The very first thing did when he got to the barn was to hunt up poor Topknot. He had a hard time finding her. For he had to be very careful himself, I can tell you. He listened and behind every corner, expecting to see the flashing eyes and teeth of the no one knew.  
That was why the Bad Little didn’t see him when he came by. “What’s he doing out this time of day?” thought Nibble. Then he saw, for the little owl down and staggered off with a yellow chick. Its poor head was , and it was such a load that he could scarcely lift it above the bushes, and he more than ever. As he passed a of burdock, out dashed Topknot, squawking and , and it was only by sheer luck that he escaped her .
 
“That owl never killed them, did he?” asked Nibble when he came up with the hen.
 
“Not while I was with them,” she answered, up her feathers. “He wouldn’t dare. No. It was a furry thing with stripes. He’d reach in his paw and draw them out from under me—so gently at first I didn’t know what he was doing.”
 
Now that certainly did sound a lot like Tad Coon. “Did he have a black mask across his face?” Nibble wanted to know.
 
“It was so very dark I couldn’t see,” she clucked. “He had a bushy tail and no matter where I tried to attack him he kept his back turned.”
 
No wonder Watch the Dog had thought it was Tad. Even Nibble felt doubtful. He was a very sober rabbit when he over to where Watch and Tommy Peele were examining the chicks.
 
“They’re not all here. The killer’s come back for them!” Tommy was just shouting excitedly. “We’ve been with him all the time, so it’s not the coon. What is it?” But Nibble knew that the little owl had taken them, and he certainly wasn’t the killer, either.
 
Watch very carefully. “It isn’t Tad’s smell,” he , circling about. Suddenly he barked, . “But it certainly is his trail!” For there right beneath his nose was a footprint, something like a baby’s, and very much more like Tad Coon’s. “He won’t fool me again,” Watch raged. “I’ll fix him!”
 
“Wait a minute,” Nibble protested.
 
“That’s too small to be Tad. It might be another coon. No, no! It hasn’t a handy-paw. Look!” For the print of the forefoot was clawed and padded like Watch’s own, and not a bit like any coon’s.
 
Watch sat right down. This was too puzzling for him.
 
“We’ll find out yet,” Nibble encouraged him. “You look out up here—you might catch him, red-toothed, any minute. I’m going to see what the little know about him.”
 
But he didn’t tell why he was sure they knew.
 
Now if Nibble had gone straight to Doctor and asked, “Who has a hind footprint like a little coon’s and a front one like a dog’s?” the wise old doctor would have told him in a moment.
 
But he didn’t. Because Tad was down at Doctor Muskrat’s Pond waiting for him, to know if Tommy Peele believed him. How could Nibble say, “Well, we’re pretty sure you told the truth, but we can’t find any one else to lay it to. The real killer must be too smart for us.” So he just crept into the Brushpile beneath the two little owls, asleep like two small knots on their limb.
 
They slept late, for they had feasted on those chicks that morning. It was almost dark before they stretched their wings and twiddled their stumpy tails. “Have you seen anything of Stripes?” asked the Lady Owl, polishing her beak on the rough bark, just the way you want to brush your teeth before breakfast. “Or are you going back for another chick?”
 
“No,” answered her mate. “I’d rather follow him.” And he flew over to the hollow in the fallen oak. “He’s gone!” he cried when he came back again. “He’s been gone a long time. His ’s quite cold.”
 
“That’s no sign,” she said cheerfully. “Stripes can leave less s............