If Latigo Flint Had Been There

If Latigo Flint had been there, Watership Down would have been a much shorter book. It is also highly unlikely the New York Times would have described it as: "a remarkable tale of exile and survival, of heroism and leadership..."

The little rabbit, Fiver, would have been all twitchy and weird, not wanting to eat, overwrought with his dark premonition. Hazel would been all trying to consol him and then starting to realize that perhaps his unusual little brother was right, and they should leave their doomed home immediately and build themselves a new life, a free life somewhere beyond the deadly reach of man and beast. The brave little band of rabbits would have assembled themselves on the outskirts of the warren, mentally preparing to strike out alone into the dangerous unknown.

A whisper of buckskin on willow leaves perks only the sharpest set of ears, but before alarm can be sounded, Latigo Flint is standing before them, squinty-eyed and ominous in the English country dusk.

"Howdy my fine little tuft-tailed buckaroos!" His low, cold voice sends shivers down their twitchy little spines. "Pretty British gals are silly for American Gunslingers, or so I've been told. That's what brought me across the pond a week ago tomorrow." His two low-slung revolvers are not automobile headlights, but their paralyzing effect upon the terrified rabbits is no different. "But as sexually attracted to me as the pretty British gals have been so far, I can't help but think they'll feel it two-fold once they've attended the good old fashioned hoedown and rabbit cookout party that I'm throwing tonight."

Latigo Flint's words hang in the air above them like a thousand lucky keychains dripping blood. Fiver's squeak of terror is instantly drowned out by thundering revolvers. Into burlap bag go Hazel, Fiver, Dandelion, Blackberry, Bigwig and the rest. They find their new home all right - and its name is stew-pot.

The End