Broken Eye Plunges
‘Hatchet’ Mol retired to Dry Gulch because of the peace it offered. Perched high up on a precipitous cliff, and hidden away under the protecting shelter of a huge rock outcropping, Dry Gulch was definitely quiet.
The old mining town had once seen some boom years after gold was discovered, but now it was nearly abandoned. A few dozen Rabbits, Mice, Chipmunks and Packrats—old prospectors, miners, shopkeepers, and some of their descendents—still lived in the town. Most of the week, not much happened in Dry Gulch. On Friday nights, other creatures from ’round about came to town to do marketing and have fun. Torches and lanterns lit the streets; farmers and artisans sold wares off the backs of their carts and wagons, friends and neighbors talked and laughed, and a little rowdiness spilled out of the saloon and dance hall. Friday nights were the highlight of the week for creatures around Dry Gulch.
Although Mol liked her peace and quiet, she didn’t begrudge her friends and neighbors the noisy Friday night festivities. She enjoyed the community spirit and even liked all the “little butter biscuits”—as she called the young ones—that climbed all over her, demanding stories.
“Tell us again about ‘Wild Roar,’ Hatchy Lady! We wanna hear how you sunk his ship and found his loot!” Strufee Mizzle howled loudly, tugging on Mol’s ears. Strufee was not alone. Five other small Rabbits and Packrats climbed on Mol’s lap or crowded around the barrel where she sat in her blacksmith shop. “Yeah! Missy Hatchy, tell us about Wild Roar and how you tied up his whole horde with a rattlesnake!” Strufee’s little sister, Yubbs, hollered. Friday nights, Mol was glad to oblige her small visitors, although she’d never touched a rattlesnake in her life! Her real exploits seemed to inspire the little “butter biscuits’” imaginations!
“Wild Roar the Tusk?” Mol asked in a whispered tone, cloaked in dramatic, but feigned, fear. “Do you mean the worst Boar bandit ever to terrorize peaceable creatures like yourselves? The fellow with two huge tusks capped with solid gold? The meanest scalawag to ever eat chopped up ears for his breakfast? The vilest, most dangerous desperado I ever tracked down? You mean that Wild Roar?” Mol asked innocently.
“YES!” roared the Young’ins, looking at Mol with adoring, wide-eyed awe.
“Well, I don’t know,” Mol began slowly, giving each of the Young’ins a solemn look. “Do your parents know you’re here? Do they know that I might tell you about how Wild Roar carried a blood-red sickle curved like 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...