All live together, yet apart, for, under ground, the stumps are intricate. The roots twist right and left and back upon themselves, and, over and beneath them, are the runs. Most are blind alleys, but a few creep on, and strike the upper air. The mice and voles reserve the lowest depths; they must be near the water; moreover they can tunnel where they will. The common shrews live higher, scratch two-inch levels where the rootlets aid them, and trust to their quick ears. The Pygmy takes what stouter beasties leave; and that is how the Pygmy's tail was moved--his sleeping-hole, the mould of some long-fallen stone, abutted on the shaft. That two shrews should be fighting was quite usual. Shrews fight to keep their limbs in trim; they fight in play; they fight in deadly earnest. A veteran shrew is scarred in every part of him; great scars like thumbmarks, where new growth of fur has failed to draw up level with the old. Yet even shrews need open ground to fight on. The Pygmy waited till the dust had cleared, then peered into the darkness. The scuffling of them could be plainly heard; and, sharp above it, rose their vicious war scream. The Pygmy knew what that meant--a bolt for upper air and honest fighting. He crouched back prudently. They rattled past once more in quick succession, the foremost gibbering his distress, the hindmost dumb. But this was dubious measure of their quality, for, where there is bare tunnel-room for one, one needs must be in front, and, then, his only weapon is his voice. [Illustration: HE TOOK THE RIGHT-HAND SURFACE-RUN] The Pygmy sprang up after them. He is the burrows' jackal, and takes an interest in serious fights. Once on the level ground he paused, made three small casts, then took the right-hand surface-run. He was quite right; the combatants had passed that way. It was a zigzag run, but unimpeded. A drooping grass-stem tangle formed its roof, and, through long use, its sides were brown and withered, as though some noxious snake had glided through, and poisoned every growing blade it touched. The Pygmy knew it end to end, and knew that, where it broke, close to the elm, there was a moss-grown clearing. So he took matters quietly, and, lingering as the fancy took him, had supped before he reached the fighting-ground. The common shrews were feinting for an opening. He knew them both by sight. One, a brown-coated, thick-set scaramouch was neighbour to him in the stump. The other was a meadow-shrew, of lighter build and colour, but longer and full match in weight. The Pygmy rubbed his nose between his paws--a pretty fight was promised. [Illustration: HE COULD SEE AS WELL AS HEAR]