought, “if you had only listened to me and taken the longer route, you might still be around.”

Coiling the remaining length of rope over her shoulder, Slasher Annie began to descend the cliff again, this time moving horizontally to go around the outcrop.

After three hours of climbing, Annie had worked her way around the overhang and was nearing the base of the cliff. Moving especially quietly through the dark, Annie chose her moves carefully so as not to dislodge stones that might alert her intended prey. Navigating the rocky cliff was very treacherous in the pitch darkness, even for a Cougar. But Annie lost her balance and nearly pitched off the cliff into the raging river below, when a voice spoke to her unexpectedly out of the darkness!

“So, Annie, what took ya so long?” Broken Eye! The resilient old Cougar grinned up at Annie. A tree, rooted at an odd angle into a crack in the canyon wall, had caught the back of his pants in his desperate fall.  The way in which his pants had snagged on the tree was very precarious. Broken Eye clutched the waist of his pants tightly to keep the snag from slipping off. This made it impossible for him to free himself from the branches. “Got’s some rope?” he asked.

Annie, startled by Broken Eye’s unexpected whisper, considered what to do.

“You old fool!” she whispered back angrily. “I should just leave you there to rot! If we hadn’t followed your idea, you wouldn’t be hanging there like that. I should let you be food for the Skull Buzzards.”

“Nay, Annie, ma girl...ya not goin’ ta leave old Broken Eye here,” the Cougar replied. “Ya know too well, that isht a long ways ta anywhere. Ya needs old Broken Eye. Ya’ll be food for ta Skull Buzzards by yourself!”

Slasher Annie sighed deeply within herself. What Broken Eye said was true. This wild, rough country would be very dangerous for her to challenge alone. Her chances were better with Broken Eye than without him.

Moving gingerly, Annie maneuvered so that she was