Wainscott Weasel by Tor Seidler

Author:Tor Seidler
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Atheneum

“You better go back,” the bluefish said, gasping. “You’re a real lifesaver, Weasel.”

“Tell your friends to swim farther out,” Bagley advised. “So they won’t get tricked by the lures.”

“Thanks, I will. And thanks for helping me. Who even knew weasels cared about fish!”

Bagley scurried up the beach just as some backwash swooshed over the damp sand. The bluefish caught the wash and swam out right between the fisherwoman’s legs, disappearing into a breaking wave.

Bagley checked the sky. A few gulls were soaring around up there, but no hawks, no owls, no osprey. Continuing down the beach, he encountered a group of sandpipers. But sandpipers are small birds, and they scurried away on their quick little feet at the sight of him.

The next fisherman had a huge belly, hip boots, and a fancy belt with different kinds of lures hooked to it. Like the others, he was busily fishing away; but his gear included a large cooler and a spare fishing rod. Bagley examined the reel on the spare rod with enthusiasm. The fishing line was just what he needed, and there must have been seventyfive yards of it or more wound around the reel. But if he pulled it out, it would get all tangled up. And as for taking the whole rod, it was far too heavy. So he would have to get the reel off.

The line was strong nylon, but weasels’ teeth are like razors, and in a matter of seconds Bagley cut the line between the reel and the first eyehole on the rod. Removing the reel from the rod’s cork handle was another story, however. It was held on by two steel rings pushed tightly over the reel’s metal flanges. Though strong for their size, weasels aren’t large. Bagley tugged at the lower ring with all his strength, then at the upper ring. Neither would budge. His only hope was to loosen one of the rings by gnawing at the cork on the handle. Bagley started gnawing near the bottom ring. The cork was tough. He gnawed till his jaws ached, but still the ring wouldn’t give.

He checked the sun. It was climbing higher in the sky. Way down the beach, two human beings with tans almost as dark as weasel fur were carrying surfboards towards the water. In the other direction, there was a family of sunbathers spreading out colorful beach towels.

After a rest, Bagley’s jaws still ached, but he started gnawing the cork again anyway. He got so involved in trying to ignore the pain that he forgot to keep a lookout.

When a shadow fell across him, he froze. The rubber toes of a pair of hip boots were two feet away from him. High above loomed the gigantic fisherman. Bending right over Bagley, the man opened the cooler and pulled out a beer and some peanuts. He finished off the nuts, tossed the can aside, and popped open the beer. Then he tilted his head back and guzzled, his Adam’s apple bouncing. When he was done, he gave a satisfied belch and crushed the beer can in his hand.

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