The following are three Mini-books including chapters 1, 48, and 60: Wednesday, June 2, 11 a.m. It was perfectly quiet, high in the sky, where the fly flew, aside from the sound of its fluttering wings making a puttering sound as it passed over, and looked down on farms and countryside and green forested mountains. Behind the fly lay a big city and in front was a large swirling mass of wind. As the fly passed over a dirt trail wandering through pine trees by a river, it was sucked into the wind and began to shake in the turbulence. Leaves and cloudy air whizzed by, and the fly began turning and tumbling wildly until suddenly it was blown out the other side—like a spit wad shot out of a tube, the fly’s eyes even wider than normal . . . but the landscape it was blown into looked entirely different. The fly was now flying in a rainbow-colored, undulating sky that moved and flowed like a lazy river, and the forest of pine trees below was not only green, but occasionally speckled with trees of different colors of the rainbow as well. The fly saw a little town below with a large sign that read Shady Glen. To the fly’s left it saw a forest, an ocean beyond that, and a far-off island. To its right, it saw mountains, and a faraway town. And in front of it, was a lake and, farther away, a city. The fly was dizzy and tired and descended into a yard and onto handlebars attached to some type of contraption leaning against a tree, where the fly sat catching its breath. The contraption had a pole leading down from the handlebars to a flat board, small wheels under that, and a fan attached to the end of it. * * * Looking at the contraption was a hedgehog about eight years old, wearing blue pants, a lime green T-shirt, and orange suspenders. He had his hands on his hips and was shaking his head with a disgusted look on his face. After the mishap with the flying skateboard, Chisel Hedgehog decided to walk to the beach, instead of fly, and then find a boat to get to Volcano Island. He swished the air in front of the fly with the back of his hand to swoosh it off the handlebars, but the fly just jumped backwards. Chisel then turned and went inside the house to say good-bye to his mom. “Oh, there you are, Chisel,” his mom, Mazy, said. “Mr. Otter is at the front door and said he wants to see you.” Chisel gasped, with fear on his face, and exclaimed, “HOOT BALOOT!” As he ran out the back door, he yelled, “BYE MOM, I’M GOING TO VOLCANO ISLAND.” He ran down the backstairs, grabbed his flying skateboard, flipped the fan switch, and pushed it toward the street. When he built up speed, he pulled on the ropes to extend the wings, and, SWOOSH, up he went. On the front porch, Mr. Otter saw a blur fly into the sky to his left. It was spinning out of control, rolling and flipping, and making high-pitched screaming noises as it rose in the sky. It sounded like . . . Chisel Hedgehog! Mr. Otter yelled up at the disappearing object, “I’LL GET YOU, CHISEL HEDGEHOG!” Soon it was out of sight, flying high above Shady Road Street toward Shady Glen. At least on this, his second flight, Chisel was heading in the right direction. He flew over his schoolhouse, over Main Street, and Shady Glen, and was over The Beach Trail when he again lost hold of the handlebars and fell through the sky. This time he landed in a deep, thick, mud puddle, which coated his body, and although his mom would have disapproved of the mud bath, at least it broke his fall. He sat up, his head feeling like it was spinning, and he thought, “Wow, I feel sorry for birds having to land like this every day!” From behind some bushes a little ways to his left a pair of eyes watched him intently—unblinking. The eyebrows above them furrowed, as the jaguar glared at Chisel. Behind the jaguar, deep in the shadows of the pine tree forest, something watched the jaguar. The shape was hard to make out in the darkness, but almost looked see-through—ghostly. The figure was tall and stood motionless, watching. Chisel looked around but couldn’t tell where he was. “I’ve got to get to Volcano Island. It’s urgent!” he thought. “I’ve got to escape and solve the mystery.” He decided to climb a tree to see where he was. He saw a tall, dead tree trunk with a flat bundle of sticks on the top and thought that would be good to stand on, so up he went. Pretty soon, he pulled himself over the bundle of sticks. To his surprise, four eaglets were looking up at him. Chisel was covered with mud so it was hard to tell what he was, and when they saw him, they thought he was their mother. They opened up their mouths and started chirping for food. “No, no birds, I’m a hedgehog, not your mom, and I don’t have any worms for you.” When he didn’t feed them, they became mad and started pecking at him. He squatted down real low among them to pretend he was just another one of them, and after a minute, they forgot about him and settled down. He was just about ready to stand up and look out over the forest to see where he was when a shadow passed over him, and he heard a loud whooshing sound. He looked up and saw the mother eagle coming in for a landing. Chisel was so scared that he opened his mouth very wide and yelled, “AAAAGH!” The farsighted Mama Eagle looked at her mud-covered, ugly runt. That was the loudest chirp she had ever heard, and since Chisel’s mouth was much wider than any of the other eaglets, she knew he was the hungriest. So she stuffed into his mouth and down his throat a healthy meal of plump, brown worms, slurpy, slimy slugs, and warm, gooey snail guts. This stopped him from hollering, but he had the most disgusted look on his face. After she flew off, all the eaglets were even madder at Chisel for taking all their food, so they pecked at him even harder than before. He told himself, “Look on the bright side, Chisel. Things could be worse . . . I don’t know how, but things can always be worse.” He decided he better get out of that nest—and fast—so over those sticks he climbed, down the tree, and as fast as he could, he ran across a stream, and toward town. When Chisel ran onto the south end of Main Street, Mr. Otter had just crossed the north end of Main Street onto Pilafeefer Road and was hitching a ride in a chicken hauling truck heading toward The Big City. A few seconds earlier, and Mr. Otter would have seen Chisel! As Chisel came running down Main Street, all tired and sweaty, he saw all his friends, who were on lunch break from school. “You guys will never believe what just happened to me!” Chisel erupted. “This eagle thought I was one of her babies and made me eat worms, slugs, and snail guts.” This tale was one of the best that Chisel had ever told them, and they all started laughing hysterically. “No, really,” Chisel assured them. As he kept talking, the group slowly looked in unison above and beyond Chisel. When Chisel finally turned around to see what they were looking at, it was too late. Mama Eagle had found her baby chick that she figured had fallen out of the nest, scooped him up, and started flying back toward the nest. “Help,” Chisel pleaded, but his friends just watched helplessly in astonishment. Mama Eagle flew back to the nest, stuffed Chisel back in, fed him more snail guts and worms, and again left. When she left, those eaglets lost no time pecking at him even harder because he had taken their dinner again! Chisel again headed over the sticks and down the tree (a little slower this time, though, because he was so full)! This time he ran under trees on The Beach Trail, where he finally escaped. [To this day, his friends still tease Chisel, calling him “Worm Eater,” and spaghetti just doesn’t seem quite as appealing anymore.] * * * In The Big City, the chicken truck, which Mr. Otter was inside, had turned right onto Center Street. Mr. Otter thanked the driver for the ride, got off, and continued to the Mean Minks’ house. The Mean Minks were not well liked. When they were around, it was highly advisable to look out for a slurpy, wet, spit wad being shot in your ear, being hit by a muddy-water balloon, or being tripped by a leg that was suddenly extended from a bush. The four Mean Mink brothers answered the door. “You have a bad reputation,” Mr. Otter said. “Thank you,” the oldest mink, Milford, said smiling, thinking he was being complimented. “I need you to find someone for me.” “Then get out your money, we’re not cheap! Who do you want us to find?” “Have you ever heard of Chisel Hedgehog?” When Mr. Otter said this name, all their eyes popped open, and then fury covered their faces. Milford lunged forward and grabbed Mr. Otter by the throat with his right hand. He snarled, “Don’t you ever mention that name in front of us again!” Mr. Otter gulped. “How much would it cost to catch . . . uh—that guy?” Milford let go of Mr. Otter, but was still too mad to answer, so his brother slowly replied, “That guy is free!” and the other three nodded in stern-faced approval. Mr. Otter then asked, “I knew you were mean, but not that you hated . . . that guy so much.” He smiled. “Why’s that?” The Minks just looked at him—madly. Then Milford growled, “Because of that thing.” “That thing?” asked Mr. Otter. “THAT THING!” Milford yelled, “that happened back then.” Mr. Otter decided he didn’t really need to know afterall. . . . To get home, Chisel decided to see if he could hitch a ride from a passing truck. There were no cars in the valley and only a few old working trucks and buses, so when a big bus came rambling down the road he decided he better try to get it to stop. First he put out his thumb, but the bus was not slowing down. Then he put both his arms up, but that didn’t help. Then he did a couple of back flips to get the driver’s attention. By this time the bus was just a little ways from Chisel and had slowed down but was not stopping. All the passengers were quite amused by the back flips. “DO A SOMERSAULT, AND WE’LL LET YOU IN!” one of them yelled out a window, so Chisel did that. “NOW A CARTWHEEL!” another yelled, so he did that. Pretty soon, all the animals were yelling out different things for Chisel to do, and the bus had stopped to watch all of Chisel’s gymnastics: jumping up and down like on a pogo stick, dancing like a ballerina, hee-hawing like a donkey, walking like a camel, shrieking like a monkey, square dancing, baaaing like a sheep, etc. All the animals were clapping and yelling with approval and laughing at the sight of a hedgehog doing such tricks. Then Chisel finally noticed that the bus had stopped and realized he could stop, too. All the animals groaned in disapproval, and Chisel jumped on the bus. He took a seat, exhausted from all his antics, and upon looking around, realized that this was a bus full of flying squirrels. “Oh great,” he said, frowning to himself. Luckily none were his four neighbors who were still on the Look Around Mountain wild goose chase. The bus took off, and, as he figured, flying squirrels made for a very rowdy traveling group. They were whooping and hollering and telling jokes, laughing and singing and hitting each other on the backs, shooting spit wads, and water from squirt guns, and playing blaringly loud music. Chisel, at one point, told the squirrel next to him how much the flying squirrels that live by him like tomato fights. Just as Chisel said it, he realized he had made a huge mistake. The squirrel’s eyes got really big, and a smile formed on his face. Chisel saw him reach into his bag. “NO, NO!” Chisel yelled, but it was too late. “TOMATO FIGHT!” the squirrel yelled, and flung the tomato across the aisle, hitting another flying squirrel on the side of the head. You can’t imagine the pandemonium that ensued. Chisel could never have figured they were carrying so many tomatoes in their lunches. He looked at the driver, who was smiling and thoroughly enjoying the activity. Pretty soon, Chisel, completely drenched in tomato juice, decided this ride was not such a good idea. He stood up and told the driver this was where he needed to get off. “Oh, so soon?” the driver said disappointedly. “You should get to fully enjoy the activity you thought up.” “Well, thanks, but I really need to go,” Chisel reiterated. So the driver stopped the bus, and Chisel got off. When he turned to watch the bus leave, he was pounded by seventeen tomatoes. There were tomatoes down his pants, stuck to the top of his head, in his ears, and there must have been two inches of tomato juice in his pockets and shoes. He waved as the bus took off, and all the squirrels said, “Hey great riding with you, Chisel. The tomato fight was a great idea. Thanks!” Chisel waited twenty minutes for a ride, but didn’t see any more buses pass by. He could feel the tomato sauce getting stickier and stickier as it got hot from being out in the sun. Then, far off in the distance, he saw a cloud of dust (meaning that a vehicle was coming). He put out his thumb, hoping he wouldn’t have to do any more gymnastics, and was happy to see the truck slow down immediately when the driver saw him. It happened to be a truck hauling a load of egg-laying chickens in the back. Chisel opened the door to hop in the front, but when the old beaver saw how Chisel looked, he said, “Boy, oh boy! Looks like you’ve been through a war. I’m afraid you’ll have to sit in back if you want to ride with me.” Chisel looked in back. The chickens were not in boxes but in one giant cage that took up the whole back of the truck. “You mean . . . back there?” The beaver nodded affirmatively. Chisel looked back down the road and didn’t see any other trucks coming, so decided he better take the ride. He went to the back, opened the door to the cage, and crawled in. There must have been twenty chickens back there and ten times that many feathers swirling around. It looked like the truck had never been cleaned out. And those chickens didn’t like sitting still. Even though Chisel sat in the back corner of the truck, they were all over him, trying to sit on his lap, roost on his head, and snuggle underneath him to get out of the wind. The road was quite bumpy, and often Chisel and the chickens would end up flung in the air and rolled to the front or to either side of the truck. And every one of those loose feathers found him since he was so sticky—like he was a magnet and they were paper clips. Chisel soon began thinking that the ride with the flying squirrels was the best ride he had ever taken in his life! It wasn’t long before Chisel was indistinguishable from the chickens. He was absolutely covered with feathers, and as the wind hit him, it dried the tomato sauce to a hard crust, like dried glue. After a while, the driver turned off Pilafeefer Road and started heading up To Another Town Road, and Chisel decided it was time to get off. The driver stopped, and Chisel jumped out the back of the truck. The beaver looked once in his rearview mirror and then looked a second time closer to verify it was really a hedgehog and not one of his chickens! He then smiled and, trying to be polite, did not laugh—but as he got further down the road, Chisel could hear him laughing uncontrollably. Chisel sat down on the ground quite discouraged at his circumstances. He mumbled to himself, “tomatoes . . . flying squirrels . . . cartwheels . . . hee-haw, hee-haw . . . chickens . . . sheep . . . baaaaaaaaaa . . . camels . . . swing your partner round and round . . . what a day!” He put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. After a minute he told himself, “Come on, Chisel, things don’t always work out like you wish, but that makes them that much better when they finally do. Look on the bright side, at least all these feathers keep me warm.” As he was walking on a trail through the forest to get home, he noticed that something seemed wrong—all the birds were quiet. He told himself, “This reminds me of my incident walking down The Beach Trail.” Then, from out of the bushes on the side of the trail, jumped a bobcat that landed right in front of him. “Well, well, you are just about the plumpest chicken I have ever seen, and you know what? I haven’t eaten any chickens for quite a while. You wouldn’t mind if I ate you for dinner, would you?” “I hate to inform you, but you are sorely mistaken. I may look like a chicken, but sometimes looks are misleading. I am actually a hedgehog, and hedgehogs are not nearly as tasty as chickens,” replied Chisel. Something about that voice sounded familiar to the bobcat, and he said, “I once knew a hedgehog with a great maple syrup recipe for pancakes. You aren’t any relation to Chisel Hedgehog, are you?” “Bobcat?” Chisel asked, as he looked closer. “Well, I’ll be! It is you, and yes, I am very related to him. That Chisel is this Chisel. It’s me, Bobcat!” Bobcat was overjoyed to see Chisel again and sprang up and down several times before saying, “I was on my way to visit my brother by Lake Toopaloo. In fact, I was bringing him some syrup. I’ve been telling him about it, and he has been begging me to try some. I cook pancakes every Sunday morning now for all the animals in the forest where I live. We smother them in thick maple syrup, and they all want to meet the famous Chisel Hedgehog sometime.” Chisel laughed and assured Bobcat that he would visit him sometime. Then Chisel told him about the chickens and tomatoes and everything else. Bobcat was quite amused. Chisel then got out some peanut butter and hard-boiled egg sandwiches and apple pie that Aunt Pubee had sent with him, so he and Bobcat had a feast right there in the forest. That night, in his own bed again at last, Chisel snuggled under the covers and looked out his open window. He wondered how Bootle was doing, and as he drifted off to sleep, he slowly smiled when he heard the trees softly singing outside: Listen to the breeze Talk to the trees Ask Mr. Summer What he has in store . . . The rest of that day, they gathered ingredients and put together the stink bombs. Chisel told them to gather the tomatoes, and he would mix up the secret ingredients. He told them to meet back at their house at 6 p.m. Then he went to Aunt Pubee’s and asked her if he could pick fifty of her extra-ripe Brussels sprouts from her garden. “Finally starting to like them, huh?” she said as she smiled and pinched his cheek. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you would love them, too.” Chisel just smiled. Then he also picked some spinach, and after slicing up the Brussels sprouts (with rubber gloves on, and a sour expression on his face), he boiled them and the spinach together in a pot. The longer it cooked, the softer and slimier the plants became, and the worse they smelled. He had to stir it with one hand and hold his nose shut with the other hand. Then he went down the street to a family of skunks and asked if he could use some of their perfume. “Perfume? You think we smell good?” they asked. “Why that is the first time anyone ever said that.” They were overjoyed at his compliment and went and got a jar that they had canned a few years before. It had been aging so long that the odor was practically pushing the lid off. He gathered the other ingredients and went back to Aunt Pubee’s. The next step had to be performed very carefully because if too many fumes escaped during the boiling stage they were almost deadly. He poured the skunk juice and other ingredients into the boiling pot and quickly covered it. After boiling it awhile longer, he poured it all into six milk containers and quickly put the tops on. Back at the Minks’ house they cut a slit in each tomato, poured in the stink juice with a funnel, and then put a piece of tape over the hole. As the stink juice was inserted, the tomatoes immediately shriveled. Then they went to bed for the night. Chisel slept outside, since it stunk too much inside. The Minks were so excited about their imminent adventure that they could hardly get to sleep, but finally, around midnight, the last Mink drifted off. Thursday, July 22. Bright and early the next day, Chisel yelled into the house, “Minks, get up. Let’s go stinking.” They set out toward the mountains, and as they walked, the Minks told Chisel he was crazy for living in Shady Glen, and that The Big City was much safer! “Haven’t you ever seen the monsters, or Tyrannosaurus Rexes, or pterodactyls? You’ll be eaten alive for sure one of these days!” Chisel smiled to himself. It took six hours of walking to get to the woods at the base of the Mink Mine Mountains. While walking, Chisel explained the plan he had spent two hours preparing the night before. “Okay, you guys let me talk to your cousins before you start throwing stink bombs so I can find out about The Golden Unicorn. Then this is what should happen . . .” As he talked, they carefully snuck up the mountain. Finally, they arrived behind some bushes where they could see the entrance to the cave. There were several old pieces of wood nailed together that made a wall at the entrance, and in the middle of the wall was a door. Soon they saw one of their cousins come out and spit on the ground, growl a little, and spit again. Chisel then turned around to the others and said, “Let me go talk to them.” He was interrupted by the youngest Mink, “Wow, I really want to just hit that Mink with a tomato right now—I remember when he gave me that major underarm-to-nose massage!” “NO, NO,” said Chisel. “Remember the plan!” Before he finished the sentence, though, another brother who was groaning with anticipation couldn’t control himself and let a tomato fly. “Oh, for crying out loud!” Chisel exclaimed. The City Mink was a good aim, and the tomato landed square on the side of his cousin’s head. As the tomato hit, a puff of smoke and steam relieved itself into the air, and the cousin put his arms out like he was trying to feel where he was—too dizzy from the smell to see anymore. The Mountain Mink tried to warn his brothers, but all that came out of his mouth was, “Stink . . . stink . . . smell . . . smell!” His brothers ran out of the door and that’s when tomatoes started flying, and stink started happening! What the City Minks didn’t know was that their mountain cousins didn’t just sit around and do nothing all day. They had plenty of time on their hands and had developed their own tomato bombs—although, not filled with stink like Chisel’s—just rotten tomato innards. Since Chisel’s plan had deteriorated into all-out mayhem with tomatoes flying, smoke billowing, and Minks running all around, he snuck around the side, through the smoke, behind the Mountain Minks, and into the door of the cave. Once inside, he was free to look around because all the cousins were outside. He looked for a cabinet of old files that might give a clue as to who had made the unicorn, or who had ordered the gold for it. One thing was good: it looked like the Minks had never thrown anything away. It was a major mess in there! There were papers, mining equipment, old furniture, new furniture, ugly furniture, food, pots and pans, games, clothes, cookware, hardware, underwear—EVERYWHERE! Not seeing anything in the main cave, he wandered back into the mining tunnel. As he searched, he could hear the commotion continuing outside, with shouts of Minks getting hit, and yells between brothers to watch out here or to run there. He passed the kitchen and a couple of bedrooms, and then found a little room with a sign above it that said, “FILING ROOM.” “Oh good!” he thought to himself. Then he went inside. “Oh not good!” he exclaimed. Piled in a huge mound covering the whole floor of the room were papers. “Great filing system! There must be a thousand pieces of paper here,” he thought. “I’ll just look down toward the bottom at the real old yellow ones.” He knew he didn’t have much time, so he quickly dug down toward the bottom and rifled through as many papers as he could. One paper he came across said, “Order for 125 ounces of gold. Deliver to #4 Dipagoo Highway.” “Number four Dipagoo Highway again?” Chisel thought. He continued looking through the papers but found no more clues. “That wasn’t much help,” he thought. “I must get out of here.” He wrote in his book: Clue #24: What happened to #4 Dipagoo Highway? Back at the front of the cave, Chisel opened the front door, and seeing that the coast was clear, snuck out. But he hadn’t noticed a Mountain Mink throwing tomatoes from the side of the cave. “HEY, WHO’S THE HEDGEHOG?” he yelled. The City Minks yelled back, “OH, THAT’S JUST CHISEL HEDGEHOG.” The Mountain Minks yelled back, “WELL, ALL OUR TOMATOES ARE JUST ABOUT OUT, AND WHEN THEY ARE, ALL OUR FUN WILL BE OVER, TOO. WOULDN’T IT BE MORE FUN CHASING HIM?” The City Minks looked at each other, and then at their few remaining tomatoes. “YEAH! LET’S GET HIM!” The City Minks and Mountain Minks then banded together, and the chase was on to get Chisel. Down through the trees went Chisel, followed by a band of hollering Minks and occasional tomatoes hitting trees to the left and right of him. When he came around one of the trees, there was a mining cave in the side of the mountain with little railroad tracks leading inside and an ore cart on the tracks, so he pushed the cart into the cave, and when it picked up speed he jumped in. The Mountain Minks told the City Minks, “Hey, follow us, that tunnel comes out of the mountain down the hill a ways.” Inside the tunnel it was very dark. All Chisel could see was the track in front of him and occasional stalagmites and stalactites as he whizzed by and around them. The track banked right, and then left, and then down a steep hill. “Whoooooooa,” he hollered as the cart continued down the descending track, going faster and faster. The tunnel made a big horseshoe-shaped turn, but the Minks ran straight to the opening so they got there before Chisel. “Listen,” a Mountain Mink said, “when he comes out, everyone throw your last tomatoes at him and then grab hold of the cart and stop it.” Only a few seconds later, the cart came barreling through the tunnel opening. The cart was going so fast, though, that the Minks didn’t have time to throw their tomatoes. They had to lunge at the speeding cart, and as they did, the stink bombs fell inside the cart. One did hit Chisel, but it went down the front of his shirt and didn’t explode. The others fell to the bottom of the cart. As the Minks grabbed onto the cart, their legs were swept into the air so they were “flying” alongside and behind the cart. Chisel felt the tomato in his shirt and saw the tomatoes in the bottom of the cart, and didn’t like what he saw. They were like grenades ready to explode, and if one exploded it would ignite the rest. “I’m bailing,” he said, and out he jumped. It was a good thing he did, too, because up ahead the tracks made a sharp curve, and when the speeding cart got there, it jumped off the tracks, and as the Minks went flying to the ground, the cart hit a tree, and the tomatoes exploded on impact. Following the loud explosion, a large cloud of stink smoke filled the air. When Chisel saw this, he told himself, “I better get outta here!” and off he ran out of the trees and into a little meadow. A few seconds later, the Minks came running out of the cloud coughing, and holding their noses. Their eyes were watering. When they saw him running through the meadow, they yelled, “GET HIM!” and started running after him with stink exhaust fumes following them. Minks are pretty fast runners, and they were soon getting closer and closer to Chisel. That is when he noticed a familiar shadow overhead and saw Mama Eagle in flight. He never thought he’d do this again, but he began chirping loudly like her missing eaglet. When she noticed him, she saw her baby’s pursuers, screeched loudly, swooped down, and snatched Chisel up. The Minks couldn’t believe what happened and were sure he was going to be eagle food. “Poor little guy,” the City Minks said. “We’re going to miss him.” The Mountain Minks added, “He gave us a real good little chase. We wish it would have ended better for him.” They all stood there, arms on each other’s shoulders, mourning his loss. As a final gesture, they saluted him as he disappeared in the sky.