The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wolf Patrol, by John Finnemore
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Title: The Wolf Patrol
A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts
Author: John Finnemore
Release Date: December 31, 2009 [EBook #30810]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLF PATROL ***
Produced by Al Haines
No movement of recent years has so swiftly and so completely won the love of boys as the Boy-Scout movement founded by Lieutenant-General Baden-Powell. It has done so because it touches at once both heart and imagination. In its dress, its drill, its games, its objects, it jumps perfectly with the feelings of the boy who adores Robinson Crusoe, Chingachcook the Last of the Mohicans, Jim Hawkins, who sailed to Treasure Island, buccaneers, trappers of the backwoods, and all who sit about camp fires in lonely places of the earth. It is a movement which aims at making all boys brothers and friends, and its end is good citizenship; it is a foe to none save the snob, the sneak, and the toady.
Amid the general chorus of congratulation on the success of the movement, only one dissentient whisper has been heard, and that has gathered about the word 'militarism.' But the Boy-Scout movement is no friend of militarism in any shape or form, and the murmur is only heard on the lips of people who have never looked into the matter, and never read the Scout Law. The movement is a peace movement pure and simple, and its only object is to make a boy hardy and strong, honest and brave, a better man, and a better citizen of a great Empire.
Of this story it is perhaps permissible to say that it has been read by General Baden-Powell, who has been so kind as to express his warm approval. Writing to the author, the founder of the movement says: 'Wishing you all success for this so excellent a work.'
I. A Scout's honour is to be trusted.
II. A Scout is loyal to the King, and to his officers, and to his country, and to his employers.
III. A Scout's duty is to be useful and to help others. He must do a good turn to somebody every day.
IV. A Scout is a friend to all, and a brother to every other Scout, no matter to what social class the other belongs.
V. A Scout is courteous, and he must not take any reward for being helpful and courteous.
VI. A Scout is a friend to animals.
VII. A Scout obeys orders of his patrol-leader or scout-master without question.
VIII. A Scout smiles and whistles under all circumstances. When he gets an order he should obey it cheerily and readily, not in a slow, hang-dog sort of way.
IX. A Scout is thrifty—that is, he saves every penny he can, and puts it into the bank, so that he may have money to keep himself when out of work, and thus not make himself a burden to others, or that he may have money to give away to others when they need it.
*Quoted by kind permission of General Baden-Powell from 'Scouting for Boys.'
'Now for the Quay Flat!' said Arthur Graydon. 'I say, Dick Elliott, you cut ahead, and see if that crew out of Skinner's Hole are anywhere about! You other fellows, get some stones and keep 'em handy!'
A dozen day-boys from Bardon Grammar School were going home one Saturday midday after morning school. All of them lived in a suburb which lay beyond the shipping quarter of the river-port of Bardon, and their way to and from school ran across a wide open space beside the river known as Quay Flat.
Below Quay Flat, and packed closely along the edge of the river, was a huddle of small houses and cottages, where lived the poorer sort of riverside workers, a squalid, dirty region known as Skinner's Hole. It was so called because it lay very low, and because hides from abroad were landed there, and dealt with by three or four large tanneries.
Between the Grammar School boys who crossed Quay Flat and the boys of Skinner's Hole there was a constant feud. At times this bickering took the form of pitched battles fought out with sticks and stones. The boys of Bardon always called these encounters 'slugs,' and, if the truth be told, they were, one and all, very fond of a 'slug.' To carefully search the hedges for a handy stick, and then cut a ferocious knob out of the root end with your pocket-knife; above all, to cast leaden bullets and march forth with them and a catapult—these things were dear to the heart of a Bardon boy.
There were now threats of another 'slug' in the air, and the boys who had to cross Quay Flat had gathered to march home in a body. At the head of a lane running down to the open space, they had paused to make preparations for any enemy that might lie in their path, and Dick Elliott, as we have seen, was despatched ahead as a scout, to report signs of danger.
But there was already a scout at work on behalf of the enemy. Half-way down the lane a narrow alley ran in from the riverside, and in this alley one of the 'wharf-rats,' as the schoolboys called the lads of Skinner's Hole, was on the watch.
The wharf-rat was a short, skinny boy, very ragged and tattered, whom his friends called Chippy; and he was their captain and leader. At the corner of the alley was a small greengrocer's shop, and Chippy, lying flat along the stones on his stomach, had thrust his head round a box full of onions which had been set outside the door. From this cover he was keeping watch for the foe.
He saw them come into sight, saw them pause, and knew that they scented trouble ahead; for they began to search about for loose stones, and to kick shaky ones out of the road. Then he saw Dick Elliott sent ahead to reconnoitre.
Chippy looked over his shoulder, and measured the distance he would have to run down the alley before he could find cover. No go. If he ran, the scout of the other side would see him scuttling, and suspect something. Besides, Chippy was well known. He was a famous leader in this kind of warfare. So he curled himself up as round as a hedgehog, and lay hidden behind the box, with his eye at a crack.
He gave a little grunt to himself as he saw Dick Elliott look carefully along the alley before he went on down the lane. Chippy was glad he hadn't run; he would certainly have been seen. But as soon as Dick had passed, he was up and away down the alley at full speed. He made a couple of turns along side-streets, and then Quay Flat lay before him. He put his fingers into his mouth and gave a long, shrill whistle. There was no answer, but Chippy was quite satisfied. He knew that his warriors would understand. From another carefully chosen spot he watched Dick Elliott come out on Quay Flat and look all about. But the braves of Skinner's Hole had caught their chief's whistle, and were lying hidden among piles of old cordage and rusty anchors which were heaped in one corner of the Flat. Dick ran back up the lane.
'I can't see anyone about,' he reported. 'The Flat looks as quiet as can be.'
'Come on!' said Arthur Graydon to the other boys. 'Keep together; and if the wharf-rats come out, we'll give 'em beans!'
The band of Grammar School boys gained the Flat, and struck out for the bridge which crossed the river and led to the suburb in which lay their homes.
All went quietly till they were well out in the open space, and then the wharf-rats set up a tremendous yell and darted from their ambush. A furious battle was started at once on the Flat. Stones flew like hail on both sides, and then the combatants came to close quarters, and the fray developed into a series of stand-up fights, with every boy yelling like mad.
'Slug 'em! slug 'em, Skinner's 'Ole!' howled the wharf-rats. 'Out 'em! Down 'em, Skinner's 'Ole!'
'Rally, School!' shouted Dick Elliott.
'Drive 'em into the river!' bellowed Arthur Graydon. The latter was fighting with a couple of heavy books buckled tightly into a long, stout strap, and he fetched a couple of his opponents down with swinging blows. Suddenly he was confronted with the rival chieftain, the redoubtable Chippy. Arthur swung his books at Chippy's head, but the latter was far too quick for so slowly delivered a stroke, and was inside his opponent's guard in a flash. Chippy's dirty fist was planted with stinging force in Arthur's right eye, and Arthur went over like a ninepin.
At the next instant Chippy and Dick Elliott were face to face, and Chippy, who was very handy with his fists found, for the first time, a foeman to be reckoned with. They had a sharp rally; then they closed, and Dick, who was a capital wrestler, threw his man with ease. Down went Chippy, and saw ten thousand and one stars, for the back of his head was brought up hard against the flags of the quay.
But while he was all abroad, half a dozen of his followers swarmed over Dick Elliott, and made the latter prisoner. The rest of the Grammar School boys had been driven off, but Dick was a captive.
'We've copped one!' roared a big red-haired lad. 'I'll tell yer what we'll do wi' him. Let's roll him i' the sludge!'
His comrades shouted joyful assent, and Dick, fighting like a tiger, but helpless in the hands of the wharf-rats, was dragged towards the river, where his captors intended to roll him in the deep mud left by the ebbing tide.
The band, with their struggling victim in their midst, were close upon the river before Chippy got to his feet, his head still singing from that shrewd crack.
'Wot's the game?' said Chippy in a husky whisper to himself. 'I see. I heerd Carrots say it 'ud be a good game to roll one on 'em in the sludge. But that's seven on 'em to one. That ain't good enough!' And he began to hurry after them.
'Wot cheer, mates!' he shouted in his hoarse tones. ''Old 'ard a bit! Lemme come up!'
But the victorious band were deaf to the calls of their leader, and at this instant they disappeared at a point where a sloping wharf ran from the quay edge into the river.
'Bring 'im along to the other end o' the wharf!' commanded the red-haired boy; 'then we'll chuck 'im bang into the mud, an' see 'im scrabble 'is way out!'
'Lemme go, you fellows!' yelled Dick, fighting with tooth and nail to wrench himself free; but there were too many for him, and Chippy, who loved fair play, and practised it, was too far behind. But, luckily for Dick, other help was at hand, or he would assuredly have been pitched straight into eighteen inches of foul black mud.
A boat had been pulled from a ship in mid-stream to the wharf, and a tall gentleman landed from it as Dick was dragged past the spot.
'What! you, Dick?' shouted the new-comer. 'What does this mean?' and, followed by the boatman, he made a dash at the group.
The wharf-rats threw down their captive and fled, and the gentleman picked Dick up.
'Thanks, Uncle Jim,' said Dick, puffing like a grampus. 'If you hadn't lent a hand, those wharf-rats would have tipped me over into the mud.'
'How did you fall into their hands?' asked his uncle.
'They've been a-sluggin', I shouldn't wonder,' remarked the boatman.
'That was it,' said Dick. 'There was a slug between our fellows and the wharf-rats out of Skinner's Hole, and they bagged me.'
His uncle nodded. He had been a Bardon boy in his time, and knew all about it. He paid the boatman, and away he and Dick went together, for his house was in the same road as Dick's home.
'They're a jolly sly lot, those wharf-rats,' said Dick, as they walked along. 'Our fellows sent me ahead as a scout, but I never saw a sign of them, and yet they were waiting for us on the Flat all the time.'
'Seems to me you weren't much of a success as a scout, Dick,' said his uncle, smiling.
'You're right there, Uncle Jim,' replied Dick, a broad grin on his honest, open face. 'I muffed it that time, and no mistake. Hallo, here's the bobby!'
The constable who had the Quay beat came hurrying along, looking red and angry.
'You 'ain't seen any o' them young varmints wot have been a-sluggin', have ye, Mr. Elliott?' he cried to Dick's uncle.
'Yes; I've seen some of them, Cooper, but I'm afraid they're out of your reach by now,' replied the latter.
'I just wish I could get hold of 'em,' cried the indignant constable. 'I'd give 'em what for. Two windows 'ave they broke wi' their stones and their sluggin', an' one of 'em in the shop o' poor old Mrs. Dean. The old woman has hard enow work to make a livin' without rowdy young nippers a-smashin' her windows.'
'You're right, Cooper,' agreed Mr. Elliott.
'But I'll put a stop to it,' said the constable. 'I'll be on the spot here at such times as them Grammar School boys are crossin' the Flat. Then if any game gets started betwixt them and that lot out o' Skinner's Hole, I'll be ready for 'em.'
Mr. Elliott and Dick walked on, and the latter burst out impulsively:
'That's too bad, uncle, about the poor old woman. I'll send the hat round and make our fellows fork out, and we'll square it up to her for her broken window.'
'Good idea, old chap!' said Mr. Elliott. 'Here's half a crown for a start.'
Dick thanked his uncle, and pocketed the coin.
'Well, we were talking about your scouting,' went on Mr. Elliott.
'Oh!' grinned Dick. 'Don't rot me about that. I give it up. I missed my kick that time.'
'That's all right,' said his uncle; 'I don't want to poke fun at you. I was only going to suggest this. Why don't you go in for real scouting? Learn to play the game properly. It's a wonderful game if you tackle it seriously—splendid sport, and a thousand times more useful, and better fun, than this foolish slugging business.'
'Some of the fellows at school have been talking about scouting,' said Dick. 'They've got hold of Baden-Powell's book, and they were awfully interested when I told them that you were in Mafeking with B.-P.'
'Yes, and a fine tenderfoot I was at the start!' laughed his uncle. 'When B.-P. told the townsmen they'd got to lend a hand, I was like a good few more. I thought I'd pick up what was wanted in no time. But I found that a useful man in the firing-line isn't made in a hurry. What a time he had with some of us fellows, who scarcely knew which end of a rifle to put to the shoulder!' And Mr. Elliott chuckled at the recollection.
'Have you read the first part of B.-P.'s book, Dick?' he asked in a moment.
'No,' replied Dick. 'I should like to uncommonly.'
'Here's a copy,' said Mr. Elliott, drawing the small paper-covered volume from his pocket. 'I bought it in London yesterday. Look it through, and if you and your chums like the idea of it, remember that I shall always be ready to lend you a hand if you wish to make a start.'
On the next Monday evening Dick burst into his uncle's house like a whirlwind. Mr. Elliott was in his 'den,' reading the paper, and he looked up with a smile as the boy entered.
'Oh, uncle,' cried out Dick, 'can't we begin scouting at once? It's the jolliest thing I ever heard of, and all my chums think the same. We'd like to make up a patrol at once. And you said you'd lend us a hand, didn't you?'
'I did, Dick,' said his uncle, laying aside his paper. 'When is your next half-holiday?'
'We get Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays half-holidays in the week,' said Dick.
'All right,' said his uncle. 'I'll give you Thursday afternoons till you're on your own legs. Bring your men up here on Thursday afternoon at three.'
At the time named eight boys turned up, each with an eager look on his face, and a copy of the first part of 'Scouting for Boys,' which he had thumbed from end to end.
'Well, you're not scouts yet,' said Mr. Elliott to them, 'for you have to pass the tests, you know.'
'We've been at work on them already, uncle,' replied Dick. 'We can most of us do the first test—the knot-tying—and the last three are easy enough.'
'Very good,' said Mr. Elliott. 'Then I'll try you here on Tests 1, 4, and 6—the knots, the laws and signs of scouts, and the Union Jack test.'
He took them in turn, and put everyone through his facings, and all came through in good shape.
'Now for Test 2,' said Mr. Elliott—'to "track a deer's spoor, or describe a shop window." Which will you have?'
'The spoor! the spoor!' cried the boys.
'Then we'll go on to the heath,' said he.
Twenty minutes' walk brought them clear of the houses, and the road ran on through a great heath which stretched for several miles and was quite unenclosed. The party struck into a side-path, and soon gained a quiet spot. Here Mr. Elliott produced a pair of tracking-irons, which the boys examined with the most eager interest, and prepared to test the band one after another.
It was a capital place for the purpose, for clumps of gorse and holly were thickly scattered over the heath, affording excellent cover, and through these clumps the trainer would lay a track which each boy must follow for a quarter of a mile, and make the journey within fifteen minutes.
Five boys were successful, among these being Arthur Graydon and Dick Elliott. Three boys failed, not because their eyesight was poorer than that of the rest, but simply because they were unobservant, and did not pick up the trail quickly at one or two points where Mr. Elliott laid little traps for them, for he did not believe in making the test too easy.
'Well,' said Dick's uncle, 'five of you rank as second-class scouts now, and can make a beginning with a patrol; the other three will qualify next time, I expect.' And he took the failures in hand and showed them where they had slipped up in tracking his spoor. Mixed with instruction, he told them stories of the wonderful tracking he had seen performed in South Africa by both white men and natives, and the afternoon passed all too quickly for the deeply interested boys.
'What shall we call our patrol?' asked George Lee, one of the successful boys in passing the tests, as they walked home.
'I vote for Wolf!' cried Dick—'the Wolf Patrol! That sounds jolly, I think.'
'Yes, we'll have that—the Wolf,' said Arthur Graydon.
'We must wait a little,' said Mr. Elliott, 'and see if any other patrols have been formed in Bardon. It won't do to clash, but I'll see about that.'
Mr. Elliott made inquiries, and found that though there was some talk of forming patrols here and there, yet not one was actually in existence in the neighbourhood. So Dick and his friends became 1st Bardon Troop, Wolf Patrol, and were very proud of that fact.
The Wolf Patrol now turned to with a will to convert themselves from second-class scouts into first-class. Arthur Graydon was chosen patrol leader, and Dick Elliott was the corporal. Whenever the Wolves met each other they gave the scouts' salute with great care, the rank and file receiving the secret sign in half-salute, while Arthur Graydon, as patrol-leader, was greeted with the full salute. Their pocket-money went like water for patrol flags, badges, crests, and tracking-irons, and every boy rigged himself up with khaki shorts and a khaki hat with broad brim, in proper scouts' style. Above all, they practised without ceasing the wolf's howl, which was the secret call of their patrol. Several of the Wolf Patrol lived quite near to each other, and at night they would go into their gardens, and scout would howl to scout in such mournful, long-drawn notes that peaceful, elderly gentlemen, reading the evening paper after dinner, rushed out to see if murder was being done somewhere.
One Saturday afternoon Chippy, the leader of the wharf-rats of Skinner's Hole, was crossing the heath on his way home. He had been with a message to a village some three miles from Bardon, and was taking a short cut over the heath, which he knew from side to side and corner to corner. Suddenly he stopped. He had heard a strange noise—a sound as of chanting or singing—and he wondered where it came from. In a moment he had fixed the place.
'That's in the old sand-'ole,' he muttered to himself, and he shuffled across the heath in his big, clumsy, hob-nailed boots towards the spot. In a couple of minutes he had wormed his way between two gorse-bushes growing at the edge of the deep hollow, and was looking with much interest at the sight beneath him.
It was the Wolf Patrol practising the scouts' war-dance. The old deserted sandpit made a splendid place for their patrol meetings for open-air work. They had come there that afternoon for practice in Test 12—fire-laying and lighting, and cooking flour and potatoes without utensils. But, first of all, they were practising the war-dance. The strange words of the Scouts' Song floated up to Chippy's ears, but he could make nothing of them:
'Ingonyama—gonyama
Invooboo
Yah bobo! Yah bobo!
Invooboo.
But though Chippy did not understand the words, he understood that those fellows down there looked splendidly smart, and were having a fine time. He admired their uniform immensely; it looked so trim and neat compared with his own ragged garb. He admired their neat, quick movements as they stamped in unison with the words of the song, and moved round in a circle. The 'Ingonyama' chorus ended, and then the fire practice began. Chips and sticks were carefully piled, and a scout was allowed two matches to make a rousing fire of the gorse-stems and dried sticks to be found in the coppices on the heath. Then he went to work with his flour and potatoes.
Finally the patrol organized a hunt to finish the afternoon. George Lee was sent off on tracking-irons, and given ten minutes' start. When the time was up, the others went after him, and the sandpit was deserted. No one had observed Chippy, for the latter was a scout without knowing it, and had kept himself carefully hidden. He didn't know they were boy scouts, and on their honour to treat him and everyone else fairly; he only knew them as 'chaps we've slugged with,' as he put it to himself.
'Wot's the game, I wonder?' muttered Chippy to himself, as the last scout vanished behind a hazel thicket. 'Jolly good fun they're havin'. I should just like to know wot it all comes to.'
He slid down the side of the sandpit to examine the place where the scouts had built their fires, and soon was on the road to find out what it all meant. His sharp eyes, running over every mark the boys had left, saw something white in a long tuft of dried grass. He pounced upon it and picked it up. It was a book with a picture on the cover.
'Wot's this?' thought Chippy. 'A kid watchin' a ship round a rock. Wot for? "Scouting for Boys." Wot's inside?' He opened it at page 42, and at once recognized the scouts' uniform. 'Why, these chaps 'ad all got togs on like this,' said Chippy to himself. 'I'll bet this book's all about the game.'
He began to read, and was fascinated at once. Chippy talked badly because he had been brought up among people who talked badly, but he could read as well as any Grammar School boy, and had plenty of intelligence behind his freckled face to grasp what he read. He was deep in the little volume, when he heard the patter of running feet behind him. He turned, and saw Dick Elliott coming up to him. They knew each other at once.
'Hallo!' said Dick. 'It looks as if you'd found my book. I felt sure I had dropped it here.'
'Yus, I found it,' replied Chippy. 'It wor' in that 'ere patch o' stuff, an' I picked it up. I've bin a-lookin' at it.'
'That's all right,' said Dick cheerfully. 'You won't hurt it.'
Chippy had rather expected that Dick would take a scornful tone to him, as most of the Grammar School boys did to the wharf-rats. He did not know that Dick was in honour bound to obey Scout Law No. 5, and be courteous to all whom he met. But Dick's friendly voice encouraged Chippy to speak out something which he had on his mind.
'Look 'ere,' said Chippy, 'I ain't in wi' that crowd as tried to chuck yer into the mud t'other day. That ain't playin' the game.'
'Well, you certainly didn't help 'em,' replied Dick, with a merry grin.
'No,' agreed Chippy. 'I was outed that time, proper. Lor! my 'ead sung for 'alf a day! But it was Carrots as put 'em up to that mud game, an' I've booted 'im out o' the crowd. As long as I'm a-runnin' the show, I'll slug wi' anybody ye like, but I'll slug fair. Here's yer book.'
There was a touch of reluctance in Chippy's manner, which did not escape Dick's quick eye.
'Have you read some of it?' asked Dick.
'Yus; I read quite a bit,' replied Chippy.
'How did you like it?'
'Oh, it's pross!' returned Chippy in his deepest, hoarsest note.
'All right,' laughed Dick. 'Take the book and keep it.'
'D'yer mean it?' cried Chippy eagerly.
'Of course I do,' answered Dick. 'Tuck it into your pocket. I can easily get another. Well, I must be on, or I shall never catch our fellows up. Good afternoon!' And away he went, leaving Chippy to growl hearty thanks after him.
Chippy walked slowly home, his eyes glued to page after page. The little book went straight to Chippy's heart. The wharf-rat felt all the delightful romance attached to being a boy scout as keenly as any member of the Wolf Patrol, and his mind was made up swiftly.
'This 'ere's a long sight ahead o' sluggin',' he reflected. 'It's chock-full o' good fun all the time. I'll turn my crowd into a patrol, blest if I don't!'
He made a beginning that night. He begged a candle-end from his mother, and gathered his followers into a corner of an old deserted storehouse on the quay, and read and explained, and so filled them with his own enthusiasm that each was resolved to become a boy scout, or perish in the attempt.
Three weeks later the Wolf Patrol, again on a Saturday afternoon, were busy in their beloved headquarters. They had flattened out a tracking patch fifteen yards square. Dick had brought his bicycle, and the Wolves were studying walking, running, and cycling tracks across their patch, when they were joined by a stranger.
The first to see the new-comer was Billy Seton; the rest were bending over the tracks which Dick's bicycle had just made. The new-comer promptly gave Billy the half-salute, and Billy returned it, and put out his left hand, which the stranger shook in grave fashion.
Billy had done this because the new-comer made the secret sign which showed that he was a brother scout; but, at the same time, Billy was full of astonishment at the odd figure before him. It was Chippy, and Chippy had been doing his best to provide himself with some sort of scout's rig, in the shape of shorts, hat, and boots. His shorts were rather on the queer side. He had only one pair of ragged trousers, and he did not dare to cut them down, or he would have had nothing for general wear, so he had obtained an old pair of corduroys from a bricklayer who lived next door. The bricklayer was a bird-fancier, and Chippy had paid for the corduroys by fetching a big bag of nice sharp sand from the heath to strew on the floors of the cages.
Chippy was no tailor, so he had simply sawn off the legs to such a length as would clear his knees, and left it at that. The waist would have gone round him at least twice, so Chippy laid it over in folds, and lashed all tight with a piece of tarry string.
His hat was an old felt one of his mother's. It was the nearest thing he could rake up to a scout's broad brim, and he had hammered the edge with a big stone to make it lie flat; but it would curl up a little, and it looked almost as odd as the capacious trousers in which he was swallowed. His boots were borrowed from his mother also. His ordinary boots, heavy and clumsy, with hobnails as big as peanuts, seemed to him very ill-suited for the soft, swift, noiseless tread of a scout, so he had replaced them with an old pair of elastic-side boots intended for female wear. The elastics were clean gone, and his feet would have come out at every step had not, luckily, the tabs remained. These he had lashed together, fore and aft, round his ankle, for, being a riverside boy, he was very handy with string.
The toes were the worst bother. His mother was a long-footed woman, and the toes of the boots sailed ahead of Chippy's feet, and turned up, after the style of the boots of the Middle Ages, as depicted in history-books, and went flip-flop-flap before him as he walked. And so Chippy had come to visit the Wolf Patrol as a friend and a brother.
'Hallo! who's this?' cried Arthur Graydon, looking up from the tracking-patch.
The others looked up, too, and some of the boys raised a great shout of laughter.
'What do you want here?' went on Arthur, stepping forward, patrol flag in hand.
The flag told Chippy that he stood in presence of the patrol-leader, and he gave the full salute. But Arthur did not return it.
'Who are you?' demanded Arthur.
'My name's Slynn,' replied the other. 'They gen'ly call me Chippy.'
He announced himself in his usual husky notes. It seemed as if Chippy was bothered with a perpetual cold, which had settled in his throat. Perhaps it came from living in the continual damp of Skinner's Hole.
'And what do you want here?' went on Arthur.
'I come over wi' a little challenge,' growled Chippy. 'Our patrol 'ud like to have a fren'ly try wi' yourn, at any sort o' scoutin' ye like.'
'Patrol!' cried Arthur in astonishment. 'What's a rum-looking beggar like you got to do with a patrol? What patrol?'
'Raven Patrol o' Skinner's 'Ole,' announced Chippy.
The Wolves received this with a shout of laughter, but Chippy remained as solemn as a judge.
'I like that,' said Arthur. 'Do you suppose anyone will take notice of a patrol you wharf-rats would set up? Why, I know you now! You're the fellow that blacked my eye the other week, confound you! It's like your cheek to come here! You'd better clear out of this!'
'Well,' replied Chippy, 'wot if I did black yer eye? I did it fair and square. I stood straight up to yer. Ye'd a-blacked mine if yer could! Wot yer grousin' about?'
'Oh, shut up and clear out!' said Arthur impatiently. 'What's the use of coming here and talking about a patrol of wharf-rats? Where's your patrol-leader?'
''Ere 'e is!'
And Chippy tapped his breast.
'Oh, you're patrol-leader, are you?' returned Arthur 'Where's your patrol-flag?'
''Ain't got none!' replied Chippy in laconic fashion.
'Where's your badge?'
''Ain't got none.'
'Where's your shoulder knot?'
''Ain't got none.'
'Where's your lanyard and whistle?'
''Ain't got none.'
'You're a fine lot to call yourselves the Raven Patrol!' cried Arthur jeeringly. 'What have you got, I'd like to know?'
Chippy looked him straight in the eye.
'The mind to run straight an' play fair,' he said. ''Ow's that for bein' good enough?'
'Pooh!' said Arthur. 'A patrol of scouts must be turned out properly. That's the first thing.'
'I dunno about that,' growled Chippy, and drew a very dirty and well-thumbed book from the inner pocket of his ragged jacket. 'I bin a-goin' by what the cove says as writ this 'ere book—B.-P.'
'You can't teach me much about that book!' said Arthur loftily. 'I know it from end to end.'
'Well, I bin through it about ten times, I shouldn't wonder,' huskily murmured Chippy, 'an' I've got it all wrong if 'e don't say as to run straight an' play fair is just about all there is to it.'
Chippy began to turn over the leaves, and there was silence for a moment. The patrol had left everything to their leader. No one else said a word. But Dick Elliott felt interested above all. He knew that this was his doing. It was he who had really started the Raven Patrol by giving the book to Chippy Slynn.
The latter looked up quietly. He had found the place he wanted.
'I can't teach yer much out o' this 'ere book, eh?' he said. 'I can teach yer "Scout Law No. 4."' And Chippy read in a loud voice: '"A scout is a friend to all, and a brother to every other scout, no matter to which social class the other belongs."'
'Wait a bit!' said Arthur. 'You think you're very sharp, but how do I know you're a scout?'
'Page forty-two,' said Chippy, who certainly knew the text-book very thoroughly. 'See it? I gi'ed yer the signal.'
'And then you show your badge!' cried Arthur triumphantly. 'Now, where's your badge, wharf-rat?'
For a moment Chippy looked stumped. Then he recovered himself and read out: '"Or proves that he is a scout,"' and scratched his jaw and looked hopeful again.
'Yes; but how are you going to prove it?' said Arthur. 'You can't prove it! Clear out, and don't waste any more of our time!'
'Yus, I can prove it!' replied Chippy. 'Try me! I'll let yer 'unt me, if yer like. If yer cop me, yer can call me no scout!'
'That's a fair offer, Arthur,' said Dick quietly.
And two or three of the patrol expressed the same feeling.
'Oh, rubbish!' cried Arthur impatiently. 'I'm patrol-leader, and I give orders. I don't mean to go shuffling over the heath after a chap like that!'
Chippy's sharp eye fell on Arthur's necktie. It was hanging outside his waistcoat, with a knot in the end of it. Every boy scout has to do one good turn a day, and the knot is to remind him of that duty.
'Look 'ere,' he said, 'the knot ain't out o' yer necktie yet! Now's yer chance for a good turn. Lemme prove it.'
Everyone had to laugh at this clever twist of the argument, and Billy Seton murmured:
'I'm hanged if this chap is any sort of a fool! Come, Arthur, give him a show! It'll be great fun, anyway. We're tired of hunting each other. Perhaps he'll give us a merry little run.'
'Well,' said Arthur, 'if you fellows are keen on it, I won't stand in your way. Seems to me a pretty poor sort of game. Still, it will do to choke him off with as well as another.'
'We'll make a man-hunt of it,' said Billy Seton. 'I suggest that somebody lends him a pair of tracking-irons, and we give him a quarter of an hour's start. When we come up to him we'll fire at him with tennis-balls, as usual. If we hit him three times, he's dead. If he hits one of us first, that man's dead, and out of the hunt.'
'Righto!' said Chippy. 'I've studied them rules. I'm ready.'
'And I'll lend the tracking-irons,' cried Dick Elliott.
Chippy put on the tracking-irons with immense pride and delight. He had wondered so much what these things were, and to fasten a pair on his feet, and to make tracks with them for a real patrol to pursue him—it was simply great.
'Wait a bit!' said George Lee. 'We've got our tennis-balls to fire at him; but how is he going to fire at us?'
'That's all right,' said Chippy. 'We've played that game. I've got mine 'ere.'
He dived a hand into one of his wide-spreading pockets, and brought out a ball.
'That isn't a tennis-ball,' said Arthur scornfully.
It was not. Chippy's funds did not run to tennis-balls. It was a bottle-cork wrapped up in pieces of rag, and whipped into shape with string.
'I'll tek my chance wi' it,' said Chippy calmly, and prepared to start.
The patrol laughed as he scuttled out of the pit, and Dick stood with watch in hand to give him the proper law.
'He's a rum-looking beggar!' said Billy Seton, 'but I'll be hanged if he isn't wide-o. And I reckon he stood it uncommonly well, the way you jawed him, Arthur. He didn't get a bit raggy; he just hung on to his chance of showing himself to be a boy scout.'
'Pooh!' said Arthur. 'This is turning the whole thing into piffle. You fellows seemed to want to chivvy him, so I agreed just for the joke. But it isn't likely that we shall recognise wharf-rats as brother scouts!'
'Not likely!' cried No. 6, whose name was Reggie Parr; but the others said nothing.
When time was up, away went the Wolf Patrol on the tracks which Chippy Slynn had made, and for some distance they followed them at an easy trot, for Chippy had posted straight ahead over grassy or sandy land, on which the irons left clear traces. But within a mile and a half of the sandpit the track was lost.
Arthur Graydon drove in his patrol-flag beside the last marks which could be found, and ordered his scouts to separate and swing round in a wide circle until the line was picked up again.
The tracks had ended beside the wide high-road which crossed the heath, and half the patrol took one side of the road and half the other. Within three minutes Dick Elliott raised the wild howl which was their patrol-call, and everyone rushed towards him. He had found the trail. It was on the further side of the high-road, and ran straight ahead beside it, and on raced the Wolves along the tracks.
Chippy had observed how clear a trail he left, and when he came to the high-road, he thought it was about time to throw his pursuers out a little, for they could travel much faster than he could go in the tracking-irons. So at the edge of the high-road down went his head and up went his feet, and he walked across the smooth hard road on his hands, leaving no trace, or such a trace as the Wolf Patrol were not yet clever enough to pick up. With the tracking-irons safely hoisted in the air, he went quite thirty yards before he turned himself right side up again, and scuttled off. He went another mile, and practised the same manoeuvre once more, and then he crept very warily forward, for the land was rising to a ridge. Unless he crossed this ridge with the utmost caution the boys behind him on the heath would see his figure against the sky-line. He marked a place where the ridge was crowned with gorse-bushes, and through these he wriggled his way, receiving a hundred scratches, but troubling nothing about that.
On the other side the ridge went down even more steeply than by the slope which Chippy had just ascended, and up this farther side a huge waggon, drawn by four powerful horses, was slowly making its way.
As soon as Chippy saw the waggon an idea popped into his mind, and he hurried forward to meet the great vehicle. He kept among the bushes so that the driver did not see him. The latter, indeed, from his high perch, was too busy cracking his whip over his team to urge them to the ascent to see that small, gliding figure slipping through the gorse. So Chippy dodged behind the waggon, swung himself up by the tail-board, and climbed in as nimbly as a cat. The forepart of the waggon was full of sacks of meal, and a heap of empty sacks lay against the tail-board. In a trice he had hidden himself under the empty sacks, and lay there without making sign or sound.
The waggon rolled on over the ridge, and soon Chippy heard the long-drawn note of a Wolf's howl. He knew the patrol was now near at hand, but he lay quite still, and peered out at the side of the tail-board, for the latter was hanging a little back.
At the next moment he was being carried clean through the lines of the Wolf Patrol. They had separated, and had been searching busily at the second place where he had thrown them off. Not one glanced at the familiar sight of a big waggon rolling back to the town, for as it passed, Billy Seton raised the patrol call to tell his companions that he had found the trail. All rushed towards him to resume the hunt, and away they went.
As soon as they were out of sight up jumped Chippy, swung himself over the tail-board, and dropped into the road. He dived at once into the bushes which bordered the way, and the waggoner never knew that he had given anyone a lift. Now Chippy set himself to track the trackers. He followed them up as fast as he could go, taking advantage of every patch of cover, and holding his ball in his hand ready to fire.
He saw the first Wolf at the foot of the ridge; this was Billy Seton. The track had again been lost on a hard, stony patch where Chippy had stepped very lightly and carefully. The Wolves had separated, and Billy became an easy prey. He was bending down, carefully examining every twig, every inch of soft soil, when something hit him on the right ear and dropped to the ground. For a moment Billy stared in wonder at the queer rag-ball; then the truth broke upon him—he had been knocked out. He was no longer a pursuer; he was dead.
He looked up, and saw Chippy's queer old felt hat poked out of a bramble thicket some eight yards away.
'Got yer,' murmured Chippy in his husky whisper. 'Don't gie me away!'
Billy checked the exclamation which was rising to his lips, for he saw at once how unfair it would be to betray Chippy's presence. He approached the bush, and tossed the rag ball back.
'All right,' he said quietly. 'I'll go to the rear; I'm done for.'
'Thanks; you're a straight un,' returned Chippy, and sank into the depths of the bramble thicket and crawled on like a snake.
The next Wolves he saw were running in a pair—Nos. 7 and 8. They had their heads together over a mark, and were debating what it meant, if it did mean anything. It was a long shot, but Chippy did not hesitate. He took a ball in each hand and hung for a second on his aim. He was a first-rate thrower.
It was a favourite sport in Skinner's Hole to cork an empty bottle, toss it far out into the river, and give each player three shots to knock the neck off. Chippy was an easy winner at this game, and when a thrower can hit the neck of a bottle dancing along with the stream he isn't going to miss a boy.
'Hallo!' said No. 7, as something took him in the neck. No. 8 turned to see what was the matter, and pop went a ball into his eye. A felt hat rose from behind a neighbouring bush, and a finger beckoned.
'Why, it's the wharf-rat,' said No. 7. 'He's got us!'
They surrendered at once, for they could do no less, and Chippy sent them to the rear, and crept on in search of fresh victims.
Suddenly he saw a patrol flag fluttering. Ah! that was the leader who had bullyragged him. Chippy's heart gave a leap. If only he could bag the proud leader, and show him that a scout could come out of Skinner's Hole! That would be splendid. And Chippy went down flat on his face and wriggled forward to work his way within firing distance.
Nearer and nearer crept Chippy to the vainglorious patrol-leader who had spoken so scornfully of his ambition to become a boy scout.
Arthur Graydon was on the other side of a small open space, and Chippy paused and peered from behind a holly-bush to see what chance there was of a surprise shot. He waited a moment, and the chance that came was excellent.
Arthur had just struck on the trail again. He threw back his head and opened his mouth to its widest, and let out a tremendous howl to call his patrol together from their wanderings. Suddenly his howl was interrupted. Taking a most careful aim, Chippy let fly at the wide-open mouth, and put the ball fairly on the mark.
Arthur spluttered with rage. He thought that one of his patrol was having a lark with him.
'What's that game?' he yelled. 'Who's playing the fool?'
He looked angrily round, but his face became a picture of surprise when Chippy walked quietly up to him and remarked:
'Yer outed. Step back wi' th' others I've a-took prisoners.'
'Where have you come from?' roared Arthur.
'Never mind,' returned Chippy, picking up his ball: 'that's my business, I should fancy. I've got yer, and that's enough for now.'
There was a crashing through the bushes at a short distance away, and Dick Elliott burst into the open. He saw Chippy, and it was an instant duel. Dick fired first, but Chippy leapt aside as nimbly as a goat, and the ball flew wide. Chippy feinted to throw, and Dick jumped. Before he could move again, Chippy let fly and struck him on the arm.
'I'm done for,' said Dick, and came forward to pick up his ball. Chippy vanished into a clump of gorse, for the remaining members of the patrol were running towards the place, and all three had seen him.
The five who had been put out of the hunt gathered together, and watched the three effective fighters, who now began to beat the surrounding gorse in search of Chippy's hiding-place.
George Lee, Reggie Parr, and a comrade named Harry Maurice were left in the pursuit, and they went very warily to work to seize this wily bird.
Reggie Parr was creeping down a narrow alley between the gorse, when he saw something which pulled him up at once. He dropped flat, and signalled to George Lee, who was behind him, to come up.
'I can see him. I know where he is,' whispered Reggie eagerly when George was at his side. 'Lift your head very carefully and take a look at a big blackthorn-bush just ahead.'
George did so; and there, sure enough, was Chippy's queer old felt hat, with his rather pale face under it.
'We'll rush him from three sides at once. One of us is sure to get him that way,' whispered Reggie.
George nodded, and crept away to take up his position, while Reggie slipped off to find Harry Maurice and place him for his share in the attack. The signal for the charge was the cry of the patrol.
When all was ready, Reggie gave one howl, then the three scouts darted from their hiding-places, and bore down at full-speed on the little covert where Chippy's hat was still to be seen through a thin place in the blackthorn-bush.
But they burst into the covert, to find it quite empty. No Chippy was there, only his old hat cleverly arranged on a stick as if he were crouching behind the bush. And while they stared at the hat and each other, there came a swift fusillade of balls from an ambush a dozen yards away. Chippy had three balls, and every one hit its man.
'Got yer,' grunted Chippy in a tone of deep satisfaction, and crawled out of a patch of tall dried bracken, and came forward to fetch his hat.
'Well, by Jingo! That's an artful touch,' cried Reggie Parr. 'Why, I saw you. I saw your face plainly.'
'I know yer did,' replied Chippy, with a cheerful grin. 'I meant yer to. As soon as I wor sure yer'd seen my face, I rigged up th' ole 'at an' 'ooked it.'
At the sound of their voices in conversation the other five scouts came racing towards them. Dick Elliott was leading.
'How goes it?' cried Dick. 'Have you bagged him?'
'Not a bit of it,' replied George Lee. 'It's the other way about. He's bagged us.'
'Oh, Jerusha!' cried Billy Seton. 'The whole patrol! He's a scout and a half, this one.'
For the most part the patrol took their defeat with the utmost good humour, but Arthur Graydon's face wore a dark and angry look. This look deepened as Dick chuckled:
'Well, Arthur, not much choking him off about this. Our friend from the Raven Patrol seems to be doing the choking. There's nothing left for us to do but smile and whistle, according to Scout Law No. 8.'
'Look here,' said Arthur sharply to Chippy, who was smiling on the Wolves with a most amicable air; 'what do you mean by turning up behind us? We expected you to be in front.'
'Well, I dunno,' replied Chippy. 'Seems to me a scout 'adn't ought to expec' nothin'. He ought to be ready for wot may turn up—front, back, or anywheer else. That's 'ow I read the book.'
He dived into an inner pocket and fetched out Part II. The Raven Patrol had purchased it by putting together a halfpenny each, and Chippy was the custodian.
'Page 81,' read out Chippy. '"A scout must not only look to his front, but also to either side, and behind him; he must have 'eyes at the back of his head,' as the saying is." Now,' went on Chippy, 'that's 'IMSELF. Wot about it?'
Arthur had no answer to this home thrust. He turned to another point.
'How did you get behind us?'
'Me?' replied Chippy—'I come clean through the line.'
'Oh, nonsense!' cried two or three boys. 'We were watching on each side and in front too closely for that.'
Chippy grinned. 'Yer worn't watchin' close enough to see wot wor in the waggon from Bland's Mill,' he remarked.
'You were in the waggon?' cried Billy Seton. Chippy nodded, and went on to explain.
'But at that rate,' said Arthur, 'you abandoned your duty of laying a track.'
'Well,' said Chippy, 'there's plenty o' track now. I've bagged the lot of yer long afore the track's finished. I reckon I'm in my rights theer.'
'Yes,' said Dick; 'there's a good deal in that. In my opinion it was a jolly smart bit of work.'
'Rather,' cried Billy Seton; and he began to sing the Scout's Song: 'Ingonyama' (He is a lion); and Dick responded with the 'Invooboo' chorus (Yes; he is better than that: he is a hippopotamus).
But Arthur Graydon's angry voice struck in: 'Stop that fooling, Seton and Elliott,' he said. Then he went on: 'Wolf Patrol, you will at once return to the sand-pit and then home. March!'
The patrol fell in at once, for orders must be obeyed instantly, and without question.
'Wot about my challenge now?' cried Chippy.
'The Wolf Patrol refuses to receive any challenge from you,' replied Arthur shortly. 'We're not going to have anything to do with a set of grubby bounders out of Skinner's Hole.'
He ordered his men forward, and was at once obeyed. Chippy had already given up the tracking-irons, and away went the patrol for the sandpit to fetch Dick's bicycle, which had been carefully hidden there.
Chippy watched them go with a sore heart. He had felt certain that he would be recognised as a brother scout, after capturing the whole patrol. But it seemed that he was not to be, and his bitterness found vent in speech.
'Fine ol' patrol, yo' are!' he called after them. 'I'll lay a bit as B.-P. wouldn't be any too proud of yer if he knowed about it. Ye've got too much edge on yer. Smart togs ain't everythink.'
Chippy's speech, all things considered, was very natural, but in the main it was undeserved, as we shall soon see.
The Wolf Patrol were to meet Mr. Elliott the next Thursday afternoon. If the day should be fine they were to practise tracking tests on the heath; if wet, it was to be Kim's game in Mr. Elliott's study.
The day turned out one of pouring rain, and at three o'clock the Wolf Patrol had gathered in Mr. Elliott's room, where a tray of small articles, covered by a handkerchief, lay on a side-table.
'We'll begin with Kim's game,' said Mr. Elliott, 'and I'll be umpire. On that tray I have put twenty-five small articles, all different—a button, a pin, a stud, a ring, and so on. I shall give you each a pencil and a card, and I shall allow every boy one minute to study the tray. Then he will go away and write down every article that he can remember. The card with the longest list, of course, wins.'
He was about to give out the cards and pencils, when Billy Seton spoke up.
'Mr. Elliott,' he said, 'there's another matter that two or three of us would like you to umpire upon before we begin this game.'
'What is it, Billy?' said the instructor.
Billy told the story of Chippy's challenge, of his capture of the patrol, and told it fairly. 'We left him standing there,' concluded Billy, 'and I didn't like it, and I found that some of the other fellows didn't like it; but we had the order to march, and we had to go; that's Scout Law No. 7. But the same law says that we can reason about an order if we don't think it's fair, and I don't think that was fair.'
'What does the patrol-leader say?' said Mr. Elliott, turning to Arthur Graydon.
'I gave the order to march because it seemed to me the thing was too silly from beginning to end,' cried Arthur. 'I'm not going to scout about with a parcel of dirty, ragged wharf-rats. I think we should look a lot of idiots if we did.'
'Now, Mr. Elliott,' said Billy, 'what do you say?'
'Not a word, Billy,' replied Mr. Elliott quietly. 'Not a syllable. This is a thing for the patrol to decide for themselves.'
There was a short silence, then Billy murmured gently:
'What do you think, Mr. Elliott, that B.-P. would say if he was here?'
Mr. Elliott smiled, and shook his head. He was not to be drawn that way.
'I'll tell you this much, Billy,' he remarked, 'that I think he would do exactly as I am doing—leave it to the patrol. The very foundation of the thing, you know, is to teach you to stand on your own legs.'
'Why not vote upon the question?' suggested Dick Elliott; and the idea was received with a burst of applause.
'Yes,' said Mr. Elliott, 'that's a good plan. Hold a secret ballot, so that every member of the patrol may feel quite free to express his real feelings. We can soon arrange that.'
He took a sheet of plain foolscap from his writing-table, and carefully divided it into eight equal pieces, and gave each boy a piece. From the mantelshelf he took a tall china vase, and placed that on the writing-table.
'Now,' said he, 'I propose that each of you shall go out in turn to the hall table. There you will mark your papers. A circle means that the voter is willing to meet the boys from Skinner's Hole in friendly contest; a cross means that he is not willing. When a paper is marked it will be folded across the middle with the mark inside, brought back, and dropped into the vase. In that way the ballot will be perfectly secret, and you may freely express your feelings.'
There was deep silence as the boys voted in turn according to their patrol numbers. The party in the study kept their backs to the writing-table, so that a voter was not even seen to drop his paper in, and within five minutes the eight votes were in the vase which served as ballot-box.
The boys looked on eagerly as Mr. Elliott fetched the vase after No. 8 had voted and returned to the group of his comrades.
'First of all,' said Mr. Elliott, 'I shall shake the vase well, so that the papers may be thoroughly mixed up.'
He did so, then held the vase upside down, and the papers fell out. He opened them one after the other. There were six circles and two crosses. It was an immense majority in favour of Chippy's challenge.
'Six to two,' announced Mr. Elliott. 'The Wolf Patrol is willing to meet the Ravens from Skinner's Hole.'
'Then they'll meet them without me!' burst out Arthur Graydon, his face scarlet with rage, for he had quite expected to carry the patrol with him. 'I shan't be patrol-leader any longer!'
He whipped off his badge and flung it on the table, and was gone before anyone could stop him or remonstrate with him. He snatched his cap from the stand in the hall, and was out of the house in a flash. The Wolf Patrol had lost their leader!
'That's Arthur all over,' murmured Billy Seton. 'He's frightfully shirty. But I didn't think he'd hook it.'
'Oh, he'll think better of it when he's cooler,' said Mr. Elliott. 'We'll get on with our game. But I'll say that I'm quite with you in your decision.'
'Half a minute, please,' said Reggie Parr, flushing to the roots of his hair. 'I'm going to come out into the open. The other cross was mine. But I don't want to leave the patrol.'
'You needn't leave it, old man,' cried Billy Seton. 'We should be jolly sorry to lose you.'
'I'll run with the rest,' jerked out Reggie. 'But I shouldn't like to stop and keep quiet about the cross.'
'It's forgiven! It's forgotten! Come to my arms!' sang out Billy, and pretended to embrace his comrade as a lost sheep returning to the fold. This caused much laughter, and the Wolf Patrol, save for their lost leader, were completely reunited, and plunged into Kim's game with great earnestness.
A few days later Dick Elliott was standing outside a shop in Bardon High Street waiting for his sister, who was inside. He was on his way to a party, and so was dressed in full fig, a thing he hated very much, but had to put up with on such occasions.
Presently a second boy came along the pavement towards him. It was Chippy, with a big bundle under his right arm. Chippy looked at the smart figure staring into the shop-window, and recognised it.
'One o' them Wolf toffs,' thought Chippy. 'I wish I'd a chance to slug 'im now. I'd soon knock 'is top-'at in the gutter.'
The vengeful Chippy was staring at Dick's glossy silk hat and irreproachable gloves, when Dick looked up straight into the other boy's face. At the next moment Chippy was taken utterly aback, for Dick stepped forward and gave him the full salute. Chippy could scarcely believe his own eyes when he thus received the honours of a patrol-leader.
But he tucked his bundle between his legs, for the pavement was dirty, returned the salute, and proffered his left hand.
'Wot cheer, brother!' murmured Chippy in his husky whisper, for he could think of no more appropriate salutation.
'Oh, I'm all right,' said Dick. 'How are the Ravens getting on?'
'Peggin' away,' returned Chippy. 'We done most o' the things out o' them books.'
'Ah!' said Dick. 'Now about that challenge. When would you like to try a friendly turn against us?'
'Any Sat'day arternoon,' cried Chippy eagerly. 'Yer would meet us, then? Yer leader ain't agin us now?'
'Well, it isn't the same leader,' replied Dick. 'The leader you saw has left us. We tried to get him to come back, but he wouldn't come. I'm the leader now.'
'Good, good!' said Chippy gleefully. 'Wot about nex' Sat'day at three, up at yer sandpit?'
'Yes, I think I can arrange for that,' returned Dick.
'We'll be there, an' proud to come,' said Chippy, whose face shone again with pride and satisfaction. 'An' we'll put up the best we know to gie yer a good practice.'
'We shall get all the practice we want if there are a few more like you among the Ravens,' laughed Dick.
'A bit of luck,' said Chippy modestly, 'that wor all. Well, I must get on. I'm in a job now, an' goin' on an errand. An' when yer at work, there's Law 2 to reckon with—playin' a straight game wi' yer boss.' So the patrol-leaders gave each other the full salute, and each went their way, for Dick's sister was now waiting for him.
'Who's your friend, Dick?' asked his sister. 'He looks like a ragged errand-boy.'
'That's just what he is,' replied Dick; 'but he is also a brother scout, and so I was doing the civil.'
'Good gracious!' said his sister. 'I didn't know boys like that were in it.'
'They run in all shapes,' replied Dick, 'as long as they run straight.'
On the next Saturday afternoon, accordingly, the Wolf and Raven Patrols fraternized in the old sandpit on the heath, and Mr. Elliott attended as umpire. The boys were far from being strangers to each other, for they had often met before in a slugging match, but all such foolish old feuds were laid aside, and they prepared eagerly for a friendly struggle in this most fascinating sport of scouting.
'Now, Slynn,' said Mr. Elliott to the leader of the Ravens, 'as your scouts are the visitors, I think you ought to have the choice of the game at which to challenge the Wolf Patrol.'
'Well, sir,' said Chippy, 'wot about "Scout meets Scout"? I think that 'ud suit us, if it 'ud suit the Wolves.'
'Yes,' said Mr. Elliott, 'that would give you some good fun. And, as it happens, that is a game I have been thinking over. I believe you would enjoy it better still if you combined it with hunting. You've all got a ball apiece, haven't you?'
Yes, everybody had a ball of some sort, and all were listening eagerly to the instructor. Mr. Elliott drew a small parcel from his pocket, and opened it. Inside there were sixteen little flags—eight yellow and eight black.
'You see, I am prepared with your patrol colours,' he said. 'The truth is, I was intending to suggest this game myself as one to be taken. Now, let every scout fix a flag in his hat.'
The Wolves took the yellow, and the Ravens took the black, and the flags were fixed.
'The next thing,' said Mr. Elliott, 'is full trot for the Beacon;' and away they all went.
The Beacon was a small hill which rose sharply from the heath, and stood quite alone. It was not very high, perhaps a hundred feet, but from the top you could see far over the heath on every side. In old days a beacon-fire had been lighted on it to warn or arouse the country in times of danger; a fire had burned there when the Spanish Armada came.
The scouts swarmed up the side, and raced each other to the top. Then they gathered once more about the umpire.
'Now,' said Mr. Elliott, 'here's my idea of "Scout meets Scout." The Wolves will go to that patch of burnt gorse which is about half a mile east of the Beacon. The Ravens will go to that big oak which is about half a mile west. Those are the boundaries, and no one must pass them. North and south the land becomes open quite close to us, and nobody may go out there. It isn't likely he would wish to, for he would be seen at once. When I blow my whistle, the two sides will begin to work towards each other, and the hunt opens. The scout who strikes an enemy with his ball captures that enemy's flag. The flag is handed over, and the beaten scout comes up at once to report to me on the Beacon. He is dead, and will leave the contest. That patrol wins which finally captures the whole of the flags belonging to the other patrol.'
'But, Mr. Elliott, suppose you hit a man who has already taken two or three flags belonging to your own side, what then!' asked Billy Seton.
'He gives up everything,' replied the instructor, 'both his own flag and those he has taken. You see, it's a fight to a finish. The last man will simply collect the whole of the flags. The patrol with the finest scout is bound to win, and it gives everybody first-rate practice. There are heaps of hiding-places, and you may employ any means to decoy or deceive an opposing scout, except using his patrol cry, or, as the book says, disguise. But disguise is out of the question at the present moment. Now, away with you!'
Off the boys dashed, the Wolves scouring down the eastern face of the Beacon, the Ravens down the western. Within five minutes both patrols were in position, and they signified this to Mr. Elliott by holding up their patrol flags. Chippy had made the flag for the Ravens, and made it very well too, cutting the raven out of a scrap of an old green curtain, and stitching it on to a piece of calico. When the umpire saw the patrol flags raised above the gorse clumps which hid the patrols, he blew a long blast on his powerful whistle, and the contest began.
On the side of the Wolf Patrol, Dick Elliott ordered his men to spread out widely in the thick cover of gorse-bushes and low-growing thickets, and to push slowly and cautiously towards the Ravens.
'You've got to be jolly careful,' said Dick, 'or if there are many like that patrol leader of theirs, we shall be snapped up before we know where we are. Work in pairs, and one scout will support the other.'
So the Wolves split into four couples, and spread themselves as widely as possible on their front. On the other hand, Chippy sent his men out singly, but also on a well-extended front; and so, creeping, gliding, stealing from patch to patch of cover, and watching closely on every hand, the Wolves and the Ravens drew nearer and nearer to each other.
Dick, with the corporal, Billy Seton, had taken up a post in the centre of their patrol line, and they advanced together. Dick looked on every hand, and was very satisfied with the way in which his men took cover. He could not catch a glimpse of one of them among the patches of gorse and heather and brushwood.
Suddenly Dick stopped dead. He scented danger. Twenty yards ahead a wren was perched on the topmost twig of a thorn-bush, chattering and scolding furiously. Now, there is no bird which gives prompter warning of an intruder than the wren. Whether the intruder be two-legged, man or boy, or four-legged, stoat, weasel, or pole-cat, the plucky little wren always gives the enemy a piece of her mind.
'That bird's been disturbed,' thought Dick, and he dropped behind a great tuft of withered fern and waited and watched. Billy Seton crawled up without a sound, and lay beside him. Three minutes passed, and then Dick saw a shock of black hair pushed right under a low-growing blackthorn, a dozen yards in front.
It was one of the Ravens coming along flat on the ground like a snake. The Raven put his head out of the blackthorn bush and looked and listened carefully. He seemed reassured by the silence, and made a swift dash across the open for the very patch of cover where his opponents were in hiding. Both were ready for him, but he came in on Billy's side, and fell to Billy's deftly-thrown ball.
'You're done for, old chap!' chuckled Billy. 'Hand over your flag, and leg it for the hill, and report yourself.'
The Raven pulled a wry face for a moment, then remembered Law 8, and tried to look cheerful.
'It's a fair cop!' he remarked. ''Ere's the flag. 'Ope you'll soon lose it!'
The others grinned and retired to their ambush, while No. 7 of the Ravens ran to the Beacon to report himself as out of the hunt.
Twenty minutes of careful reconnoitring passed, but Dick and Billy had seen no further token of any Raven on the move. They gained a thick hazel copse, and crept into the heart of it to wait in ambush a little for any sign of an opponent's presence. Peering through the boughs, Billy whistled below his breath.
'What is it?' whispered Dick.
'Look at the top of the Beacon,' replied Billy, 'We can see it from here.'
Dick looked, and understood Billy's whistle. Four at the Wolf Patrol were up there with Mr. Elliott, while of the Ravens there was but one, the scout whom they had discovered.
'Our fellows have been bagged pretty easily,' whispered Billy. 'I shouldn't be surprised if that artful patrol-leader isn't at the bottom of it.'
'Oh, by Jingo! Look there, look there!' burst out Dick, but below his breath. Billy rounded his eyes, and the leader and corporal looked at each other in anxious surprise. Two more of the Wolves were climbing the hill; they were being sent in as captives.
'Why,' murmured Billy, 'there are only the two of us left. Every man Jack of the Wolves has been settled except us, Dick!'
'Yes, and there are seven Ravens out for our blood!' said Dick, 'We've got to do something, I can tell you, or it's a very easy win for Skinner's Hole.'
'What's the best plan?' whispered Billy.
'Stay here a bit,' replied Dick. 'We're in good hiding, and they'll scatter freely, and very likely be more careless in showing themselves, for they know there are only two of us left.'
Each clutching his ball ready to fire, the two remaining Wolves lay closely in their ambush, eye and ear strained to catch the first glimpse, the faintest sound. Within five minutes a Raven appeared, stealing as softly as a cat, though his boots were heavy and clumsy, over the short, crisp heath-grass. His very care led to his capture. He was watching the grass so closely lest he should step on a dried twig or fern-stalk that he only looked up when Dick's ball bounced on his shoulder. He gave up his flag and retired, and the odds against the Wolves were now six to two.
'Billy,' said Dick, 'we must separate. If they catch us together, it's all over with the Wolf Patrol this time; but apart we can only be collared one at a time.'
'Right!' said Billy. 'Which way do we move?'
'The Beacon's in front of us,' replied Dick. 'I'll work round it to the right, you to the left. If we're not caught, we'll meet at the oak-tree where the Ravens started.'
Billy nodded, and the two survivors of the patrol slipped out of the hazel copse and went against their friends, the enemy.
Billy's suspicion that the patrol-leader of the Ravens had had much to do with the downfall of the Wolves had been correct. Chippy, working well ahead of his line, had soon discovered that the Wolves were in pairs. He hid himself in a hole under a mass of bilberry-bushes, and soon one pair of scouts passed him. He let them go a short distance, followed them up, and bagged them one after the other. Then he began to work across the front of the Wolves, feeling certain that another pair would not be far away. Within ten minutes he had located his next pair of victims. One of them lost his mate and gave the Wolf-call very low. But, unluckily for the Wolves, that call did much mischief. First of all, it brought up Chippy, who promptly settled the caller, and then it brought up the caller's companion, whom Chippy bagged also. So the leader of the Ravens now wore four yellow flags in his hat—two on either side of his own black one.
Right away on the other side, No. 3 of the Ravens, a very wideawake scout, had captured Nos. 7 and 8 of the Wolves by sheer speed and clever throwing, and, so far, the Ravens had made a big sweep of their opponents. But the odds were not so great as they looked. Dick and Billy were by far the cleverest scouts among the Wolves, and the destruction by the Ravens had been accomplished by their two cleverest men.
Before long the odds went far to be equalized by the capture which Dick made of No. 3 of the Ravens. This able scout fell a victim to his own impulsiveness. He saw six Wolves on the hill; he became most eager to seize the other two; he forgot that for a scout there is only one word—caution, caution, always caution.
So he jumped into a little gully to hide himself, without first making sure that no one was there already. As it happened, Dick had crept into it three minutes before, and No. 3 felt Dick's missile before he knew what was in the wind. Rather crestfallen, he gave up his own black flag and the two yellow ones, of which he had been so proud, and made his way to the Beacon. Dick had now five flags in his cap—two black and three yellow—and he redoubled his vigilance now that he had become so valuable a prize. He went on and on, but he never saw another Raven. Soon he became aware that Billy had not only seen some, but seized them also, for Raven after Raven marched up to the summit, until Billy's captives numbered three fresh ones. When the patrol leader and his corporal met at last under the oak, they greeted each other joyfully.
'Well done, Billy!' said Dick. 'You've pulled 'em down in great style. I've only had one; but he'd got a couple of our fellows' flags.'
'Oh,' said Billy, 'a couple of 'em were very easy shots. The third chap was rather more sticky, but I had him at last.'
'Now we'll work back and tackle the other two,' said Dick. 'There are two on each side in the game now.'
'All right,' said Billy; 'we'll go for 'em in style this time. There'll be some flags handed over, whoever gets collared!'
Each of them showed five flags in his hat. Billy had his own yellow and four of the Ravens' black. Dick had three yellow, two recaptured, and two black. And now they plunged into cover for the final round.
Billy was the first to come into touch with the enemy. He was stealing along under cover of a patch of hollies, when, faint but clear, he caught the Ravens' patrol call—'Kar-kaw! Kar-kaw!'
'Where's that merry hooter?' thought Billy. 'He's giving himself away, calling for the other fellow. He's mine if I can spot him.'
Again the call came, a short distance ahead, and Billy crept forward with the utmost caution. The cry seemed to come from the other side of a space littered with blocks of turf. Some cottagers who lived on the heath had the right to cut turves, and this was a place where they worked. Here and there the turves were gathered into little heaps. In the centre of the open ground was a larger heap.
'I can get a shot, perhaps, from cover of that bigger heap,' said Billy to himself, and he began to worm his way across the ground. He reached the big heap and crouched behind it, and peered round it in search of the Raven who had been uttering his patrol call.
'Where is he?' muttered Billy to himself, and at the next second be knew. A faint hiss sounded in the corporal's very ear. Billy thought of the vipers that swarmed on some parts of the heath, and jumped round in affright, and at that instant a ball was flipped into his eye from some unseen thumb and finger.
'Hang it all!' said Billy. 'I'm bagged! Where are you?'
'Wot cheer, brother!' came a husky whisper from the centre of the turf-stack.
Billy gave the stack a kick, and it collapsed, and revealed Chippy crouching there with a cheerful grin on his face. He had built himself round with turves, and lay securely hidden.
'Nice little lot o' flags ye've got!' murmured Chippy. 'It'll be a case of all round me hat this time.'
Billy felt disgusted at the neat way he'd been taken in, but he proceeded to hand his flags over at once. Presently his usual friendly smile broke out.
'After all, Slynn,' he said, 'it was a fair catch. What a jolly artful dodge to draw me up with your patrol call!'
'Not bad,' chuckled Chippy. 'I know'd ye'd think there was a lost Raven a-flitterin' about, an' then yo'd come to look 'im up.'
'Well, I must be off and report myself,' said Billy, and off he strolled, leaving the leader of the Raven Patrol to fix in his hat the fine trophy of flags he had captured.
Chippy was some little time at his task, for he had now five black flags—his own and four recaptured from Billy—and five yellow flags; four he had already seized, and the fifth was Billy's own original badge. He was scarcely ready to renew his quest, when a long, shrill call rang from Mr. Elliott's whistle. This signal had been arranged for the moment when only two rival scouts remained in the field. Now the battle must be finished during the next twenty minutes, or the contest was drawn. Some such sharp close was necessary, or a pair of over-cautious opponents might scout about or hide up and never find each other.
The two left in were the rival leaders. Just about the time that Billy was drawn into range, Dick bagged the other Raven, and when Mr. Elliott saw the two defeated scouts running for the Beacon he sounded his whistle.
The scouts out of the game had not had a dull time of it. If they were not in the combat, they enjoyed a splendid view of it as spectators. From the top of the hill almost every movement of the fighters below could be watched, and the excitement now rose high among both Wolves and Ravens as they saw their leaders running through the cover below in eager search of each other.
There was no hanging about in hiding. That would mean the loss of too much precious time, but each patrol-leader moved warily as well as swiftly as he sought his opponent. Neither sight nor sound was made on top of the hill. That would have been unfair: the men below must be left unaided or unhindered to fight it out. But there was laughter which no one could suppress when Dick and Chippy passed each other on either side of a thick hawthorn copse and neither had the least idea that the other was near. Then there was a joyful murmur among the Wolves as Dick swung round the far end of the copse, saw Chippy, and darted after him. But the Raven was on the alert, and observed Dick almost at once, and turned to the combat.
Now it depended on the sureness of the eye and the speed of the throw; whoever touched the other first with his ball would secure the victory for himself and his patrol.
There were several quick feints, but neither loosed his ball. Then Dick ran right in, and Chippy threw straight at him. The Wolves raised a howl of joy when their patrol-leader made a clever swerve and dodged the flying ball. Then Dick let fly in turn, as Chippy sprang away to the right. But no sooner did the latter's quick eye detect that the ball had left Dick's hand than he dropped flat on his face, and the ball skimmed just clear of him.
Down the hill streamed the two patrols, for the battle was over. By the laws of the game no second shot may be taken at the same enemy.
'Who has won, Mr. Elliott?' cried the boys, as they raced up to the place where the rival leaders were laughing at each other's failure in bringing off the finishing touch.
'I shall call it a drawn battle,' said the umpire, 'with the advantage slightly on the side of the Ravens, as their man has more flags than the other;' and this decision gave much satisfaction, and all voted it a first-rate piece of sport.
'Now back to headquarters!' cried Mr. Elliott. 'We'll make a fire, and try our hand at baking chupatties, for some of you are not up to Test 12 yet.'
The Ravens were very keen on this, for none of them had yet tried their hands on cooking a quarter of a pound of flour and two potatoes without cooking utensils, and they were anxious to see how it was done.
'Cut over and fetch the basket, Dick,' said Mr. Elliott, as they gained the sandpit; 'there's a score of oranges in it as well. They'll come in handy after scouting over the heath.'
'Rather!' said Dick. 'A good juicy orange is just what I want, uncle;' and away he ran.
'Shall we gather some sticks ready for the fire, Mr. Elliott?' said Billy Seton.
'We'll have our oranges first, Billy,' replied the instructor. 'We can soon get plenty of sticks if all hands turn to.'
A shout of surprise rang across the pit, and all eyes were turned towards Dick. He was bending over the corner where the basket containing the flour, potatoes, and oranges had been carefully hidden under ferns and tufts of dried grass.
'It's gone!' yelled Dick. 'There's no basket here!'
Gone! All ran over to the place at once, and there was the hollow in the sand where the basket had been set down; but the hollow was quite empty, and the fern and grass had been tossed aside.
'Someone's bagged it!' cried Billy Seton. 'It's been stolen while we were away at the Beacon.'
'There's nothing else to account for it,' said Mr. Elliott. 'Now, my brave Boy Scouts,' he laughed, 'here's your chance to prove your mettle and skill. Track this thief—for a thief has been here without doubt.'
The boys were full of delight at the idea, and sprang with the utmost eagerness to search for the track of the rogue who had stolen the basket. The Wolves took one side of the pit, the Ravens the other, and began to look out closely for any mark of a foot entering or leaving the place. Almost at once a Wolf's howl was raised. Harry Maurice had found the mark of a heavy nailed boot, which had scored the sharply rising slope at the southern end of the pit. The mark was fresh, and led out of the hollow, and it seemed very likely that it was the trail of the thief.
The patrol-leaders took it up and raced along it, with their scouts at their heels.
For a quarter of a mile it was followed as easily as possible, for the ground was broken and sandy; then the trail ran on to short, close turf, and was lost. The patrol flags were driven in, and the band spread out on a broad front, and carefully advanced, searching for the spoor. No. 5 of the Ravens hit on it well away to the right, where the marauder had set his foot on a mole-heap in the turf, and left a clear track of his big, square hob-nails.
'Kar-kaw! Kar-kaw!' The call gathered everyone to the spot, and the leaders were agreed that it was the right track. And again they spread out on a new front, for the trail was once more lost on hard, crisp turf.
This time it was not eyesight, but smell, which put the pursuers on the track of their quarry. Chippy had gone some distance ahead on the probable line, and Dick was near at hand. Suddenly Chippy lifted his head and sniffed at the air, his nostrils working like a hound's on hot scent.
'What is it, Chippy?' said Dick, who had noticed his companion's movement.
'Bacca,' said Chippy briefly. 'Right ahead! Come on!'
'Yes; I can smell it now,' said Dick, as they ran forward. 'It's coming down the wind.'
The two patrol-leaders burst through a bramble-thicket, stopped dead, and raised with all the force of their lungs their patrol cries; for they had run their man to earth. There, straight below them, in a little hollow, sitting on the stump of an old thorn, and peacefully smoking, was a man with their basket set before him, its contents rolled out on the grass.
'Why, it's a big, dirty tramp!' said Dick.
'Yus,' agreed Chippy. 'It's a Weary Waddles, right enough. Now we'll get 'im on the 'op.'
Up dashed Wolves and Ravens, and there was no need for their leaders to say a word: the situation explained itself.
'Charge!' roared Dick; and the two patrols burst from the thicket and swept down upon the marauder in a wild, mad wave of shouting boys and whirling sticks. For a second the tramp sat moveless in paralyzed astonishment. Then he grasped what it meant, and he jumped to his feet and scuttled away as hard as he could pelt.
The swift-footed boys pursued, yelling in delight, and promising that he should feel the weight of a scout's staff, when a long shrill call on a whistle checked them. Mr. Elliott had come in sight of the chase, and he recalled the pursuers at once.
'Let him go,' said Mr. Elliott; 'you've given him a good fright; and the next time he comes across a hidden basket perhaps he won't be so prompt in carrying it off.'
'Has he done any harm, Mr. Elliott?' asked Harry Maurice.
'He's had a couple of oranges, Harry, that's all,' said Mr. Elliott, putting back into the basket the bag of flour and the potatoes which had been tumbled out. 'Now all of you take an orange apiece—there are plenty left—and we'll start back and have a go at our chupatties after all.'
'He knew the heath, that fellow,' cried Billy Seton. 'He'd made for a jolly quiet place to unpack the basket and see what was in it.'
'Yes,' said the instructor. 'You might have rambled over the heath all day in a haphazard fashion without hitting on him. It was quite a scout's bit of work to follow him up. You're coming on; I shall be proud of you yet!'
So, laughing and talking, and eating their oranges, the Wolves and Ravens and their instructor marched back to the sandpit, where the rest of the afternoon was spent in the merriest fashion, so that all were sorry when the dusk began to settle over the heath and drove them homewards.
On a Sunday afternoon, some three weeks after the contest round the Beacon, Chippy was crossing the heath towards the little village—or, rather, hamlet—of Locking, three miles from Bardon. He was taking a message from his mother to his grandmother, who lived in the hamlet. The latter consisted of not more than half a dozen scattered cottages, tucked away in a quiet corner of the heath—a lonely, secluded place.
Chippy's destination was the first cottage beside the grass-grown track which was the only road into Locking. He lifted the latch of the gate and entered the garden. Standing in the garden was a young man whom Chippy had never seen before. Chippy looked hard at the stranger, and the stranger took his pipe out of his mouth and stared hard at Chippy.
'Hallo, nipper!' he said at last.
Chippy acknowledged the politeness by a nod, and went up the paved path to the cottage door. His grandmother was busy about the wood-fire on the broad hearth, making the tea, and she told him he'd just come at the right time to have a cup with them.
'Who's that out in the garden, gra'mother?' asked Chippy.
'That's my lodger,' replied the old woman.
'I never knowed yer 'ave a lodger afore!' said Chippy.
'No; I never did,' she replied. 'But he come here an' he begged o' me to gie him a room, an' I did. 'Twas Jem Lacey's mother as brought him. He's come from Lunnon. His name's Albert.'
At this moment the latch of the door clicked and the lodger came in.
'Tea ready, Mrs. Ryder?' he asked.
'In a minute,' she replied. 'This here's my grandson. He've a-come over from Bardon.'
The stranger gave Chippy a cheerful nod, and they soon fell into conversation, and Albert proved very talkative.
'First-rate place to pick yer up, this is!' remarked the lodger.
'Been ill?' asked Chippy.
'Ain't I just?' replied the other. 'I'm boots at a big 'otel in the Strand, an' there's a lot o' them Americans come to our place. An' I can tell yer their stuff tykes a bit o' handlin'. Them American women, they travel wiv boxes about the size of a four-roomed cottage, more or less. An' I got a bit of a strain pullin' of 'em about. Then I ketched a bad cold, an' it sort o' settled in the bellows!'—and the stranger gave himself a thump on the chest—'so I had to go on my club, an' I was laid up eight or nine weeks. Well, arter I'd been on the box that time, the doctor, 'e says to me, 'e says: "What you want now is a change an' fresh air." So Jem Lacey—he's porter at our place—put me up to this spot, an' it's done me wonders!'
'Yer look all right now,' said Chippy, and Chippy spoke truly.
The lodger appeared the picture of health. He was tall, broad, of fair complexion, had sandy hair and blue eyes, and, as he drank his tea, he looked as fit as a fiddle.
'Ah, it's a healthy place here on th' old h'eth!' said Mrs. Ryder.
'Look at me!' said Albert. 'I'm a livin' example!'
The conversation now turned on Bardon, and the stranger showed keen interest in the ships which had lately gone up and down the river.
'I know a bit about ships,' he remarked, 'I 'ad a brother as went for a sailor.'
After a time he returned to the garden to smoke his pipe, and Chippy looked after him through the window.
'He seems a smart un!' remarked the boy.
'Ay, that Lunnon do mek 'em lively!' replied Mrs. Ryder. 'He's the best o' comp'ny—a very nice young man, I'm sure! He's no trouble at all—blacks his own boots, an' looks arter hisself all ways! I worn't willin' at first to let him have my empty room, but I'm glad I did. The place has done him a power o' good, though he didn't look very ill time he come down!'
'What's his name?' asked Chippy.
'Albert,' replied the old woman.
'I know that one,' said the boy, 'What's t'other name?'
'I dunno,' returned Mrs. Ryder. 'He told me to call him Albert, and I niver asked his other name.'
Everything that happens, everyone that appears, must furnish food for practice for a Boy Scout, and Chippy ran his eye over Albert from head to foot, and noted every detail of his perfectly commonplace appearance. Then the boy followed him into the garden, and, true to the habit which was rapidly becoming an instinct, he dropped a glance on Albert's track. There was a patch of damp earth near the door, and the lodger's footprint was plainly stamped on it. At the first swift look Chippy gathered that there was something slightly different from usual about the heel-print. He did not look closely, for you must never let anyone know that either he himself or the trail he leaves, is being watched; but there was something. Chippy strolled forward, but no other mark was to be seen; the garden path was hard, clean gravel.
Albert had seated himself on a bench nailed against an elm in the garden fence, and was smoking calmly in the sunshine. As Chippy drew near, he turned his head and smiled in a friendly fashion.
'I s'pose you know all the creeks along the river pretty fair?' he asked.
'Most of 'em,' replied Chippy.
'I've heerd Jem Lacey talk of a place they called Smuggler's Creek, where the old smugglers used to run their boats in,' went on Albert; 'I should like to 'ave a look at that. When I was a kid I used to be fair crazy arter tales of old smugglers an' that sort o' thing.'
'I know it all right,' replied Chippy. 'There ain't no 'ouse nor anythin' for miles of it.'
'Not nowadays?' cried Albert.
'Yus!' returned Chippy. 'It's just as quiet as it used to be.'
'Could a boat from a ship in the river go up it?' asked Albert.
'Oh, easy!' replied Chippy; and, in response to the other's request, he gave clear directions for finding the spot.
'I'll 'ave a look at it,' said the lodger. 'I like a good long walk. The doctor told me as that was the best thing for me. So I got a good strong pair o' trotter-cases, an' I tramp out wet an' dry.'
He raised one of his heavy boots for a moment, and let it fall.
'Got it,' said the pleased scout to himself, but gave no sign of his discovery. The heavy iron tips on Albert's heels were screwed on instead of nailed on, and the groove in the head of each screw had left a small but distinct ridge in the earth at each point where the screws came in the heel.
It was only practice, but Chippy was as keen in practice as he was when chasing the thievish tramp for the lost basket. He had mastered the idea that it will not do to be keen by fits and starts: you must be on the spot all the time. So he took away from Locking that afternoon one fact which he had discovered about his grandmother's lodger—the boots from a London hotel—that the tips on his heels were screwed on, whereas the common method is nailing.
The Monday week after Chippy's visit to Locking was Easter Monday and a general holiday. The Wolves and the Ravens made it a grand field-day, and they were on the heath by nine o'clock, each with a day's food in pocket or haversack, and a grand scouting-run ahead—a run which had been planned from point to point by Mr. Elliott, who accompanied them. The patrols had by now worked together several times, and had become brothers in arms.
The old foolish feuds between them were completely forgotten, and when Dick and his friends crossed Quay Flat the wharf-rats would now swarm out, not with sticks for a 'slug,' but with salutes and eager inquiries as to progress in this or that game dear to the hearts of Boy Scouts.
But it is not with this Easter-Monday scouting-run of the combined patrols that we are about to deal. We shall go straight away to the hour of three o'clock on that afternoon, when a very memorable and exciting experience for the two patrol-leaders began to unfold itself.
Mr. Elliott had set his band of scouts the hardest task of the day. He himself had put on the irons, and was laying the track. He had warned them that it would be a tough test—something to really try them—and so it proved. If they failed to run him down, they were all to meet at a little railway-station about two miles away, from which they would go back to Bardon by rail. They were already a good eight miles from home, for they had marched right across to an unknown part of the heath to carry out their manoeuvres.
At one point, where Mr. Elliott's track seemed to have vanished into the very earth, Dick took a long cast away to the right by himself. As he moved slowly forward he heard a rustle of bushes, and looked up and saw Chippy trotting to join him.
'He's done us one this time!' said Chippy, grinning; 'I'm blest if I can 'it the trail anywheer!'
'It's jolly hard to find any sign,' answered Dick; 'but he told us it was to be a stiff thing, and if we can't get hold of it we shall have to head for the station, that's all. But we'll have a good go at it. What about a cast round by that rabbit warren over there? The ground's half covered with soft soil the rabbits have thrown out of their holes. If he's gone that way the irons will leave a dead certain track.'
'Righto!' murmured the Raven leader, and they trotted across to the rabbit warren and began to search the heaps of sandy soil.
They were working along the foot of a bank with faces bent to the earth, when suddenly they were startled by a voice hailing them a few yards away.
'Hallo, there!' called someone.
The boys glanced up, and at once straightened themselves and came to the salute. A tall man in khaki and putties stood on the top of the bank looking at them, a revolver in the holster strapped at his side.
'And who may you be, and what do you want here?' he asked pleasantly, and returned the salute.
'We're Boy Scouts,' replied Dick, 'and our patrols are out for a big scouting-run over the heath.'
'Ah, yes! Boy Scouts—I've heard of you,' said the big man, still smiling at them. 'Well, I'm in the same line myself. But you can't come any further this way, mateys. You'll have to scout back, if you don't mind.'
'Why must we do that, sergeant?' asked Dick, who had noted the chevrons on the big man's sleeve, and understood them.
'Well,' said the good-natured soldier, 'it's like this: We've got a lot of big, bad convicts at work over there,' and he jerked his head behind him, 'and we keep 'em strictly to themselves, you see. They're bad company for anybody but the men as looks after 'em, so we keep this corner of the country clear of other people.'
'At that rate,' laughed Dick, 'the track we want isn't likely to be laid your way?'
'Not it,' said the sergeant, 'else I should ha' spotted it on my round. No, mateys, you can cut right back. Ta-ta!'
The boys gave him a farewell salute, and ran back towards the spot where they had left the rest of the patrol.
'That's a rum game, ain't it?' remarked Chippy—'a soldier a-walkin' round in a quiet place like that theer. Who's he a-tryin' to cop?'
'Perhaps watching to see that no convicts escape,' suggested Dick. 'You know, Chippy, they often try to cut and run if they see a chance.'
'Yus,' said the Raven. 'I've seed that in the papers. But wot do they want convicts for on the h'eth?'
'I know,' cried Dick—'I know. I heard my father talking about it at dinner the other day. It's the Horseshoe Fort at the mouth of the river. They're making it ever so much bigger and putting new guns there so as to be ready if ever some enemy should come to our country and try to sail up the river. The convicts are at work there, digging and building and doing all sorts of things.'
'I see,' nodded Chippy; 'that's 'ow they mek' 'em useful, I s'pose.'
'That's it,' said Dick, 'and that sergeant we saw was one of the men in charge of them.'
'He soon started us back,' murmured Chippy.
'Yes,' said Dick; 'I heard my father say that they are very strict about letting any stranger go near the place.'
'That was on'y gammon of his about them convicts,' remarked Chippy.
'Of course it was,' agreed Dick; 'he wouldn't let anyone go nearer the fort on any account.'
'How far are we off?' asked Chippy.
'I'll soon tell you!' replied Dick, and pulled his haversack round. From this he took out a small leathern case with a map tucked away in it. The map was a shilling section of the Ordnance Survey on the scale of one inch to a mile. Dick had bought it and carried it as patrol-leader. The space it covered—eighteen miles by twelve—was ample for their work.
Dick knelt down and spread the map on the ground; Chippy knelt beside him. Chippy had never seen such a map before, and his keen intelligence was soon deeply interested. His finger began to run along roads he knew, and to point out spots he had often visited.
'Why, wi' this,' he declared, 'ye could go anywhere if ye'd never seed the place afore. Look here, this is the road to Lockin', an', I'm blest! why, 'ere's my gra'mother's house, this little black dot, just off o' the road. An' 'ere's the Beacon, an' there's the san'pit!'
'Yes, it's a jolly good map,' said Dick, 'and very clear in the heath part, for there are few roads and few houses, and every one is put in. Now, where are we? Let's find the rail and the station. That will give us our bearings.'
The boys considered the map very carefully for a few moments; then Dick put his finger on a certain spot.
'That's just about where we are now,' he said, 'and I can prove it, I think.'
'I should just like to know 'ow ye do prove it,' said Chippy, to whom this map was a new and wonderful thing.
'Well,' said Dick, 'we know in a general way we're no very great distance from the Horseshoe, and here that is.' He placed his finger on the spot where the big redoubt was shown on the map. 'Then here's rising ground with trees on it, marked Woody Knap. Now, where's that?'
'Why, theer it is,' replied Chippy, pointing to a hill which rose above the heath at some distance. 'It must be that. There ain't no other hill wi' trees on it in all this part o' the h'eth.'
'And how far is it away from us?'
''Bout a mile.'
'Which way does it lie?'
Chippy considered the sun, and thought over the directions Mr. Elliott had given the scouts time and again.
'Right away north,' he answered.
'Very well, then,' said Dick. 'We're a mile to the south. And a mile on the heath is an inch on the map. Now, my thumb-nail is just half an inch—I've measured it; so twice my thumb-nail to the south of Woody Knap brings us to the spot where we are.'
'So it does,' cried Chippy, with enthusiasm. 'It's as plain as plain now ye put it that way. An' that's a proper dodge, to measure it off wi' yer thumb-nail.'
'Oh, uncle gave me that tip,' laughed Dick. 'It's very useful for measuring short distances on the map. When you want a rule, you generally find you've left it at home, but your thumb-nail is always on the spot.'
'Yus,' smiled Chippy; 'ye mostly bring it wi' yer. Now,' he went on, 'wot's the distance to the Fort?'
'To the Horseshoe?' said Dick, and began to measure. 'Barely a couple of miles,' he said. 'We're quite close. Isn't it lonely country all round it? There isn't another building for miles on this side of the river.'
The broad tidal river curved down the western side of the map, widening rapidly as it neared the sea. Its western bank was dotted with hamlets and villages and scattered farms, with roads and lanes winding in every direction; from the eastern bank the heath stretched away with scarce a road or house to be seen for a great distance.
'We must get on, Chippy,' said Dick, starting to fold up the map, 'or we shall get clean out of touch with the other fellows. We've been studying this thing quite a while.'
'Oh, we'll soon drop across 'em,' replied Chippy; 'they ain't found anythin', or they'd be a-hootin' like mad.'
He rose to his feet and strolled slowly forward, while Dick put the map-case back into the haversack. The latter was adjusted, and Dick was just rising in turn, when something moving caught his eye. Seventy yards away a rabbit flashed at full speed across an open strip of turf, and dived full into its burrow, and vanished with a flick of white scut.
'Down, Chippy!' hissed Dick; and the Raven fell flat on his face behind a gorse-bush, and Dick crouched lower and watched.
'Someone has disturbed that rabbit,' thought Dick, and he waited to discover who that someone was. Dick knew the ways of wild rabbits perfectly well. If a rabbit feels certain that no one is near, he ambles about in the most unconcerned fashion; but scent, sight, or sound of man, dog, or other enemy sends him to his hole at treble-quick speed.
Three minutes passed, and no one appeared. Four, five, and Dick began to think it was a stoat or weasel from which the rabbit had fled. Then he knew it was not; it was a man, for there was a movement in the clump of bushes from which the rabbit had darted, and Dick saw a tall figure moving very slowly. He waited for it to come into the open, but it did not. It bent down and disappeared.
'Why,' thought Dick, 'he's going to work just like a scout. Is he slipping off under cover of those low blackthorns?'
The boy watched the line of dwarf bushes, and was soon certain that the stranger was doing this. He caught a glimpse of the man's form through a thin patch, then lost it as the hidden figure crept on.
Dick dropped flat on the ground, and slid along to the spot where Chippy lay behind the gorse-bush, and told his companion what he had seen.
'Rum go, that!' murmured Chippy, who from his post had been unable to catch any glimpse of the stranger. 'Yer sure that it warn't Mr. Elliott!'
'Oh no; it wasn't my uncle!' whispered Dick. 'I didn't see the man clearly, but I should have known at once if it had been my uncle.'
'How about the sergeant?' said Chippy. 'P'raps he's come a-creepin' arter us, to be sure we've cleared off.'
'No; I'm sure it wasn't the sergeant,' replied Dick. 'The man had a cloth cap on, and the sergeant had a flat-topped soldier's cap.'
Suddenly Chippy's eyes became round and bright, and he turned a look full of meaning upon his companion.
'Wot about a convict?' he whispered.
'By Jingo!' murmured Dick. 'There may be something in that, Chippy! Has a convict escaped? Is he trying to steal across the heath to find somewhere to hide himself? Is that it?'
Chippy said nothing, but he gave a nod of deep meaning, and the two boys stared at each other.
'We must follow 'im up,' said Chippy at last. 'Track 'im down an' see wot it means.'
'Yes, we must,' agreed Dick. 'You see, Chippy, if he is an escaped convict, he may be a very dangerous character to be at large. I've heard of them attacking lonely places to get food and clothes to help them to escape.'
'I've heerd o' that, too,' said the leader of the Ravens; 'an' some o' the h'eth folk, they live in cottages all by theirselves.'
'Yes; and suppose such a man went to a place where there was no one at home but a woman, or a woman and children?' said Dick.
'Who knows wot 'e might do?' And Chippy shook his head. 'We're bound to lend a hand, then—Law 3, ye know.'
'Right you are, Chippy,' said Dick. 'Law 3. Come on!' And the two boy scouts, game as a pair of terriers, crept swiftly up to the clump of bushes from which the mysterious stranger had emerged.
From the bushes the track was easy to follow for some distance. There were no footmarks, but the ferns were brushed aside and some were broken, and these signs showed which way the man had gone. When the ferns were left behind, there was still a fair trail, for the heavy boots of the stranger had broken the grass, or scraped a little earth loose here and there along the slope of the ridge which led up to Woody Knap.
Suddenly the boys lost the trail. It disappeared on a strip of turf, and they slipped back at once to the last spot of which they could be sure—a soft patch of earth where hobnail marks were fresh and clear.
'Now we've got to separate and try to pick up the line,' said Dick softly. 'I'll work right, and you left; and we'll meet at that big thorn-bush right in front, if we've found nothing. If one of us hits on the track, he must call to the other.'
'Wait a bit,' said Chippy. 'Wot call? Our own calls 'ud sound odd, an' might give 'im the tip as somebody was arter 'im.'
'You're right,' said Dick; 'the wolf howl, at any rate, is no good here.'
'Let's 'ave a call for ourselves this time,' suggested Chippy. 'One as you might 'ear at any minute, an' never notice. How about the pewey?'
'First-rate!' said Dick. 'The pewey. There are plenty of them on the heath!'
Bardon boys always called the 'peewit' the 'pewey,' and every one of them could imitate its well-known call. Nothing more simple and natural could have been adopted as a signal.
Dick was working most carefully round his half of the circle, when the cry of the peewit rang out from the other side. Away shot Dick, quickly and quietly, and, as he ran, the call was repeated, and this guided him straight to the spot where Chippy was kneeling beside the mouth of a rabbit burrow. The rabbits had been at work making the burrow larger, and a trail of newly thrown out earth stretched three or four feet from the hole.
'Have you got the track?' breathed Dick eagerly.
'I've got summat,' replied Chippy; 'it looks pretty rum, too!'
Dick dropped beside his companion, and saw that a foot had been set fair and square in the trail of earth. But there was no sign of a nail to be seen; the track of the foot was smooth and flat, and outlined all the way from heel to toe.
'That's not a boot-mark,' said Dick.
'No, it ain't,' murmured Chippy. 'If you ask me, I should say it wor' stockin' feet.'
'But what should he pull his boots off for?' said Dick, knitting his brows. 'This is an awfully strange affair, Chippy.'
'Ain't it?' said the latter, his eyes glittering with all the excitement of the chase, and the pleasure of having found this queer mark. 'As far as I can mek' out, he wanted to step as soft as he could tread.'
'But why—why, in the middle of the heath, here?' went on Dick.
'I dunno yet,' said Chippy; 'let's get on a bit, an' see if we pick up summat else.'
Dick blew out a long breath. 'It's going to be jolly hard,' he murmured, 'to track a fellow in his stockings. We've got to keep our eyes open.'
Chippy nodded, and they went on slowly and warily. As it happened, Dick scored the next move in the game. Thirty yards from the rabbit burrow a heath track crossed the trail they were following. The weather had been very dry lately, until about twelve o'clock of the present day, when a heavy shower had fallen—a shower from which the scouts had sheltered in a hovel where the heath-folk store their turves.
This shower had wetted the dust of the track, and Dick at once saw clear, heavy footmarks, as if a man had quite lately walked along the path and gone on.
'Here's a perfectly fresh track,' said Dick; 'and this chap in his stockings has crossed it at this patch of grass where he has left no sign on the path.'
'Seems to me,' remarked Chippy, 'as 'im wot we're arter heerd this one a-comin',' and Chippy pointed to the firm new tracks; 'an' then he off wi' his boots to dodge along on the quiet.'
'I don't see anything else for it,' said Dick; 'and that would make it plainer than ever that he's up to no good.'
'Look theer!' snapped Chippy swiftly, and pointed.
Dick whirled round in time to see a man's head and shoulders appear over the bushes at a far bend of the way, and then vanish as the walker turned the corner. But both boys had recognised him. It was the sergeant with whom they had spoken.
Dick gave a long, low whistle. 'He was dodging the sergeant, Chippy!'
'It's a convict!' said Chippy. 'Can't be nuthin' else!'
For a moment the boys discussed the plan of running after the sergeant and laying the matter before him, but they gave it up, for several reasons. He was a good way ahead, and out of sight. He might turn right or left across the open heath, and in that case they would have to hunt his track while their quarry was going farther and farther away. They decided to stick to their man, and turned to his spoor.
'Here's his road,' said Dick, pointing along a grassy glade. 'He's gone on, and he must have gone this way. It's all bramble and gorse everywhere else, and a man isn't going through that in his stockings.'
Chippy nodded in agreement, and the two scouts ran at full apeed along the narrow ribbon of grass between the prickly, spiny bushes.
'He'll soon put his boots on again,' said Dick,' and then we'll get this line a lot easier.'
But the fugitive had not stayed to do so for a long way, as was plain from the flat, smooth marks which the boys found twice in soft places. Then the trail went again, and they pulled up and began to beat round in search of it. It was Dick this time who uttered the cry of the peewit, and Chippy ran up to find his brother scout holding a fragment of something in his fingers.
'Picked it up just here,' said Dick. 'What do you reckon it is. Chippy?'
'Bit of an old cork sock,' replied the Raven.
'Just so,' said Dick, 'and it's quite dry, so it was dropped here since the rain.'
'One to you,' said Chippy; 'that come out of 'is boot—jerked out as 'e was runnin'. We're on the line.'
He made a few steps forward, then gave a low cry. 'Here's the place where he put 'is boots on,' called Chippy eagerly. 'Here's all sorts o' marks.' And then Chippy gave another low cry, this time full of such astonishment and wonder that Dick looked at him quickly.
To Dick's surprise, Chippy seemed fixed to the spot, his finger pointing, his eyes staring, his mouth gaping open, as if he could not believe what he saw. 'I know the tracks,' gasped Chippy. 'I know 'im! I can tell yer who it is!'
'You know who it is?' cried Dick. 'Well, who?'
'It's Albert,' said Chippy. 'It ain't no convict at all. It's Albert.'
'Who's Albert?' asked Dick.
Chippy told the story of his grandmother's lodger, and pointed to the heel-mark before them. It was the first time since they hit the trail that the heel-mark had been clearly shown. 'Screws in the heel-tip,' said Chippy. 'That settles it. It's Albert.'
'But wait a bit, Chippy, wait a bit,' said Dick. 'You're making jolly sure all at once over this one point. Fifty fellows might have screws in their heels.'
'Not they,' returned Chippy. 'I know more about them sorts o' boots than wot you do. It's a scout's job to twig everythin', an' I twigged the screws in his boots. I knowed they worn't common, an' a day or two arter I asked a snob' (a local term for a cobbler) 'about it. I done one or two odd jobs for 'im to get 'im to talk, and then I sez to 'im, "D'yer ever screw tips on heels?" "No," he sez, "never. We screw tips on the toes sometimes, for there ain't much depth o' leather theer. But on heels there's plenty of leather to drive nails into, an' that's a lot quicker."'
'By Jingo, Chippy!' murmured Dick; 'we shall have to get you the Wolf badge.'
'Not me,' grunted Chippy; 'yer must do a lot more than that to get the "Wolf" name, I should fancy. But wot about this work? Wot about Albert?'
He turned to business again, knitting his brows and staring hard at the track their man had left.
'The thing gets queerer still, if it is the man Albert,' said Dick. 'Why should he be here, all this distance from Locking?'
'Six mile good,' put in the Raven.
'Yes,' went on Dick, 'full six miles, and then taking off his boots and stealing about like a thief or an escaped convict, as we thought.'
'Foller 'im up,' said Chippy shortly.
'Right,' said Dick, 'we'll see this out;' and the scouts began once more to work along the trail.
For more than half a mile they followed quite easily. There were many bare patches among the grass, and the heavy shower which had fallen at midday proved a good friend to them, the damp soil giving many excellent impressions of the heavy steps of the man whom they pursued.
The boys had now gained a very lonely part of the heath, for the fugitive appeared to be making for the most secluded corner of the vast expanse. They had been steadily working away from the part where the patrols had been searching, and the distance between them and the rendezvous at the railway-station increased with every stride.
Chippy was leading, and Dick was guarding the rear. The former looked out the track, the latter watched before and behind and on either side: by sharing the duties thus they covered the whole field of a scout's work—the finding of the trail and the guarding against surprise.
Looking out in this fashion, Dick saw a crow come sailing on outspread wings, down, down from a great height. The crow was skimming straight towards a small solitary pine sixty or seventy yards before them, as if aiming to settle among the topmost branches; but just as it was about to alight, it gave a startled, gobbling quaw-quaw-quaw, flapped its wings swiftly, and shot away at a sharp angle, and continued its flight across the heath.
Dick reached out his patrol flag and touched Chippy. The latter paused, and the two scouts put their heads together while Dick whispered what he had seen. 'There's someone about,' concluded Dick. 'The bird was going to settle, but it was scared and flew away.'
'S'pose I 'ave a look?' suggested Chippy.
'All right,' said Dick. 'I'll stay here. One can work more quietly than two.'
Chippy went, and within ten minutes was back, his face shining with excitement and triumph.
'Albert,' he whispered—'it's Albert aw' right. Come on!' He crept away on hands and knees, and Dick followed. Piloted by Chippy, the latter crawled along until he found himself behind a small bank about a yard high.
'Yer can see 'im over this bank,' breathed Chippy into his ear.
Laying his hat aside, Dick raised his head inch by inch until his eyes were above the bank. Now he could see between stems of dried fern without being seen himself. He was looking into a deep green hollow, bounded upon one side by an almost perpendicular wall of earth—a place from which most likely sand had been dug a long time ago. At the foot of the steep wall sat a man—the man whom they had been following. He had a pencil in his hand, and a pocket-book on his knee, and he was busily writing on a sheet of the pocket-book.
All this seemed innocent enough, but at the next moment the boys looking on were filled with wonder. Albert suddenly laid down pencil and pocket-book, bent forward, unlaced his left boot, and took it off. Then he drew something from his pocket, and went to work on the heel of his boot. The boys were not near enough to see what tool he was using, but his movements were those of one who draws out screws, and they clearly saw the heel of the boot come loose and fall into his hand.
Chippy gave his companion a nudge, and they looked at each other in astonishment. Then they watched Albert closely, and saw him fold into small compass the piece of paper upon which he had been writing, place it inside the heel, and screw the latter up again.
An idea shot into Dick's mind. If he had never been a boy scout, that idea would not have occurred to him; but in his enthusiasm he had bought Baden-Powell's 'Aids to Scouting,' and read it over and over again. One chapter in that little book now sprang to his memory, and he touched Chippy, and beckoned to the latter to draw back completely out of sight.
They slipped eight or ten yards away, and put their heads close together and held a whispered conversation.
Dick's eyes shone brightly, and he took Chippy by the arm. 'Chippy,' he said, 'I believe that's a spy!'
Chippy's sharp face wore a puzzled look. 'A spy!' he repeated. 'Wot's he a-spyin' on in the he'th?'
'The fort, Chippy—the fort!' breathed Dick eagerly—'the Horseshoe, the new fort!'
'Ah!' said the Raven, and began to see what his companion meant.
'I've read all about it in a book of B.-P.'s,' went on Dick. 'Foreigners will do anything to learn about a new fort. They send spies to find out all they can. He's taking notes of all he discovers, and hiding the papers in the heel of his boot.'
Chippy gave an eager nod. His keen face lighted up at this new and wonderful turn of events. A spy! a foreign spy! He felt at once that here was greater game than any escaped convict.
'That's why he dodged the sergeant,' breathed Chippy.
'Yes; it's plainer and plainer every instant,' said Dick.
Chippy nodded. 'Wot do we do?' he asked.
'We must stop him, somehow,' replied Dick. 'He might do the greatest harm to our country. It's a scout's work to collar such people. B.-P. himself has caught four foreign spies at different times in England.'
Chippy jerked his head towards the bank, and began to crawl back. Dick understood that he was going to see what the man was at now, and followed.
Albert still sat under the steep bank, pencil in hand, and a fresh sheet of paper on his knee. Chippy nudged Dick, and made signs to him to duck down, as Bardon boys say.
'I'm off to get a bit closer and see wot he's a-doin',' breathed Chippy. 'Stop 'ere an' "pewey" if he shifts.'
Dick nodded, and Chippy slid away as quietly as a snake.
Six or seven minutes passed before Dick saw his companion again. Then he caught sight of the Raven's head as Chippy appeared round the trunk of the pine which grew on the steep bank of the pit.
Little by little Chippy crept on, until his head was thrust over the brink, and he was looking straight down on the concealed man, the latter now drawing lines on his sheet of paper. His head was bent low over his work, and Chippy craned out farther and farther to glance over his shoulder. The man sat up and began to fold this paper as before, then reached out his hand for the boot which lay beside him, and deftly unscrewed the heel once more. As soon as the paper was stowed away and the heel refastened, he took the boot in hand to put it on his foot.
Suddenly he looked up. Either he had caught Chippy's shadow, or he had felt that he was watched. He looked up, and saw the boy hanging over the brink.
Chippy's main purchase was on a root of gorse which cropped up at the edge of the pit. He aimed to swing himself back with all his might, depending on his grasp of the root. The root snapped short off close to the ground, and Chippy went tumbling and sprawling head-long into the pit, landing at the man's feet.
The latter sprang up with a savage cry that was not English. 'Ach Himmel!' cried he, and again, 'Ach Himmel!'
At that moment of immense surprise, his native tongue sprang to his lips before any other, and he leapt upon Chippy, and seized him with hands that trembled.
The leader of the Ravens was not hurt, and his coolness was splendid.
'Hello, Albert!' he said; 'it's all right. There's no need to 'elp me up.'
'Help you up!' hissed the stranger. 'What are you doing here? What do you mean by watching me?'
His Cockney accent, too, was wiped out as if by magic. Probably he had forgotten for the instant that he had used it in Locking. At any rate, he did not use it now. But his English was perfect, in word and tone—the English of a well-educated man.
'Why,' said Chippy calmly, as if to tumble on a man's head was the most natural thing in the world, 'me an' a lot more are out to-day for a run over the he'th. One cuts ahead, an' the rest of us foller 'im. We've lost the one we foller, an' he's got to be found, so I'm looking everywheer. Wot made yer pull yer boot off? Got a stone in it?'
Chippy did this superbly. He boldly mentioned the fact that the boot was off, and he suggested a probable explanation, and he did it all with just the right amount of careless curiosity. But he was dealing with no common man. The tall, powerful foreigner was still holding him by one hand with a grip of steel, and the fierce blue eyes blazed again with suspicion and distrust. The man spoke, and his tone was low and cool, for he had mastered himself, but there was a hard note in it.
'How long had you been there?' he asked quietly.
'Just seein' who it was, then tumbled,' said Chippy.
The Raven knew—how he could not say—but he knew that he was in great danger. There was a dreadful change in this man. The chattering Cockney who had called himself Albert had gone, and a grim, stern, savage man stood in his place, a man whose fierce glittering eyes seemed to be striving to pierce Chippy's very soul and read his thoughts.
Chippy was indeed in danger. For Dick was right: this man was a spy sent by his Government to gather for them all particulars of the new fort which was being built at the mouth of the river. So far the spy had been very successful, and to carry off his notes and to secure his own safety he was quite ready to kill this boy if need should arise, and hide his body in this solitary place.
Consider for a moment the position in which the spy stood. What is the punishment threatened to the spy who is caught at such a task? Death! What will the Government he serves do to help him? Nothing at all, nothing. It may be a Government quite friendly to the land where the spy is seized. It will disavow him, and leave him to his fate. Yet that Government was quite willing to profit by his labours; nay, sent him there to gain that information. Yes, because Governments act upon the idea that the friend of to-day may be the foe of to-morrow, so they use such instruments freely. But if an instrument should break in the hand, it is cast aside, and not a second thought is given to it.
The spy knew all this; he was no raw hand in this dangerous profession, and he was now weighing in his mind whether it would be safe to let this boy go. Had he seen too much? He tried to find out how much Chippy had seen.
'What was I doing when you saw me first?' he asked lightly, and smiled. But the smile was of the lips only, a mere mockery of a smile. The eyes, the very heart of a smile, remained fiercely bright, and cold, and questioning.
'Fiddlin' wi' yer boot,' said Chippy calmly; 'gettin' the stone out, I s'pose.'
'Look here,' said the spy in quiet tones, 'have you seen me for the last five minutes? Yes or no.'
He paused for a reply, but none came. Chippy was shaken. Yes or no. That position admitted of no manoeuvring.
'What's this?' said the spy softly, and fingered with his left hand Chippy's badge; his right hand was clutched with a grip of iron on Chippy's shoulder.
'Scout's badge,' muttered Chippy.
'Ah, is it really?' murmured the spy. 'Yes, I've looked into that movement. Well, on your word as a scout, yes or no.'
Chippy looked up. He forced a laugh.
'Why—look 'ere, Albert,' he began, and then twisted like an eel, and tried to dive under the spy's arm. He had smiled and spoken, hoping to throw the man off his guard, but this man was not easily deceived, and his grip remained unshaken.
He gave a low, savage laugh. 'Thank you; that is all the answer I want,' he said, and slipped his left hand into a hidden pocket under his coat.
There is an instinct which teaches every living creature that the moment has come when it must fight for its life. Chippy felt it strongly, and he hurled himself upon the spy, kicking, biting, tearing at him like a little tiger, but all in vain; in that powerful grip he was utterly helpless. Yet no, that gallant struggle was not all in vain, for it held the spy's whole attention as he mastered his victim, and it prevented him from seeing a second boyish figure racing into the hollow down the slope by which the spy had entered.
Chippy, clever Chippy, saw his staunch brother scout dashing into the combat, and began to yell at the highest pitch of his voice, not calling to Dick, but just making a noise, any noise, to cover the sound of those swift feet, and give Dick the advantage of a surprise as he darted up behind the spy.
Dick made full use of the opportunity. He had watched every movement of the two in the hollow, and had leapt from his cover as soon as he saw Chippy begin to struggle. His patrol flag was fastened on a stout ashen staff, hard as iron, an old alpenstock cut down. He swung it up as he ran, and he was within a yard of striking distance, when he saw the spy's hand reappear with something in it glittering like the blade of a dagger.
With a last bound Dick was within reach, and he brought the heavy staff down with all his strength, fetching the spy a ringing crack on the head. Half-stunned, the man staggered round to face the new assailant, and Chippy saw his chance. He tore himself free, made a swift dive to the ground, and was off. Dick joined him, and the two boys scoured away at full speed, leaving the spy all abroad for the moment from the effects of that shrewd stroke.
The scouts made straight for the bank over which they had been peeping, leapt it, and dashed on, Chippy picking up his patrol flag as he ran. He had left it with Dick to have his hands free. Dick was last over the bank, and he glanced back as he cleared it. 'Run, Chippy, run,' he called. 'He's coming! He's coming!'
The spy had pulled himself together, and was in hot pursuit. He was bounding up the slope, and Dick saw that he came terribly fast. 'He's a confounded long-legged beggar,' thought Dick. 'We shall have to fight for it yet. It's lucky we've got a good stick apiece.'
Beyond the bank was a long grassy ride sloping easily downwards, and here the boys ran their fastest, and behind them the spy raced at great speed, gaining, gaining steadily. They went half a mile, and then Dick gasped: 'He's close on us, Chippy. Let's turn on him!'
'Not a bit of it,' grunted Chippy. 'Peg it! peg it! See wot's in front?'
'Only some burnt furze,' said Dick.
'Only!' snorted Chippy. 'See wot's under my arm?'
Dick looked, and, precious as wind was, he let out a yell of delight. In the excitement of the flight he had not observed it; tucked under Chippy's arm was the spy's boot. The Raven had whipped it up, and carried it on at the moment of escape.
Dick at once saw what Chippy meant. Hitherto they had been running over clear open grass, and the spy, even with one boot off and one boot on, had made tremendous headway, but the burnt furze was close at hand, and here they would show him another dance altogether.
They were approaching a broad belt of land which had been swept by a heath-fire. The furze-bushes had been very thick on the ground, and had been burned away to the very foot of the stems. Now those close-standing stems pushed short spikes above the soil like the teeth of a huge harrow pointing upwards, each tooth blackened, hardened, and pointed by fire.
The spy was not ten yards behind the boys when the latter burst into the flame-swept belt of heath. Their boots kicked up clouds of black ashes as they bounded forward, and their pursuer followed at once. Twice he put his unprotected foot down in safety, missing by sheer luck the thickly planted spikes, but the third time he set the very middle of his sole on a short stout fang standing bolt upright, and pointed by fire as if with a knife.
He let out a yell of agony as the spike, by the force of his weight and speed, was driven home into his foot.
'Got 'im,' said Chippy, and the two scouts turned to see their enemy, doubled up on the ground, utterly crippled for the time by that shrewd thrust from below.
'I knowed that 'ud settle 'im, if we could on'y get on to it,' chuckled Chippy, while the boys eased their speed, but still ran steadily on. 'I've 'ad my foot cut on a burnt root afore now.'
'Oh, Chippy,' said Dick, 'what a touch to bring his boot! That was splendid.'
''Tworn't a bad notion,' agreed Chippy. 'We'll leg it a bit again, an' then 'ave a look at it.'
The boys ran for a mile or more, and then fell into a walk. The blackened strip of country was now out of sight, and they looked round for a place to halt for a few minutes to get their breath and examine the boot.
'We want a place,' said Dick, 'where there's good cover for ourselves, and a clear space all round so that no one can surprise us. I learned that from "Aids to Scouting."'
'I see,' said Chippy. 'Wot about that patch o' thick stuff right ahead?'
'That'll do,' said Dick; 'there's plenty of room all round it;' and the boys ran to the covert and crept into it.
'Now for the boot,' murmured Dick eagerly, as Chippy laid it down between them. 'Here you are, Chippy. Here's my pocket-knife, and there's a screw-driver in it.'
'Righto,' said the Raven. 'I was just a-thinkin' 'ow to open it.'
Chippy went to work with the screw-driver in Dick's knife, and in two minutes the heel-plate was off. The screws held the iron tip and a single thickness of leather in place as a cover on the rest of the heel. In the thickness of the heel was a small cavity out of which fell three closely folded scraps of paper. The boys opened the papers and looked at them. They could make nothing of the marks and signs with which the tiny sheets were covered.
'There don't seem no sense at all here,' remarked Chippy.
'Those are secret signs,' replied Dick, 'so that no one can understand the information except the people for whom it is meant. I expect they'd know fast enough, if once they got hold of it.'
'Well, they won't 'ave it this time,' said Chippy. 'Wot are we goin' to do wi' this?'
'I wonder where that sergeant is,' said Dick. 'I'll be bound that was his business on the heath, Chippy—not trying to keep convicts in, but trying to keep spies out.'
'I never took it in when he was tellin' us to tek' care o' the convic's,' said Chippy. 'Not but wot I thought at fust as one of 'em had got away.'
'So did I,' agreed Dick. 'I felt certain it was an escaped convict.'
'An' it wor' Albert,' murmured Chippy in wonder. 'Albert, wot 'ad been bad, an' come down from Lunnon for his health,' and Chippy chuckled dryly.
Before the papers were restored and the heel fastened up, Dick measured the hidden cavity with his thumb-nail. It was one inch and a quarter in length, one inch in breadth, and half an inch deep. 'Plenty of room for a lot of dangerous information there,' remarked Dick.
'What makes 'em so sharp on this game?' asked Chippy.
'Oh,' cried Dick, 'I've heard about that. A spy gets a great sum of money if he can carry back full information about the forts and soldiers of another country. You see, it is a great help if you are going to war with that country. You know just what you've got to meet, and you can be ready to meet it.'
'I see,' said Chippy. 'Well, I've done the boot up again. Now we'll have a look round for that sergeant. We've come straight back to the part where we seed 'im afore.'
'So we have,' said Dick; 'there's Woody Knap right in front of us again.'
'Hello! wot's that?' cried Chippy, whose eyes were always on the move. He was pointing through the covert towards the direction from which they had come. Something was moving in the distant gorse, and then they saw the spy. He was hobbling along at a good speed, his eyes bent on the ground.
'Here he comes again!' cried Dick, 'and, by Jingo, he's following our trail. I say, Chippy, he can do a bit of scouting, too.'
'That's a fact,' said Chippy, and began to steal out of the covert on the farther side. Before leaving it the two boys paused for a last look at the spy. His wounded foot was bound up in his cap with a handkerchief round it, and he was covering the ground at considerable speed. He was a first-rate tracker, and he was coming along their trail as easily as if he had been trotting on a plain road. For a few seconds the boys were held fascinated by the sight of this savage sleuth-hound at their heels. They were held as the rabbit is held, when he pauses in his flight, yet knows that all the time the weasel is following swiftly in quest of his life.
Suddenly the boys started, looked at each other, threw off the feeling, and ran away at their best speed, for the halt had given them their wind again.
'Good job we 'ad a place where we could see 'im a-comin',' remarked Chippy. 'I ain't a-goin' to forget that tip.'
'He sees us now,' cried Dick. 'He's coming faster.'
The boys were no longer hidden by the covert in which they had halted. They had come into the spy's field of view, and now he pursued by sight, and leapt out at the best speed he could make.
Chippy looked round. 'Droppin' 'is foot down a bit tender,' commented the Raven; 'we can choke 'im off any time we want on a rough patch.'
Dick now pulled out his patrol whistle, and began to blow it.
'I'll join yer,' said Chippy, and pulled out his. The two whistles sent their shrill blasts far over the heath, as the boys ran on and on, and the spy still pursued. The latter had faltered for a moment when the whistles rang out but he had recovered his speed and hastened forward. He thought that it was a trick, that the boys wished him to fear that they had support near at hand. If only he could seize the boy who carried his boot! That was his great hope.
It was a happy thought of Dick to use his patrol whistle upon reaching the strip of country where they had seen the sergeant. The latter heard the very first shrill note. He was haunting that stretch of the heath for a purpose, eyes and ears wide open. He ran towards the sound, and came plump on the boys as they raced round a bend in the way, for the two scouts were now following the heath-track where they had last seen the prints of the soldier's ammunition boots.
'Hooray!' yelled Chippy, who was a little in front. ''Ere he is. Hooray!' and Dick joined in the cheer.
'You two again!' cried the astonished sergeant. 'What on earth are you nippers up to?'
'We've discovered a spy, sergeant,' panted Dick. 'He's running after us. He'll be up in a minute.'
At the word 'spy' the sergeant's face underwent an extraordinary change. It filled with wonder, and then a grim alertness sprang to life all over him. He dropped his hand to his holster, and whipped out a big regulation 455 revolver, blue and sombre. The boys formed behind as under cover of a tower of strength, and the spy dashed round the bend.
'Hands up!' bellowed the sergeant, and the spy knew better than to disobey with that grim dark muzzle laid full on his body.
'Heavenly powers!' murmured the sergeant, 'I was right. As sure as my name's John Lake I was right. Didn't I see you on the heath just about here last Thursday?' he demanded of the spy. The latter made no reply. He stood, drawn up to his full height, his hands above his head, and in one of them was a long-bladed hunting-knife of the sort which folds into small compass. Now it was fully opened, and looked a very dreadful weapon. The man was white as death, and gasping fiercely from his run and this frightful surprise.
'Drop that knife,' commanded the sergeant, 'or I'll put a bullet through your wrist.'
The spy's wild eyes were fixed on the English soldier's grim face. He knew when a man meant what he said, and he dropped the knife.
'Step two yards back,' went on the sergeant. The spy did so.
'One o' you boys pick up that knife,' murmured the sergeant; and Dick ran and fetched it.
'Now, I'm in the dark yet,' went on the sergeant quietly; 'all this looks very suspicious, but how do you boys come to reckon you've nabbed a spy?'
Dick began with the boot and the papers hidden in it.
'That's enough, my lad,' said the sergeant. 'We'll lose no time. There's plenty o' reason, I can see, to take him in on suspicion, and after hearing that I'd shoot him at once if he tried to escape. Now you,' he went on to the spy, 'turn right round and march ahead as I tell you. And remember I'm a yard behind you with a cocked revolver. March!'
The spy turned, and went as he was bidden.
'Come on, boys; you must come with me,' said the sergeant and the little party went across the heath, the prisoner turning as the sergeant bade him, and taking as direct a line as possible to the Horseshoe Fort.
An hour later Dick and Chippy found themselves in the presence of the officer in charge of the works at the fort. The prisoner had been handed over into safe keeping, and the sergeant and the two boys had been ordered to report to the colonel himself.
They were shown into a large bare room where a tall man was seated at a great table covered with papers. He stood up, as they went in and saluted, and posted himself in front of the fire.
'Well, Sergeant Lake,' he said. 'What's all this about?'
'I believe, sir, I've got a spy; at least, these boys had him. I only helped to bring him in.' So spoke the modest sergeant.
'Ah, yes, a spy;' and the colonel nodded, as if he had been expecting a spy for weeks, and perhaps he had. 'But this is rather an odd thing to get hold of a spy in this fashion. Let me hear all about it.'
'I can tell you little or nothing, sir,' replied Sergeant Lake. 'I didn't wait to hear all their story. The boys told me enough, though, for me to bring him in.'
'Well,' said the colonel, 'suppose I have the story from one of you boys?'
Dick and Chippy looked at each other, and the latter mumbled: 'You tell 'em. Yer can manage it a lot better 'n me. I shan't, anyhow. Goo on.'
Thus adjured by his brother scout, Dick told the whole story from the moment he saw the startled rabbit until they had run upon the sergeant in their headlong flight. Then Chippy handed over the boot, which underwent the most careful examination at the hands of the colonel. The latter spread out on the table the tiny sheets of paper from the cavity, and studied them long and earnestly. To his trained eyes those marks meant things which the boys had, as was only natural, failed to grasp. He had sat down at the table to examine the papers, and Dick, Chippy, and the sergeant were standing on the opposite side.
At last the colonel leaned back in his chair, and looked at the boys and tapped the papers with his forefinger.
'Oh yes,' he said, 'you've nabbed a spy, and no mistake about it, my brave lads. I feel, personally, that you've done me an immense service, for I should have been simply wild to think that my plans were as good as pigeon-holed in some foreign intelligence office. But, after all, that's only my personal feeling. You've done your country an immense service, and that's a much bigger thing still. Unfortunately, it can never be publicly recognised: this affair must remain a profound secret; and men, you know, have received medals and open honour for smaller things than you have done to-day.'
'We don't trouble at all about that, sir,' said Dick quietly. 'We're not out for what we can get for ourselves: we're boy scouts.'
'I beg your pardon,' said the colonel. 'I beg your pardon. Of course, you're boy scouts, and that puts you on a different footing at once. You look at the thing from a real soldier's point of view—all for his side, and nothing for himself. That's it, isn't it?'
'Theer's Scout Law 2,' growled Chippy; 'it's all theer.'
Ah! Law 2,' said the colonel, who was not, like Chippy, a walking encyclopaedia on 'Scouting for Boys.' 'I should like very much to hear how that law runs.'
Chippy recited it, and the colonel listened attentively as the scout said, 'A Scout is loyal to the King, and to his officers, and to his country, and to his employers. He must stick to them through thick and thin against anyone who is their enemy, or who even talks badly of them.'
'A splendid law,' he said, 'and you boys have obeyed it nobly to-day. And now I'm going to ask you to be very quiet about the seizure of this man. You may, if you wish, tell your parents, but bind them over to strict secrecy. You see, this man belongs to a nation with whom at the moment our own is on the most friendly terms, and it will never do for his capture to get abroad. Now, how are you going to get back to Bardon?'
Dick mentioned the station at which they were all to meet. The colonel looked at his watch, and shook his head. 'You can't do that now,' he said; 'but we'll manage it all right. My chauffeur shall run you over to Bardon direct, and drop you at the station. There you'll meet your friends when they arrive. My Napier will do that comfortably. But we must find you something to eat first. Come with me to my quarters.'
Half an hour later the colonel put the two scouts in his big splendid six-cylinder Napier, and the great car was ready to start. As he shook hands with them at parting, he wished to tip them a sovereign apiece, but the boys would not hear of it. Chippy, to whom the money was a little fortune, was most emphatic.
'Not a bit of it, sir,' he growled—'not a bit of it. If we tek' money for the job, 'ow 'ave we 'elped our country?'
'I quite understand,' said the colonel, smiling, 'quite. You're a pair of trumps, and I honour the feeling. If B.-P.'s movement turns out many more like you it will prove the finest thing we've had in the country for many a day.'
He gave his man a nod, and away shot the huge powerful car along the road which led to Bardon.
True to the colonel's promise, the car drew up outside Bardon Station a few minutes before the train which would bring their friends was due. Dick and Chippy sprang from the tonneau, where they had ridden in immense comfort, thanked the chauffeur, bade him good-night, and sought the arrival platform.
''Ow about Mr. Elliott?' said Chippy; 'we ought to tell 'im.'
'Ah, of course!' said Dick. 'He's our instructor, and the colonel said we might tell our parents. At that rate we might tell Uncle Jim.'
'I shan't tell my folks,' said Chippy; 'they wouldn't bother about knowin'. I'll tell Mr. Elliott instead.'
'All right, Chippy,' said Dick. 'Hullo, here's the train!'
Mr. Elliott was very much relieved when the first faces he saw on the platform were those of the missing patrol-leaders. Wolves and Ravens, too, swarmed out and sprang on their lost comrades, and plied them with eager questions. But to each inquirer Dick and Chippy merely said they had been on duty, and come home another way, and the patrols were left mystified and wondering.
'I've got to report to yer, Mr. Elliott,' said Chippy, and took him aside. Now, the patrols thought that this disappearance and reappearance of the leaders was something in connection with the day's movements, and their questions were checked, for discipline forbids prying into the arrangements made by officers.
The instructor was full of delight when he heard how the missing leaders had spent their time. He congratulated both warmly, and said: 'One to the Boys' Scout movement this time. If you hadn't been out on that scouting-run, the plans of the new Horseshoe Fort would have gone abroad as easily as possible. That's playing the game as it ought to be played.'
When Chippy left the station and gained Skinner's Hole, he put away his patrol flag carefully behind the tall clock, which was the only ornament of the poor squalid place he called home, and then turned to and helped his mother with a number of odd jobs.
'There ain't much supper for yer,' she said—'on'y some bread an' a heel o' cheese.'
'That's aw' right,' said Chippy. 'Gie it to the little uns. I don't want none.'
He left the house and strolled towards a corner of Quay Flat, where on Saturday nights and holidays a sort of small fair was always held. One or two shooting-galleries, a cocoa-nut 'shy,' and a score or more of stalls laden with fruit, sweetmeats, and the like, were brilliantly lighted up by naphtha flares. Towards this patch of brightness all loungers and idlers were drawn like moths to a candle, and Chippy, too, moved that way. It was now about half-past nine, and the little fair was at its busiest.
As he went he was joined by an acquaintance, who held out a penny packet of cigarettes.
'Have a fag, Chippy?' he said.
'Not me, thenks,' replied Chippy. 'I've chucked 'em.'
'Chucked 'em!' replied his friend in amazement. 'What for?'
'They ain't no good,' said Chippy. 'There ain't one in our patrol as touches a fag now. If he did, I'd soon boot 'im. 'Ow are yer goin' to smell an enemy or a fire or sommat like that half a mile off if yer spoil yer smell wi' smokin'?'
'I dunno,' replied the other. 'Who wants to smell things all that way? Why don't yer go and look?'
'Yer can't always,' returned Chippy, 'and when you dussn't go close, it comes in jolly handy to be able to smell 'em, and them wot smoke can't do it. So there ain't no fags for boy scouts!'
'I like a cig now and then,' said the other boy.
'Who's stoppin' yer?' asked Chippy loftily. 'You ain't a boy scout: you don't count.'
This view of the case rather nettled Chippy's acquaintance, and he began to argue the matter. But he was no match for Chippy there. Away went the latter in full burst upon his beloved topic, and the other heard of such pleasures and such fascinating sport that his cigarette went out, and was finally tossed aside, as he listened.
'Yer don't want another in the Ravens, do yer, Chippy?' he asked eagerly.
'Not now,' returned Chippy, 'but we could mek' another patrol, I dessay. I'll talk to Mr. Elliott about it.'
'Righto, Chippy,' returned the other. 'I know plenty as 'ud like to join. I've heard 'em talkin' about it, but I hadn't got 'old of it as you've been givin' it me. Hello, wot's up here? Here's a lark—they're havin' a game wi' old Hoppity Jack, and there's ne'er a copper about.'
While talking, the boys had drawn near the noisy crowd of Skinner's Hole residents gathered around the stalls and shooting-galleries. One of the stalls stood a little away from the rest, and instead of a huge naphtha flare, was only lighted by a couple of candles set in battered old stable-lanterns. The owner of the stall was a queer little bent old man wearing an immensely tall top-hat and a very threadbare suit of black. The collar of his coat was turned up and tied round his neck with a red handkerchief, and the ends of the handkerchief mingled with a flowing grey beard. He was a well-known character of Skinner's Hole, and the boys called him Hoppity Jack, because one of his legs was shorter than the other, so that his head bobbed up and down as he walked.
He kept a small herbalist's shop, and stored it with simples which he rambled far and wide over heath and upland to gather, and dry, and tie up in bunches. On Sundays he betook himself to the public park of Bardon, carrying a small stand. From this stand he delivered long lectures, whenever he could gather an audience, on the subject of the ten lost tribes of Israel. Altogether, he was one of those curious characters whom one finds at times in the byways of life. His many oddities marked him out very distinctly from other people, and often made him a butt for the rude jokes and horseplay of idle loungers on Quay Flat.
His stall was always to be found near the rest, and it was never stocked but with one thing—a kind of toffee with horehound in it. He made it himself, and vended it as a certain cure for coughs and colds.
As Chippy and his companion came up, Hoppity Jack was screaming with rage, and the crowd of idle boys tormenting him was convulsed with laughter. A long-armed wharf-rat had flung a piece of dried mud and sent the old man's queer tall hat spinning from his head.
The thrower was laughing loudly with the rest, when a sound fell on his ear. 'Kar-kaw! Kar-kaw!' He whipped round, for he was a member of the Raven Patrol, and saw his leader a dozen yards away, and ran up at once.
'Wot d'yer want, Chippy?' he cried.
'Come out o' that,' commanded Chippy—'come out an' stop out. Wot sort o' game is that un for a scout?'
'On'y a bit of a lark wi' old Hoppity Jack,' said the surprised Raven. 'Why, yer've bin in it yerself many a time, Chippy.'
The patrol-leader went rather red. No one likes to be reminded of the days when he was unregenerate. But he spoke firmly.
'We got to chuck them games now, Ted. Theer's Law 5, yer know. He's old, an' more 'n a bit of a cripple.'
'Well, I'm blest!' murmured the astonished Ted. 'I never thought o' the scoutin' comin' into this.'
'It does, though,' replied Chippy, 'an' we got to stand by an' lend 'im a hand, as far as I can mek' it out.'
'He'll want a hand, too,' said Chippy's acquaintance. 'They're goin' to upset the stall an' collar the toffee.'
It was true; a number of boys were gathering for a rush, while Hoppity Jack danced in frenzy up and down in front of his stall and shouted for the police. But though no police were near, a staunch band of helpers sprang up as if by magic to aid the poor badgered old fellow beset by enemies.
The Raven patrol call rang out, and was answered swiftly. Most of the Ravens had come out on to Quay Flat after their return home, and in a trice Chippy was at the head of six of his scouts. His orders were brief.
'We got to stand that lot off old Hoppity,' he said, and every Raven wondered, but obeyed, for they adored their clever leader, and were held in strict discipline.
At that moment the marauders made their rush, but, to their great surprise, they were taken in flank by a charge which hurled them into utter confusion, and sent them rolling to the ground, one on the other. The seven scouts had timed their assault to the moment, and sent their opponents over like ninepins. There was a sharp, short scuffle when the assailants got to their feet, but it soon ended in favour of the patrol. Chippy had known what he was about when he enrolled his men, and the pick of Skinner's Hole now fought under his command.
'No punchin',' roared Chippy. 'Just start 'em. Like this! ' He bounded up to the leader of the rush on the stall—a youth a good head taller than himself—and gave him an open-handed slap on the jaw, which rang like a pistol-shot. The Ravens leapt to support him, and the marauders were driven off in short order, the Raven who had knocked the old man's hat off now exerting himself with tremendous zeal to show the sincerity of his repentance.
'That's aw' right,' said Chippy to his followers when the enemy were in full flight; 'yer off duty now.'
'But look 'ere, Chippy,' said the corporal, Sam Fitt by name, 'have we got to be ready any time to stand up for Hoppity Jack sort o' people? O' course, now we had orders from you, an' that's plain enough. But is it a reg'lar game?'
'Of course it is, Sam,' said Chippy; 'you can't be a scout when yer like an' then drop it for a lark. Yer must play the game all the time.'
Thus did Chippy turn from serving his country to saving Hoppity Jack's stall, and it was all in the day's work.
When Chippy told his followers that they must play the game all the time, he meant every word that he said. He had devoted himself heart and soul to becoming a true scout, who is also a true gentleman, and he not only could reel off the laws by heart, but, as we have seen, he honestly strove to put them into practice at every moment. But now and again he ran up against a hard streak of weather in doing this, and he hit an uncommonly hard streak the very next morning.
At seven o'clock he turned up bright and early at the fishmonger's shop where he was employed. His employer, Mr. Blades, was in a fairly prosperous way of business in one of the secondary streets of the town. Mr. Blades looked after the shop; his son, a young man of twenty-three, drove a trap round with the customers' orders; and two boys, of whom Chippy was one, cleaned up, fetched and carried, ran short distances with pressing orders, and made themselves generally useful.
All went as usual until about eleven o'clock in the morning, when Chippy was despatched to deliver four or five small bags of fish at the houses of customers who lived within easy reach. He handed in the last bag of fish at the kitchen door of a semi-detached house, and the mistress took it in herself. Chippy was going out at the gate, when he heard himself called back. He returned to the door. The customer had already opened the bag, and was surveying critically the salmon cutlets inside.
'I don't think these look quite fresh,' she said. 'Has Mr. Blades had salmon in fresh this morning?'
'Yus, mum,' answered Chippy.
'Were these cutlets taken from the fresh salmon?'
They were not, and Chippy knew it, and was silent for a moment. She looked at him keenly, but smiling at the same time—a pleasant-faced, shrewd-eyed woman.
'Look here, my boy,' she said, 'these cutlets are for my daughter, who is only just recovering from a long illness, and I want her to have the best. You've got an honest sort of face, and I'll take your word. Were they cut from the fresh salmon?'
'No, mum,' mumbled Chippy.
'I felt certain of it,' she said. 'Now you ask Mr. Blades to send up fresh cutlets or none at all.'
Chippy went back with a sinking heart: he knew Mr. Blades. There was ample reason for his foreboding when he reported that the customer wanted cutlets from the fresh salmon.
'Fresh salmon!' roared Mr. Blades, a red-haired, choleric man. 'How under the sun did she find out these were not fresh? They look all right, and they smell all right.'
Chippy said nothing. Suddenly the fishmonger turned on him. 'Tell me just what she said!' he bellowed. 'You've been at some fool's trick or other, I know. You boys are enough to drive a man mad. Did she ask you anything?'
'Yus,' grunted Chippy, who now saw breakers ahead.
'Well, what did she ask you?'
'Wanted to know if they wor' off o' the salmon as come in this mornin'.'
'And what did you tell her?'
'Told 'er no,' mumbled Chippy.
The fishmonger jumped from the ground in his rage. 'There!' he cried, and smote the counter in his anger. 'What did I say? These boys are enough to ruin anybody! "Told her no! Told her no!"' He paused, speechless, and glared at Chippy.
At this moment a trap drove up to the kerb and stopped. Young Blades jumped out and came into the shop.
'Hallo!' he said cheerfully. 'Giving him a wiggin', guv'nor? That's rum. Slynn's a good little man, as a rule.'
Mr. Blades recovered his breath with a gasp and poured out the story of Chippy's enormity. 'Told her no, Larry!' he said. The astounded fishmonger could not get away from this. 'Told her no!' he repeated once more.
Larry Blades threw back his head and burst into a roar of jolly laughter which rang through the shop. 'Well, that's a good un!' he cried—'a real good un. And I never thought Slynn was such a softy. Why, Slynn,' he went on, and clapped Chippy on the shoulder, 'you'll never make a fishmonger if you carry on like that. Everything's fresh to a customer. You must always tell 'em it's just done its last gasp, unless the smell's a trifle too high, and then you must be guided by circumstances.'
He turned round to his father and laughed again jovially.
'It's all right, guv'nor,' he said. 'Cool off and calm down. You do get so excited over these little trifles. The kid's made a mistake. Well, he won't do it again. Anyhow, he's worth twenty o' that other kid. I caught him on th' Oakford road with his bags hangin' on some railings and playin' football with about a dozen more.'
'I dunno about him not doin' it again,' grumbled Mr. Blades; 'that's the way to lose customers; and people pass things like that from one to another.'
'Look here, Slynn,' said Larry Blades, wheeling sharply round, 'you've got to put yourself square with the guv'nor, or he'll have a fit every time you start on a round. Now, drop on your bended knees, raise your right hand, roll your eyes up, and say, "Mr. Blades, I'll never, never be such a flat again"'; and Larry laughed loudly, and pressed Chippy's shoulder to force him down and carry out the joke.
But Chippy did not go down: he only looked with anxious eyes from father to son.
'Come on, speak up!' cried Larry. 'What made you do such a soft trick, Slynn?'
'She said her daughter 'ad been ill,' mumbled Chippy.
'What of that?' laughed Larry. 'That salmon wouldn't hurt her then.'
'Yer see, I'm a boy scout,' burst out Chippy suddenly, his husky voice hoarser than ever from excitement and uneasiness.
'Boy scout?' said Larry wonderingly. 'What's that? And what's it got to do with Mrs. Marten's cutlets?'
Chippy began eagerly to explain, and the two men listened for a few moments in puzzled wonder.
'Oh, well,' burst in Larry, 'that may be all very well in its way, but it's clean outside business.'
'It ain't outside anything,' murmured Chippy.
'What!' said young Blades. 'You don't mean to say you'd do the same if it happened again, do you? Do you want to lose your job?' Chippy stood aghast. Lose his precious four-and-six a week!
'No, no,' cried Chippy; 'I'll do anything. I'll work as long as yer like—I'll come at six if yer like, an' stop till any time at night. Don't tek' me job off o' me.'
'Well, if you want to keep it, you must do as you're told,' began Larry, but his father out in.
'There's a lot of talk,' he cried, 'but I want you to notice, Larry, that that boy is dodging the question all the time. He's given no promise to do his best by us, and he ain't going to give any promise, either.'
'All right,' said Larry. 'I'll come bang straight to the point. If we send you out, Slynn, with a bit o' salmon that looks sweet and smells sweet, will you swear to a customer as it's dead fresh, and can't be bettered?'
Chippy was cornered. On one side his job—his precious job—how precious none could know unless they knew his starved and narrow home; on the other his oath as a boy scout to run straight and play fair to all men.
'Now, speak out,' cried Larry impatiently. But Chippy—poor Chippy!—had seen an ideal in his rough, hard life, and he clung to it.
'Yer see,' he began once more, 'I'm a boy scout——'
The fishmonger was bubbling mad all the time; now he completely boiled over.
'There he goes again!' yelled Mr. Blades. 'If he's a boy scout, let him clear out o' this, and scout round for another job. Now, then, shift, and look sharp about it.'
But Chippy was unwilling to go. He was searching his mind for words with which to plead, and to promise to do his utmost for them, save for the breaking of his scout's oath, when the furious fishmonger sprang upon him, tore the bag he still held from his grasp, and literally threw him out of the shop. Taken by surprise, Chippy was pitched headlong, and went sprawling along the pavement. He picked himself up without a word, and went away down the street. His job had gone, and he knew it, and he stayed not another moment for vain pleading.
'Just hark at him!' cried the fuming Mr. Blades; 'the impident young dog! Got the sack, and goes off whistling!'
'Well, I'm blest!' said Larry, and nodded his head thoughtfully. 'I thought he was dead keen on his job. But he don't care a rap about it. He was only a-kiddin' us. Whistling like a lark!'
Poor Chippy! how sorely was he misjudged! The fishmonger and his son knew nothing of Scout Law 8: 'A scout smiles and whistles under all circumstances,' and 'under any annoying circumstances you should force yourself to smile at once, and then whistle a tune, and you will be all right.'
Chippy turned a corner, and his whistling died away. Soon it stopped. His mouth worked a little, and his lips would not quite come into shape for the merry notes. Scout Law 8 was splendid advice, but this was a very stiff thing, even for No. 8. Chippy could not whistle, but he hoped very much that he still wore the smile. Well, his face was twisted, true, and the twists had the general shape of a smile, but it was a smile to wring the heart.
When he got home, he found his mother bending over the wash-tub. She looked up in surprise and then alarm: his face betrayed him.
'What's the matter?' she cried. 'What brings you back at this time?'
'I've got the sack,' said Chippy briefly.
The poor pinched-face woman cried out in dismay.
'An' your father's only done four days this last fortni't!' she wailed. Chippy's father was a dock-side labourer, and work had been very slack of late.
'It's aw' right,' said Chippy. 'Don't worry, mother. I'm off up the town now, to look for another job. I seen two cards out th' other day in Main Street, "Boy Wanted." I only come in now to mend me britches.'
When Mr. Blades flung Chippy out, the Raven had fallen on one knee, and his trouser had split clean across. He now purposed to cobble up the rent before he started on his quest for the precious work which means the right to live.
He found a needle and some thread, took off his trousers, and stitched busily away, for he was very handy with his fingers: his mother, too, had no time for such work; she had got a washing job, and was hard at it to help the family funds.
As Chippy stitched, his cheerfulness returned. Soon he was whistling in real earnest. 'I'm goin' in for a rise,' he announced. 'I've picked up a lot at old Blades' place. I'm goin' to ask five bob.'
'What made him sack yer?' asked his mother.
'Oh, I didn't suit,' said Chippy hastily. 'An' I done my best, too.'
He made haste to be off on his quest, for he was not anxious to disclose why he had been sacked: in Skinner's Hole the reason would sound too fantastic to be easily accepted.
Nearly a fortnight passed, and one dull afternoon a very discouraged Raven was perched on a capstan at the edge of Quay Flat. Chippy had tramped the town end to end and street by street in search of those cards marked 'Boy Wanted,' and had found none, or had failed to get the place. There was so small a number of them, too. He was reflecting that when he had been in a job he had seen two or three in a day as he traversed the town; he was quite sure of it. Now they seemed to have vanished, or, when he lighted on one, it meant nothing. The people had just got a boy, and had forgotten to take the card down.
Suddenly he was hailed from behind. He glanced round, leapt down, and came promptly to the full salute, which was promptly met by his brother patrol-leader.
'Hallo, Chippy!' said Dick. 'Got a holiday?'
'Got nuthin' else,' said Chippy.
'How's that?' asked Dick. 'I thought you went to work.'
'So I did—once,' murmured Chippy; it seemed a hundred years since he was pleasantly engaged in the task of earning the substantial sum of four-and-sixpence a week.
Dick looked at his comrade, whom he had not seen since that eventful afternoon on the heath. Chippy was thinner and whiter: Dick saw it, and asked him if he had been ill. They got into talk, and before long Dick learned about Mr. Blades, and the manner in which the Raven leader lost his job.
'What a jolly shame, Chippy!' burst out Dick. 'That's altogether too bad. Sacked you because you wouldn't be a sneak and break your scout's oath! And you haven't found anything else?'
'Nuthin' straight,' replied Chippy. 'I could soon get a job on the crook.'
'On the crook?' repeated Dick; 'that means dishonest, doesn't it, Chippy?'
Chippy nodded, and went on: 'There's a chap as lives in Peel's Yard down in Skinner's 'Ole, he's been arter me two or three times. He's a bad un, I can tell yer. He wants me to goo wi' him a-nickin'.'
'What's that, Chippy?' asked Dick.
'Stealin' money out o' shop-tills,' replied Chippy. 'He keeps on a-tellin' me as we could make pounds a day at it, if I'd on'y let him train me a bit.'
'Oh, but you'd never, never do that!' cried Dick.
'No fear,' returned the Raven. 'I told 'im straight he was on the wrong lay. "Yer wastin' yer breath," I told 'im. "A boy scout don't goo a-nickin'."'
'Not likely,' said Dick. 'Oh, you'll soon find a job, Chippy, I'm sure.'
'It 'ud suit me uncommon to come acrost one,' murmured Chippy. 'Four-an'-six a wick wor' very useful, I can tell yer, at our 'ouse. Theer's some kids, an' they eat such a lot, kids do.'
Chippy fell silent, and Dick kicked thoughtfully at the capstan for a few seconds. Then he whirled round on his heel, saluted, and said, 'Well, I'm off.'
'Why, you're goin' straight back!' cried Chippy, returning the salute.
'Yes, Chippy, old boy,' said Dick. 'I'm going straight back.'
He had been coming from the town, and he now returned to it at a swift step. On he went, head back, shoulders square, walking as a scout should walk, until he reached Broad Row, the street where the great shipping firms had their offices, and here he paused before a fine building, whose huge polished brass plate bore the inscription of Elliott Brothers and Co. The Elliott Brothers were Dick's father and his Uncle Jim, and before going in Dick paused for a moment and bit his lip.
'It's a business job I'm after,' said Dick to himself, 'and I'll carry it out in a business style. I don't want father to make a joke of it; it's no joke to poor old Chippy—anybody can see that with half an eye.'
So Dick dived into his pocket and fetched out a dozen things before he lighted on what he wanted—a small leathern case with a dozen cards in it. In the centre of the card appeared 'Dick Elliott,' neatly printed; while in the corner, in quaint Old English lettering, was his address, 'The Croft, Birchfields,' being the names of the house and suburb in which he lived. The card was his own achievement, produced on his own model printing-press, and he was rather proud of it.
He entered the inquiry office on the ground-floor, and the clerk in charge came forward with a smile.
'I say, Bailey,' said Dick, 'you might take this up to my father, will you?'
The clerk took the card, looked at it, and then at Dick, and went without a word; but his smile was now a grin. In a short time he came back, and murmured, 'This way, please,' and Dick followed, very serious and thoughtful, and in no wise responding to Bailey's unending grin.
Dick was shown into the room of the senior partner, who was looking at his visitor's card, and now glanced up with a humorous twirl of his eye.
'Ah, Mr. Elliott,' he said—'Mr. Dick Elliott, I think'—glancing at the card again. 'Pleased to meet you, Mr. Elliott. Won't you sit down? And now what can I do for you?'
'I have called upon you, sir,' said Dick, 'in the hopes of enlisting your sympathy on behalf of a worthy object and a noble cause.'
Dick had collared this opening from the heading of a subscription-list, and he thought it sounded stunning. He felt sure it would impress the senior partner. It did: that gentleman's emotion was deep; he only kept it within bounds by biting his lips hard.
'Ah, Mr. Elliott,' he said, 'you are, I suppose, in quest of a donation?'
'Well, not exactly,' replied Mr. Elliott; 'I should like to tell you a little story.'
'Charmed,' murmured the senior partner; 'but I hope it will be a little story, Mr. Elliott, as I and my partner are due very shortly at an important meeting of dock directors.'
Dick plunged at once into his narration, and the senior partner listened attentively, without putting in a single word.
'I see, Mr. Elliott—I see,' he remarked, when Dick had made an end of the story of Chippy's troubles; 'you are in search of a post for your friend?'
'I should be uncommonly glad to find him something,' murmured Dick.
'I'm afraid you've come to the wrong person, Mr. Elliott,' said the shipowner. 'I believe there are some small fry of that kind about the place who fetch parcels from the docks, and that kind of thing, but I really don't concern myself with their appointment—if I may use so important a word—or their dismissals. All those minutiae are in the care of Mr. Malins, the manager.'
'Oh, father, don't put me off with Mr. Malins!' burst out Dick, forgetting his character for a moment in his anxiety. 'I want you to lend me a hand, so as to make it dead sure.'
'Well, Mr. Elliott, you're very pressing,' remarked the senior partner. 'I'll make a note of it, and see what can be done.'
'I'm very much obliged indeed,' murmured Mr. Elliott.
'May I ask your friend's name?'
'Slynn,' replied Dick.
'Christian name?'
'I never heard it,' said Dick, rubbing his forehead. 'They call him Chippy.'
'Thank you,' said the senior partner, pencilling a note on his engagement-pad; 'then I am to use my best efforts to find a post for Mr. Chippy Slynn, errand-boy. Well, it's the first time I've made such a venture; it will have, at any rate, the agreeable element of novelty. And now I must beg you to excuse me: I fear my junior partner is waiting for me.'
'That's all right, sir,' said Dick cheerfully. 'Uncle Jim won't mind. He knows Chippy.' And forthwith Dick departed, quite content with the interview.
As Dick's father and uncle walked towards the docks, the former related with much relish how Dick had gone to work to do his friend a good turn, and the two gentlemen laughed over Dick's serious way of tackling the question. Then Mr. Elliott began to speak soberly.
'He seems very friendly with this boy Slynn,' said Dick's lather.
'Naturally, after the splendid piece of work they did together the other Monday,' replied the younger man.
'Oh yes, yes, of course; that, I admit, would be bound to draw them together,' said the other. 'But do you think it is quite safe, Jim, this mingling of boys from decent homes with gutter-sparrows?'
'Dick will come to no harm with Chippy Slynn,' replied James Elliott quietly; 'the boy is quite brave, quite honest.'
'I don't know,' said Mr. Elliott uneasily. 'His mother was very uncomfortable when Dick and his sister had been out one day. Ethel brought word home that Dick and a wharf-rat had been chumming up together. His mother spoke to Dick about it.'
'Oh yes,' said his brother, 'and Dick referred her to me, and I explained, and put matters straight.'
'I hardly know what to think about it,' said Mr. Elliott, and his tone was still uneasy.
'Look here, Richard,' said his brother, 'the feelings which I know are in your mind are the feelings which make such an immense gulf between class and class. Now, confess that you are not quite comfortable because Dick has a deep regard for a wharf-rat out of Skinner's Hole.'
'I confess it,' said Mr. Elliott frankly.
'Exactly,' returned his brother; 'there is no saying more frequent on our lips than that we must look, not at the coat, but at the man inside it; but it remains a saying—it has little or no effect on our thoughts and actions. The rich look with suspicion on the poor; the poor repay that suspicion with hatred. This brings about jealousy and distrust between class and class, and gives rise to any amount of bad citizenship. I declare and I believe that if those who have would only try to understand the difficulties and the trials of those who have not, and would help them in a reasonable fashion—not with money; that's the poorest sort of help—we should see an immense advance in good citizenship.'
'And what is your ideal of good citizenship, old fellow?' asked Mr. Elliott.
'All for each, and each for all,' replied his brother.
'Why, Jim,' laughed the elder man, 'I never heard you break out in this style before. I never knew you set up for a social reformer.'
'Oh,' said James Elliott, smiling, 'I don't know that I claim any big title such as that. But, you know, I was in the Colonies some eight or nine years, and I learned a good deal then that you stay-at-homes never pick up. Out there a man has to stand on his own feet, while here he is often propped up with his father's money.'
'And that's true enough,' agreed the elder. 'Well, then, Jim, you think this scouting movement is of real service?'
'I am convinced of it,' said the other. 'Even in our little circle it has thrown together a group of boys belonging to the middle classes and another group whose parents are the poorest sort of dock labourers. I have watched them closely, and the results are good, and nothing but good. I am delighted that I have been given the chance to have a hand in bringing about such results. What were their former relations? They used to shout insulting names at each other, and fight. That boyish enmity would have deepened and embittered itself into class hatred had it continued. But in their friendly patrol contests the boys have learned to know and like each other, and to respect each other's skill. Take Dick and Chippy Slynn. Without this movement, Dick would only have known the other as a wharf-rat who was formidable beyond ordinary in their feuds. Now he knows him as a boy whose pluck and honesty command respect, and Dick gives that respect, and liking with it. Will they be class enemies when they are men? I think not. But I'll dry up. I am letting myself go into a regular sermon.'
There was silence for a few moments, and they walked on.
'Yes, Jim,' said his brother at last, 'I must confess it had not struck me just as you put it. There's a great deal of truth in your view.'
That night Dick was crossing the hall, when he heard his father's latch-key click in the door.
'Ah,' said Mr. Elliott, as he stepped in, 'I fancy you're the gentleman who called on me this afternoon?'
Oh, father,' cried Dick, running up to him, 'do tell me you've found something for poor old Chippy. He's breaking his heart because he's out of work.'
'Well, his heart needn't break any more,' said Mr. Elliott, putting his umbrella into the stand—'that is to say, if he can give satisfaction to Mr. Malins, who offers him a berth at seven shillings a week. I don't know if your friend was getting more, but Mr. Malins doesn't see his way any further.'
'He'll jump at it,' yelled Dick. 'He was only getting four-and-six at Blades, the fishmonger's. Father, this is splendid of you. You're good all through.'
'Almost up to a boy scout, eh?' chuckled Mr. Elliott. 'There, there, don't pull my arm off. I can't eat my dinner one-handed.'
Next morning Dick ran down to Skinner's Hole before seven o'clock, to make sure of catching Chippy before the latter set off on his search for a job. He was not a minute too soon, for he met Chippy in the street. The Raven had brushed his clothes and blacked his boots till they shone again, in order to produce a good effect on possible employers; but he looked rather pinched and wan, for victuals had been pretty scarce of late, and the kids, who ate a lot, had gone a long way towards clearing the board before Chippy had a chance.
'It's all right, old chap,' sang out Dick; 'no need to peg round on that weary drag to-day. Here's a note my father has written. There's a job waiting for you up at our place.'
'No!' cried Chippy, and shook like a leaf. It seemed too good to be true.
'Yes,' laughed Dick, 'unless you think the wages too small. They're going to offer you seven shillings a week.'
Chippy's eyes seemed ready to come out of his head. As for saying anything, that was impossible, for the simple reason that his throat was at present blocked up by a lump which felt as big as an apple.
At last he pulled himself together, and began to stammer thanks. But Dick would not listen to him.
'That's all right,' cried Dick. 'I was bound to have a shot, you know. We're brother scouts, Chippy, old boy—we're brother scouts.'
Chippy had been at work for Elliott Brothers rather more than a fortnight, when one day he went down to the waterside warehouse for some samples. The firm had a huge building at the farther end of Quay Flat, where they stored the goods they imported.
He was told that he must wait awhile, and he filled up his time by some scout exercises, giving himself a long glance at a shelf, and then shutting his eyes and reciting from memory the various articles piled upon it.
His eyes were still shut, when he heard voices. He opened them, and saw Dick's father, the head of the firm, walking into the room, followed by the warehouse manager.
'This is a most extraordinary thing, White,' Mr. Elliott was saying. 'There's certainly a thief about the place, or someone is breaking in at night.'
'It's a most mysterious affair, sir,' replied White. 'The place was locked up as usual, and I unlocked everything myself. Every padlock and fastening was in order, and no window had been tampered with.'
'Yet there's a lot of valuable stuff gone,' said Mr. Elliott. White shook his head. He seemed utterly bewildered and unable to explain what had happened.
'I shall go to the police at once,' said Mr. Elliott.
'Yes, sir; there's nothing else for it,' agreed the manager; and the two, who had been talking as they went through the great storeroom where Chippy was waiting, passed out at a farther door, and disappeared.
Chippy left his practice, and fell into thought. Things had been stolen from the warehouse. That was plain enough. The Elliotts were being robbed. Chippy was on fire in a moment. His friends and benefactors were being robbed. It was clear that Mr. Elliott meant to set the police to watch the place. Chippy promised himself that a certain boy scout would also take a hand in the game. Skinner's Hole was close by, and his home was not four hundred yards from the warehouse. That would be convenient for keeping watch.
That evening Chippy ate his supper so slowly and thoughtfully that his mother asked him what was on his mind.
'It's all right about yer place, ain't it?' she asked anxiously.
'Rather,' replied Chippy, waking up and giving her a cheerful nod. 'This ain't a job like old Blades's. Do yer work, and yer all right at Elliott Brothers'.'
'Yer seemed a-moonin' like,' said Mrs. Slynn.
'Thinkin',' returned Chippy briefly. 'I got a bit o' scoutin' to do to-night as 'ull keep me out pretty late, so don't get a-worryin', mother, an' sendin' people to see if I've dropped into the "Old Cut."'
The Old Cut was a dangerous, unprotected creek, where more than one resident of Skinner's Hole had been drowned in darkness and fog, and its name was proverbial on local lips.
'Tek care o' yerself, my boy,' said Mrs. Slynn. 'I don't know what I should do without yer.'
Chippy waved his hand with an air of lofty protection, and went on with his supper.
Towards ten o'clock he left the house, and went down a quiet byway to Quay Flat, and as soon as he got well on the Flat and away from the gas-lamps, he could see little or nothing. But Chippy had haunted the Flat all his life, and could find his way across it blindfold. He headed steadily forward, and a few minutes brought him to the spot where the huge bulk of the warehouse buildings stood at the river's edge, black against the sky.
He now commenced a stealthy patrol of the walks, every sense on the alert, and creeping along as softly as possible. The warehouse occupied an isolated position on the quay. The river front was now washed by only a few feet of water, for the tide was nearly out; but this side was only approachable by boat. A rude pavement of flag-stones ran round the other three sides, and along this pavement the Raven meant to hold his patrol march.
The march came to an end almost as soon as it had begun. Chippy turned an angle of the walls, and pulled up dead. He could hear footsteps a short distance away. He flitted off to the shelter of a pile of rusty anchors and iron cables which he knew lay within twenty yards of where he stood. He found his cover, and crouched behind it. He had barely gained it when a flood of light swept the pavement he had just left, and heavy boots tramped forward.
'Huh!' grunted Chippy to himself, 'they've got a bobby on the job. No call for a boy scout here. I might as well be off home an' go to bed.'
The policeman came forward, stood at the corner, and yawned; then he slowly paced forward on his beat once more. Chippy waited twenty minutes, but the constable persistently haunted the warehouse walls; it was clear that they were the special object of his care to-night.
'It's old Martin,' thought Chippy, who had recognised the constable; 'he's gooin' to potter round all night. I'll get 'ome again.'
Martin disappeared round the farther angle of the walls, and Chippy stood up to move softly away. But he did not move. He stood still listening intently. At the moment he straightened himself he felt certain that he heard a low chuckle somewhere behind him in the darkness.
Yes, there was someone there. Now he caught the voices of men who conversed together in tones little above a whisper. Chippy judged they were some twenty yards from him. Next he heard stealthy sounds as they moved away.
Who were these people who had crept up so silently that the scout had heard nothing? Chippy meant to find out, if possible, and already he had bent down, and his fingers were going like the wind as he whipped the laces out of the eyelets of his boots. Off came the latter; off came his stockings. The stockings went into his pockets; the boots were tied together by their laces and slung round his neck, and away slipped Chippy in search of the men who had laughed and whispered together.
He had lost a few seconds in taking off his boots, and the sounds of their stealthy movements had died away. Chippy dropped flat, and laid his ear to the ground. This gave him their direction at once, and, to his surprise, the sounds told him that they were going towards the river. That was odd. The quay edge was a very dangerous place on so dark a night as this, but these men were going down to it, and not across towards the town, as Chippy had expected.
The scout followed with the utmost caution—a caution which he redoubled as he drew near to the riverside. He would have thought little of going over the quay wall when the water was up, for that would only mean a ducking, and he could swim like a fish. But in some places patches of deep mud were laid bare at low tide, spots in which the finest swimmer would flounder, sink, and perish. Chippy sought for a mooring-post, and was full of delight when his hands came against a huge oaken bole, scored with rope-marks and polished with long service. These stood in line along the quay some ten yards apart, and Chippy worked from one to the other, and followed his men, who were still ahead, but moving very slowly. It was quite certain that the two in front knew the quay well, or they would not be here at this time.
Suddenly a match spurted, and a pipe was lighted. The men had come a good way now from the warehouse, and were quite out of sight of the constable. The light of the match showed the scout that there were two of them, and they had halted in lee of a fish-curing shed, now locked up for the night. The shed stood in a very lonely part of the quay, where no one ever went after nightfall. The men began to talk together, and Chippy crept closer and closer until he could catch their words.
'Laugh!' said one, as if in answer to a remark the scout had not caught—'who could help laughin'? To see old Martin postin' up an' down, round an' round, just on the sides we want him to. If he started to swim up an' down t'other side, now, it might be a bit awkward for us.'
'Ah,' replied his companion, 'it'll be a long time before they tumble to the idea of anybody workin' 'em from the river-front. How did ye get round to the trap this mornin'?'
'Easy as winking,' said the first speaker. 'I made a little errand there, and slipped the bolts, and there it all was, as right as rain.'
'It's a clippin' dodge,' murmured the second man. 'We'll have another good go to-night, then leave it for two or three months till all's quiet again.'
'We will,' agreed the other. 'The boat's ready, I suppose?'
'Yes; I've seen to all that,' was the answer. 'She's lyin' at Ferryman's Slip, just swingin' by her painter. It'll be slack water pretty soon. We can start in about half an hour or so.'
Chippy's heart beat high with excitement. It thumped against his ribs till he felt sure that the talkers a few yards away would hear it; and he turned and crept away, and circled round to the back of the fish-shed, where he pulled up to think over what he had heard. He felt sure that he had hit upon the thieves. What should he do? Run to Martin and tell him what he had found out? Chippy considered that, then shook his head. He knew Martin, and Martin knew Chippy. 'He'd ne'er believe me,' thought Chippy. 'He'd think I was a-tryin' to kid 'im.'
Martin was a good, zealous officer, but rather a dull one, and Chippy knew that he would be very slow to give any credit to a story brought him by a wharf-rat. And then, they were not the best of friends. Chippy now entertained the most respectful regard for police-constables, for it was part of his duty; but it had not always been so. In his days of sin, before he became a boy scout, he had guyed and chaffed Martin many a time and oft, and had exercised a diabolical ingenuity in tricks for his discomfiture. Therefore a sudden appearance, springing out of the darkness as a supporter of law and order, might not be taken as it was meant, and Chippy was quite shrewd enough to see that.
And Chippy was puzzled—he was tremendously puzzled. For the life of him, he could not see how two men in a boat were going to successfully attack the river-front of Elliotts' warehouse, and he burned to discover their plan of assault. He shut his eyes, and saw clearly a mental picture of the building. Chippy knew the riverside look of every building as well as he knew the back of his hand; he had spent scores and scores of summer days floating about in anything he could seize upon in the shape of a boat.
Well, he saw a broad, high wall, perfectly flat, turning a gable end to the wide stream, and in that wall he saw a number of windows and one large doorway, above which an arm carrying pulleys was thrust out. Under this doorway barges came when the tide was up, and sank to the mud when it went down. Boxes, bags, bales, were swung up to the doorway by pulley and chain, and so taken into the warehouse. But there was no landing-place of any kind; the wall ran sheer down to the mud.
Now, how were these men going to break in? And at low water, too! Fifteen feet at least of oozy, slimy wall would stand up between the boat and the foot of the doorway; twenty feet to the nearest row of windows. Chippy could not form any idea of their tactics, but he meant to discover them before long.
'Well, I got to move a bit,' said the scout to himself. 'I'll 'ook it down to Ferryman's, and get ready for 'em.'
Still on his bare feet, he slid like a shadow through the darkness, counted the mooring-posts as he went, in order to get his bearings, found the head of the steps running down to the spot he sought, and at the next instant his feet were treading the rough stones of Ferryman's Slip.
Here close beside the water it was not quite so dark; the heavy clouds had broken in the west, and the stars were coming out. In their faint gleam Chippy caught the shine of the oily swells as the water lapped gently against the wharf.
There was always water beside Ferryman's Slip at every state of the tide, and Chippy knew that a bunch of boats would certainly be moored off the boat-builder's yard at the top end of the slip. He went up there, and saw their dark forms on the water. He could step into the nearest, and in a moment he was climbing from one to the other with all the sureness of a born waterman, searching for what he wanted. Luck favoured him: he found it on the outside of a bunch, where he had only to slip the knot of a cord to set it free. It was a little broad boat, blunt in the bows, wide in the stern, the sort of boat you can sit on the side of without oversetting, and very suitable for Chippy's purpose this night.
Now Chippy scratched his jaw thoughtfully. There was the boat, but oars and rowlocks were safely locked up in the builder's shed. This would have stumped some people, but not Chippy. Often and often he had been able to get hold of a boat, but nothing else. He was quite familiar with the task of rigging up something to take the place of an oar. He hopped across the boats, gained the shore, and sought the boat-builder's shed. Around such a place lie piles of planks, broken thwarts, broken oars, odds and ends of every kind relating to boats, new or old. Chippy knew the shed, and sought the back.
'Old Clayson used to chuck a lot o' stuff at the back 'ere,' thought Chippy. 'I wish I durst strike a match, but that 'ud never do. They might see it.' So he groped and groped with his hands, and could hardly restrain a yell of delight when his fingers dropped on a smooth surface, broken by one sharp rib running down the centre.
'A sweep!' Chippy cried to himself joyously—'an old sweep! Now, if theer's on'y a bit o' handle to it, I'm right.'
With the utmost caution he drew the broken sweep from the pile of odds and ends where it lay. Yes, there was a piece of handle, and Chippy made at once for his boat, carrying his prize with him. An oar would have suited him much better, but beggars must not be choosers. The fragment of the sweep was heavy and clumsy, but in Chippy's skilled hands it could be made to do its work.
These preparations had taken some time, and Chippy was about to try his piece of sweep in the scull-notch in the stern when he paused and crouched perfectly still on the thwart. They were coming. He heard movements on the stone stairs which ran down to the river. The scout put his head over the side of the boat and listened. Water carries sound as nothing else does, and he heard them get into their boat very cautiously, slip oars into rowlocks, and paddle gently away. There was no dip or splash from the oars. 'Muffled 'em,' said Chippy to himself.
He gave them a couple of minutes to get clear out into the river from the side channel which washed the slip; then he prepared to follow. He untied the painter, pushed his boat clear of its companions, slipped his sweep over the stern, and began to scull down the channel without a sound, his practised hands working the boat on by the sweep as silently and smoothly as a fish glides forward by the strokes of its tail.
The little skiff slipped out on to the broad bosom of the river, and Chippy looked eagerly ahead. He saw his men at once. They were paddling gently down-stream close inshore. At this point the river ran due west, ran towards the quarter of the sky now bright with stars. Against this brightness Chippy saw the dark mass of boat and men. He glanced over his shoulder. The east remained black, its covering of cloud unbroken, and Chippy felt the joy of the scout who follows steadily, and knows that he himself is unseen.
The boat ahead went much faster than Chippy's little tub, but he let them go, and sculled easily forward; he knew where to find them. As they approached Elliotts' warehouse, a great cloud drew swiftly over the west, and the scout completely lost sight of the other boat. But the darkness was short. Within a few minutes the cloud passed as swiftly as it had come, and the surface of the river was once more pallid in the starshine.
Chippy saw the great bulk of the warehouse emerge from the gloom; he saw the level plain of water, now smooth at this time of dead-slack, and he expected to see the boat, but he did not. He brought up his skiff with a sharp turn of the sweep, and rubbed his eyes, and looked, and looked again. He saw nothing. The boat had vanished. It was not lying off the warehouse; of that he was quite sure. He was so placed, fairly close inshore, that his eye swept every inch of water along the front of the building. No boat was there.
This was very mysterious. Chippy could not make out what had happened. The boat had not sunk. Had it done so, the men would never have gone down without a sound. The scout thought a moment, then seized his sweep, and drove his skiff square across the river. Had the men gone out towards the middle? But Chippy opened fresh sweeps of the starlit stream, and all empty. Save for himself, there did not seem to be a single floating thing in the neighbourhood.
Now, in working across, Chippy had also gone down with the stream, so that by the time he was well out he had gained a point directly in front of the warehouse. He glanced towards the dark mass at the water's edge, and started. A pin-point of light flashed out at its base far below window or doorway. The light burned steadily for a few seconds, then went out as suddenly as it appeared.
'Looks to me as if some'dy struck a match over theer,' reflected Chippy. 'But who? The water looked empty enough. I'll have a look.'
He worked his boat round, and drove it steadily towards the great building, shaping his course a little upstream, in order to bring himself above it once more. He watched closely as he sculled, and when he checked his way not ten yards from the bank he was quite certain of two things: he had not seen the light again, and he had not seen any boat leave the front of the warehouse.
He let himself drift slowly down, staring and staring, and full of wonder. His eyes were now so used to the starshine on the river that he could see the water in front of the building like a smooth, pale plain, and it was empty—it was perfectly empty. Who had struck that light about the water-level? It was all very strange and mysterious.
Chippy let his craft drift. It moved slowly on the slow-running stream, but presently it was under the shadow of the lofty wall, and as it slid along, Chippy looked out more sharply than ever for the source of that strange light.
He stood in the stern of the boat drifting down in complete silence, with not even the gurgle of the sweep to betray his presence. And to this complete silence Chippy owed the discovery which he made about midway of the river-front.
He was staring straight at the blackness of the wall, when suddenly a light appeared in it. To his immense surprise, he found himself looking up a kind of long, arched tunnel, at whose farther end a man stood in a boat, a light in his hand. Only for an instant did Chippy behold this strange vision. His skiff drifted on, and he was faced once more by the darkness of the solid wall.
Chippy drew a deep breath, dug his sweep into the water, and sculled rather more than half a circle. This brought him opposite the mouth of the tunnel, but well out from the wall.
'That's wheer they'd slipped in,' reflected Chippy. 'Theer's the light again. Wot does it all mean? I never heerd o' that hole afore.'
Chippy was puzzled because he did not know the history of Elliotts' warehouse. It was a fairly old building, having been erected about the middle of the eighteenth century. Its basement had been pierced by a water-gate, which gave small barges direct entrance to the building, their contents being raised to the floor above through a large trap-door. But in the course of time, and under the influence of great floods, the river scoured out its bed in such fashion as to alter its depth against the wall of the warehouse, and largely to block the water-gate with mud. Sooner than undertake the expense of dredging in order to keep the water-gate open, the owners abandoned its use, and knocked a doorway in the front, and hauled up from the barges as they lay outside.
But on a very low tide it was possible yet to pole a small boat up the old water-gate, and gain the trap-door, which still existed, though unused, and almost unknown to the present generation of workers in the warehouse.
It took the scout a very short time to make up his mind. He was soon sculling for the mouth of the archway, which, now he knew where to look for it, could be made out as a darker patch in the dusk of the wall. With the utmost care Chippy laid the blunt nose of his craft square in the middle of the archway, and sculled very gently up. The air was thick and close and damp, but a slight current set towards him. He felt it blowing on his face, and knew that there was some opening at the top of this strange passage. He only went a short distance up, then checked his way, and his boat floated quite still on the quiet water of this hidden entrance.
Ten minutes passed, and then Chippy heard a voice. 'That's as much as we can shift to-night,' it said; and a second voice said: 'All right; drop a glim on the boat.'
At the next moment a strong shaft of light darted downwards into the darkness, and lighted up an empty boat floating within five yards of Chippy. Luckily for the latter, the light came from a dark lantern, whose slide had been turned, and was only a brilliant circle which did not discover the daring scout.
Chippy held his breath, and watched. He saw that aloft the light was pouring through an oblong opening; the latter was formed by the raising of one of the two doors of the big trap. He had need to hold his breath; the smallest turn of the lantern would throw the light along the tunnel, and he would spring into full view of the thieves. His position would then be desperate, for escape was out of the question. They had only to drop into their boat and pursue, when his clumsy old broken sweep would prove no match for a pair of oars. So Chippy held himself dead still, and watched with fascinated eyes the strong shaft of light pouring on the boat before him.
Presently a strongly corded bale slid into the light, and was lowered by a thin rope. The rope was tossed after it, and the same thing happened with three more bales; and then a pair of legs came into sight, and a man slid swiftly down a heavy rope which dangled above the boat.
The man swung himself down, and dropped among the bales. Chippy could not see his face, but the scout's eye saw the man's hand outstretched as he balanced himself with a sailor's skill in the swaying boat, and marked that the little finger was missing.
'I'll stow these, and then give ye a hand wi' the flap,' said the man in the boat. 'It'll never do to let it down wi' a bang, because of our friend outside.' And both of them chuckled.
Now was Chippy's chance, while the men were busy with the task of closing the heavy flap with as little noise as possible. He had been standing with the sweep in his hand. He began, with the tiniest, the softest of strokes, to turn his boat round. But his discovery would have been certain had not the men been so busy with the task of reclosing the heavy trap. It fell into place with a soft thud, which echoed along the water-gate, and as it did so Chippy glided into the open, and turned the nose of his craft down-stream. He now put out all his strength, sculled a dozen hard, swift strokes, then held his hand, and floated close beside the wall in the deep shadow.
From this cover he saw the boat glide out and the men give way as they gained the open stream. They pulled out some distance, and so skilfully did they use the muffled oars that Chippy scarce caught a sound.
'Rullocks muffled, too,' thought the scout; and very likely the thieves had muffled the rowlocks also.
When the boat was well out from the shore its nose was turned, and it began to drop at an easy pace down the river. In cover of the bank Chippy was sculling his best. He had seen how the warehouse was robbed; he meant to see where the plunder was taken.
Beyond Elliotts' warehouse there were only two or three scattered buildings, and then the river-shore stretched away empty and deserted. For nearly a mile the men pulled steadily down, and left Chippy a long way behind. But the night was brightening fast; the moon was coming up, and he could see the dark spot upon the water which meant the gliding boat laden with plunder.
Then the boat turned and came towards the shore on the scout's side. It crossed his line of sight, and disappeared as if into the bank.
'Gone up Fuller's Creek,' said Chippy to himself, and sculled harder than ever. Fuller's Creek was a wide, deep backwater, never used nowadays for any active purpose, though occasionally an old hulk was towed there, and left to rot. Chippy supposed that his men had pulled up to the very top of the creek, where there was a deserted landing-stage, and he put all the strength of his wiry frame into driving his boat down to the creek and up it as hard as he could go.
He entered the broad, dark water-mouth, for the moon was not yet shining into the creek, and sculled into its shadow. Half-way up, a dark bulk loomed high in his path, and he swung the nose of his craft to port, to pass round the Three Spires, an old barquentine left to rot in Fuller's Creek out of the way of the river traffic.
The Three Spires, named from the three chief churches of the town, whose steeples rose high above the roofs of Bardon, was a broad, roomy old craft, and had carried many a good cargo in her time. But she was now past her work, and, her spars, rigging, and raffle all torn away, her hulk lay abandoned in Fuller's Creek, for the breakers-up did not want her.
It was mere luck that Chippy threw his skiff's nose over to port, for he was bearing straight for the Three Spires as she lay end on, and port or starboard was all one in point of distance as regarded sculling round her. But he threw his bow over to port, and thereby made a striking discovery. For beside the great bulk lay a small bulk, and the latter was a boat swinging to the shattered taffrail of the Three Spires by her painter. Chippy checked his way, and the two boats floated side by side on the quiet, dark backwater, with the hull of the deserted barquentine towering above them against the sky.
Chippy threw out a long breath of immense surprise. 'They ain't gone on to the stage,' he thought. 'They're here. They're on this old un. This is their boat.' He heard movements on board the barquentine, and he sculled a few swift strokes which sent him forward under the thick shadow of her broad stern, where he checked her way again.
The sounds were those of men who scrambled up her forward companion, and at the next moment Chippy's cars told him that they had approached the side of the Teasel, and one was swinging himself into the boat.
'This is the last,' he heard a voice say. 'We'll get it down, and have a look at what you've picked out this time.'
'One knows what's in the bundles; t'other don't,' reflected Chippy. 'They mean to open 'em. That'll keep 'em busy a bit.'
He waited until his ears assured him that the men had gone down the companion again, then sculled back to the point where their boat floated below the port taffrail. This was the only point at which the deck of the vessel could be gained. The Three Spires lay on the mud, heeled over to port, and everywhere else her sides were high, smooth, and unclimbable.
And now Chippy made a mistake—a great scouting mistake: he did too much; and the scout who does too much blunders just as surely as he who does too little. Had Chippy sculled quietly away with the ample information he had already gained, the thieves might have been taken red-handed. But he burned to put, as he thought, a finishing touch to his night's work. He wanted to see what was going on in the forepeak of the Three Spires, and he wanted to see the faces of the men; it was almost certain that he would recognise people so familiar with Quay Flat and Elliotts' warehouse. He took the painter of his tiny craft, and threw two easy half-hitches round the painter of the large boat. He could cast his rope loose in a second, and it would be ample hold to keep his craft from drifting away. He laid the sweep where it would be ready to his hand if he had to make a rush, then swung himself up to the taffrail by the rope which the thieves had fastened there for their own use.
'They're forward,' murmured Chippy to himself, and crept without a sound along the slanting deck. His stockings were still in his pockets; his boots he had left in the skiff.
The companion-hatch was broken, and the men had gone up and down through the hole which yawned above the steps. To this gap Chippy crept, and thrust his head forward inch by inch until he was looking into the deserted forecastle. He saw the men at once. They were almost directly beneath him, kneeling on the floor, while one was deftly slipping the cord which bound one of the stolen bales.
Chippy scarcely dared to breathe when he saw how close he was to the thieves. 'If I could only get a look at 'em, I'd 'ook it,' he thought to himself, and waited for their faces to be shown in the shine of the lantern, whose slide was partly turned to give them light. But one held the lantern while the other opened the bale, and the light showed no more of them than the worker's hands, the latter tattooed like those of a seaman.
Suddenly the scene changed with magic swiftness, and the pursuer became the pursued. It happened simply enough. The man unfolding the bale asked his companion a question. His voice was pitched in so low a murmur that Chippy did not catch what was said, but he heard the second man's reply. 'No, I 'ain't got it,' said he who held the lantern.
'Then we've left it in the boat,' rejoined the first speaker in louder tones; and he sprang to his feet and shot up the crazy steps of the companion as nimbly as a cat.
It was so swift, so sudden, that the man was out on the deck before the scout, stretched at full length beside the companion-hatch, could get to his feet. The man slipped along the deck as smartly as he had swarmed up the companion, and Chippy was clean cut on from his boat.
What could he do? Nothing but sit tight and hope that his boat would not be discovered in the gloom of the barquentine's shadow. Vain hope. Scarce had it been formed than a savage growl of anger and surprise broke the silence. His boat was discovered.
The man below heard his companion's cry. The dullest would have read warning in it. He leapt to his feet, and bounded up the companion in turn.
'Anything wrong?' he called in low tones.
'Here's another boat,' said the other.
'Another boat!' murmured the second thief, and scrambled swiftly along the deck, and thrust his head over the side.
The two men were thunderstruck. A second boat! That meant someone abroad of whose presence they had not dreamed.
'Was it there when we came?' asked the second man.
'Not it,' replied the discoverer; 'the painter's made fast round ours.'
'Then, whoever came in that boat is aboard now,' went on his companion, 'an' we've been spied on an' followed.'
'It's a little boat. There can only be one,' said the other.
'Stand by the boat,' said the man aboard. 'I'll settle the spy.' And he clinched his words with a dreadful oath.
'Don't go too far,' said the man in the boat, who was a more timorous fellow.
'Too far!' growled the other. 'It's sink or swim with us now. There's somebody on this old barky as is fly to our little game, an' his mouth has got to be stopped. Wait; stave his boat in, and you keep in ours. Stave it in now while I'm here. He won't run away.' And again the desperate thief broke into a volley of savage imprecations.
Chippy had heard all this, and recognised how true was the last assertion of the infuriated rogue. There was no running away from the barquentine. No prison surer while his boat was in their hands. And at the next moment there was a crash of boat-hook on wooden plank. Three blows were struck. The little boat was not new, and its timbers gave easily. Three planks were staved in; it filled and sank.
'It's gone,' said the man in the boat; and his companion turned to search for him who had approached the barquentine in it.
Chippy had left the companion and darted forward while they talked. The sounds of the planks going in his boat told him that his case was desperate; his retreat was cut off. He found the stump of the foremast, and crouched behind it, and lay still. Twice the man in search of him crept round the vessel in the darkness, and Chippy shifted noiselessly from side to side as he passed.
There were movements aft, and suddenly a flood of light streamed along the deck. The searcher had fetched up the lantern, regardless of the chances of the light being seen ashore, and flung its full blaze forward.
The slide was turned at the lucky moment for the rogue who held it. Chippy stood beside the foremast, one hand laid on it, his head bent and listening for any sound. The ring of light fell full upon him, and the desperate ruffian gave a growl of satisfaction when he saw his prey.
'It's a kid—a cheeky kid,' he cried in low, savage tones. 'I'll soon settle him.'
'P'raps he'll keep quiet. Ask him if he'll swear to say nothin'?' called out the man in the boat, his tones low and eager.
'Shut up!' snarled the other; 'as if any kid could keep quiet! I ain't a-goin' to do time for the likes of him. Not me! I'll chuck him into the hold.' And he clinched his words with another stream of fierce imprecations.
He scrambled towards the spot where Chippy stood as fast as his feet could carry him. The scout knew that he was in great danger; his acquaintance with longshore folk was extensive, and he knew that among them were to be found a few ruffians and thieves as desperate as any alive—men who would not value a boy's life any more than a fly's, if it became necessary to their safety to take it. If he were seized, he would be knocked on the head, and his body flung into the hold of the Three Spires, into the deep muddy bilge which lay there, as safe a hiding-place for a crime as could be found.
There was but one way of escape, and he turned to it at once. His boat had gone, but the river was still his refuge and way of release. He seized the broken taffrail, swung himself over it, let himself go, slid swiftly down the side, holding himself straight and stiff as a bar, and struck the water with his bare feet with less than a splash, with no more than a sharp clunk, and at the next instant was striking out with all his might for the side of the creek.
The man creeping along the deck uttered a savage oath full of baffled fury as he saw Chippy vanish over the side, and heard him enter the water; then scrambled swiftly back to the boat, and sprang in.
'He's jumped over,' he growled. 'Pull round and after him. We'll get him yet.'
'P'raps he's drownded,' said the other.
'Not him,' cried the fiercer thief; 'he didn't drop into the water like one as gets drownded. He's makin' off—that's what he's a-doin'. Pull, I tell ye—pull!'
They bent to the oars, and the skiff was driven at speed round the stranded hull of the barquentine. For his part, Chippy was swimming as he had never swum before. He was lashing the water with all his might, swimming his favourite side-stroke, his fastest way of moving, now glancing at the dark mass which marked the side of the creek, now glancing behind to see if the boat pursued. In one thing he was very unlucky. He had struck straight away from the side over which he had slipped, the side upon which the boat was not lying, and was swimming into the moonlight which now bathed the farther side of the creek. He shot into the lighted space as the boat slid from under the shadow of the broad stern, and was seen at once. Across the quiet water Chippy heard the voice of his more dangerous foe: 'There he is! there he is!' cried the ruffian. 'Pull, I tell ye—pull! we'll have him easy before he touches bank.'
Chippy looked ahead, and felt that there was horrible truth in this. Stripped to the buff, he would have escaped without a doubt, for he could go through the water like a fish. But he was now fully clothed, and the water-sodden garments clung round him like a coating of lead, impeding his strokes, and cutting down his pace in cruel fashion.
Still, he fought gamely, putting out every effort to drive himself through the slow, dead water, and keeping his mind fixed on the shore ahead, and not on the boat darting after him under the propulsion of two powerful oarsmen.
He wanted to look back, but he drove the feeling off. He knew it would not help his speed to mark how near his foes were, and he could, in any case, do nothing but swim—swim for his life. There is no more helpless creature in the world than the swimmer overtaken in the water. He can neither fight nor fly. His powers are needed to support himself, and, once disabled, the deadly water takes him into its murderous embrace.
But, of a sudden, Chippy was forced to mark the terrible danger which hung over him.
'Pull straight ahead,' said a voice, which seemed almost in his ear. He turned his face, and his heart leapt in his side. The muffled rowlocks and sweeps had brought the boat almost full upon him in silence, and the ruffian who sought his life was springing into the bows armed with the boat-hook. The boy scout saw all this clearly in the moonlight—saw the second man pulling with a terrified face turned over his shoulder, saw the heavy, iron-shod pole swinging aloft to fall upon his head. He drew a long breath, and filled his lungs deeply. As he did so, the shadow of the bow fell upon him, and at that instant he dived like a water-hen. There was a tremendous splash just at his ear, and a heavy blow was dealt on his shoulder, driving him deeper still. He turned over on his back, and opened his eyes, for he had closed them at the instant of diving. He saw directly above him a dark mass, and knew that he was under the boat. It passed slowly on, and he rose, and his face came to the surface and was brushed by a rope. He seized the rope and hung on, and drew, cautiously, a deep breath. He looked round, and found that he had caught the painter as it dragged astern, and that the way of the boat was checked. Then Chippy heard a voice. 'Pull round a bit,' it asid; 'we shall soon see if he rises again or no.'
'Not he,' said another voice, which quavered. 'Never! never! He'll ne'er rise again after that frightful crack you hit him. I shall hear it all my days.'
The hardier ruffian chuckled. 'I did fetch him a good un,' he said—'a reg'lar oner. I felt the hook light on him. But pull, I tell ye—pull! There's no time for moanin' an' groanin' now.'
Chippy felt that way was being given to the boat, and he struck out softly with one arm and both feet in order that he should not drag on the boat and betray his presence. By the aid of the painter, he could keep his head low behind the broad stern, and quite out of sight of the two rogues in the boat.
His shoulder ached where the boat-hook had fallen upon it, but the blow had not been disabling, for the force had been partly broken by the water. In one way, it was very lucky for the scout that he had received this sharp crack, for the thief who sought his life was now fully under the impression that the boy had been beaten under. This caused the two rogues to be less thorough in their search for a head showing above the water. The boat was gently paddled round the spot where Chippy had disappeared, but the men did not move to and fro in the boat, glancing on every side. Had they done so, the head bobbing along under the stern would have been discovered, and there would have been a short shrift for the daring scout.
'He'll never come up—never,' said the rower, his voice still unsteady; 'you stunned him, an' I've heard as anyone stunned will never rise again.'
'That's true,' said the ruffian, who still poised the boathook ready to deal a second blow if needful—'that's true, an' like enough he's gone down for good. Anyhow, he's been under long enough for us to be sure he's settled. Here, what are ye up to?'
This question was addressed to his companion, who now dipped his oars deeply, and began to pull a strong stroke.
'I'm off ashore,' said the latter; and Chippy could hear the fellow's teeth chattering as he spoke. 'I've had enough o' this. I'm goin' to get on the bank.'
'Pull away, then, chicken-heart,' jeered his more brutal comrade. 'After all, the stuff's safely stowed away. There's no need to go back to the old barky.'
The boat was steadily driven inshore, and at the stern Chippy swam his hardest to take his weight off the painter and keep his head under cover. 'I got to look out,' said the cool scout to himself, 'or I'll get that boathook on my nut yet.'
But once more fortune favoured the brave, and the boat slid into the deep shadow of the old landing-stage, and Chippy was still undiscovered. No sooner did they enter the friendly dusk than Chippy released the painter, and let himself float without movement. The boat pulled on a dozen yards to the stairs, and the scout swam gently to the shelter of a great pile. Chippy now heard the rower fling down the oars and spring out of the boat, and rush up to the stage above.
The second man poured a stream of jeers after his less resolute comrade, then sat down, took the oars, turned the boat, and pulled away down the creek, evidently bent on restoring the craft to its proper anchorage.
The boat shot away and disappeared round the end of the stage, and Chippy struck out for the stairs and crawled to land. He was by this time pretty exhausted, and he sat for a few minutes on the lowest step, to rest and draw a few easy breaths, while the water poured from him in streams. As soon as he had recovered a little, he sprang up the steps, and hurried homewards on his bare feet; for his boots were at the bottom of the river, and he considered himself a very lucky scout to think that he was not there beside them.
The next morning Chippy turned up at Elliott Brothers' prompt to time. He had had a big ducking, a rattle on his shoulder, and not much sleep; but he was as hard as nails, and looked none the worse for his adventure. He had also purchased a pair of boots from a pawn-shop in Skinner's Hole. They were not up to much, for one and sevenpence was the total sum the scout could raise; but they covered his feet in some sort of shape, and he could do no more. Mr. Malins set him to work to shake out and tie up a great heap of sacks in the basement, and when Chippy had finished this task he went and took a peep at the clock in the church-tower at the end of the street.
'Mr. Elliott's in by now,' muttered the scout to himself, and he marched straight up to the office of the junior partner, and tapped at the door.
'Come in,' called a voice; and in Chippy went, and closed the door behind him.
Mr. Elliott looked up from the morning letters, with which he was busy, and raised his eyebrows.
'Well, Slynn,' he said, 'and what may you want?'
Chippy stood up very straight, and saluted.
'Come to report, sir, on the robbery at the warehouse.'
'What!' shouted Mr. Jim Elliott, and his eyebrow went up higher than ever.
'Went on scout, sir, last night, about ten,' began Chippy, and then plunged into the recital of his adventures.
He had no more than fairly started when the door whirled open once more, this time without any formality of tapping, and in burst the senior partner in a state of great excitement.
'Jim, Jim,' he called out, quite failing to notice that his brother was not alone, 'there's more stuff gone. The warehouse was broken into again last night, for all the police were on the watch. Altogether a good seventy pounds' worth of goods have been stolen.'
'Ah, yes, Richard,' returned his brother. 'I'm just receiving a report on the matter from one of my scouts.'
'About the burglary,' cried the senior partner, knitting his brows in wonder and astonishment, and observing for the first time the bolt-upright figure of the Raven, who promptly saluted. 'Do you mean to say this boy knows something about it?'
'I fancy he does,' returned Mr. James Elliott. 'Take a chair, and we'll hear what he's got to say. He'd only just begun his report as you came in.'
The senior partner sat down, and stared at Chippy with an expression of doubt and perplexity. 'But suppose we're just wasting time here, Jim,' he expostulated.
'Better hear what he's got to say,' said the instructor quietly; 'he's a good scout, and a good scout doesn't waste people's time. Now. No. 1, Raven Patrol, go on with your report, and make it short and clear.'
Chippy went ahead at once, and for five minutes the two gentlemen listened in perfect silence to his husky voice as he ran swiftly over the points of his adventure. He stopped speaking, saluted, and stood at attention once more.
'Never heard a more extraordinary narration in my life,' burst out the senior partner. 'It sounds incredible; the boy's been dreaming.'
'No, I think not,' replied his brother; 'or if he has, we can soon put his statement to the proof.'
'Just what was in my mind,' said Mr. Elliott; 'we'll take him down to the warehouse at once, Jim, and look into this.'
A four-wheeler was called from the hackney stand near the church, and within a few minutes the two partners and the errand-boy were being driven to the waterside. At the gate of the warehouse yard they met Mr. White, the manager.
'The thing's more mysterious than ever, Mr. Elliott,' cried the manager, 'Here's Inspector Bird of the police; he's been all over the place, and he can't find any sign that a single fastening has been tampered with; and a constable was on patrol all night.'
'Ah,' said the senior partner, 'have you looked at the trap which gives on the old water-gate, White?'
'Old water-gate, sir!' cried White. 'What's that? I never heard of such a thing.'
'No, possibly not; it's been out of service for so many years,' replied Mr. Elliott; 'but it exists nevertheless, and we'll have a look at it.'
At this moment they were joined by Inspector Bird, and after a few words between the police-officer and Mr. Elliott, the party of four men and the scout went in search of the trap, the senior partner leading the way with a lantern, for which he had asked, in his hand.
At the farther end of the great storeroom a flight of winding stone steps led down into a huge cellar. Mr. Elliott went first, and threw the light of his lantern back to guide the others; for there was no hand-rail, and an ugly fall awaited anyone who might miss his footing.
'Why, sir,' said White, 'we never use this place; it's too damp. I've only been down here once before in the five years I've been with you, and there's neither door nor window to it.'
'Yes, White, there's a door,' replied Mr. Elliott; 'but it's in the floor, and that's what we're going to look at.'
Guided by the shine of the lantern, the party marched across the floor of the huge damp vault, and the senior partner paused beside a broad trap-door, and threw the light upon it. He gave a long, low whistle, and his brother said, 'Ah, first point to Slynn, Richard.'
'It is, it is,' said the latter, after a pause—'it certainly is.'
The trap-door was in two halves, meeting on a broad central bar slotted into the stones at either end. Each half was secured by a couple of big iron bolts running into sockets fixed on the bar. The right half was firmly fastened; the left half was unfastened at this instant; the great bolts were drawn back, and the sockets were empty.
The senior partner put his foot on the left flap. 'Here you are, inspector,' he said. 'The thieves came in here.' And in a few words he explained about the old water-gate.
'Then they had an accomplice inside, sir,' cried the inspector.
'Yes, that's very certain,' replied Mr. Elliott. 'He drew the bolts before he left the warehouse for the night, but he hasn't been yet to replace them.'
'My word, sir!' burst out White, 'there's one man never turned up to work this morning—Luke Raper. Can he have had anything to do with it?'
'Is everyone else here?' asked the inspector.
'Everyone,' returned White.
'Then I'll send one of my men after Raper at once,' said the police-officer.
'Very good,' remarked Mr. Elliott; 'and while Raper is being looked up, we'll go on the next step of our investigations.'
He had already ordered a boat to be got ready at a stage near at hand, and thither went the two partners, Chippy, and Inspector Bird. The manager was left at the warehouse to see that everyone employed about it stayed there until the police had finished their inquiries. The boat was rowed by a couple of watermen, and as soon as the party of four had taken their seats it was pulled down the river and up the creek to the spot where the derelict old barquentine lay.
The first man on the Three Spires was Mr. James Elliott. He scrambled down the companion, and raised a loud cry of surprise and pleasure. 'Here they are!' he called out. 'Here are the missing bales! Slynn was right in every particular.'
He was soon joined by the others, and again the senior partner indulged in his long, low whistle when he saw the missing goods neatly piled in a dry corner.
'As clever a hiding-place as ever I heard of!' cried Inspector Bird. 'No one would ever think of overhauling this old hulk. But there's your stuff, sir, all right.'
The senior partner dropped his hand on Chippy's shoulder. 'Slynn,' he said, 'you are a brave, clever lad. I'll admit now that I could scarcely believe your story, but I am sure that you have spoken the truth in every particular. My brother and I are not only grateful to you for this recovery of our property, but you have done a service to every honest man about the warehouse. It ought not to be difficult now to trace the thief and remove all suspicion from straightforward men.'
'A very good piece of work indeed, No. 1,' chimed in the instructor; then he turned to his brother. 'Well, Richard,' he said in quiet triumph, 'this is one up to the boy scouts, I think.'
'It is, Jim,' returned the senior partner; 'there's no mistake about that. A movement which trains youngsters to be cool and level-headed in this fashion ought to be supported.'
At this moment Inspector Bird, who had been searching the vessel generally, came back to the group below the companion. He had been given a general idea of Chippy's work in the discovery of the stolen goods, and now he wished to question the scout.
'First thing,' he said, 'did you know either of the men?'
'No,' said Chippy; 'I never saw their faces, and the only way I could spot one of 'em 'ud be becos he'd lost a finger.'
'Lost a finger!' cried Mr. Jim Elliott. 'Why, Luke Raper's a finger short!'
'Ah, ha!' said Inspector Bird; 'this begins to look like narrowing it down, gentlemen. It seems to me the sooner we have a talk to Mr. Luke Raper, the better.'
'We'll go back to the warehouse,' said the senior partner, 'and see whether your man has Drought Raper up to the mark.'
So back to the warehouse they went, leaving one of the watermen to guard the goods on the Three Spires until they could be removed. But there was no Luke Raper at the warehouse, nor was he ever seen there again. The police found that he had vanished from his lodgings, leaving no clue whither he had gone, and he was never traced. Chippy always felt certain that he was the timorous partner of the pair of thieves, and had fled because he feared implication in the murder which he believed had been committed.
Almost at the same time a wild, drunken longshoreman, known as Spitfire Bill—a name which his savage temper had earned for him—disappeared from the wharves of Bardon River, and very possibly he was Raper's accomplice. No one could say, for neither man was ever brought to book; but Raper's guilt was certain, for every other man about the place could account for himself clearly, and none other than Raper had a deformed hand.
Mr. Elliott wished to give Chippy a handsome reward, but the Raven steadily refused to take it. 'Can't be done,' was his reply. 'Yer see, theer's Law 2 an' the back end o' Law 5; they'm dead agin it.'
However, Mr. Elliott did something which filled Chippy and his followers with immense delight. He rigged out the Raven Patrol, from their leader down to No. 8, in full khaki scout's rig, so that when they went out in friendly competition or on a scouting-run with their friends the Wolves it was hard to say which patrol was the more smartly turned out.
No one was more delighted to hear of Chippy's clever work in connection with the robbery than his fellow patrol-leader, Dick Elliott. Part of Dick's delight, if the truth must be told, was on his own account. 'Now,' he said to himself, 'if I can only get permission to go myself, I ought to be sure of Chippy as my companion for the week.'
What did this mean? It meant that Dick was turning over in his mind a splendid plan which he had formed for Whitsun week, if only he could gain permission to carry it out.
He was burning to go a real scouting journey—a journey upon which he would be cast upon his own resources, sleeping under the sky, or in a hay-loft or barn, and marching through the country, patrol staff in hand, taking what might come. He thought it would be splendid if he could set out on such a tramp with Chippy for a companion; and surely, after Chippy's splendid bit of work for the firm, it would be easy to beg for a week's holiday for him.
The Grammar School was always closed in Whit-week for local reasons. The fine old building stood at one side of the wide market-place, and this place was the scene of a great annual fair—a fair as old as the town itself, and possibly older. In former days, when manners were ruder and rougher, the school had not been closed during Whitsun Fair, and traditions still existed among the schoolboys of wild pranks played by their predecessors among the booths and stalls. In this way enmity arose between the boys and the fair-folk—an ill-feeling which had more than once given rise to pitched battles and serious rioting, as the town records went to prove. So towards the close of the eighteenth century the practice arose of closing the school during the fair, and forbidding the boys to frequent the market-place. During the hundred years and more that had passed since then the fair had fallen off very much, but the Whit-week holiday was still given at the school.
Dick's first move in the matter was to go to his uncle and lay the whole affair before him, including his hopes of having Chippy as a companion.
'I don't see that you could come to much harm in a few days,' said his uncle, when Dick had finished. 'I suppose you want me to back you up with your father and mother.'
'That's just it, uncle,' cried Dick; 'if you'll only do that, I shall be awfully glad.'
'Well, go ahead,' said his uncle; 'I'll do what I can for you.'
Even with his uncle's help Dick had some difficulty in gaining his parents' consent. At last his father was struck with a brilliant idea, which he thought would settle the affair very neatly. 'We'll let him go, as he's so keen on it,' said Mr. Elliott to his wife; 'but we'll soon have him back. I've thought of a plan.' And he explained it.
That evening Dick was in the schoolroom busy with his lessons for the next day, when he was summoned to the study, where his father was sitting by the fire with the evening paper.
'Well, Dick,' said Mr. Elliott, 'about that scouting idea of yours, now.'
'Oh, father,' burst out Dick, 'I can go, can't I? And Chippy as well? I'm sure you ought to be willing to spare him for a week.'
'Perhaps, perhaps,' laughed Mr. Elliott; 'but wait a little. I'm going to put a plan before you, to take it or leave it. Here it is: You shall start Whit-Monday morning, and I'll give you a couple of half-sovereigns. One will be for the expenses of yourself and your companion——'
'Hooray! Chippy's coming!' yelled Dick.
'Your companion on the road,' went on Mr. Elliott; 'and you must give me your word as a scout that you will not go outside that ten shillings for any expense whatsoever. The other half-sovereign is for your rail-fare home as soon as you are on your beam-ends—and that will be pretty soon, I shouldn't wonder. It will cover you up to sixty miles third-class, and you're not likely to get outside that radius on your feet.'
'And we can stay out till the ten shillings is gone, father?' cried Dick.
'Up till Saturday night,' returned Mr. Elliott. 'You must be home again before Sunday.' He chuckled as he said this, for he did not suppose for an instant that the scouts' trip would last more than a day or two. 'They'll soon run through a trifling sum like ten shillings,' he had said to his wife, 'and then, in honour bound, they must return.'
Dick gave his word joyfully, and returned to the schoolroom to gloat over the happy time ahead, when a pair of brother scouts would march out upon the world in search of adventure. The next day he sought out Chippy, and imparted the glorious news. The Raven's eyes glittered again at the thought of such a splendid time, and he entered into the romance of the thing with a zest even deeper than Dick's own; for Chippy's life had known little change and little real pleasure until the boy scouts' movement had claimed him for its own.
'We'll camp same as in the books,' cried Chippy, his voice huskier than ever in his excitement; 'an' we'll practise them dodges o' cookin' the grub, so as we'll eat on the cheap. Ten bob! Why, ten bob! We'll goo fur on ten bob!'
'And it will be all right about your wages for the week, Chippy,' said Dick; 'I've settled about that with Uncle Jim. He laughed, and said he rather fancied the firm wouldn't grumble at that.'
Chippy smiled and nodded, and then the boys plunged into eager discussion of things they must do and master in order to be ready for this noble trip.
At seven o'clock on Whit-Monday morning the sun's rays fell on the backs of two boys marching westwards from Bardon at the scout's pace: Dick and Chippy were on the road. They were in full scout's uniform, and Chippy, in his new rig, looked as smart as Dick. Their hats and shorts were of khaki shade, their shirts grey flannel, their neckerchiefs and shoulder-ties of their patrol colours, their coats rolled at their waists with spare socks and vests tucked away in the pockets, their haversacks slung over their shoulders. In their haversacks there was no food at present, for they had to purchase everything they would need from their precious ten shillings; but each carried a blanket which Mrs. Elliott had found for them. Then Chippy carried a tin billy—a present from their instructor—and Dick bore, slung at his belt, a tiny axe, tomahawk shape, its head weighing fourteen ounces. This was intended for cutting wood; and, beside the axe, each had a strong, sharp jack-knife, with spring back, so that the blade could not close on the fingers. Being patrol-leaders, each wore his badge on the front of his hat, and had a lanyard and whistle; and thus accoutred, with patrol staff in hand, they marched on their way.
'I hope it will keep fine, Chippy,' said Dick; 'we can't afford to pay money for lodgings. How long do you think we shall be able to keep going on our money—till the end of the week?'
'Hope so,' replied Chippy. 'I don't want to goo back till we're obliged.'
'Nor do I,' cried Dick. 'Well, there's the last of Bardon for a bit.'
They looked back from a little ridge, and saw the spires of the town over a row of poplars.
'Ta-ta, Bardon,' said Dick. 'We mean to have a look at Newminster before we see you again.'
'We do,' grunted Chippy.
Newminster was a famous cathedral city rather more than forty-five miles from Bardon. To go there and back would mean a tramp of some ninety miles in the six days, and that would be a very fair achievement to carry out on ten shillings for all expenses. The boys talked over ways and means as they went on. 'We got to look out for everythin' we can pick up as 'ull help us,' said Chippy.
'I see,' replied Dick; 'we must try to live on the country. That would be real scout style, Chippy. But it isn't a hostile country; we can't take anything.'
'No, no,' agreed Chippy; 'no pinchin', o' course. Still, theer's things to be had in places. Fish, now—we could cop some fish in some rivers wheer it's free to put a line in.'
'I never thought of fishing,' said Dick; 'that's a good idea. But we've got no rods or tackle.'
Chippy gave a chuckle, and dived a band into a pocket of his shorts. He drew out a hank of fine cord and a screw of paper. In the paper were half a dozen hooks on gut. 'That's all as we want,' he remarked. 'Wait till we come acrost a river wheer there's suthin' to cop.'
'Good for you, Chippy,' laughed Dick. 'A few fish will help us along in style. Only we mustn't poach.'
'No, no,' said Chippy; 'we'll play fair.'
By eleven o'clock the boys had made, with occasional halts, just about eight miles, and both had the knot out of their neckties. Dick had seen an old cottage woman labouring at her well, and had lent her a hand with the heavy bucket, and drawn all the water she would want for the day, while Chippy had sprung forward to hold the pony of a lady who was visiting a sick woman in a cottage near by.
In connection with Chippy's good turn, a discussion arose between the two scouts as they marched on from the hamlet where these things had happened. The lady had offered Chippy sixpence, and, of course, he had refused it.
'Now, look 'ere,' said Chippy; 'o' course, I didn't tek' the sixpence, becos the knot worn't out o' me neckerchief, an' the job worn't worth sixpence, nohow, an' we got to do all them sorts o' things for nuthin', by orders. But s'pose I did a job for some'dy as was really worth sixpence, an' I'd done me good turn that day, could I tek' the sixpence to help us along? It 'ud come in uncommon handy. An', besides that, we're allowed to earn money, though we mustn't beg it or tek' it for little trifles as we ought to do for nuthin'.'
Dick looked puzzled, and thought for a moment before he spoke.
'What you say is very true, Chippy,' he said at last, 'and if you like to earn some money for scout work, why, that's all right. But I don't think we could use a single farthing of it for this trip. You see, we're bound to the ten shillings.'
'Righto, Wolf,' said the faithful Raven; 'but if some'dy offered us a drink o' milk for a hand's turn, or summat like that, I s'pose there'd be no wrong theer?'
'No, I should think not,' replied Dick. 'That would be living on the country in an honest sort of way, and on good scouting lines.'
'Just so,' said his fellow scout. 'I don't mind a rap how it goes, as long as we understand one another. Now we'll look out for a good place to mek' our fust halt.'
At the general shop of the hamlet they had made their first purchases and broken into the ten shillings. They had bought enough flour to fill a ration-bag for sevenpence, two ounces of tea for twopence-halfpenny, a penny packet of baking-powder, half a pound of brown sugar for a penny farthing, and the old woman who kept the shop had thrown a lump of salt as big as Dick's fist in for nothing. So they had spent elevenpence three-farthings, and their purchases were stowed away in the linen bags which Dick and his sister had made ready for the trip.
'Big hole in a bob for a start,' commented Chippy; 'but we must stretch the stuff out.'
'Oh, the flour will make us a heap of chupatties,' said Dick. 'We'll get a lot more to eat for the money than if we'd spent it in bread.'
'Rather,' said Chippy, 'an' we'll want it, too. Here's a spring. Just the place to fill the billy.'
He filled the big tin, and then they looked round for a spot to make a fire. Fifty or sixty yards past the spring a grassy cart road turned aside from the track, and they went down it for a hundred yards till they reached a quiet sunny corner.
Chippy set the billy down, and both turned to and built a fire, at which they were now pretty expert. First they gathered a dozen handfuls of dried grass and made a little heap. Over this heap they built a pyramid of dried twigs and tindery sticks gathered at the foot of the hedgerow. A match was set to the dried grass, and a little red flame sprang swiftly up and began to curl about the twigs and sticks. Now the boys were busy scouting here and there for large sticks to pile again in a bigger pyramid above the burning heap, and in a corner where hedge-cuttings had been flung in the previous winter they found plenty of fuel. Soon they had a capital fire, and the billy was put on to boil, while Dick turned his hand to the chupatties.
He unrolled his coat, and spread it on the ground with the lining upwards. Upon the lining he made a heap of flour, and formed a hole in the centre with his hand. Into this hole he poured hot water from the billy, and added a little salt and baking-powder. Then he mixed the whole well together, kneading and working it with his hands, the latter sprinkled with flour to prevent the dough from sticking to his fingers. Finally he had a couple of flat buns or cakes of dough. In the meantime Chippy had been getting the fire ready. A good pile of red-hot wood ashes had gathered in the centre of the burning sticks. When the dough was ready these ashes were swept aside, and the cakes laid on the hot earth. Then the ashes were piled round the cakes, and they were left to bake.
When the chupatties were nearly baked, the billy was boiled up again, and some tea and a handful of sugar thrown into it. Dick had cut a long skewer of wood to try the cakes, and he now pronounced them done. They were taken from the ashes and set to cool, while each scout fished a tin mug out of his haversack. Soon they were seated at their first meal, a thousand times more happy than any two kings.
While they ate the chupatties with the relish gained by their morning's tramp, and washed them down with steaming hot tea, they looked over the map which Dick had spread between them.
'Here we are,' said Dick, putting his finger on the very cartway itself, which was clearly shown in the capital map.
Chippy nodded.
'Lemme see,' murmured the latter. 'Wot's the best way to head arter this?'
The two scouts were steering clear of all high-roads and beaten tracks. They were both agreed that there was no fun in tramping along under telegraph wires and in the dust of motor-cars. Anyone could find his way where there was a row of milestones and finger-posts to keep him straight. They were marching purely by the map, following byways and narrow, hidden country lanes, and unfrequented tracks which led by moor and heath and common. There was another immense advantage, too, in moving by such routes. Not merely was it excellent scouting practice, but it afforded them quiet places for camping. It is not easy to camp along a high-road: there are too many people about. No sooner does the smoke of the evening fire begin to rise than a squad of village loungers turn up to watch the preparations, or perhaps, worse still, someone in authority arrives, and forbids the campers to halt in that spot.
'Lemme see,' murmured Chippy again. 'Here's a river; that's about seven mile again, as fur as I can mek' out.'
Dick measured the distance. 'Just about seven miles,' he said.
'Wot d'yer say to campin' pretty handy to it to-night?' went on Chippy.
'So that you can try your hand on the fish, eh?' laughed Dick.
Chippy nodded.
'All right,' said Dick, 'we'll strike out for it. We shall have to do about two miles along a main, then we can branch off again, and get up to the river in very quiet country. See, there's hardly a house marked on the map.'
'All the better for mekin' a camp,' said Chippy; and Dick agreed.
When they had finished their meal they lay in the sunshine, chatting and watching the fire die away. Before they left they took care that every ember was extinguished, so that no harm could come to the place where they had made their halt.
It was about two o'clock when they resumed their journey, and they moved at an easy pace, with the aim of reaching their camping-ground towards five. That would give them ample time to make their preparations for the night.
Until four o'clock the march was quite uneventful, then Chippy had an adventure with a baker's cart. They were passing through a village whose street was spanned at one end by a railway bridge. Near the bridge stood a cottage lying well back from the road, and as the scouts passed, a baker drove up, and went to the cottage with his basket on his arm.
While he was at the door, a train whizzed up and thundered over the bridge, and the horse took fright and dashed away, galloping up behind the two boys. Both of the latter began to run with all their might in the same direction as the horse, which soon caught them up. He was about to pass them on Chippy's side when the Raven flung aside his staff, and seized the shaft with his right hand, and thus was enabled for a few yards to keep an equal speed with the horse. Then Chippy gripped the near rein with his left hand and tugged with all his might. The terrified creature was not yet too wild with fear to fail to answer to the pull on the bit, and swung round to the left. In this way the scout managed to jam the frightened brute's head into the tall bank, and thus pulled it up. In dashed Dick and seized the other rein, and between them the scouts held the horse until the baker ran up and helped them to secure it.
The baker was profuse in his thanks—above all, when he had looked over the horse and cart, and found that neither was a penny the worse, thanks to the Raven's clever manoeuvring.
Chippy scratched his jaw thoughtfully, then spoke up:
'D'ye reckon it's worth a loaf to ye—a big un?'
'A loaf!' cried the baker, 'it's worth every loaf I've got in the cart, and more, too. The mare might have broke her leg and the cart been smashed, and I gave three-and-twenty pound for the mare less 'n a fortnight ago.'
'We'll let it go at a loaf,' murmured Chippy; and the baker picked out the best he could find and gave a thousand thanks with it. Chippy put the loaf in his haversack, and the scouts trudged on.
'It'll stretch our flour out a bit,' said Chippy, and Dick grinned.
'After all, Chippy,' he said, 'the loaf was well earned, and no mistake. I don't see that we're not playing fair by picking up things like that.'
'I don't see aught wrong in that,' replied the Raven; 'that's living on the country in as straight a way as can be, I reckon.'
Beyond the village they climbed a rise to a ridge, and at the crown of the ascent they looked ahead, and saw a wide valley before them, with a shining stream winding its way through a green river-flat.
'There's the river, Chippy,' said Dick, 'and there goes the road up the side of the valley, turning away from the river.'
He pointed to the white ribbon of dusty road which climbed a distant rise and disappeared.
'We'll mek' straight for the river,' said the Raven.
'Right,' said Dick. 'Cross-country it is;' and the boys struck away into the fields. They spent some time in reaching the river, for they carefully avoided crossing fields where grass was growing for hay, or where corn was green; but at last they were on its banks at a point where it wound across a big patch of rough common land, dotted by flumps of gorse and broken by two or three spinneys.
The river was not wide, but it was slow, and seemed deep. The boys tried two or three places with their patrol staffs, and could not touch the bottom. Then they started to prospect for a camping-ground for the night.
'How about under that little hanger?' said Dick, pointing to a tiny wood which clung to a bank a short distance back from the river.
'Looks all right,' rejoined Chippy; and they went towards it. They were crossing a grassy strip between two clumps of furze when a small spiny creature with a sharp nose trundled across their path some distance ahead. Chippy leapt out and darted in pursuit, his staff raised. Dick followed, saw the staff fall, and came up to find the Raven turning over a dead hedgehog with the point of his stick.
'Supper for two,' chuckled Chippy, 'an' a jolly good un.'
'Supper?' cried Dick, 'Why, it's a hedgehog. Who can eat a thing like that?' and he made a face of disgust.
'Them as know's wot's good,' murmured Chippy, with a cheerful wink. 'Wait till ye've had a bit. Besides, ain't we scouts? An' scouts ha' got to tackle anythin' an' everythin'. Look wot it says in the books. Look wot B.P. et at one time an' another.'
'You're right, old chap,' said Dick; 'but just for a minute it seemed so jolly queer to knock over a spiny little brute like that, and then talk of eating it.'
'Gipsies eat 'em reg'lar,' replied Chippy, 'an' I know 'ow they handle 'em. They're good—I tell ye that.'
Carrying the hedgehog by a withe cut from a willow, the scouts went on to the ground below the hanger, and pronounced the spot first-rate for a camp. There was a sandy patch at the foot of the bank, and here they resolved to build their fire and sleep.
The fire was taken in hand first thing, for Chippy would need a great pile of red-hot embers for his cookery. The hanger was littered with dry sticks, so that there was no lack of material, and soon they had a rousing fire crackling on the sandy soil.
At the foot of the hanger they met with a stroke of luck. They found a young beech-tree which had been blown down in some winter storm. It was now as dry as a bone and easy cutting, and Dick went to work with the little axe, and soon cut and split a heap of logs some eight or ten inches long and three or four inches through—first-rate stuff, for no tree in the wood burns more sweetly than beech. While the fire was under way, and while Dick hacked at the beech, Chippy had gone in search of clay. He was gone soms time, for he did not hit on a clayey spot at once. But he worked along the bank of the stream where the wash of the water had laid bare the nature of the soil until he struck upon a seam of red clay, and dug out a mass with his knife and the point of his staff.
He brought the clay to the fire, and next fetched a billy of water from the river, and worked the clay into a mass which would spread like stiff butter. Now he took the hedgehog, opened it, and removed its inside. Then he began to wrap it in a thick covering of the clay.
'Aren't you going to skin it?' cried Dick, who had been watching his brother scout's doings with deep interest.
'I am,' said Chippy, 'but not now—leastways, it'll skin itself when the time comes.'
Soon Chippy held in his hands a great ball of clay, inside which the hedgehog lay like a kernel in a nut. The fury of the fire had passed by now, and the small beech logs were heaped in a glowing mass of fiery embers. With a spare log Chippy drew the embers aside, and laid his ball of clay on the heated ground, and raked the ashes into place again.
'Now,' said he, 'when we're ready for supper, that theer 'ull be ready for us.'
'It doesn't look as if our supper was going to cost us much,' laughed Dick. Chippy looked up with his dry, quiet smile.
'As it's runnin' so cheap,' he said, 'we might goo in for suthin' extra. Wot d'yer say to a drop o' milk in the tea?'
'Where are we going to get it?' cried Dick.
'When I was down theer'—and Chippy jerked his head towards the river—'I seen a house acrost the fields. If ye'll turn me up a copper ot o' the cash-box I'll tek' a billy an' buy a pennorth.'
Dick laughed and turned out a penny, and away went Chippy after the milk, while Dick watched the fire and the haversacks they had piled beside it.
While Chippy was away an old man came up-stream whipping it with a fly-rod. The time of the evening rise was coming on, but very few circles broke the surface of the smoothly running river. Dick went over and asked him what luck he had had.
'Only two, an' them little uns,' said the old man. 'You see, this is a free stretch for about a couple o' miles, an' it gets fished a lot too much. There are some in it, an' big uns too, but they'm too wide awake to tek' the fly.'
When Chippy came back Dick reported this. 'Not much chance for you, old chap,' said Dick; 'the old fellow had got a good fly-rod and fine gut, and he could do little or nothing, so it isn't likely we shall get trout for breakfast in the morning.'
But Chippy's calm was quite undisturbed. 'Said as there wor' some about, an' big uns too, did he?' remarked the Raven. 'That's good enough fer me. Shouldn't wonder but wot I'll yank one or two on 'em out yet.'
He set the billy down beside the fire, and Dick cried out in wonder. 'By Jingo, Chippy, what a jolly lot of milk! You made that penny go a tremendous long way. You must have dropped across a good sort.'
'Just wot I did,' rejoined the Raven—'a stout old lady, with a heart to match the size of her waist;' and he flipped the penny back at the treasurer.
'And you've brought the penny back!' cried Dick.
'Wouldn't tek' it nohow,' replied the other; 'said I was kindly welcome.'
'Why, we needn't make any tea,' said Dick.
'Just wot I thought,' remarked his companion; 'that's tea an' sugar saved at a bang. Bread, milk, an' 'edgehog ought to fill us out aw' right this time. Now, what about gettin' the bed ready afore we have supper? After supper I may be busy for a bit.'
'Right you are,' said Dick; and they turned to their first attempt of making a scout's bed.
The farther end of the hanger was composed of a thick growth of larch-trees, and here there had been a fall of timber in the winter. Two or three lots of logs had not yet been carried away, and the two scouts chose four logs of fairly suitable length for the framework of their couch, and pegged them into position. They could soon have chopped the logs to the right length, but they did not do so, for that would have been damaging other people's property, and no scout acts in such a way as to raise difficulties for those who may come after him.
When the woodmen had felled the larches they had stripped off the branches and cut away the plumy tops with their axes, and heaps of branches and tops lay about among the remaining trees. With axe and knife the scouts cut great armfuls of the tips and carried them to the framework. Here they laid them to overlap each other like the slates on a roof, as Mr. Elliott had shown them, and within an hour they had a dry, springy bed, upon which they flung themselves, and rolled in delight and kicked up their heels for a minute or two.
'One little job agen before supper,' said Chippy, 'but it'll only be a short un. I want two or three minnows, an' I saw a place wheer they wor' swimmin' in hundreds.'
The scouts ran down to the river, and Chippy pointed to a shallow where a great shoal of the tiny fish were glancing to and fro, their sides glittering as they turned in the light of the setting sun. Chippy throw himself flat on the bank, and very slowly and cautiously slipped his hand into the water. The minnows darted away, but soon returned, and the scout, with a swift, dexterous scoop, tossed a couple high and dry on the bank, where Dick secured them. A second attempt only landed one, but it was a good-sized one, and Chippy sprang to his feet.
'I reckon three 'ull be enough for now, an' we ain't supposed to catch more'n we can use. That's in the books. Got 'em safe?'
'Safe and sound,' replied Dick. 'But we can't eat these tiny things, Chippy.'
'Not likely,' said the Raven, 'but they'll make first-rate bait: that's wot I'm arter. Now for supper.'
'I'm ready,' said Dick. 'I'm as hungry as a wolf.'
'Right thing for one o' your patrol,' chuckled Chippy, and the boys laughed as they raced back to their camp.
Chippy opened the heap of ashes and drew out the ball of clay. Very carefully he broke the clay open and disclosed the white flesh of the hedgehog, cooked to a turn, and smelling deliciously.
'Where'e the skin?' cried Dick; 'and I say, how good it smells!'
'Skin's stuck fast in the clay wi' the prickles,' replied the Raven. 'Cut some chunks o' bread while I get it out.'
Dick took the loaf and cut some good slices with his knife, while his comrade dexterously divided the hedgehog into handy pieces. Then they sat about their fire and made a glorious supper. The bread was good, the milk was sweet, the hedgehog's flesh was tender and toothsome. Dick forgot all about his first dislike as he ate his share and applauded Chippy's skill and cookery.
'The light's going fast,' remarked Dick, as supper was ending.
'So it is,' said Chippy, 'and I ain't got a fishin'-rod yet.'
He sprang to his feet and seized the tomahawk.
'Where are you going to get one?' cried Dick.
'Handy by,' replied the Raven, and marched to a thicket of hazels within thirty yards of the camp fire. Dick heard one or two strokes of the little axe, and then Chippy came back dragging a tall, straight hazel stem nine or ten feet long. He sat down, took his knife, and began to trim off the side branches.
'So that's your rod, is it?' said Dick.
'Jolly good un, too, for what I want,' returned Chippy. 'Ye'll soon see.'
He trimmed the hazel and cut down the weaker end until he had a strong, pliant rod about eight feet long. Next he unwound his hank of cord, tied one end round the rod a foot from the bottom, then wound the cord round the rod for its full length beyond, and tied it again at the top. In this way the whole spring and strength of the rod would be behind the cord, and aid it in its pull.
'No use just to fasten the line at the top,' commented Chippy; 'if yer do, p'raps the top 'll break, an' then theer's yer line, hook, an' everythin' gone.'
He opened his packet of hooks and took out a largish one, whose shank was covered smoothly with lead.
'I got these hooks from an old chap as lives close by us,' said Chippy. 'He's a reg'lar dab 'and at fishin', an' I've been with him many a time to carry his basket an' things. He rigged me up wi' these when I told 'im about our trip, an' I know wot to do becos I've seen him at it often enough. Now for the minnows.'
Chippy took the largest minnow, and, by the light of the fire, deftly worked it over the hook and lead until the latter was hidden in the body of the tiny fish.
'They call this the "pledge,"' he said, as he fastened the line into the loop of the gut; 'an' the way yer use it is the "sink-an'-draw" dodge. It's a sure kill, an' yer almost certain to get a big un.'
'But it's going darker and darker!' cried Dick.
'Dark's the time to use it,' replied his friend; 'that's when the big uns come out an' swim at the bottom o' some deep hole, an' wait for summat to show up atween them an' the sky.'
The scouts now went down to the bank, where Chippy had marked a likely-looking pool between two big hawthorn-bushes. They moved very softly, according to his orders, and when they gained the bank the weighted minnow was swung out, dropped into the water without a splash, and then lowered and raised slowly—the 'sink-and-draw' motion.
For five minutes Chippy worked steadily, and then he felt a sharp tug. In this style of fishing one strikes at once. Chippy struck, and found he was fast in a fish. He could not play it, for he had no reel. Nor is it safe to play under bushes in the dark. It is a case of land or smash, though a practised hand will land where a novice is certain to smash. Chippy put a swift but even strain on the pliant rod, and swung his fish up and out. The line was strong, the gut was good, and the trout was well hooked. Out it came, turning and tumbling on the grass, and Dick pounced upon it, for its under sides showed gleams of silver in the faint light, and he could see it bounding. Chippy took it from him, unhooked it, slipped his forefinger into the trout's mouth, and broke its neck with a dexterous jerk of finger and thumb. Then he weighed it in his hand. 'Not a big un,' he whispered; 'about half a pound. There ought to be more on 'em in this pool.'
He examined the minnow, and found that by good luck the trout had done little or no damage to it, and it would serve another turn, so he went to work once more. Several minutes passed, and then he had another bite, and again landed his fish, but it was a little smaller than the first.
'No big uns in this pool,' murmured Chippy. 'Theer's another good place about thirty yards up. We'll try that.'
The minnow had been badly torn by the teeth of the second trout, so by the light of a couple of wax matches, struck one after the other by Dick, Chippy fixed a fresh bait on the leaded hook. Then they went up to the second pool.
'S'pose yer have a try here,' whispered Chippy to Dick. 'It's as easy as can be. Ye must just let it down an' pull it up again, quiet an' easy. Ye'll know soon enough when a fish lays hold on it. Then give a little jerk to fasten th' 'ook in. Next lug him right up, pullin' smooth an' steady wi'out givin' an inch. If yer do, he'll get away, most likely.'
Dick took the rod and let the minnow down into the smooth dark pool where stars were reflected between the shadows of overhanging branches. Down and up, down and up, down and up, he lowered and raised the bait, many, many times, but there was no sign that the pool held a fish. He was about to whisper to Chippy that it was useless to try longer, when there came a tremendous tug, which almost tore the hazel wand out of his grasp. He tightened his clutch convulsively, and in recovering the rod he struck the fish, for at the next moment the tug of a tightly hooked 'big un' shook him from head to foot. Then there was a terrific splash at his feet, which caused his heart to jump into his mouth. The trout had leaped clean out of the water.
'Pull up! Pull up!' yelled Chippy, and Dick pulled. The fish was so firmly hooked that he was still there, and now the rod bent and twisted in Dick's hands as if that, too, were alive and trying to free itself from his wild clutch. Dick raised the fish slowly, for it felt tremendously heavy, and when he had it on the surface it kicked and wallowed till you might have thought a dog was splashing in the water.
'A good swing an' step back,' roared Chippy. Dick obeyed, and gave a big lift. He felt the hazel bend and tremble in his hands, then Chippy pounced on something, and the rod was still.
'Have we got it?' cried Dick breathlessly, for he had felt sure that the trout was too strong for their tackle.
'Got 'im,' snapped Chippy in triumph, 'an' a good un, too. They say it's allus the new hands as get the best luck. We've got plenty now, an' it ain't allowed to tek' more'n we can eat.'
This trout was far too big for Chippy to kill with finger and thumb, so he whipped off his jacket, rolled the fish in it, and the two scouts hurried back to the camp fire. Here Chippy despatched the trout by a sharp tap behind its head, delivered with the handle of the tomahawk, and the boys gloated over their prize. It was a fine, short, hog-backed trout, weighing well over three pounds, and in the pink of condition.
''Bout as much as anybody wants to lift out wi' a nut-stick,' commented Chippy, while Dick stared entranced at his glorious shining prize.
'Time to turn in now, I shouldn't wonder,' said the Raven, and the Wolf looked at his watch.
'Close upon ten,' said the latter.
'Well, we've just about 'ad a day of it,' said his comrade. 'I'll bet we'll be off to sleep like a shot.'
It was not until they lay down and waited for sleep that the boys felt the oddness and queerness of this first night in the open. Bustling round, making the fire, cooking, rigging up their camp, eating supper, fishing—all those things had kept at bay the silence and loneliness which now seemed to settle down upon them like a pall. They were quite comfortable. Each was wrapped snugly in his blanket. The bed of larch-tips was dry and springy. The haversacks, stuffed with the smallest tips, formed capital pillows. Yet sleep did not come at once.
After a time Dick spoke.
'Listen to the river,' he said.
'Rum, ain't it?' replied Chippy. 'Daytime it didn't seem to mek' no noise at all. Now yer can't hear nothin' else.'
The river, as a river always does, had found its voice in the dark: it purred and plashed, while over a shallow some distance below, its waters ran with a shrill babbling, and a steady roar, unheard by day, came up from a distant point where it thundered over a weir.
'Good job we made a rattlin' fire afore we turned in,' remarked the Raven; 'seems like comp'ny, don't it?'
'Rather,' said Dick; and both boys lay for a time watching the dancing gleams, as the good beech logs blazed up and threw the light of their flames into the depths of the hanger which rose above the camp.
Sleep came to Dick without his knowing it, but his sleep had a rude awakening. He woke with the echo of a dreadful cry in his ears. For a moment he looked stupidly about, utterly at a loss to discover where he was. Then the cry came again—a horrible, screaming cry—and he sat up, with his heart going nineteen to the dozen.
'Chippy!' he cried, 'are you awake? What was that?'
'I dunno,' said the Raven, sitting up too. 'But worn't it awful?'
The cry came again, and the two boys, their heads still heavy with sleep, were filled with horror at its wild, wailing note.
'Sounds like some'dy bein' murdered,' gasped Chippy. 'An' the fire's gone. Ain't it dark?'
The fire had gone down, and was now no more than a heap of smouldering ashes. Heavy clouds had drawn across the sky, and the darkness under the hanger was thick enough to cut with a knife. The two boys crouched together side by side and quaked. This was pretty frightful, to be roused in the dead dark time of the small hours by this horrible outcry.
Suddenly Dick jumped.
'Chippy!' he whispered breathlessly, 'there's someone about. I hear them.'
Both boys listened with strained ears, and caught distinctly the sound of light footfalls near at hand.
'Theer's more'n one,' gasped Chippy.
The gentle, creeping footfalls came nearer and nearer in the darkness.
'G-g-gimme the chopper!' whispered the Raven, and his voice was shaking.
'I—I—I've got it,' replied Dick; and his fingers were clenched with the grasp of despair round the smooth handle of the tomahawk.
Chippy drew his jack-knife, opened it, and gripped it in his left hand like a dagger. In his right he had seized his strong patrol staff.
A sharp puff of wind blew along the foot of the slope. It fanned the embers of the dying fire, and a little flame ran up a twig, flickered for a moment, then died as suddenly as it had leapt up. But the boys were stiff with horror. It had shown them a strange dark form crouching within three or four yards of the opposite side of the heap of ashes.
'W-w-what is it?' said Dick.
'I—I—I dunno,' replied Chippy.
Another stronger puff of wind, and a little train of bright sparks shot into the air. Now the boys saw two great gleaming eyes, low down, within a foot of the ground, like some creature crouching to spring, and again the awful wild cry rang out some little distance away.
'Oh—oh—Chippy!' gasped Dick, 'I'm j-j-jolly frightened.'
'S-s-same 'ere,' returned the Raven.
'So I'm going b-b-bang at it, whatever it is.'
'S-s-same 'ere,' muttered the Raven, with chattering jaws.
'Come on!' yelled Dick; and the two scouts threw aside their blankets, bounded to their feet, and dashed at the monster in the dusk beyond the fire. Chippy was nearer, and his patrol staff dealt the first blow. Down it came with a thundering whack on something; then Dick sailed in with the tomahawk. But he had no chance to put in his blow, for the creature was off and away, with a thud of galloping hoofs, and a terrific snort of surprise and alarm. Twenty yards away it paused, and made the river-bank resound again—'Hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw!'
'Why, it's a confounded old jackass!' roared Dick; and then the two boys burst into a peal of laughter almost as loud as the brays of the assaulted donkey.
'Well, I'm blest!' said Chippy, 'if that ain't a good un. The least I thought on wor' some tramps comin' to pinch all we'd got.'
'But what made that frightful noise?' asked Dick, as they went back to the fire and began to pile fresh logs on from a heap which had been stacked away.
'I dunno,' replied his comrade; 'it wor' pretty rum. No jackass as ever lived 'ud mek' a row like that.'
They sat for a while by the fire, which soon burned up cheerfully, and made the camp seem home-like at once. Suddenly the wild cry broke out again, this time straight over their heads. The boys looked up quickly, and saw a bird flitting silently across the light of the merry blaze.
'Theer it is!' cried Chippy—'theer it is! A scritch-owl—naught else.'
'Is that a screech-owl?' said Dick. 'I've heard of a screech-owl many a time, but never heard its call. It's a jolly horrid sound.'
'Ain't it?' rejoined Chippy. 'Wot between wakin' up sudden, and hearin' 'im 'oot, an' th' ole jackass a-cavortin' round, I was wellnigh frit out o' my senses.'
Dick laughed and poked the fire with a stick. The logs flared up, and the pleasant blaze was warm and comforting. He looked at his watch.
'It's just half-past two,' he said. 'Fancy, Chippy, half-past two in the morning, and we're sitting by a camp fire.'
'It's great,' said Chippy; then he gave a tremendous yawn.
'Feeling sleepy?' said Dick.
'We'd better turn in again, I reckon,' said Chippy, 'or we won't be fit to goo on our tramp again to-morrow.'
Dick nodded in agreement, and the boys added a few fresh pieces of wood to the fire, and rolled themselves up once more in their blankets. In a few moments they were soundly off to sleep again, and when they were wakened next time it was by the sun clearing the ridge and shining full upon them.
'Here's a jolly morning, Chippy!' cried Dick, unrolling himself from his blanket and springing to his feet. 'The sun's hot already. We're going to have another splendid day.'
The Raven sprang up in turn, and the scouts shook out their blankets, and tossed them across a furze-bush close at hand to air before they packed them away. The fire had burned down, but they soon revived it by tossing armfuls of their bed upon it, and in a couple of minutes the larch needles were crackling by thousands as the flames ran through the tindery tips. The logs were carried back, and carefully replaced on the heap from which they had been taken.
Next they went down to the river, stripped, plunged into the clear, cool stream, and swam about like a couple of young otters. There were no towels in the outfit, so when they came to land again they rubbed off as much water as they could with their handkerchiefs, and finished drying by turning about fifty Catherine-wheels on a sunny patch of the bank. When they were dressed again, they were glowing with warmth, felt as fit as a fiddle, and were ravening for breakfast.
'What's the bill of fare, cook?' laughed Dick.
'Bread, tea, an' trout,' growled Chippy, 'an' a nailin' good brekfus too. I wish as everybody 'ad got as good.'
'Right for you, old boy,' replied Dick; 'which trout shall we have?'
'Yourn, the big un,' replied the Raven. 'I'll show yer how to cook 'im proper.'
The fire had burned away to the glowing embers which the camp cook loves, and Chippy, having gutted the fish, broiled it in the hot ashes, while Dick boiled water, and made the tea, and cut more slices from the loaf.
Then they attacked the broiled trout, and, big as it was, they made it look rather foolish before they had finished. The piece that was left Chippy wrapped up in dock-leaves and stowed away in the haversack.
'Come in handy next go,' he remarked.
After breakfast they sat for an hour to see the fire out, and Chippy took the line from the rod and put it away.
Then they got into marching trim again, took their staves in their hands, and set off up the valley. Twice or thrice they looked back at the spot where they had made their first camp, but soon a spinney hid it from their view.
'Good old spot,' said Dick. 'I shall never forget it. It was a jolly good camp for a start, Chippy.'
'Yus,' agreed the Raven, 'spite o' the jackass. Theer he is.'
There he was indeed, a placid brown-coated old donkey, cropping the grass on the common on which he had been turned out. The boys gave him a cheer, and the donkey, when he heard their shout, lifted his head and brayed long and sonorously, as if he understood all about it, and was eager to reply.
Tuesday morning's march was fairly uneventful. The comrades did quite a number of good turns for people, for, like good scouts, their eyes were always on the watch for anyone who needed a helping hand, and Chippy commented on the number of chances which turned up.
'Rum, ain't it?' he remarked; 'afore I wor a scout, I never used to twig how many chances there are o' lendin' a hand. I s'pose they wor' theer, only I ne'er seed 'em.'
'That's about it,' said Dick. 'I've noticed just the same thing myself. Doing your work as a scout teaches you how to keep your eyes open.'
Midday brought them to the edge of a wide stretch of heath country, where they were quite at home. They halted as soon as they reached the heath, built their fire, and made a good meal on the smaller trout, the remains of the big one, the remains of the loaf, and a billy of tea.
The afternoon journey lay directly across the great, lonely track, and they only saw two or three small hamlets, dwellings of broom-squires, heath- and furze-cutters, or squatters. As the afternoon wore on the sky began to wear an ominous look. The scouts had seen several signs that rain was near. For one thing, a very sure sign, distant ridges had shown themselves sharply clear in the afternoon sunshine, and had looked far nearer then they were. Now great blue-black clouds began to roll slowly up the western sky.
'Going to be a rough night, Chippy,' said the Wolf.
'No mistake, Dick,'replied his companion; 'it'll be too wet for the open to-night. We'll have to look for shelter.'
'If we can only do a turn for someone and get permission to sleep in the hayloft,' went on Dick, 'that would be first-rate. We don't want to spend money on lodgings.'
'Soon bust the ten bob that way,' grunted Chippy.' 'Look, theer's a village right ahead, wi' trees an' fields. We'll be out o' the he'th soon. P'raps we can manage it there.'
The scouts pushed on steadily. They did not know it, but an adventure awaited them which would settle the question of the night's lodging.
On the outskirts of the village a mill-wheel droned lazily as the boys swung at scout's stride down the road. Suddenly the drone died away, and by the time the comrades were abreast of the quaint old wooden water-mill the wheel was still, and its day's work was ended.
The hatches were raised, and the water, no longer turned to its task, was pouring at a swift race into a pool below. The race was crossed by a small wooden bridge with a single handrail, and over the rail hung a little girl, about seven or eight years old, watching the swiftly running water.
As the scouts came in sight of the child a strange thing happened. The little girl straightened herself and held the rail firmly by both hands. Then, her eyes still fixed on the racing water, she began to swing slowly from side to side. She gave a start and tried to run across the narrow bridge, but fell upon her hands and knees. Here she began to swing again from side to side, rocking farther over at every swing. The foaming, swift-running race had fascinated her, had dizzied and bewildered her, and was swiftly drawing her to itself. She was now below the single handrail, and there was nothing to prevent her toppling into the darting mill-race.
'She'll be in!' shouted Dick, and the two scouts rushed at full speed to a wicket-gate where a path ran from the little bridge to the road. Chippy was through first, and flew like a greyhound for the bridge. Dick was a little behind. The Raven sprang on to the bridge and made a snatch at the little girl's frock. His hand was darting out when she rolled over and fell, and he missed his grip by inches. The child's body was at once whirled away down the race.
Chippy flung off his haversack, and was about to leap when Dick yelled: 'No, no, Chippy! It's mere madness to jump into the race. This way! this way!'
The Wolf tore along the margin of the race, casting off haversack, jacket, and hat as he ran. At the foot of the torrent the little girl had been whirled out into the pool, and was just sinking as Dick flew up. With all the impetus of his run he shot out from the bank and clove the water with a long swift dive. His eyes were open, and he saw a dark mass slowly sinking in front of him. He made a swift stroke, and had a good handful of clothes in his right hand. With his left arm and his feet he struck out for the surface, and was up in an instant. The tail of the race set up a strong current which swept inshore, and this current caught rescuer and rescued and brought them up at a point where Dick was in reach of Chippy's patrol staff. Chippy, who had seen his comrade's idea, had followed, and was now ready to lend a hand.
'Here, Dick!' he shouted, and stretched out his strong stick. Dick seized it, and Chippy drew both inshore.
'Take her first,' gasped Dick. 'There's no bottom; the bank goes straight down.'
He seized a tuft of rushes springing at the edge of the water and supported himself, while Chippy lifted the little girl out of the water, and laid her on the bank. In a second Dick was beside him. Relieved of the weight of the child, Dick swung himself up and scrambled out nimbly.
As he shook himself, an elderly man in white dusty clothes ran across the bridge and down the bank towards them. It was the miller. The shouts of the boys had called him to the mill-door, and he had seen the plucky rescue. He ran up trembling and white-faced, too shaken for the moment to speak. The little girl was his grand-daughter, the child of his only son.
Chippy looked up sharply as he came.
'Wheer's the nearest place wi' a fire an' a woman in it?' cried the Raven.
The miller pointed to his house, a little behind the mill, and shaded by a grove of chestnut-trees.
'Ah! I didn't see it at fust,' said Chippy, and he caught up the little girl in his wiry arms, and hurried for the bridge. He crossed it with speedy foot, and Dick and the miller followed. The door of the house was open, and Chippy marched straight in and laid his burden on the hearth in front of a blazing wood-fire. The miller's wife came downstairs at that moment, and uttered a cry of alarm.
'What's come to Gracie?' she said.
'Your little gell, eh?' said the Raven. 'She tumbled into the race, an' my mate fetched her out. She's more frightened nor hurt, I shouldn't wonder. She worn't in above a minnit.'
He left the child to her grandmother's care, and went out to meet Dick and the miller. The old man was thanking Dick with a voice which still quavered, for he had received a great shook.
'Don't worry,' said Chippy cheerfully; 'she'll soon be all right. Th' old lady's lookin' arter her. Now, Dick, wheer are ye goin' to dry yerself?'
'Come into the mill,' cried the old man. 'There's a good fire in the drying-kiln.'
'That'll do,' said the Raven, 'an' if ye'll kindly oblige wi' a blanket or suthin' to wrap him in while his things are a-dryin', that'll be all right.'
'Ay, sure, anythin' I've got ye're more than welcome to,' said the miller. 'I'll niver forget what ye've a-done this day. How I could ha' faced my son if aught had happened I don't know, an' that's truth.'
He took the scouts into the mill, and then hurried away to the house. Dick stripped off his dripping clothes, and the comrades wrung out all the wet they could before they hung them over the kiln.
'I can manage as soon as my shorts are dry,' said Dick. 'I chucked away the coat and haversack with the spare things in them, and they're dry now.'
The miller came in with a big blanket, and Dick wrapped himself in it, while Chippy ran off to collect the traps they had flung aside at the moment of the rescue. When he came back he began to laugh at sight of Dick.
'Now, Wolf,' he said, 'if yer 'ad a few feathers to stick in yer hair, ye'd look just like some big Injun sittin' outside his tent.'
'Outside his wigwam,' grinned Dick. 'Well, it's jolly comfortable inside a blanket, anyhow. You're pretty wet, Chippy.'
'Yus; the water run on to me a bit off the little gell,' said Chippy. 'I'll stand up to the kiln, and soon get dry.'
The miller had gone away again, and this time he returned with a jug of steaming tea, two cups and saucers, and a plate heaped high with food.
A drap o' meat an' hot drink will do ye good,' he said, an' ye can peck away while the clo'es do dry.'
Chippy chuckled. 'How's yer tender conscience?' he murmured to the Wolf. 'Fair enough for us to tek' this, ain't it?'
'Fair enough?' cried the astonished miller, who had caught the remark. 'Well, what a man ye must think me! I'd give a bite an' a sup to anybody; an' after what ye've done, I'd pull the house down to please ye.'
'It's aw' right,' cried the Raven hastily. 'I don't mean wot you mean. It was only a bit of a joke wi' my pardner.'
'Oh, ay, a joke—well,' said the miller; 'but ye're welcome, an' more than welcome.'
'How's the little girl coming on?' cried Dick, in order to turn the subject.
'Bravely, bravely,' cried the old man. 'She'd swallowed a tidy drap o' water, an' felt pretty queer. But she's comin' round now. How did ye come to see her?'
Dick related the story of the child's fall, and the old man declared he'd put more rails to the bridge.
''Twor' the runnin' water carried her beyond herself,' he said. 'Ay, sure, that wor' it.'
Before the boys finished their meal the threatened storm broke. There was a tremendous downpour of rain, thundering on the roof and lashing the windows.
'I'd just as lieve be agen this kiln-fire as out in that,' remarked the Raven. 'Seems to me we'll put up here to-night.'
'I dare say he'll let us turn in on his hay, or something like that,' said Dick. 'We'll ask him when he comes back.' For the miller had gone again to the house in his anxiety to see how his grandchild was getting on.
Chippy turned the shorts, which had been put in the best drying-place, and felt them.
'They'll be dry in no time now,' he said, and returned to the jug for the final cup of tea which it contained.
'At the rate we're going on,' laughed Dick, 'we could stop out a month on our ten shillings, Chippy.'
'It 'ud suit me proper,' said the Raven, cutting his bread against his thumb with his jack-knife. The miller had brought them knives from the house, but the scouts preferred to use their own.
The old man was gone a long while, and when he returned Dick had got into his shorts and dry things, and was himself again.
'Ah!' said the miller, 'now p'raps ye'll step across to the house. My missis do want to see ye an' thank ye.'
The scouts did not look very happy over this, for they both hated any fuss. But when they got into the big kitchen they found it was all right. The miller's wife was not a fussy person at all, and they were at home with the old lady in a minute. The little girl was sitting beside the fire in a big chair. She looked very pale, but was quite herself again.
''Tis a new thing to her, you see,' explained the miller's wife. 'She's my son's child, and lives over to Baildon, forty mile away. I don't know as ever she'd seen the race a-runnin' afore—leastways, from the bridge.'
'It made my head swing,' put in the child.
'Ay, it turned her head all swimmy like,' said the miller. 'Well, it's a merciful providence there wor' brave hearts at hand to save ye. Now,' he went on to the scouts, 'I can see by yer knapsacks an' sticks as ye be on a sort o' journey through the land.'
'Yes, we're on a scouting tramp,' said Dick.
'Ah!' said the miller, and rubbed his ear.
Dick saw he did not quite understand, and he entered on a short explanation of their movements.
'Walkin' from place to place, be ye?' said the old lady. 'Then ye must stay wi' us to-night, an' I'll see ye have a good bed.'
A good bed! The scouts looked at each other in dismay. Perish the thought! They were not out to sleep in good beds.
'Haven't you a hay-loft?' asked Dick.
'Yes,' replied the miller. 'What of that?'
Again Dick explained. The miller and his wife were rather puzzled at the idea of the boys preferring the hay-loft, but they were willing that the scouts should do as they pleased; and that night the two comrades rolled themselves in their blankets, and slept snugly side by side in a nest of soft sweet hay.
The next morning they were up bright and early, intending to slip off before the people of the mill were astir; but they reckoned without the miller, who was up earlier still, and insisted that they should eat a good breakfast before they started. And when at last they struck the trail once more, they carried a huge packet of sandwiches the miller's wife had cut for them.
It was mid-morning before they got the knots out of their neckties, for they followed quiet ways on which few people were to be met. Then they approached a small town entered by a steep hill. At the foot of the hill an old man was struggling to get a hand-cart loaded with cabbages up the slope. The scouts called upon him to ease up; then Chippy took the shafts, and Dick pushed at the side, and they ran the heavy hand-cart up the hill to the door of the greengrocer, whose shop the old man supplied from his little market-garden. At the top of the hill, as they rested to get their wind, a cheery-looking gentleman drove by in a dog-cart. He smiled at sight of them and their task, saluted, and called out; 'Well done, boy scouts!'
The comrades saluted him in return, and he drove off, waving his hand.
'I'll bet he's an instructor,' said Chippy.
'I shouldn't wonder,' returned Dick. 'He looked cheerful enough to be one of ours.'
They only stayed in the town long enough to despatch a post-card, of which Dick had a small stock in his haversack, to Bardon, to say all was well, then pushed on, and were soon in the open country once more.
Two miles out of the town they met a comrade. They were passing a house standing beside the road, when a boy came out at the gate. He started and stared at sight of them, then gave the secret sign in full salute; for he had observed the badge on their hats, and knew them for patrol-leaders. They returned the salute, and the stranger stepped forward and held out his left hand. They shook hands, and he produced his badge.
'I'm No. 7 Midmead Owl Patrol,' he said. 'Midmead's about half a mile farther on. You'll see the village after you turn the next corner.'
He inquired where they had come from, and the Bardon boys told him, and they chatted for some time. The Owl was very deeply interested in their journey, and wished a hundred times he could go on such a tramp. Finally he rushed back into the garden from which he had come. 'Wait a minute,' he said; but the scouts had to wait five minutes before he returned with his hat full of new potatoes.
'Look here,' he said. 'Jolly good, aren't they, for so early in the season? I've grown them in my own garden. I've got a piece of the garden, and I grow stuff, and sell it to buy all I want for scout work. I've done splendidly with new potatoes. I sowed very early, and covered the tops with straw when there were any signs of frost, and got the first potatoes in the village, and made rattling good prices. Do take a few. They'll come in handy at your next camp.'
They thanked him, and Chippy stowed the potatoes away in his haversack. Then their fellow scout, whose name was Jim Peel, accompanied them through Midmead and half a mile beyond.
At midday they halted, and built their fire, and overhauled their store of provisions. They had stayed their march beside a little brook, and in it they washed the potatoes, and then boiled them in their jackets in the billy. After the potatoes were boiled, they washed the billy, and then boiled more water, and made their tea. They were very hungry, for they had made a good long tramp during the morning, and the sandwiches which the miller's wife had given them, the new potatoes, and the tea went down very well. Then they stretched themselves at ease on the grass in the hot sun, with the idea of taking a good rest.
Dick spread out his map, and took his pencil to mark out the route of their morning's journey.
'We're all right, Chippy,' he said in a tone of deep satisfaction; 'we've broken the back of our journey. Look, we're between five and six miles from Newminster. That will be just a pleasant stroll this afternoon.'
'An' that 'ull mean three days each way,' said the Raven.
'That's it,' said Dick. 'We'll do it comfortably, Chippy, my boy.'
He carefully marked the track they had followed, then closed the map, and returned it to the haversack. Their haversacks lay at their feet between them and the dying fire; their staves were beside them. The two scouts now stretched themselves comfortably in the sun, drew their hats over their eyes, and discussed their own affairs.
'I say, Chippy, we're bound to have plenty of cash to see us through now,' said Dick, 'even if we have to spend steady on for the rest of the journey.'
'Rather,' replied Chippy; 'there's a lot o' flour left, an' some tea an' sugar, an' the bakin'-powder, an' the lump o' salt; an' we've only spent eleven three-fardens so fur.'
'Yes,' chuckled Dick. 'I can see father smiling now as he gave me the two half-sovereigns. I know as well as can be what he thought. He felt sure we should be back before now, with our ten shillings for way-money all blued. And one half-sovereign is in my belt, and almost all the other is in my purse.'
On the other side of the hedge below which the scouts lay, a couple of evil faces looked at each other with evil joy in their eyes. Every word the boys were saying was falling into the ears of a pair of big, burly tramps. One was a stout, middle-aged man, the other a tall young fellow with long legs; both belonged to the worst class of that bad order.
When will this pest of lazy, loutish loafers, often brutal and dangerous, be cleared from our pleasant highways and byways? There are beautiful stretches of our country where it is not safe for women and children to stroll unattended through the quiet lanes, simply because the district lies on a tramps' route from one big town to another, and is infested by these worthless vagrants. There is nothing that dwellers in the country see with greater satisfaction than the conviction, slowly ripening in the public mind, that this tramp nuisance and danger must shortly be dealt with, and the firmer the hand the better. They are the people to shut up in compounds, where they should be made to do a few strokes of labour to earn their living, instead of terrorizing cottagers and dwellers in lonely houses for food and money. But now to our heroes and their experience with two members of this rascally order, feared and dreaded in every solitary neighbourhood.
We have said that the scouts had made their halt beside a brook. They had paused on the bridge where the brook ran under the road they were following, and had observed that a path turned from the road, passed through a narrow gateway from which the gate was missing, and went along the bank. They had gone down the path some sixty or seventy yards, and had made their halt at a point where there was a strip of grass some ten yards wide between the hedge of a field and the bank of the brook.
Half an hour before the boys arrived, a pair of tramps had turned down the same quiet side track, intending to eat the food they had begged in a hamlet near at hand. They had gone some distance beyond the spot where the scouts halted, and did not discover the presence of the latter until they were on their way back to the high-road. The younger tramp was leading the way, and when he saw the boys lying on the bank with their haversacks at their feet, he stepped back into cover, and the two rascals took counsel with each other.
'Might be the price of a pint or two on 'em,' said the elder, a villainous-looking rogue, his tiny bloodshot eyes firing at the thought of drink.
'Mebbe,' said the other; and they went back a score of yards, found a gate, climbed over it into the field, and crept stealthily up on the other side of the hedge. Crouching behind the boys, they heard Dick speak of the money he had about him, and they looked at each other with evil, greedy joy on their scoundrel faces.
The assault was made at once, and through a gap close at hand. It was the stout, heavy man who led the way. With an agility no one would have suspected in his bulky, clumsy-looking figure, he bounded nimbly through the gap, caught up the haversacks, tossed them three yards to the other side of the fire, leapt the fire himself, then stood on guard between the haversacks and their owners. He was followed by the tall young man, who posted himself in front of the scouts, and threatened them with a heavy stick which he held in his hand.
The attack was so sudden, so unexpected, that the scouts, stretched comfortably at full length, could do no more than sit up before their enemies were in position.
'Kape still!' roared the long-legged tramp. 'If e'er a one on yer tries to get up, I'll land 'im one acrost the nut!'
It was quite clear that he was in very savage earnest, and the two scouts sat still and looked upon their foes.
The younger tramp was solemnly ferocious in looks, but the bulky, elder man was grinning all over his drink-blotched face, his broken yellow teeth all on view between purple lips. He had a huge bulbous nose, far ruddier than the cherry, and it shook as he laughed harshly at the captives.
'That's the way to talk, Sam,' he wheezed; 'gie the fust un as moves a good lowk as 'll mek' 'im see stars.'
'What do you want?' demanded Dick. 'You have no right to interfere with us. We have done no harm to you.'
'Hark at 'im!' chuckled the elder villain; 'no right t' interfere, an' the young shaver's got the price o' gallons on 'im.'
Long Legs changed the stick swiftly from right hand to left, and stretched out the right towards Dick.
'Fork over,' he said shortly and savagely.
Dick had been surprised at the sudden appearance of the desperadoes, but that was nothing as compared with the surprise which now fell upon him. For Chippy burst out crying with all his might.
'Oh, don't 'urt me,' wailed the Raven. 'Oh, please don't. Oh, kind gen'l'men, let me go. I ain't got no money, nary copper: look 'ere'; and in his wailing earnestness he scrambled to his feet, and pulled the pockets of his shorts inside out.
The blow which had been threatened did not fall. Although Chippy had got up, it was to wail and lament, and the tramps took no notice of him except to laugh at his distress. You see, they knew where the money was, and Dick sat still.
'See,' moaned Chippy. 'I ain't got nothin' in my pockets but a knife. It's 'im wot's got the money, mister, not me;' and the Raven pointed to his comrade.
'I'll bet we know that wi'out yer tellin' us,' jeered Long Legs. 'We heerd every word ye said about that. Come on, fork over,' he added roughly to Dick.
Dick did not move; he only looked up at his brother scout. He could hardly believe his own eyes. Chippy's face was twisted into the most frightful contortions of grief, and tears as big as peas were hopping down his cheeks. The Wolf's bewilderment was complete.
'Oh! oh! mister,' cried Chippy, 'lemme go! lemme go! I ain't got a farden.'
'All right, wait a bit,' chuckled the younger tramp. 'We'll put that straight. We'll go whacks with ye. Now then, you, turn that money up, will ye?' he went on to Dick. 'There's nineteen bob an' a farden on ye, we know. We'll ha' the nineteen bob, an' yer mate shall ha' the farden.'
This struck Fiery Nose as a very good joke, and he grinned till he showed his yellow fangs right back to the grinders.
'Righto, Sam,' he laughed; 'we'll mek' a division of it.'
'Oh, oh!' moaned the Raven. 'I don't want no farden. Only lemme go. Oh! oh! B.P. Lemme go, mister, please, an' I'll thank ye ever so much.'
Dick stiffened himself from head to foot. What was that Chippy had worked in among his sobs and moans? B.P.—the motto of their order—'Be Prepared.' Dick held himself tense as a bowstring, ready for anything.
'The one wi' the rhino ain't in no 'urry to fork over, Sam,' said the elder tramp. 'Ye'll ha' to go through 'im, while I see wot's in these 'ere bags.'
The haversacks were behind him on the bank of the brook. Sam, for his part, turned upon Dick with a ferocious oath, and a fresh demand for the money. Of the whining, puling, weeping Raven they took no notice whatever. No notice! Ah, ha, Messrs. Long Legs and Fiery Nose, you are making the mistake of a lifetime.
No sooner was their attention drawn from him than the Raven made his leap, swift and silent as a charging panther. He darted upon the stout tramp, whose back was towards him, as its owner bent over the haversacks. Chippy placed both hands against a certain portion of the tramp's person which afforded him an excellent purchase, and gave a tremendous shove. Fiery Nose stumbled forward, caught his feet in the haversacks, grabbed wildly in the air to save himself, found nothing to fill his clutch, and pitched head first over the edge of the bank into the deep, slow brook. Crash! Splash! he went into the pool, and the water leapt like a fountain under his terrific plunge. But the Raven did not stay to observe the success of his manoeuvre. Quick as a trout in a stream he was off at full speed, but he had the haversacks tucked safely in his arms.
Round whirled the younger tramp in time to see his comrade hit the water. He swung up his stick for a blow at the nimble gliding Raven, but as he sprang at the scout, Dick thrust his staff between the long legs, tripped him up, and sent him sprawling with his face in the hot, smouldering ashes. Chippy was already racing for the road, and Dick followed at top speed.
In a moment the tramp was on his feet, and dashing the wood ashes out of his eyes and hair. Then he caught up the stick which had flown from his hand and pursued the fugitives, a wild medley of execrations pouring from his lips. In the pool Fiery Nose wallowed and blew like a grampus, and howled for help.
Dick looked back and saw the long-legged tramp covering the ground at a tremendous pace. He was a big, powerful fellow, and was armed with an ugly club. The scouts were not out of the wood yet. They turned a corner and saw the gateway with no gate close before them. An idea shot into Dick's head.
'Run straight ahead, Chippy,' he called. 'Leg it down the road.'
The Raven made no reply. He obeyed orders, feeling sure that his comrade had a reason for what he said.
The boys shot through the gateway, and Dick turned abruptly and dropped down beside it. The gateway was a couple of posts on which a wicket had once swung, nothing more. But a thick bramble-bush grew beside the right-hand post, and in cover of this bush Dick was crouching. He peered through the bush and saw the tramp come tearing round the bend. The rascal saw Chippy disappearing over the bridge, and thought the second fugitive had already vanished. He roared a fresh set of exceedingly impolite remarks and wishes, and came on like a tornado in full career. And as he charged into the narrow gateway, a stout patrol staff slid across, and was laid on the inner sides of the posts. He never even saw it, so madly was he bent on his pursuit, and it did its work to a miracle. He put one foot fairly under it, and as he rose to his wild bound the staff took him a little above the ankle and tripped him up. The surprise was so complete that he could not save himself. He came down headlong on the hard causeway, and ploughed up the gravel for a foot or more with his features.
The crash knocked all the wind out of him: it deserted his body in a fierce whistling sound, something between a grunt and a howl, and he was half-stunned besides, with his nose flattened into his face.
Dick gave a yell of delight, whipped out his staff—the stout bit of tough ash had taken the shock with hardly a quiver—and raced after his comrade. Chippy was a good way down the road, and when he glanced back, Dick waved his stick in triumph. The Raven at once eased to allow his friend to come up, and Dick shouted the glad news as he joined his comrade.
Chippy shouted with delight. 'He's done for,' cried the Raven. 'A1, that was. No more runnin' for 'im just yet. That was splendid, Dick.'
The boys swung their haversacks across their shoulders and continued their way at a steady, loping trot.
'Oh, Chippy,' cried Dick, 'but yours was the splendid dodge, the way you took those fellows in! They never dreamed but that you were sick with fright. How did you manage it?'
'Oo,' said the Raven, 'there ain't nothin' in that. Anybody can mek' believe to cry and beg for mercy, like.'
'Ah,' cried Dick, 'but there were real tears streaming down your face, Chippy. How did you do that?'
'Easy as easy,' replied the Raven. 'Yer just jab yer fingers in the corner o' yer eyes. I'll show yer.'
'Thanks,' laughed Dick. 'I'll take your word for it, old boy. It doesn't sound too delightful.'
'I wonder if the old un's out o' the pool yet,' said Chippy, as they trotted on, and the scouts shouted with laughter as they recalled his terrific plunge.
'The other can go back and help his friend out when he's got his wind again,' said Dick.
'Rough on the pool, though,' muttered the Raven; 'that nose o' his wor enough to mek' the water boil.'
'What luck to lose nothing!' cried Dick.
'Barrin' my stick,' put in Chippy.
'Why, yes,' replied Dick. 'Upon my word, I hadn't noticed that. Of course, your hands were filled with the haversacks, and your staff has been left on the bank where we were resting.'
'Ne'er mind,' said the Raven; 'it's wot we could best afford to lose. Soon cut another.'
The boys did not check their pace until they reached a large village a mile or more from the bridge, and then they dropped into their usual scout's stride.
On the other side of the village they came to another bridge, this time spanning a canal.
'Here we are,' said Dick, for the scouts intended to follow the towpath into Newminster: it would save them a mile and a half of dusty high-road.
They went down to the bank and started off along the side of the canal. It was not a dirty piece of water, malodorous and unsightly, as canals are in manufacturing centres: it was like a straight stretch of a clear, beautiful river. There was a towpath only on the one side. The other was a grassy border, where sedges and bulrushes grew, and cows came down from the meadows to drink.
The scouts had barely gone half a mile when they came upon a barge lying beside the bank. They glanced into its cabin as they went by, and saw that a tiny fire was burning brightly in its stove, and that it was a very trim, smart little place. But there was no bargeman, no horse, no one; the barge seemed deserted. The boys went on, and soon heard cries of anger and distress coming down the breeze. They broke into the scouts' trot, turned a bend, and saw a stout lady pursuing a white horse.
Chippy knew all about canals.
'Broke 'is tow-line, an' now he's 'ookin' it,' observed the Raven. 'Come on—scout's job 'ere.'
The old white horse was not hooking it very fast. There was no need that he should. The stout lady jogged a few steps, then settled into a walk. The old horse cropped the grass beside the water till she was close at his heels, then he jogged off a little and settled down to grazing again. But the active scouts soon settled his hash. They passed the stout lady at full speed, and ran down the old nag within fifty yards. Then Dick led him back to the barge-woman, who was mopping a hot red face with a big red handkerchief.
'Well, I'm more'n a bit obliged to yer,' she panted, 'an' thank ye kindly. The line parted, and I thought I never should ketch that dratted ole creetur. Ah, ye good-for-nuthin',' she cried to the horse, who now held down his nose and looked meekness itself, 'an' the good missis I am to ye. Allus plenty to eat, and no whippin'.'
'He went off on a little beano,' said Chippy soothingly. 'Don't blame 'im. They all will when they get the chance. Now we'll rig 'im for ye tight an' sound.'
The boys led the horse back to his deserted task, fished the broken rope out of the water, and joined the parted ends with a sheet-bend knot, such as all scouts learn to tie.
'Goin' to Newminster?' asked the bargewoman.
'Yes,' said Dick.
'In a hurry?'
'Not particularly,' he said.
'Why not ride along o' me? It ain't fast, but it's as easy as anythin'.'
Now, neither scout would have confessed it to the other for worlds, but each of them was feeling the three days' tramp a little; and besides, the idea of gliding along the river-like canal on the barge, which was very clean and gaily painted, was rather fascinating.
'You're very kind,' said Dick, and glanced at his comrade.
'I'd like it prime,' murmured Chippy.
'Jump on,' said the stout lady; and the scouts were aboard in an instant.
Dick was less familiar with a barge than Chippy, and he inspected with the deepest interest the snug, neat little cabin, as bright and clean as a new pin, with its little stove, its narrow seats, its shelves, and cupboards, with everything stowed away in shipshape fashion, the whole place reminding him of a room in a big doll's house.
Chippy complimented the lady of the barge on the smartness of her ship.
'We keep it as tidy as we know 'ow,' she replied. 'Me an' my 'usband we niver tek' dirty loads—coals, or anythin' like that. Crockery an' earthenware we got under the canvas now'—and she nodded forward—'that's the sort o' load for us. Queer thing the ole horse broke loose this arternoon when I'm by myself, which don't often happen. My man he's gone on to Newminster, an' there we'll stop to-night.' Then she gave her attention to steering the barge round a bend, while the old horse plodded along the bank as meekly as if thoughts of running away could never enter his head.
In a quiet bend of the waterway the bargewoman roared 'Wo!' and the white horse pulled up at once and whickered.
'Time for 'is nosebag,' she said, 'an' 'e knows it very well. An' we'll have a cup o' tea. I allus pull up for that, an' tek' it quiet an' comfortable, wi'out havin' to bother about steerin'.'
She fished out a tin bucket already filled with chaff, and proceeded to climb ashore and hang it round the horse's head.
'Tea for three,' murmured the Raven. 'More grub;' and Dick smiled.
The meal was a very cheerful little affair. The scouts sat on the roof of the cabin in the sunshine, with their cups beside them, and their hostess spread butter liberally on the slices of a large cottage loaf, and encouraged them to eat heartily, and set them a first-rate example herself.
Over the teacups they chatted freely, and the boys explained their movements. Among other things, they narrated their adventure of a few hours ago with the tramps, and the bargewoman was very indignant.
'Lazy good-for-nothin' varmin—that's what I call them tramps!' she cried. 'I know what I'd do wi' 'em. I'd take ivery man-jack of 'em by the scruff o' his neck, an' set him at a job, that I would, as sure as my name's Hester Slade. An' I'd say to him: "When that's done ye'll get sommat to eat, an' not afore." That's wot I'd say. "Work or starve!"' And Mrs. Slade waved the bread-knife above her head, as if it were a sword flourished in defiance of the whole army of tramps in general.
'We come off pretty well,' said Chippy—'lost naught but my stick.'
'I'll show you where to out another afore we get to Newminster,' said Mrs. Slade—'a place where my man often cuts a stick. 'Tis a plantation of ashes on a bank lookin' to the north. Heavy, holdin' ground, too—just the spot for slow-growin' tough timber.'
She went to the towpath once more to unstrap the tin bucket from the horse's head, and set him to his task again.
'I fancy we shall have to stay somewhere in Newminster to-night, Chippy,' said Dick.
Chippy grunted in a dissatisfied fashion. The Raven was very keen on doing the trip for the smallest possible outlay of money. It seemed to him so much more scoutlike to live on the country, as they were fond of saying, and to pay for shelter did not seem to be playing the game.
Dick nodded. 'I know what you mean,' he said, for he had quite understood Chippy's grunt. 'But we're bound to make Newminster, and send off a card to show we've been in the town.'
'O' course,' said the Raven.
'And then it will be rather late to start off again and strike for the open country to search for a camping-place.'
'Right, Dick—quite right,' rejoined his comrade; 'the wust of it is as lodgin's cost money.'
'Needn't cost ye a single copper this night, anyhow,' said a voice in their ears, and the scouts jumped. Mrs. Slade had come up unseen, and had caught the last words of the Raven.
'Here y' are,' she went on, and pointed to the snug little cabin; 'that's yourn to-night if ye want it.'
'But you'll need it for yourselves,' cried Dick.
'Not this night,' she replied. 'I've got a married darter in Newminster. She've a-married a wharfinger in a good way o' business. Such a house as she've got! Upstairs, downstairs, an' a back-kitchen.'
Mrs. Slade visibly swelled in importance as she described her daughter's palatial surroundings. No doubt they seemed very extensive indeed after one small cabin. 'An' 'tis settled we stay wi' her to-night, so the cabin 'ere will be empty, an' ye're as welcome to it as can be.'
The scouts' eyes glistened, and they were easily induced to accept the kindly offer, and so they glided on their way towards the town, chatting together like old friends. Mrs. Slade pulled up for a moment at the ash plantation, and Chippy sprang out with the tomahawk. In five minutes he was back with a tough, straight ash-stick, which he trimmed and whittled with his knife as they made the last mile into the city.
At the wharf where the barge was to lie for the night they met Mr. Slade, a short, thick-set man, with a short, broad face between a fur cap and a belcher handkerchief. He was to the full as good-natured as his wife, and cordially re-echoed her invitation for the scouts to sleep in their cabin. The wharfinger's house was near at hand, so that the owners of the barge would not be far away.
The scouts stowed their haversacks and staves away in the cabin of the barge, shut it up, and locked it with the key which Mrs. Slade had lent to them, and left the key at the wharfinger's house. Then they put on their jackets and went for a stroll round the streets of the quaint old city. The long summer evening was dying as they stood below the fine west front of the cathedral, and watched the swallows skimming about the noble towers. Near at hand was a post-office, where Dick triumphantly scribbled, 'At Newminster. All well,' on a card, and dropped it into the letter-box.
'Supper and turn in now, Chippy,' he said,
'Righto,' murmured the Raven. 'We must be off early to-morrow. Road home 'ull work out three or four mile more'n the road 'ere.'
'That's a fact,' said Dick; 'but we'll turn up at Bardon by Saturday night without setting foot in a train yet. Now, Chippy, what shall we have for supper? We've got jolly good lodgings for nothing: we can afford something extra for supper.'
They were going down the street which would lead them back to the wharf, and the Raven paused in front of a butcher's shop.
'Can we sport a pound o' sausages?' he said. 'They'd mek' a good feed to-night, and we'd have one or two left for brekfast again.'
'Good,' said Dick, and they laid down eightpence for a pound of sausages, and threepence for a small loaf, and returned to the barge. Here they fried their sausages and made some tea, for the fire in the stove was not out, and the good-natured bargewoman had left them a small bucketful of coke to make it up again.
After supper they carefully put out the fire, and turned in on the two bunks which lay one on either side of the little cabin. Here, wrapped in their blankets, they slept like tops till five o'clock in the morning.
Chippy was the first to wake, and he got up and thrust his head out at the hatch. His movements aroused his comrade, and Dick sprang to the floor.
'Lucky we've been in 'ere,' said Chippy. 'It's been pourin' o' rain in the night.'
So it had. The hollows among the stones which paved the wharf were filled with pools of water, and everywhere had the fresh-washed look which accompanies a heavy downpour.
'Well, we've been snug and dry enough,' cried Dick. 'Now for breakfast and a start.'
They had cooked the whole of the sausages the night before, so that they did not trouble to light a fire. They finished the loaf and the sausages, and were almost at the end of their meal, when Mrs. Slade came across from the wharfinger's house. Through her good offices they obtained a bucket of clean water, and washed their faces and hands, promising themselves a good dip in the first river they came to in their day's journey. So by half-past six they had said farewell to the bargewoman, and were marching through the silent streets of the little city in the sweet freshness of a June summer morning.
They had entered Newminster from the south: they were leaving it towards the north. In order to cover fresh ground all the time, they had planned their route so that their track as marked on the map showed as a very much flattened oval. They had worked towards Newminster on a south-westerly sweep; they were working home again on a north-easterly tack.
For nearly three miles they held to the main road, going due north, then turned aside to a quiet grassy by-track running north-east, and were fairly launched on their new route. Moving in quiet, steady fashion, they made nine miles before they halted, then pulled up below an oak-tree on the borders of a little wood for a long halt during the heat of the day. Both, though in good, hard condition, were dripping with sweat, for the day was unwontedly sultry for early summer.
'Don't mind if I do stretch me legs a bit,' grunted the Raven.
'Yes,' said Dick; 'jolly stiff going to-day, Chippy. Isn't it hot? But we can take a good long rest now. We've broken the back of the day's journey.'
'Right time to do it, Dick,' said his friend.
'Rather,' said Dick; 'no time for a tramp like the freshness of the morning.'
The boys stretched themselves in the shade and lay at their ease for half an hour, then Dick sat up.
'Well,' he said, 'there seems a hollow inside me somewhere.'
'Same 'ere, Dick,' murmured the Raven. 'We'll fill up. Wot's the bill o' fare?'
'Chupatties and tea, I fancy,' replied the Wolf. 'We've been carrying the rest of that bag of flour about since Monday morning.'
'All to the good,' murmured Chippy, 'all to the good. Wot we've dropped in for has saved our——' He pulled up abruptly, and did not utter the word 'cash,' which had been in his mind. 'Shan't mention that,' he continued in a lower whisper still, ''cept we're in the middle of a ten-acre field.'
Dick laughed. 'We got into a trifle of a fix the last time we discussed that subject,' he said. 'I say, Chippy, do you reckon that it was a bit of a blot on us as scouts that we were caught like that?'
Chippy heaved a deep sigh. 'I've never mentioned it,' he replied, 'but it's bin on my mind more'n once. Seems to me we orter scouted round more to find whether there wor enemies in the country. They 'ad us on toast, they did. Reg'lar let down for a pair o' scouts,' and Chippy sighed again.
In order to banish these melancholy thoughts, the Wolf and the Raven began to get something to eat. The Wolf opened his jacket and mixed the flour on the lining, while the Raven fetched water and made a fire, and chopped and peeled and heated a club.
When the dough was ready, Dick worked it into a long strip which was wound spirally round the club. Then the club was thrust into the ground beside the fire, one end of it being sharpened. Now and again the club was given a turn while the dough toasted steadily. Chippy watched the dough, and Dick made the tea.
They ate their meal, rested a couple of hours, then went on again. It was now midday, and tremendously hot. But they were not going a great way. The map showed the winding blue line of a river two miles ahead, and they were in search of it for a pleasant swim.
They gained the bank of the river, sat down a short time to cool off, then stripped and plunged in, and spent a delightful half-hour in the clear water. As they were dressing they observed that a faintly marked path ran through the meadow at the edge of the stream. They followed it when they were ready to march once more, and soon came upon a mill standing at the waterside. Above the mill was a broad pool, and in the shade of some bushes trout were feeding, or, more likely, playing, for now and again one would leap clean out of the water and fall back again with a flash of silver. The boys sat down on the bank beside the water and gazed upon the pleasant pool.
'It would come in handy if you could catch a few of those trout, Chippy,' said Dick. 'Those were all right we caught on Monday night.'
The Raven shook his head. 'Wish I could, Dick,' he replied; 'but that dodge ain't no use now, an' I couldn't get them over theer to look at anythin' I've got wi' me.'
'I suppose not,' said Dick. 'I say, Chippy, see that heap of stones just under the bank here.'
The Raven glanced down and saw what his brother scout was pointing at. It looked as if for generations the millers had flung their broken mill-stones into this part of the pool, and they lay piled against each other with black hollows between.
Chippy looked down thoughtfully, then his eyes lighted up. 'Never seen a more likely place in me life for big eels,' he grunted; 'they love a hole atwixt stones lik that.'
'Do you think we could catch a few?' cried Dick eagerly.
'Shouldn't wonder,' replied his comrade. 'We'll have a go, anyhow. Fust, we want some lobs.'
The search for lob-worms was made at once.
'We'll have to dig for them, I suppose,' said Dick.
'Not a bit of it,' said Chippy. 'I'll show ye a lot quicker way than that.'
He went to the side of the field where there was a ditch nearly dry in the hot sun. He walked along the ditch until he came to a stone. He turned the stone swiftly, and there was almost sure to be a big lob lying underneath it, sometimes two or three. Before they could withdraw into their holes the Raven's finger was pressed on their tails, and they were helpless. In a few moments he had collected more than a dozen big lobs, and these were carried back triumphantly to the mill-pool in his hat.
Next he cut a couple of hazel-rods about four feet long, and fairly stiff, tied a short line to each, and fastened a strong-eyed hook at the end of the line.
'Now we're ready,' he said. 'This little game's called "sniggling," an' it's a sure thing if only th' eel's at 'ome. Lemme get 'old 'o one fust, an' show ye how to pull 'im out.'
Chippy put a lob on his hook, and then pinched a small split bullet—of which his friend had given him half a dozen—on the line about six inches above the hook. He dropped the weighted bait into a dark hole between two fragments of stone, and moved it gently about. Two or three minutes passed; then the Raven drew his bait up.
'Nobody in,' he remarked; 'try next door.' He moved a yard along the bank, and dropped the bait into a second dark crevice. It was seized instantly, and the line sharply plucked.
'One 'ere,' said Chippy; 'there's no mistake about hearin' from him, if there's one about.'
'Look how he's pulling at the line!' cried Dick, as the slender cord jerked again and again.
'Yus,' said Chippy; 'nuthin' plucks an' pulls like an eel. Now he's got a good hold o' the bait, an' out he comes.'
The Raven began to pull firmly but slowly, keeping the line quite taut.
'Don't try to yank 'im out,' he said to his pupil. 'Sure's ye do, ye'll break the line an' lose the lot. Pull gently at 'im till he's tired; then out he comes, smooth an' easy.'
Three or four minutes passed before Chippy drew the snake-like head of the eel out of the black hole between the stones.
'A good un,' he snapped, drew on the line a little harder, and swung an eel weighing half a pound or more to the bank, where he promptly put one foot on the eel and drew the line taut.
'See wot I'm doin'?' said the Raven. 'If ye don't look out, he'll tangle hisself all up in yer line, an' give ye a fine old job to get 'im free.' With that he whipped out his knife, and despatched the wriggling creature by cutting off its head.
Dick now took his stick and line to try his luck, while his comrade dug out hook and bait, which had vanished down the eel's throat. Dick caught a little one in the first hole that he tried, and drew it safely to the bank. But there he failed to control its wild, sinuous movements, and it tangled itself up in his line in such a style that Chippy had to come to his aid.
After that he got on much better, and caught two good-sized ones, and held them and the line taut, while Chippy sailed in with the knife and whipped their heads off.
In a short time they had seven, for the holes were well furnished with occupants, and with these seven they stayed content. They washed them in a quiet backwater, and rubbed them as clean as they could with wisps of dry grass, and then packed them in Chippy's haversack, with more dry grass about them.
'Mek' us a jolly good supper to-night,' said the Raven.
'They will,' cried Dick. 'Now for the road again. We've got an uphill stretch before us, Chippy, according to the map.'
Within a mile again, the track they were following—a very ancient vicinal way—began to rise over a long stretch of moorland used mainly for sheep-walks, and covered in places with wide patches of low-growing bilberry-bushes. On some of these bushes the purple little berries were already ripe, and the boys gathered them in handfuls, and ate them as they walked.
Suddenly a low, heavy muttering called their attention to the western sky, and they saw a blue-black cloud rising swiftly.
'Thunder,' said Dick; 'that's what this terrific heat has meant.'
'Best step out,' remarked the Raven. 'No shelter about 'ere for a mile or two.'
They stayed no longer to gather bilberries, but pushed on at a steady swinging stride, looking back from time to time at the storm, which seemed to pursue them. A wind sprang up, and wild gusts raced past them, and howled across the moor. Light, swift clouds which seemed to be flying before the storm hurried across the sky, and the sunshine was swallowed up and the day darkened.
Dick looked back and whistled.
'Here comes the rain, Chippy,' he said. 'We'd better put our jackets on.' They did so, but the Raven shrugged his shoulders as if he was of the opinion that jackets would be but slight protection against the downpour now rushing upon them.
The thunder-shower was perhaps a couple of miles away, and marching across the country in a line as straight as if drawn with a ruler. A clump of pines stood out darkly against the white veil of the streaming rain. As the scouts looked, the pines were swallowed up, and the wall of water stalked swiftly on towards them.
They looked round, but there was not the faintest chance of gaining the least shelter. All round them the earth was covered with low-growing bushes; there was neither tree nor hedge nor fence to break the force of the torrential downpour. A mile in front the road topped the ridge and disappeared.
'There may be shelter beyond the ridge, Chippy,' cried Dick. 'Let's run for it.'
They ran, but in vain. Long before they gained the ridge the storm was upon them—first a few heavy drops, then a downpour which made the earth smoke again. In two minutes the scouts were wet to the skin, and the storm lasted twenty. Then it raced past them, hissing and roaring, and left them tramping down the farther side of the ridge, their boots full of water, and not a dry thread about them save for the blankets stowed in the waterproof haversacks.
When the rain passed away, the two scouts, who had been tramping steadily along without growling at the weather, stopped and looked at each other, leaning on their sticks.
'Well, Chippy,' laughed Dick, 'we look like a pair of drowned rats.'
'That's about it, Dick,' grunted the Raven, and tried to do a step or two of a dance. This set the water bubbling out over the tops of his shoes.
'We must dry ourselves somehow or other,' went on Dick. 'You know, B. P. says it's jolly dangerous to go on in your wet clothes.'
'Sat under a waggon wi' nuthin' on while he dried 'em when he'd been wet,' quoted Chippy.
'And you remember his dodge for drying his toggery?' said Dick.
'Rather,' returned the Raven; 'fire under a cage o' sticks.'
'Right,' said Dick; 'and there's a copse ahead. We'll halt in it, and dry ourselves.'
They marched briskly for the copse, hung their haversacks on the branch of a small, low-growing oak, and went to work at building a fire. It was no easy task, but by searching in corners where thick bushes had turned aside the worst of the downpour, they found odd handfuls of dry stuff to start their blaze. Luckily the matches had been in Dick's haversack, and were perfectly dry. A small dead larch afforded them twigs and sticks when once the fire was started, and Dick chopped the dead tree into small, handy pieces, and fed the flames with them. They did not want a lasting fire, but a heap of hot ashes, and this would be soonest afforded by small pieces of wood.
While Dick was busy with the tomahawk, Chippy attacked a thicket of tall, straight-growing hazels with his knife, and cut an armful of the springy rods. As soon as the fire burned down, the boys took the rods, sharpened each end, took an end each, bent the rod into an arch, and drove the ends deeply into the soft earth. In this way they had soon covered the fire in, as it were, with a great basket. Then they stripped off their sodden raiment, wrung it out, and spread it over the bent hazel-rods to dry.
The excellence of the plan was soon manifest. Clouds of steam began to rise from the wet clothes, and promised that they would soon be dry. But it was cool after the rain, and the clothes hid the fire, and the scouts felt no inclination to sit under a waggon, as their great leader had done; they felt more inclined to move about a little to warm themselves.
'It's jolly cold compared with the heat before the thunderstorm,' said Dick.
'Ain't it?' said Chippy. 'I'll race ye to th' end o' the copse an' back. That'll warm us a bit.'
'Right,' said Dick. 'Let's cut along where the larches and firs are. It'll be fun sprinting over the fir-needles, and soft to the feet. Where do we run to?'
'The big beech yonder,' said the Raven. 'I'll count. We'll go at three.'
He counted, and away bounded the two scouts, racing at their fastest for the big beech which they were to touch, then to return to their fire.
Now, the last thing they expected to have was a witness of their race. They believed that the copse was a lonely patch of wood on the lonely heath. So it was, save for one house which lay just beyond the wood where the ridge sloped away to the south. The house was that of a sheep-farmer, whose flocks fed over the moorland; and as the boys raced through the little wood, the shepherd left the farmsteading, where he had been sheltering from the storm, and came up through the copse to go about his business.
The scouts did not see him, but he saw the scouts. For a few moments he watched the race, his mouth gaping wide in true rustic wonder; then he turned, and hastily retraced his steps to the farm. He burst into the kitchen, where the farmer and his wife were seated at a round table in front of the wide hearth, taking their tea.
'Maister! maister!' cried the shepherd, 'theer's two bwoys a-runnin' about i' the copse wi' ne'er a stitch on 'em.'
'What's that ye say, Diggory?' cried the farmer's wife.
'Ne'er a stitch on 'em, missis, a-runnin' about there like two pixies, they be. A' niver seed such a sight afore in a Christian land. 'Tis like haythens, on'y they be white uns 'stead o' black uns.'
'What do ye make of it, Tom?' said the farmer's wife to her husband.
'Maybe 'tis nought but his simple-minded talk,' replied the farmer, taking a huge bite out of a slice of bread-and-butter.
'No, maister,' cried the shepherd. ''Tis Gospel true, ivery word. Ne'er a stitch on 'em.' And he waved his left hand like an orator.
Suddenly an angry flush sprang to the farmer's face, and he stood up.
'Then, 'tis gipsies!' he cried.
'I dunno,' said the shepherd. 'Brown they hain't, but white as milk.'
'I'll mark their white for 'em,' cried the farmer; and stepping quickly to the wall, he seized a long cart-whip which hung there, and strode from the house.
For years there had been a bitter feud between the sheep-farmer and a large family of gipsies of the name of King. The Kings went about the country in several small bands, and for generations the copse had been a favourite halting-place. But one spring the farmer lost some lambs, and was persuaded that the gipsies had been at the bottom of his loss. So he forbade them the use of the copse, and drove them out whenever he found they had dared to pitch their camp there. He was a hasty-tempered man, utterly fearless and quite unforgiving, so that a regular war had sprung up between himself and the Kings. Now he was persuaded that his enemies had sought the shelter of his copse, and he was off at once to attack them.
He arrived on the scene to find the scouts turning their clothes. Instead of heathens, they now looked like Red Indians; for they had remembered the dry blankets in the haversacks, had taken them out, and were wrapped in them like a pair of braves.
They saw nothing of the angry farmer till he burst upon them through a thicket of brambles within a dozen yards of the fire, so busy were they with turning their steaming clothes.
The farmer's wrath rose higher at sight of the steam and smoke. A fire was the very thing he had defied the gipsies again and again to make on his land. He cracked his whip with a vicious snap, and rushed upon the scouts.
'I'll larn ye to make a fire on my land arter the many times I've a-warned ye,' he bellowed.
The attack and the outcry were both so sudden that the scouts were taken by surprise. Dick was on the side of the rush. He saw that an onslaught was meant, though he knew not why, and grabbed at his staff. He forgot to keep hold of the blanket, and it slid to the ground, and left him defenceless. Down came the hissing thong, and wrapped itself right round him, a regular rib-binder.
A yell of pain burst from the Wolf's lips; then he shut his teeth tight. The surprise had forced that first cry from him, and he did not intend to utter another. But the whip was already hissing through the air, and flight was the only thing possible; he made a spring clean across the heap of drying clothes, and fled.
'Tom, Tom,' panted a shrill voice behind, 'why will ye be so franzy? These be no gipsy lads. Look at their clothes a-dryin'!'
The farmer's wife, well knowing her husband's impetuous temper, had followed up, and at sight of her Dick tucked himself away behind a wide-stemmed beech.
The farmer looked down at the heap of steaming clothes, and was struck with the force of his wife's remark.
'Why, 'tis a sort o' uniform,' he muttered.
'O' course it's a uniform,' cried Chippy, who had stood his ground wrapped in his blanket and flourishing the tomahawk. 'It's the uniform o' Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts, an' what ye want to come 'ere for an' fetch my mate one acrost the ribs I'm blest if I know.'
'Bring my blanket here, Chippy,' called out Dick from his refuge. 'I dropped it in my hurry.'
'Why, ye see, I thought 'twor gipsy tramps startin' a fire in this copse, an' I've forbid it,' said the farmer slowly, scratching his head, and gradually getting hold of the idea that he had made a full-sized mistake.
'Tramps!' snorted Chippy in scorn, taking Dick's blanket, and marching across to his friend. 'D'ye reckon we look like tramps?' He simply bellowed the question, for he was immensely proud of his new scout's uniform, and quite forgot that at present he was arrayed only in a blanket.
'They've been in the wet, and they're dryin' their clothes,' went on the farmer's wife. 'Come home, Tom, an' leave 'em be; they'll do no harm.'
The farmer was already regretting his hasty blow, but, being a man who could never be made to express the opinion that he was in the wrong, he said nothing, merely turned away, and beat a retreat.
'Here's your blanket, Dick,' said the Raven. 'I felt ready, I can tell ye, to chuck the chopper at that confounded old hayseed of a farmer.'
'He did fetch me one for luck,' said Dick, rubbing the weal which now began to show up on his body. 'It seems we're trespassing.'
'Not to do any harm,' growled the Raven. 'But he's off now; the wife's fetchin' him away. She seems a good sort.'
The two scouts went back to their fire, and again turned the clothes, which were drying fast. Before long they were able to dress again, and march on their way.
They had gone half a mile from the copse, when their attention was drawn to a bramble-brake which seemed to be alive. It shook, it twisted, it rocked to and fro. They went up to the spot, and found a fat ewe on her back in the heart of it. She was struggling furiously but quite hopelessly; the brambles were wrapped about her fleecy body like cords of steel, and would hold her there till she died of exhaustion.
'I suppose she belongs to the chap who waled me,' said Dick. 'Well, I can take my knot out all right this time, Chippy. I'll chuck the cut of the whip and the sheep in as a good turn.'
'He don't deserve it,' cried Chippy; 'but we've got the poor beast to think of, an' that's a scout's job.'
The boys set to work at once, and it took them a good half-hour with knife and axe to free the terrified creature. At last they had it out of the brake, and placed it on an open patch of grassy land, and left it to recover.
Within a mile again they were surprised to enter a dry, dusty land once more. They had passed the region of the thunder-burst. It had been a local shower, not general, and the point where it had ended was shown in quite a sharp line drawn across the way they were following.
'All the better for us,' said Chippy. 'We can camp to-night, instead o' havin' to look for a barn or hay-loft, or suthin'.'
In the distance a yellow van was jogging over the moor. It was moving along a road which crossed their track at right angles.
'That's a baker's van,' said Dick. 'Let's tun on and catch it. If we can get a loaf, we shall be set up, and can break our march where we like.'
'Righto,' said the Raven; 'the flour's all gone.' And the scouts ran forward. They caught the van at the crossroads, and bought a threepenny loaf. Dick entered the purchase in his notebook; they had now spent two shillings and a penny three-farthings, and had plenty of food in hand for their fourth day. From this point on they surveyed the country with a single idea—the finding of a good spot for a camp.
They had now reached the border of the moor, and the land was studded by woods, coppices, and coverts. Pheasants flew across their path, and rabbits ambled about in every direction; for evening was coming on, and the bunnies were swarming from their burrows.
'Sportin' country, this,' observed Chippy; and Dick agreed.
Suddenly the boys came on a little brook, and both said, 'Here we are,' for they knew that somewhere along the brook there would be a spot to suit them. They left the road, and followed the little stream for three or four hundred yards, and then pulled up at a smooth grassy patch on the sunny side of a pine-wood. In the evening light the great tall red trees stood up quiet and splendid, and the scouts knew that their dark depths would make a happy hunting-ground for firewood and bedding.
They started their fire, and collected a huge pile of dried sticks with which to feed it. They gathered armfuls of pine-tips from the lower branches, but could find no logs for a framework; so they made the bed much broader, and worked in some strong dried branches at the side, and hoped the plan would answer well. They tested it by rolling on the bed, and all seemed firm and steady. Then, with ravening appetites, they turned to preparations for supper.
Bread and tea were easy enough to prepare, but how were they going to cook the eels? Chippy had been enthusiastic over the delicious richness of fried eels, and there was the billy to fry them in, but what were they going to do for grease?
'A bit o' lard, now,' murmured Chippy.
'Wait a bit,' said Dick. 'I'll put you right, cook.'
He opened his haversack, and took out a small tin box. 'Here you are,' said Dick. 'Mutton fat. I boiled it down myself. Grand stuff to rub on your feet if you get a sore place, but we haven't wanted it yet.'
'No, we ain't tenderfeet,' grunted the Raven.
'Hope not,' said Dick. He opened the box and smelled the contents.
'Has it gone bad?' asked his companion.
'Not a bit of it,' replied the Wolf; 'sweet as a nut. Here's a lump for your pan.' And he dug out a piece of the solid mutton fat with his knife.
The eels were washed and skinned, and soon were hissing and spluttering delightfully in the mutton fat in the billy. The two biggest eels, weighing more than half a pound each, were treated in this manner, and proved quite as good as Chippy had promised. While the hungry scouts devoured them, some smaller ones were set on to boil, for the Raven had heard boiled eels were good also, though he hadn't tried them. So the billy was rubbed round and three parts filled with water, and on went some more eels in a new form of cookery. When it came to the test of eating, the scouts did not think the boiled were quite so tasty as the fried, but they vanished before their raging appetites, and the two boys ate every eel they had sniggled.
They built up their fire and turned in before the daylight had gone, for they were fatigued by the long journey they had made that day.
'If a scritch-owl turns up this time,' chuckled Chippy, 'we'll just turn over and let 'im scritch.'
'And if a jackass rambles round, we won't be frightened and make three instead of one,' laughed Dick.
About one in the morning Dick was aroused from sleep by finding that he was very uncomfortable. The bed lacked the support of the side-logs, and the pine-tops had worked loose, and Dick had worked through them, and was lying on the ground. His hip-joint was aching, and the discomfort had awakened him.
'Hallo,' thought Dick, on recognising what had happened, 'I've reached the bottom shelf. I shall have to dig that little hole about the size of a teacup which B.-P. recommends for you to tuck your hip-joint in.' He turned over on his back and lay still for a few moments.
The night was very still and bright, and the moon was low down in the west, but clear, and shining strongly. The Raven was soundly asleep, and his breathing was deep and regular. Dick sat up and looked at the fire. It had burned down to a mass of embers hidden under a coating of ashes. He rolled out of his blanket, got up, and threw an armful of sticks on the fire. They began to crackle at once, and he stood for an instant to watch them.
Suddenly he lifted his head and sniffed: the wind was tainted as it blew lightly towards him along the lee of the wood: he could smell tobacco-smoke.
'Who's about?' thought Dick. 'What does it mean? We're far off from any village according to the map. But that's tobacco, and no mistake. I'll have a look round.'
He glanced at his companion, but Chippy was still wrapped in heavy slumber.
Dick stepped forward, then paused. 'No, I won't wake him,' murmured the Wolf. 'It would be a shame to fetch him up for nothing. I'll see who's in the neighbourhood first.'
Dick slipped on his shoes, drew the laces tight, for they were rove scout fashion, tucked in the ends, took his staff, and began to creep up-wind like a hare stealing from its form.
As Dick moved along the edge of the wood, the smell of tobacco grew stronger, and below a small ash he stopped with a jump of his heart. There was a scratch and spurtle of a match at his very feet, as it seemed.
Beyond the ash lay a big clump of brambles, and Dick peered over them. He discovered that the growth of brambles masked a deep hollow, and in the hollow lay three men, one of whom was smoking, and had just relighted his pipe. Dick checked himself just as he was about to give a low whistle of surprise and wonder. The men were blacks. The moon shone full into the hollow and showed ebony faces, in which white teeth glittered, as they spoke to each other in whispers. Then the smoker raised his hand to press down the tobacco in his pipe, and here again was a fresh surprise, for the hand was the hand of a white man.
Now Dick understood. These men had met for some evil purpose, and had blacked their faces as a disguise.
'Something wrong,' said Dick to himself. 'Those fellows are out for no honest purpose. Scout's job here.'
As the thought passed through the Wolf's mind, one of the men sat up and growled an oath. 'Wheer are they got to?' he said. 'Here, 'tis nigh on ha'-past one, an' Young Bill and Smiley ain't turned up yet.'
'We'll start wi'out 'em if they don't show up soon,' grunted a second speaker.
'As far as old Smiley goes we can do wi'out him all right,' returned the first man, 'but we must ha' Young Bill. He's got the stren'th o' half a dozen to pull.'
At that very moment Smiley and Young Bill were standing open-mouthed before the scouts' fire with the sleeping Raven at their feet. Smiley was a little twisted old fellow, but Young Bill was a gigantic navvy, powerful as a five-year-old bull. Their faces, too, were blacked in readiness for the night's work. Three minutes after Dick had crept away, they had slipped along the brook under the wood, turned a sharp corner, and come full upon the camp just as a bright light sprang up from the new sticks with which Dick had fed the fire.
'Wot's this?' growled Young Bill; 'a fire, an' somebody on the watch.'
Chippy had been sleeping uneasily for some time, for Dick's movements had disturbed, though not awakened, him. At the sound of the new-comer's voice he awoke, flung off his blanket, and leapt to his feet. But Young Bill was upon him at once, and pinned him with a grip of iron.
It was a terrifying experience for the Raven—to awake from sleep to find his companion gone and himself in the hands of two fellows whose blackened faces had a horrifying look in the dancing firelight.
'Wotcher doin' here?' demanded Young Bill, giving his captive a shake which rattled together the teeth in Chippy's head.
'Sleepin',' replied the Raven calmly.
'Who set ye here?'
'Nobody: set myself.'
Chippy's eyes shot swift glances on every side. Where was Dick? What had become of his friend? Was he free or a captive? If free, he must be warned, and Chippy acted at once. He let out a wild wolf-howl, which was promptly checked by Smiley. The latter gripped Chippy by the throat with both hands, shutting off the call, and half strangling the caller.
'See, he's givin' a signal,' cried Smiley. 'They're out for us, Bill. They've put this kid on the watch!'
The young giant was furious. He shook the Raven savagely, and struck him a cruel blow on the side of the head. While Chippy was still reeling and dizzy from this assault, he felt a handkerchief passed over his mouth, and it was quickly tied behind his head: Smiley had gagged him.
'Bring him along,' said Smiley. 'We're close to the place where t'others are. Let's see if they know aught.'
Dick had been immensely startled to hear his patrol call ring out from the direction of the camp, and then hear it suddenly checked. He turned and raced back, but silently and warily, and soon saw the two men advancing with Chippy, gagged and helpless, dragged along between them.
Dick dodged behind a tree, let them pass, then followed closely in the rear.
The astonishment of the three waiting men was very great when their companions arrived with the prisoner. Smiley told the story, laying stress on the warning cry which he had cut short with his throttling clutch. The general opinion was that Chippy had been posted there as a spy, and threats of vengeance were breathed against him.
'Seems to me,' said Smiley, 'we'd better call it no go to-night. They're on the watch; this is a sure proof of it. We'll ne'er drag yon stretch in safety.'
'I ain't goin' back,' burst out Young Bill, in his thick, savage tones; 'ye can clear out yerself as soon as ye like, Smiley. Yer wor' allus a white-livered un. I'm gooin' to net yon pool to-night if I ha' to do it by myself.'
The three who had been waiting agreed with Young Bill, and Smiley said he was willing to try if all were willing.
'What are we goin' to do with this nipper?' asked one of the men.
'I'll show yer,' growled the big navvy. 'I'll bring 'im along, an' ye bring the things on.'
A great pile of nets had been lying on the ground, and the three men gathered the nets up, and led the way, while the two last-comers followed with the prisoner.
Dick had watched closely all that went on, and had listened to every word and followed up, using every patch of cover to keep closely in the rear, and burning to strike in on behalf of his brother scout and friend.
For three hundred yards the party tramped along the bank of the little brook, and then a broad, silvery stretch of water opened out before them. The brook ran into a river at the head of a long pool noted for its big trout, and the men were poachers, whose aim was to net this reach of a famous trout-stream. One and all were idle rascals whose boast was that they never did a stroke of honest work while there was 'fish, fur, or feather' to be stolen from the estates of the countryside.
To-night they had come to their rendezvous feeling particularly safe. A confederate had been posted right on the other side of the estate with instructions to stumble on the alarm-guns set there. These guns were to be set off about a quarter-past one, and the poachers expected that the keepers would be drawn to the sound of the guns, and thus leave them undisturbed at their quiet task of netting the Squire's finest trout-pool. So that when they hit upon the Raven, and persuaded themselves that he was a spy posted near the trout-stream, they were full of vicious fury.
'Fust thing, we'll make sure o' this young limb,' said the navvy, when they had reached the bank of the pool. 'He shall nayther hoot nor run to carry news of us.'
So, with the aid of Smiley, he soon had Chippy lashed to a small beech, the handkerchief fastened tightly over his mouth so that he could neither stir nor speak.
Ten yards away, in cover of a thick patch of hazels, Dick watched everything. He drew out his knife, opened it, and ran his thumb along the keen edge. 'All right, my fine fellows,' he said to himself, 'get to your work'—for the nets had shown him what they meant to do—'and my chum will be free in a brace of shakes.'
But Dick reckoned without Smiley. That small, sly old poacher was not there to work; his task was to keep guard. So while the other four undid their bundle of nets, and prepared for a big haul, Smiley moved with the tread of a cat to and fro, watching the prisoner, listening, looking, turning his head this way and that, to detect the first sign or sound of danger. The beech to which the Raven was bound stood by itself on the bank, well away from other trees. This rendered it impossible for Dick to creep up unseen. He would have to dash out into the moonlight, and the wary watcher would see him and alarm the rest. No, there was nothing to do but wait awhile and look out for a chance to slip in, knife in hand. So Dick kept still in cover and watched the poachers as they worked busily in the light of the sinking moon.
First a net was stretched across the head of the pool. Young Bill jumped into the water and waded across waist deep with one end of the net, while a confederate paid it out from the bank. The foot of the net was loaded with leaden weights, and lay close to the bed of the stream: the top was buoyed with corks and floated on the surface. Thus, when the net was carried across and pegged into the opposite bank, a wall of fine mesh lay across the stream.
Now the big navvy waded back, and a second net—a drag-net—was carried to the foot of the pool. This time three of them plunged into the water, and drew the net across the stream. Of the three, two remained in the water, the third clambered out on the opposite bank. The net was arranged, and then the four poachers began to draw it slowly up-stream, one working on each bank and two in the water.
Now, trout always lie with their noses pointing upstream, and when alarmed dash away in that direction. But this time there was a wall of net to intercept their flight, and as the drag-net was brought up and up, the fish would be enclosed between the two nets and caught.
While these preparations were going on, Dick had watched eagerly for a chance that never came. Smiley remained too close to the gagged and pinioned captive for Dick to chance a rush, and the poacher was armed with a heavy stick.
'I wish the moon would go down,' thought Dick, and glanced over his shoulder towards the west. He started, and looked again. Two figures were creeping almost on hands and knees across a moonlit patch of turf, quite close to him.
'Keepers!' whispered Dick to himself. 'Here come the keepers!' for the velveteens and gaiters of the crawling men announced who they were. Dick was hidden in complete shade, and the patch of hazels where he lay hid the new-comers both from the watcher and the working poachers. Dick's heart gave a leap of joy.
'They'll attack at once,' he thought, 'and then I can get Chippy free.'
But to his surprise there was no attack. The two keepers glided into shelter of a holly patch and vanished. There was neither sign nor sound from them. Dick, of course, could not know that the keepers were biding their time, for they wished to take the poachers in confusion, and it was very likely the biters would be bit.
The truth was that an inkling of the raid had been gained from words let fall by a drunken poacher in the village inn, and the pool had been prepared. Across the middle of it a long weighted log had been sunk, and in this log a number of old scythe blades, their edges whetted as keen as razors, had been fixed in an upright position. The edges were turned down-stream, and the keepers were waiting until the drag-net should be brought upon this cunning engine of destruction.
Presently there was a hitch in the dragging.
'Wait a bit,' said one of the poachers; 'she's caught a bit somewheer or other. Pull a bit harder, Young Bill.'
The navvy pulled hard, but to no purpose.
'It's out towards the middle o' the pool,' he growled, 'an' I dursn't go a step fudder in. I'm nigh out o' my depth already.'
'We'll get on the bank,' said the other man who was in the water. 'We'll have a better purchase for a tug at her then.'
He climbed out on the farther side, and Young Bill climbed out on the nearer. Then the four men bent to it, and hauled on the net with all their might. No use: it was stuck as fast as ever.
'Ye want to pull harder, boys,' called out Smiley.
Young Bill exploded into a volley of imprecations addressed to the watchman.
'Hark at 'im,' growled the navvy—'pull harder; we're to pull harder while 'e slinks about on the bank. Come an' lend a hand yerself, an' be quick about it, or I'll sling ye into the river.'
Smiley ran at once, for he stood in great dread of his violent accomplice, and knew that the threat was a perfectly serious one. For a few moments there was a busy interchange of remarks and opinions as the baffled poachers discussed the possibilities of the case, and decided that a water-logged branch was at the bottom of the trouble.
While they were talking Dick was acting. No sooner did he see the watchman called off guard than he began to wriggle like an eel across the turf towards the beech, keeping the trunk of the tree between himself and the poachers. His keen knife made short work of Chippy's bonds, gag included, and the Raven was free. The latter slipped round the trunk, and the two scouts glided quickly back into cover of the hazels.
'Good old Wolf,' whispered Chippy, drawing a few deep breaths. 'I felt sure ye'd be somewheer handy. I owe ye a vote o' thanks. It's carried unanermously.'
'Oh, dry up, Chippy,' whispered his comrade. 'As if you wouldn't have done the same for me. What luck the rascals got into a fix! That gave me a chance. But, Chippy, there are keepers over there, watching them.'
'Keepers!' breathed Chippy in amazement. 'Why don't they collar 'em?'—and even as he spoke, the scouts learned why the keepers had delayed their attack.
'Now, altogether,' cried young Bill at the waterside, and the five poachers bent for a last tremendous tug which would free their net. The net was freed, but not exactly in the style they hoped for. There was a sudden, keen Cr-r-r-rish! of snapping, parting meshes, and the net, cut clean into two by the scythe blades, came to shore in two halves, one on either bank.
It gave, at the last, so suddenly that the hauling rogues were taken completely by surprise. At one moment they were pulling against a tremendous resistance; at the next there was none, and they went head over heels, all five of them, the three on the nearer side piled in a heap.
Upon this heap the two keepers darted, and at the same moment a keeper and a policeman appeared on the other bank. The yell of surprise which burst from the lips of the rogues as they went to earth was still ringing in the air when they felt the grip of justice fastened on their collars, and knew that the game had gone against them on every score.
The gigantic navvy broke away from his captors and ran. A keeper pursued him, caught him up, and closed with him. There was a short, fierce struggle, and both men went down headlong, locked together in a savage grapple. The keeper was undermost, and the weight of his huge opponent knocked the breath out of him for the moment. The poacher leapt up, and aimed a terrific kick at his fallen opponent. The man would have received a severe injury had not the scouts swept into action at the very nick of time.
'Here's the wust of 'em. Cop 'im, my lads,' roared Chippy, in a voice which he made as deep as a well. And Dick lashed out and fetched the big fellow a staggerer with his patrol staff, and shouted also. Feeling the blow, and hearing the voices at his back, the poacher thought that a crowd of foes was upon him, and took to his heels and fled through a coppice, crashing through bushes and saplings with furious lumbering speed.
The scouts slipped away to see how the second keeper was getting on, and found that he had got Smiley safe and sound, while the third man had vanished. Upon the other bank one was captive and the other had fled.
'How are you gettin' on there, Jem?' called the keeper who had secured Smiley.
'Oh, I've as good as got my man,' replied Jem, returning to the river-bank. 'It was Bill Horden, that big navvy. I'll nail him to-morrow all right. But there was the rummest thing happened over yonder, 'mongst the trees.' And he burst into the story of his rescue.
'I'd have had my head kicked in if they boys hadn't run up and started Bill off,' he concluded; 'but who they are, and where they sprung from, I can't make out.'
The scouts, tucked away in the cover, chuckled as they heard their mysterious appearance discussed, and wondered if Smiley would throw any light on the matter. But the old poacher remained sullen and silent, and now the keepers were hailed by the policeman across the river.
'Bring your man down to the bridge,' he cried, 'and we'll march the two we've got off to the lock-up.'
'All right,' said the keeper who had collared Smiley. 'I'll come now. Jem, you get the nets an' follow us.'
'The play's over,' whispered Dick in his comrade's ear, 'and we'll get back to camp.'
The scouts glided away up the little brook, and soon regained their camp, where the fire was burning briskly, for the whole affair had not taken any great amount of time. They sat down and discussed the matter from the moment Dick had smelt the tobacco-smoke till the final rally on the bank of the trout-pool, then turned in once more, and were asleep in two moments.
Dick had rearranged his side of the bed before he lay down again, and now he slept in great comfort, and slept long, for when he woke the sun was high up and the day was warm.
He rubbed his eyes and looked round for Chippy. To his surprise, the Raven sat beside the fire skinning a couple of young rabbits.
'Hallo, Chippy!' cried Dick, 'been hunting already? Why, where did you pick those rabbits up?'
'Just along the bank 'ere,' replied the Raven. 'I was up best part of an hour ago, an' took a stroll, an' seed 'em a-runnin' about by the hundred. These two were dodgin' in an' out of a hole under a tree, so I went theer, an' in they popped. But I soon dug 'em out.'
'Dug them out!' cried Dick. 'Why, I've heard that digging rabbits out is a job that takes hours with a spade.'
'So 'tis if they've got into their burrows,' returned his comrade. 'But theer's the big deep holes they live in, an' theer's little short holes they mek' for fun. They're called "play-holes," an' 'twas a play-hole these two cut into. It worn't more'n eighteen inches deep, an' soft sand. I 'ad 'em out in no time.'
Chippy finished skinning the rabbits, and washed them, and then they were set aside while the comrades stripped, and splashed round, and swam a little at a spot where the brook opened out into a small pool. When they were dressed again, they were very ready for breakfast. Chippy fried the rabbits in the billy with another lump of Dick's mutton fat, and they proved deliciously tender. The boys left nothing but the bones, and with the rabbits they finished their loaf. After breakfast they lay on the grass in the sun for half an hour working out their day's journey on the map, and pitched on a place called Wildcombe Chase for their last camp. It was within fourteen miles of Bardon, and would give a quiet, steady tramp in for their last day.
At the thought that the morrow was the last day of their delightful expedition the scouts felt more than a trifle sad; but they cheered themselves up with promises of other like journeys in the future, and took the road for a seventeen-mile march.
'Do we pull our knots out for lending a hand to the keeper last night, Chippy?' asked Dick, laughing.
'You can pull your'n out two or three times over,' replied the Raven. 'Fust ye saved me; then ye let that big rogue ha' one for luck, an' that saved the keeper. Me, I did naught, 'cept get collared when I wor' fast asleep.'
'Didn't you?' returned Dick. 'I know that shout of yours was the thing that frightened him, not the crack I hit him. He thought a six-foot policeman was at his heels. Well, never mind the knots. We'll throw that in. After all, boy scouts are bound to lend a hand in the cause of law and order.'
'O' course,' agreed Chippy. 'Wheer's discipline if so be as everybody can do as he's a mind?'
That morning the brother scouts enjoyed an experience which gave them keener pleasure than perhaps anything else which happened during their journey. It began about eleven o'clock, when they were following a country road upon which hamlets, and even houses, were very far apart.
They were approaching the foot of a very steep hill, when the Raven's eyes, always on the watch, as a scout's eyes should be, caught a gleam of something glittering in a great bed of weeds beside the road. He stopped, parted the weeds with his staff, and disclosed a broken bicycle, diamond-framed, lying on its side. It was the bright nickelled handle-bar which had caught his eye.
'Somebody's had a smash, and left the broken machine here,' said Dick; and Chippy nodded.
Now, Dick's statement of the case would have satisfied most people, and they would have gone on their way. There was the broken bicycle, and the rider had left it. Perhaps he meant to fetch his disabled machine later. In any case an untrained person would have seen nothing that he could possibly do, and would have dismissed the matter from his mind. But that would not do for the Wolf and the Raven. It was their duty as scouts to got to the bottom of the affair, if possible, on the chance that help was needed somehow or somewhere, and they began a careful examination of the machine and its surroundings.
The cause of the accident suggested itself at once—a broken brake and a runaway down the hill, with a smash at the foot. There were two brakes on the machine. One was jammed; one had a broken wire. Whether the jammed brake had been so or not before the accident they could not tell. As far as they could judge, the broken wire had left the rider helpless on the steep slope. They looked up the hill. The track came down fairly straight, until it was within a few yards of the bed of weeds. Then it swerved sharply aside. A yard from the angle of the swerve lay a large stone. Deduction: The front wheel had struck the stone, driven it a yard to the left, and itself had swerved violently to the right, and dashed on to a heap of stones hidden under the growth of weeds. The shock had been tremendous. How discovered? The frame was badly twisted and broken, and the machine was an excellent one; the transfer bore the name of a first-rate maker.
Now, what had happened to the rider? He had been pitched flying from his machine, and Dick found where he had fallen. Three yards from the spot where the broken bicycle lay, the weeds were flattened, as if a heavy body had dropped there. Then Dick gave a long, low whistle.
'By Jove, Chippy! look here!' he cried, and pointed with his staff. The Raven hastened up, and whistled too, when he saw a patch of blood lying around a sharp-edged stone. The blood was quite fresh, and that proved the accident was recent.
'Poor chap dropped with his head on the stone, and cut himself pretty badly,' said Dick; and Chippy nodded.
'It ain't a big machine,' he remarked.
'It's just about the size of mine,' returned Dick. 'It may be a fellow about our age, Chippy, by the look of the bike.'
Now arose the vital question: Had the unlucky rider received help or not? How had he left the place—on his own feet, or with assistance? The scouts settled that in a minute's close search. They had taken care not to potter about and confuse the spoor with their own markings. They soon came to the conclusion that such marks as they could find were made by the rider when he had dragged himself to his feet.
'Has anyone passed here since the accident?' said Dick.
'Soon find that out,' cried Chippy; and the two scouts turned their trained eyes on the dusty road, which gave up instantly the knowledge its surface held.
Two tracks only were recent. One was made by a pair of wheels and the feet of a horse; the other by a pair of large, hobnailed shoes. The wheel-tracks were narrow, and the horse had trotted till it was some distance up the hill, then fallen into a walk. The boys decided that a gig and a labourer had passed along, both going the same way.
Ten yards up the hill the bicycle track crossed a track of the gig. Thirty yards up the hill the ribbed Dunlops had wiped out the side of a hobnailed impression. Very good. The bike had come down the hill after these had passed; it had been the last thing on the road. This greatly strengthened the idea which the scouts had already formed, that no help had been available. Now they began to search for the rider's line of movement from the place.
Dick found it: a footprint on a dusty patch in the grassy wayside track. He called to his companion. When Chippy had seen it, Dick set his own foot on the track; his shoe exactly covered it.
Now the scouts gathered their impressions together, and reconstructed in theory the whole affair. A boy of about their own age had ridden over the brow of the slope, with only one brake available on his machine. Near the top of the hill the brake had broken; they regarded this as proved by the tremendous way which the machine had got on it. The rider was skilful, for his track was true, and he would have escaped had it not been for the large stone in the track, and this, it was very likely, his great speed had prevented him from seeing until too late; another point, by the way, to prove the early giving-out of the brake. He had swerved violently aside, and struck the heap of stones by the bank before he could regain control of his machine, and the smash followed. After the smash the rider had pulled himself together, and gone alone from the place; his trail ran up the hill, and it looked as if he were making for home; it was certain that he was pretty badly hurt.
'Now, Chippy,' said Dick, 'the point for us is this: Has he got safely home or not?'
'Foller 'im up,' said the Raven briefly; 'scout's job to mek' sure.'
Dick nodded, and without another word they struck the trail, and worked their way up the steep slope.
'Blood,' said Chippy, and pointed out two stains on the grass.
'Blood it is,' replied his companion, and they pressed forward.
Near the top of the slope, where, just at the crown, the hill was at its steepest, the boys stopped in amazement. Here was a trail with a vengeance! The roadside grass gave way to a sandy patch twenty yards long, and the patch was scored with long, dragging marks. Then Dick-pointed with his staff. There in the soft soil was the impression of a hand, and dark spots lay along the trail.
'By Jove, Chippy! the poor chap!' cried the Wolf. 'The hill proved too steep for his weakness. Look, he's finished it on his hands and knees.'
Dick bent, and laid his own hand over the clear impression on the sand.
'Same size again,' he cried; 'he's just about our age, Chippy.'
'It's the blood he's lost as fetched 'im down,' said the Raven, his face very grave; 'but he's a good plucked un. He's fightin' his way somewheer.'
At the top of the hill came a level stretch, and here the wounded rider had gathered himself together again and stumbled forward. Within a very short distance the road forked, and at the fork the trail was lost. The two roads were hard and stony, and showed no trace of footmarks, and the blood had ceased to fall.
'A road apiece,' said Chippy.
'Yes,' said Dick. 'You take right; I'll take left. First one to find anything whistles.'
They parted instantly, and each took his track, his eyes glued to the ground. They could work a great distance apart and yet keep in touch, for their patrol whistles were very powerful, and the day was still.
Chippy went a good three-quarters of a mile, and yet had found nothing. He feared he was not on the right track, for at last he came to a soft patch where spoor ought to have been. There was one new track: the man with the hobnailed boots had turned this way, but there was no other sign of recent passage. Chippy was standing in hesitation, when faint and far away the shrill call of a patrol whistle came to his ears. At once he raised his own whistle to his lips and blew an answering call, then turned and darted like a hare back along the road. He gained the fork and raced along the path which Dick had followed. It was clear that the Wolf had found the track or the injured boy, but the Raven did not trouble about searching for signs of the rider. He knew that his comrade would leave him full directions which way to travel, and his only aim now was to join Dick. So he tore along the road, his eyes fixed on the centre of the track.
Suddenly he pulled up dead. There was a broad arrow marked heavily in the road with the point of Dick's staff. The head pointed to a side-track, and Chippy wheeled and flew off in the new direction. Again he was pulled up. A second broad arrow, square across the way. This time the head pointed to a wicket-gate painted white. Even as the Raven dodged through the wicket he knew that his comrade had hit the right trail. The wicket was painted white, and a stain of red was smeared across the top bar: the injured boy had passed this way.
Faster and faster sped the Raven along a winding field-path which led through meadow after meadow. Then he saw his friend in the distance, and knew that Dick was still on the trail, for he was bending low and moving slowly. The Wolf turned his head as his companion came up panting.
'I'm on the spoor, Chippy,' he said. 'Here's blood again, spot after spot. He must have begun to bleed afresh.'
'I seed some on the gate,' said the Raven; 'did yer hit the trail pretty soon?'
'No,' returned Dick. 'I was in more than half a mind to turn back when I came on the boot track and knew it again. And within twenty yards I found sure signs and whistled.'
He moved forward, and the Raven dropped into file behind, for the track was narrow. Thus it was that he, being free to glance ahead, was the first to catch sight of the object of their search.
'Look, Dick!' he cried. 'Look, look! Right ahead!'
Dick straightened himself, saw what his comrade meant, and the two boys darted forward. They had just turned a corner where the path wound by a tall bank, and thirty yards before them a figure lay in a heap at the foot of the bank. As they ran up to it, they uttered a cry of surprise and wonder. It was a brother scout! There he lay, his slouch hat beside him, his badge on his arm, his legs doubled under him. He had made a grand fight, a scout's fight, to gain his home after his severe accident. But now he had collapsed from utter weakness and loss of blood, and lay against the bank, his face as white as wood-ashes.
His comrades pounced on him at once, placed him in an easier position, and searched for the wound. It was on the inner side of the right arm, a frightful ragged cut made by the deep point of the jagged stone, and was bleeding still. Out came Dick's handkerchief and Chippy's knife. Dick tied the handkerchief above the wound, Chippy cut a short, stiff stick. Then the stick was slipped inside the bandage and twisted until the handkerchief was very tight, and had checked the flow of blood. Dick held the boy's arm up above his body as a further aid to check the bleeding.
'Now, Chippy,' he said, 'cut round and get some water in the billy.'
'Right,' said the Raven; 'we passed a ditch wi' some water in it a bit back.' He flew off, and soon returned with the billy full of cold water.
'Now give me your handkerchief,' said Dick, 'and while I dab the cut with water you push ahead and find help.'
Chippy nodded. 'I reckon this path runs somewheer,' he said. 'I'll foller it up.'
He raced forward and disappeared round a further bend, leaving Dick to do his best for their unconscious comrade. Within three hundred yards Chippy saw a white house before him in lee of a fir coppice.
'His place, I know!' burst from Chippy's lips. The poor lad had fallen almost within call of home. How narrowly had a tragedy been averted!
The Raven ran on, passed through another white wicket, and entered a farmyard. A tall man was just dismounting from a cob.
'What, Fred, back already?' he cried, then stopped, for he saw it was not Fred, but a stranger in scout's uniform. Chippy darted up to him.
'Fred's your boy as like as not,' he said. 'A scout same as me. Went off on his bike a bit back, eh?'
'Yes,' said the farmer wonderingly; 'how do you come to know about him? I've never set eyes on you before.'
'He's met with a bit o' an accident,' said Chippy, 'an' a comrade o' mine found him an' sent me to get help. Seems I've come to the right place, fust send on.'
'Where is he?' cried the farmer.
'Just along the medder-path,' replied Chippy, pointing; 'fell off his bike, an' had a nasty tumble. Better bring summat to carry him.'
'Is he badly hurt?' cried the farmer in alarm.
'Well,' said Chippy, 'theer's a nasty cut on his arm, but we've stopped the bleedin'.'
The farmer called to two men at work in a barn, and a door was hastily lifted from its hinges. Then all three hurried along in the wake of the Raven, who led the way back.
But scarcely had the party left the farmyard than they saw in the distance the figure of a heavily laden scout. It was Dick marching along with his injured comrade on his shoulders. A few moments after Chippy departed in search of help, the wounded boy came to himself under the influence of the cold water with which Dick bathed the hurt and the boy's face.
'Hallo!' he murmured feebly. 'What's wrong? Have I got home?'
'Not just yet, old chap,' said Dick cheerily, 'but you'll soon be there. A friend has gone ahead for help.'
'It's only a little way now,' muttered the injured boy.
'How far?' cried Dick, but he received no answer. The other was fast falling into a stupor again.
Dick felt very uneasy. He did not know a great deal about wounds, but he knew that his brother scout had lost a large amount of blood, and that it was very urgent that he should be swiftly conveyed to a place where he could receive proper attention.
'I'll carry him in,' thought Dick. He looked at the bandage, and carefully tightened it a little again. Then he turned the boy, now insensible once more, on his face, and knelt down. Raising the body, Dick worked his way beneath it until his right shoulder was under the other's stomach. Slipping his right arm between the legs of his burden, Dick gripped the wrist of the sound arm, and slowly raised himself. This was the hardest part of the task, but the Wolf's strong, limber knees made sure work of it, and in a moment he stood nearly upright with the injured scout across his shoulders. Then Dick stepped out at a gentle, even pace, following the path Chippy had taken. He was in sight of the farmhouse when the Raven and his followers came streaming through the gate, and the farmer, running at full speed, was the first up to the marching scout.
'Give him to me, give my boy to me,' cried the pale-faced man.
'Better not,' said Dick quietly; 'we mustn't move him about too much, or the bandage may work loose. Is that your house?'
'Yes,' cried the other.
'I'll run him right in,' said Dick. 'Shift the wicket.'
One of the men hurried forward and swung the wicket-gate from its hinges, and, piloted by the farmer, Dick crossed the farmyard, marched through a door into a passage, and thence into an ample kitchen, where, with the aid of the farmer, he set down his burden on a broad settle. As he did so, the boy's mother came hurrying in from the dairy. She gave a little gasping cry when she saw the ghastly face of her son, but at once took command in a quiet, sensible fashion.
'Have you sent for the doctor?' she said to her husband.
'Yes; Joe's gone,' he answered. Joe was one of the men. He had raced off at once to the village.
The wounded boy was again lifted very carefully, and carried away to a bedroom. In a few moments the farmer came back, eager to hear how the scouts had found his son. He was astonished to find that their only clue, as he understood clues, was the seeing of the broken bicycle. It took him some time to grasp the methods by which the scouts had pieced together the evidence and followed up the wounded rider, and his thankfulness and gratitude were beyond expression.
'To think he was barely a field away from home, and couldn't move another step!' cried Mr. Hardy—for that was the farmer's name. 'And then you tracked him down in that clever fashion. Well, if you two are not a credit to Baden-Powell's Scouts, my name isn't George Hardy.'
'Your son is a scout too, I think,' said Dick. 'I saw he was wearing our uniform and badge.'
'Of course he is,' cried Mr. Hardy. 'He's fairly crazy about it—thinks of nothing else, he's so keen on it. There's a patrol over in the village yonder, and he's joined it. He's what they call a second-class scout at present, and he wants to become first-class. So off he set on his bike for a fifteen-mile ride, as it seems that's one of the things he's got to do.'
'Test 7,' grunted Chippy.
'Ah, very likely,' agreed Mr. Hardy. 'I don't know the numbers. Hallo! that's good. Here's the doctor.'
He sprang up, and took the medical man to the bedroom, while Joe came into the kitchen, wiping his face.
'Met the doctor on the road, so that's lucky,' said Joe, and then began to ask the scouts about the accident; for Fred was a great favourite, and all were anxious to know how ill had befallen him.
Dick and Chippy would now have resumed their interrupted march had they not been desirous of hearing the doctor's report on their brother scout's condition.
Twenty minutes passed before Mr. Hardy returned to the kitchen, and his face shone with joy.
'He'll pull through,' cried the farmer. 'Doctor says there's a chance for him yet. But if he'd lain there half an hour longer there'd have been no mortal hope of saving him, and I can never tell you how thankful his mother and me do feel towards you.'
'Oh, very likely someone would have found him in time if we hadn't tracked him,' said Dick.
'Never in this world,' said Mr. Hardy solemnly—'never in this world! That path is but little used. The village lies t'other way. He might have lain there for hours and hours.'
'Well, we're very glad we were so lucky as to be of service,' said Dick; 'and now we must push on our way. We're making a scouting journey, and have to finish it by to-morrow night.'
'Nay, nay,' cried the farmer; 'you'll have dinner, at least, before you go. 'Twill be ready soon, and I'd take it very onkindly if you left us without bite or sup.'
At this moment Mrs. Hardy came in, and thanked the clever scouts warmly for the great service they had rendered. She seconded her husband's invitation, and as one o'clock struck in thin chimes from a tall eight-day clock, they sat down to a plentiful dinner. Over the meal the talk turned on the journey the scouts were making, and the farmer and his wife were deeply interested in their adventures.
'But look here, now,' said Mr. Hardy; 'this fine piece of work you've done for us—and we shall never forget it—has fetched you out of your way, and cost you a lot of time.'
'We'll make it up before dark,' said Dick.
'Ay, by overtiring yourselves,' said the farmer. 'Now, suppose I run you along a piece of your way in my trap. I've got a Welsh cob that'll slip us along as if he'd but a feather behind him. I'll set you ten or twelve miles on your road, and be thankful if you'd give me the chance.'
The scouts looked at each other. It was a temptation. It was an undeniable temptation. It would make the march into Bardon a very simple affair on the morrow.
Then Chippy spoke up, his keen eye reading Dick's puckered brow and considering face.
'Yer want to march all the way,' he said quietly.
'I didn't at first, Chippy,' replied Dick. 'The offer of the lift seemed splendid, and it is immensely good of you,' he went on, turning to Mr. Hardy. 'But I'll tell you just where I stand. I'm under a sort of agreement with my father that it's to be a genuine march all the way. If I had a lift from you, it would hardly be fair as I see it. But that doesn't apply at all to my chum; he's quite at liberty to come with you.'
'I'll take one or both, and be proud to do it,' cried the farmer.
'Much obliged,' said Chippy in his hoarsest notes; 'but me and my comrade march together.' Nor could either of the scouts be shaken from his determination.
Dick and Chippy took the road again an hour after dinner amid a volley of cheers raised by the labourers on the farm. The men had gathered in the stockyard to see them start, and gave them three times three and a tiger; for the Hardys were very popular with their dependents, and, beyond that, the men felt respect for coolness, pluck, and skill for the sake of the qualities themselves.
The two scouts felt a glow of delight in this achievement such as no words can describe. They marched on their way with a swinging stride, as if they stood on air. First they had the keen professional delight of having built up by their own observation a theory which proved true in every particular save one—that the blood found on the scene of the accident had flowed from a cut in the arm, and not in the head. But that was a mere detail; in every item that mattered their deductions had proved sound.
'I should just like to have asked him when the brake went,' said Dick. 'Pretty well at the top of the hill, I know.'
'Must ha' done,' said Chippy, 'by the spin he'd got on the machine.'
They had not seen or spoken to their comrade before leaving the farm. Fred Hardy was in too weak a state even to know what his brother scouts had done for him, let alone seeing them or thanking them; his life still hung on a thread, but that thread would for a surety have been snapped had not the patrol-leaders discovered him and checked the bleeding.
'An' to think, arter follerin' him up, he turned out one of us,' murmured Chippy.
'Wasn't it splendid!' cried Dick.
Yes, that was the very crowning touch of the adventure. They would have done it all with the most cheerful willingness for anyone, old or young, sick or poor; but to rescue a brother scout—ah! that gave a flavour to the affair which filled them with purest delight.
Now the scouts swung forward with steady stride; they had lost a good deal of time, and the miles stretched before them—a formidable array to be ticked off before the spires of Bardon would be seen. This sweep back from Newminster was longer than the road they had followed to the city, and the extra distance was beginning to tell. They made a good strong march for three hours, and then halted for a short rest; and upon this halt a rather awkward accident took place, in which Dick was the sufferer.
The scouts had been tempted to pause at a point where a shallow brook ran for some hundreds of yards beside the road, forming one boundary. They had just made a long stretch of hot, dusty road, and their feet were aching. The water tempted them to halt, and strip off shoes and stockings, to bathe their heated and weary feet.
They sat down on the roots of a tree beside the stream, and dangled their feet in the cool running water, and found it very pleasant and refreshing.
'There's a fish acrost th' other side, just gone into a hole in the bank,' said Chippy; 'wonder if I could get 'im out?'
'Are you any good at catching fish with your hands, Chippy?' asked his companion. 'I never had any luck that way. I've tried in that brook on the heath, but they mostly seem to slip through my fingers.'
'There's a knack about it,' replied the Raven. 'Now, I dessay, Dick, ye tried to shut your hand round 'em.'
'Yes, I did,' said the Wolf.
'Ah, now, that's wheer ye went wrong,' returned his friend. 'Ye want to mark 'em down under a stone or in a hole, then press 'em hard agin the side, an' hold 'em theer a while. Then ye can jerk 'em out when they've lost their wind a bit.'
Chippy proceeded to show how it was done. He slipped his shirt-sleeve back to the shoulder, and introduced his hand cautiously into the hole. He made a sudden movement, and snapped 'Got 'im!' and held on. A minute later he drew out a small trout, his finger and thumb thrust into the gills, and showed it to Dick.
'Quarter-pounder for ye,' he said, and dexterously broke its neck.
'Let's see if we can get enough for supper, Chippy,' cried Dick; 'they'd go down first-rate with the sandwiches;' for Mrs. Hardy had insisted on storing their haversacks with a plentiful supply of ham and beef sandwiches. They spent half an hour or more paddling about in the cool, clear water, but only three small ones came to hand.
Then Chippy thrust his arm up a hole among the roots of an alder, and gave a chuckle of delight. 'A big un at last,' he cried; 'I've got 'im.' But suddenly his note changed.
'Ow!' he yelled, in comic anguish, and whipped his hand out of the hole. Blood was streaming from his forefinger.
'I say,' cried Dick, 'what a savage trout!'
''Tworn't a trout at all,' wailed the Raven; ''twor a big rat, an' he bit me.'
The scouts roared with laughter as Chippy flipped the blood into the water.
'He'd got you that time,' chuckled Dick.
'Sure enough,' nodded the Raven. 'I thought it wor' a pounder at the least. He's nigh on bit my finger through.'
Dick had his patrol staff in hand: he thrust it up the hole and tried to poke the rat out. But the hole twisted among the roots, and was a safe fortress for its wily defender.
'Well, I've done all the gropin' I want, this time,' remarked Chippy, washing his finger in the stream.
'Yes, we must be off again,' said Dick, and began slowly to wade towards the bank where their shoes and stockings lay.
Suddenly he started and picked up one foot.
'Ah!' cried Dick, 'that was sharp, and no mistake.'
'Wot's the matter?' called out Chippy, approaching him.
'Trod on something sharp,' said Dick.
'I should think yer did,' cried the Raven; 'look at yer foot. We must see to this.'
Dick looked, and saw the clear water stained with blood as it swept past his foot. He bent down and looked at the bed of the stream.
'Confound it all,' he said, 'it's the end of a broken bottle I've trodden on. No wonder it warmed me up a bit. Somebody's chucked it into the brook as they passed.'
The boys scrambled to the bank, and there Dick's wound was examined. It was on the outer side of the right heel, not long, but deep, for the broken bottle had thrust a sharp splintered point upwards, and the cut bled very freely. They washed it well in the cold water until the blood ceased to flow, then rubbed plenty of the mutton-fat in, for that was the only kind of ointment they had.
'Quite sure theer's no salt in this?' asked Chippy. ''Cos salt 'ud be dangerous.'
'Quite sure,' replied Dick. 'I boiled it down myself. It's pure fat.'
Chippy looked anxious. 'It's frightful awk'ard a cut in yer foot,' he said. 'How are ye goin' to march, Dick?'
'Oh, I'll march all right,' said Dick. 'I wish, though, it had been my finger, like yours, Chippy.'
The Raven nodded. 'True for you,' he said, 'ye don't ha' to tramp on yer hands.'
They bound up the cut in a strip torn from a handkerchief, got into their stockings and shoes, and went forward. Dick declared that his cut gave him little or no pain, but Chippy still looked uneasy. He knew that the time for trouble was ahead, when the cut would stiffen.
'We'll never see Wildcombe Chase to-night, Chippy,' said Dick, as they stepped along.
'Not likely,' was the reply; 'we've a-lost too much time for that. An' now theer's that cut. What I say is this: let's mek' an early camp an' give yer foot a good rest. P'raps it'll feel better in the mornin'.'
'It isn't very bad now,' said Dick, 'only a little sore.'
'H'm,' grunted Chippy, 'so ye say. I know wot a deep cut like that means. We'll rest it as soon as we can.'
They paused on a triangle of grass at some cross roads and got out their map. Wildcombe Chase was altogether too far now, and they looked for a nearer camping-ground. They saw that they were within a mile of a village, and beyond that a by-way led across a large common. On this common they resolved to make their last bivouac.
They passed through the village without purchasing anything. They had plenty of food for supper in their haversacks, and though their tea and sugar and so on were finished, they did not intend to buy more. Even to purchase in small quantities would leave them with some on their hands, and they were not willing to spend the money. It was no mean, miserly spirit which moved them. Their scout's pride was concerned in carrying out the journey at as low a cost as possible, working their own way, as it were, through the country. For the money, as money, neither cared a rap. It must also be confessed that Dick was rather keen on handing back to his father a big part of the ten shillings. Dick remembered the twinkle in his father's eye, when Mr. Elliott handed over the half-sovereign for way money. The smile meant that he felt perfectly certain that the two boys would soon run through the ten shillings and have to turn back. Dick had perfectly understood, and the more he could return of that half-sovereign the prouder be would feel.
They pressed on across the common with a distant fir coppice for their landmark and goal. Such a place meant a comfortable bed for the night, and as soon as they gained its shelter Chippy cried halt, and forbade Dick to stir another step.
'It's been gettin' wuss and wuss lately,' said Chippy. 'Ye don't say a word, an' ye try to step out just as usual, but it's gettin' wuss an' wuss.'
'Oh, I don't mind admitting it's a trifle sore,' said Dick, 'but it will be all right in the morning.'
'Hope so,' said Chippy. 'Now you just drop straight down on that bank, an' I'll do th' odd jobs.'
Dick protested, but the Raven was not to be moved. He forced his chum to stretch himself on a warm, grassy bank while he made the preparations for camping that night. A short distance away a rushy patch betokened the presence of water. Dick pointed it out. 'I'll go over there and wash my foot,' he said.
'Right,' said Chippy, 'an' dab some more o' that fat on the cut.'
Dick found a little pool in the marshy place, and the cool water was very pleasant to his wounded foot, which had now become sore and aching. When he returned, Chippy was emerging from the coppice with armfuls of bedding; he had found a framework in the rails of a broken fence which had once bounded the firwood.
'Here, Chippy, I can lend a hand at that,' said Dick. 'There's no particular moving about in that job.'
'Aw' right,' said the Raven; 'then I'll set plenty o' stuff to yer hand an' see about the fire.'
Chippy soon had a fire going, and a heap of dry sticks gathered to feed it. A short distance away a big patch of gorse had been swaled in the spring. It had been a very partial affair, and the strong stems stood blackened and gaunt, but unburned. Thither went Chippy with the little axe, and worked like a nigger, hacking down stem after stem, and dragging them across until he had a pile of them also.
'They'll mek' a good steady fire for the night,' he remarked. Then he seized the billy.
'What d'ye say to a drop o' milk?' he said. 'We could manage that, I shouldn't wonder. When I wor' up in the wood I seen a man milkin' some cows t'other side o' the coppice, an' now as I wor' luggin' these sticks back I seen him a-comin' down the bank. Theer he goes.'
Chippy pointed, and Dick saw a man crossing the common with two shining milk-pails hanging from a yoke. At this warm season of the year the cows were out day and night, and the man had clearly come to milk them on the spot, and thus make a single journey instead of the double one involved in fetching them home and driving them back to the feeding-ground.
Dick turned out twopence, and Chippy pursued the retreating milkman. He returned, carrying the billy carefully.
'He wor' a good sort,' cried Chippy. 'He gied me brimmin' good measure for the money.'
The scouts now made a cheerful supper. Chippy broiled the trout in the ashes; Mrs. Hardy's sandwiches were very good, and the milk was heated in the billy and drunk hot from their tin cups.
Supper was nearly over when a small, reddish-coated creature came slipping through the grass towards them.
'There's a weasel,' said Dick, and the scouts watched it.
The little creature came quite near the fire, loping along, its nose down as if following a track. Then it paused, raised its head on the long snake-like neck, and looked boldly at the two boys, its small bright eyes glittering with a fierce light.
'Pretty cheeky,' said Dick, and threw a scrap of wood at it. The weasel gave a cry, more of anger than alarm, and glided away.
Within twenty minutes they saw a second weasel running along under the brake, nosing in every hole, and pausing now and again to raise its head and look round sharply on every hand.
'Weasels seem pretty busy about this 'ere coppice,' observed Chippy.
'No mistake about it,' agreed Dick. 'Do you know, Chippy, I've heard that they are always active and running about before bad weather.'
'Hope they've got another reason this time,' growled the Raven. 'Sky looks all right.'
'It does,' replied Dick.
The two scouts looked to every point of the compass, and raked their memories for weather signs, and compared what they remembered, but they could see nothing wrong. The sun was going down in a perfectly clear sky, and flooding the common with glorious light. There was no wind, no threat of storm from any quarter: the evening was cool, calm, and splendid.
'We'll turn in as soon as the sun's gone,' said Dick, 'and be up early in the morning, and make a long day of it.'
Chippy nodded, and the boys watched the great orb sinking steadily towards a long bank of purple woodland, which closed in the horizon.
'Wot's the home stretch run out at?' asked the Haven.
'The march in from here?' said Dick. 'Where's the map? We'll soon foot it up.'
The map was spread out, and careful measurements taken. 'Rather more than twenty-one miles,' said Dick.
Chippy whistled softly. 'We'd do it aw' right if nuthin' had happened to yer foot,' he murmured.
'We'll do it all right as it is,' cried the Wolf. 'Do you think I'm going to let that spoil our grand march? Not likely. I'll step it out to-morrow, and heel-and-toe it into Bardon every inch, Chippy, my boy.'
'It's a tidy stump on a cut foot,' said the Raven soberly.
'Hallo! what's that?' said Dick, and they looked round.
A furious squealing broke out among the trees behind them, and then a rabbit tumbled out of a bush, made a short scuttling run, and rolled over in a heap.
Close at its heels came the bloodthirsty little weasel in full pursuit, sprang on its prey once more, and fixed its teeth in the back of the rabbit's head, when the squealing broke forth anew.
Up leapt the Raven and took a hand in the affair at once. He caught up a stick of firewood, but the weasel ran away and left the rabbit kicking on the ground. Chippy picked up the bunny and came back to the fire.
'A good fat un, he cried, 'about three-parts grown. Good old weasel!'
'Very kind of him to go foraging for us,' laughed Dick.
'Ain't it?'—and the Raven showed the rabbit. It was not yet dead, and Chippy at once put it out of its pain by a sharp tap on the back of its neck with the edge of his hand. This killed it instantly.
'That's a good breakfast for us,' said Dick. 'We've got one or two sandwiches left as well.'
'Righto,' said Chippy, and turned to and skinned the rabbit, and cleaned it, ready for broiling in the morning.
Then they turned in, and were soon off to sleep.
Three hours later the Raven was wakened by something moving and sniffing about his bed. He sat up, and a creature, looking in the faint light something like a dog, ran away into the coppice.
Next Dick awoke, aroused by his chum's movements, and heard the Raven grunting and growling softly to himself.
'Anything wrong, Chippy?' he asked.
'Sommat's been here an' bagged the brekfus',' replied the Raven.
'Was it a dog prowling about?' cried Dick.
At this moment a hollow bark rang from the depths of the coppice:
'Wow-wow! Wow-wow!'
'There it is,' said Dick; 'a dog.'
'No,' replied Chippy. 'I know wot it is now. That's a fox. I'll bet theer's a vixen wi' cubs in this coppice, an' she's smelt the rabbit an' collared it.'
'Then I hope that weasel will start hunting again, laughed Dick, 'and chevy up another breakfast for us.'
'Well, it's gone, an' theer's no use tryin' to look for it,' said Chippy, and tucked himself up in his blanket again.
The scouts were falling off to sleep once more when they were aroused again, this time by the divinest music. A nightingale began to sing in the little wood, and made it echo and re-echo with the richest song.
Suddenly a faint murmuring began to mingle with the lovely notes. The murmuring grew, and the bird's song ceased. The air was filled with the patter of falling rain.
'Rain!' cried Dick; 'that's rain, Chippy.'
'On'y a shower, p'raps,' said his comrade.
'I hope so,' returned the Wolf.
They felt nothing of the rain at present, for they were camped beneath a fir which stood as an outpost to the coppice, and its thick canopy was stretched above their heads. Chippy sprang up and threw fresh fuel on the fire, and looked out on the night.
'Theer's a big black cloud creepin' up from the sou'-west,' he said. 'That looks pretty bad for a soaker.'
In a short time the scouts knew they were in for a real drenching. The patter of the rain came heavier and thicker, until it was drumming on the fir-branches in steady streams. Soon great spots began to fall from the lower branches of the fir beneath which they lay.
'I've just had a big drop slap in my eye,' said Dick, sitting up. 'What are we going to do, Chippy?'
'Got to do summat,' said the Raven, 'an' quick, too, afore we're drownded out.'
'Let's rig up a shelter tent with the blankets,' suggested Dick; and they set to work at once. They pulled the four fence-rails which formed the framework of their bed from their places, and laid them side by side in search of the shorter ones. They proved much of the same size, so Chippy went to work with the hatchet to shorten a pair, while Dick began to dig the holes in which to step them. The ground was soft, and with the aid of his knife Dick soon had a couple of holes eighteen inches deep. While he did this Chippy had cut two rails down, and fastened a third across the ends of the shorter ones, with the scouts' neckties for cords. They had ample light to work by, for the fire had flared up bravely.
Now they swung up their framework of two posts and a cross-bar, and stepped the feet of the posts in the holes, throwing back the soft earth, and ramming it in with the short, thick pieces cut off the rails. This made a far stronger hold for the uprights than anything they could have done in the shape of sharpening their ends and trying to drive them down.
Next they took their blankets, and hung them side by side over the cross-bar, one overlapping the other by a couple of feet. With their knives they cut a number of pegs from the hard gorse stems, and sharpened them, and drove them through the blankets into the bar, pinning the blankets tightly in place. The tough gorse-wood went into the soft rail like nails, and the back of the tomahawk made a splendid hammer. They had a fourth rail, and they pegged the other ends of the blankets down to that, drew it backwards, and there was a lean-to beneath which they leapt with shouts of triumph.
'Done th' old rain this time,' yelled the Raven. 'Now we'll keep a rousin' fire goin', and sit here and listen to it.'
There was, luckily, no wind, or the scouts might not have been so jubilant; it was a heavy summer rain, pouring down strong and straight. The boys were pretty wet before they had got their shelter rigged up, but the fire was strong and warm, though it hissed vigorously as the heavy drops fell from the branches of the fir.
'Any chance of putting the fire out, do you think?' said Dick.
'Not if we keep plenty o' stuff on it,' replied his chum. 'Hark 'ow it's patterin' on the blankets!'
'They'll be jolly wet, and take some drying,' said Dick. 'Still, better for them to get wet than for us.'
'We ain't cut a trench,' said Chippy.
'To carry off the water,' cried Dick. 'No, we haven't. But we can dig that from cover, just round the patch we want to sit on.'
They went to work with their knives, and cut a trench six inches deep round the pile of bedding on which they were seated, and then had no fear of being flooded out with rain-water.
Down came the rain faster and heavier. The whole air was filled with the hissing, rushing noise of the great drops falling on the trees, the bushes, the open ground, but the scouts sat tight under their blanket lean-to, and fed the fire steadily from the heap of sticks and stems which the Raven had piled up.
'Weasels for weather-prophets for me arter this,' grunted Chippy; and Dick nodded his head.
'It was my Uncle Jim who told me that about the weasels,' said Dick. 'He said they're always very active before stormy weather.'
'Just about fits it this time, anyway,' remarked the Raven. The mention of Mr. Elliott brought to mind their chums in Bardon.
'I wonder how our patrols are getting on without us, Chippy?' said Dick.
'Oh, it'll gie the corporals a chance to try their 'ands at leadin',' returned the Raven. 'I wish they could just see us now. They'd gie their skins to jine us.'
'Rather,' laughed Dick; 'this is just about all right.'
It is possible that some persons might not have agreed with him, and at one o'clock in the morning might have preferred their beds to squatting on a heap of brushwood under the shelter of a blanket, the hissing fire making the only cheery spot in the blackness of the cloud- and rain-wrapped moorland. But the scouts would not have changed their situation for quarters in Buckingham Palace. There was the real touch about this. It seemed almost as romantic as a bivouac on a battlefield.
'Well, s'pose we try for a bit more sleep,' said the prudent Raven; 'long march to-morrer, yer know.'
'We've got to keep the fire up,' said Dick; 'it would never do to let that out.'
'O' course not,' replied Chippy; 'we must take turns to watch. Now, who gets fust sleep—long or short?'
He held up two twigs which he had plucked from the bedding; the ends were concealed in his hand.
'Short gets first sleep,' said Dick.
'Aw' right,' replied the Raven; 'you draw.'
Dick drew, and found he had the long draw.
'Wot's the time?' asked Chippy.
'Just turned one.'
'Right; then I'll sleep till three. Then you wake me, and I'll tek' a turn till five. Then we must be movin', for to-morrer's a long day.'
'To-day's a long day, you mean,' laughed Dick.
'So it is,' replied the Raven. 'It's to-day a'ready—o' course it is.'
He was about to coil himself round like a dog upon the hearth, when he cast a quick glance on the heap of firewood.
'Not enough theer,' he said; 'an' I ain't a-goin' to have ye hoppin' round on yer game foot.'
He sprang up again, and, in spite of Dick's protestations, caught up the axe and a flaming brand from the fire, and went down to the burnt gorse-patch, and hacked away till he had as many of the long stems as he could drag.
'They're a bit wet outside,' he said, as he returned; 'but they'll ketch all right if ye keep a good fire up, and theer's a plenty to last till I've finished my nap. Then I can fill in my time wi' cuttin' any amount.'
He curled himself up again, and was asleep in a moment.
Dick's watch was only two hours, but it seemed a long, long time. He kept a rousing fire going, such a fire as the rain could make no impression upon, and lost itself in the glowing depths in an angry spluttering. Once the heat made him so drowsy that he dreaded the terrible disgrace of falling asleep on his post. So he stuck his head from under the shelter, and washed the sleep out of his eyes in the slashing downpour. But even after that he was half asleep again, when a sluice of cold water came in at the point where the blankets overlapped, and very obligingly ran down his neck, and fetched him up with a jump. Now he had a job to do in arranging their cover, and he moved the ground rail a little back, and drew the blankets tauter. The simple shelter did its work nobly. It is true that towards the bottom the weight of water caused the blankets to sag, and there was a steady drip at that point; but it was beyond the spot where the scouts were crouching, and the sharp slant of the upper part ran the water safely over their heads.
Chippy woke upon the stroke of three in a manner which seemed to Dick perfectly miraculous.
'How did you do it?' asked the latter. 'I should never have awakened of myself in that style.'
'Yer must fix it on yer mind,' replied the Raven, 'and then somehow or other yer eyes open at the right time.'
'Well,' laughed Dick, 'I'm afraid it's no use my trying to fix five o'clock in my mind. You'll have to wake me, Chippy.'
'I'll wake ye fast enough,' returned the Raven. 'Now roll yerself up, an' go to bye-bye. It'll be broad daylight soon. Most likely the rain will stop at sun-up.'
Day was breaking, but grey and chill, and the rain still poured down in lines which scarcely slanted. The scouts, however, were quite warm, for there was no wind, and the leaping fire sent ample heat into the nook where they lay.
Dick placed his haversack for a pillow, and laid his head on it. The sleep he had been fighting off descended on him in power, and he knew no more until Chippy shook his arm and aroused him at five o'clock.
His eyes opened on a very different scene from that he had last gazed upon. The rain was over; the morning was bright with glowing sunshine; the new-bathed country looked deliciously fresh and green; a most balmy and fragrant breeze was blowing; and in copse and bush a hundred birds were singing, while the lark led them all from the depths of the blue sky.
'What a jolly morning!' cried Dick.
'Aw' right, ain't it?' grinned the Raven. 'The rain stopped a little arter four, an' the sun come out, an' it's been a-gettin' better an' better.'
Suddenly Dick looked up. The blankets had gone. Chippy laughed.
'Look behind,' he said.
Dick looked, and saw that the Raven had been very busy. He had built a fresh fire with a heap of glowing embers from the old one; the billy had served him as an improvised shovel. Over this fire he had erected a cage of bent sticks, and the blankets were stretched on the framework and drying in style; the steam was rising from them in clouds.
'That's great,' said his chum; 'I wondered more than once in the night what we should do with sopping wet blankets.'
'They'll be all right in a while again.' And the Raven gave them a turn. 'Now we've got to wire in and hunt up a brekfus.'
Dick turned out the haversack which held the food they had left, but it made a very poor apology for a meal.
'I could put that lot in a holler tooth, an' never know I'd had aught,' said Chippy. 'This scoutin' life mek's yer uncommon peckish.'
'Rather,' cried the Wolf, who was as hungry as the animal after which his patrol was named; and the two boys began to scout for their last wild, free breakfast-table.
The two scouts crept along the edge of the coppice, eye and ear on the alert. They were hoping to surprise a rabbit in a play-hole, but though they saw plenty of rabbits scuttling to shelter, every hole proved the mouth of a burrow, and that was too much for them to attempt. They worked clean round the coppice, saw dozens of rabbits, but were never within a mile of catching one; at last they came back to their camp.
'It strikes me, Chippy, we shall have to divide the scraps we've got left, tighten our belts, and strike out for the next baker's shop.'
'Looks like it,' murmured the Raven. 'I'm jolly thirsty too.'
'So am I,' said Dick; 'let's see if we can find a pool of clear water in the swampy patch yonder.'
They went down to the little marsh, but though there was plenty of water, it all appeared thick and uninviting. Being scouts, the boys were very careful of what water they drank, and they looked suspiciously on the marsh pools.
'No drink nayther,' said the Raven; 'we'd better get a start on us for a country wheer there's things to be got.'
'Wait a bit, Chippy,' replied his comrade. 'I think I know a dodge to get round this, if we only had a spade to dig with. It's a trick my Uncle Jim put me up to. He often used it when he was travelling in Africa.'
Dick explained what was to be done, and the Raven nodded.
'If that's all there is to it,' remarked the latter, 'I'll soon find the spades.'
He returned to the camp, seized the tomahawk, and began to cut at one of the pieces chopped off the rails. In five minutes of deft hewing Chippy turned the broad, flat piece of timber into a rude wooden shovel. Dick seized it with a cry of admiration.
'Why, this will do first-rate, old chap,' he asid. 'The ground is pretty sure to be soft.'
'Go ahead, then,' said the Raven. 'I'll jine ye wi' another just now.'
Dick went down to the swamp, and chose a grassy spot about twenty feat from the largest pool. Here with his knife he cut away a patch of turf about a couple of feet across; then he went to work with his wooden spade on the soft earth below. In a short time Chippy joined him, and the two scouts had soon scraped a hole some thirty inches deep. From the sides of the hole water began to trickle in freely, and a muddy pool formed in the hollow. Dick now took the billy, and carefully baled the dirty water out. A fresh pool gathered, not so dirty as the first, but still far from clean. This, too, was baled out, and a third gathering also. Then the water came in clear and cool and sweet, and the scouts were able to drink freely.
Chippy was warm in his praise of this excellent dodge, when suddenly he stopped, caught up the wooden spade, and, with a single grunt of 'Brekfus ahoy!' was gone.
His eye, ever on the alert, had marked a small figure scuttling along in the undergrowth of the coppice, and he was in hot pursuit. In two minutes he was back with a fat hedgehog.
'Ye've tasted this afore,' he said. 'How about another try?'
'Good for you, Chippy!' cried Dick; 'it was first-rate. Will you cook it the same way?'
'There ain't none better,' replied the Raven, and set to work at once to prepare and cook the prey of his spade. In the end the scouts made an excellent breakfast. They enjoyed hedgehog done to a turn—or, rather, to a moment, as there was no turning in the matter—the remains of Mrs. Hardy's sandwiches, and a billy of water drawn from their own well. The well and the breakfast took some time, and their start was much later than they had intended that it should be. But, on the other hand, there were the blankets to dry, and between the sun and the fire the latter were quite dry enough to pack away in the haversacks when the scouts were ready to move.
Dick's foot had become quite easy during the night's rest, but after a couple of miles the cut began to let him know that it was there. By the time they had covered four miles it was very painful, and he was limping a little. Then they struck a canal on the side opposite to the towpath, and they sat down beside it on a grassy bank and cooled off a little before they stripped for a good swim in the clear water.
When Dick took off his shoe and stocking, the Raven whistled and looked uneasy. The flesh all round the cut looked red and angry, and the heel was sore to the touch.
'Isn't it a nuisance,' groaned Dick, 'for a jolly awkward cut like that to come in and make the going bad for me? But I'll stick it out, Chippy. It's the last day, and I'll hobble through somehow and finish the tramp.'
'We'll pass a little town 'bout a mile again, accordin' to the map,' said the Raven, 'an' there we'll get some vaseline.'
'Good plan,' said Dick; 'that's splendid stuff for a cut.'
They had their dip, dressed, and pushed forward. At the little town they called at a chemist's and bought a penny box of vaseline. As soon as they reached quiet parts again, Dick took off his shoe and stocking, and rubbed the wound well with the healing ointment, then covered the bandage with a good layer, and tied it over the cut, and rested for half an hour. This greatly eased the pain and discomfort, and they trudged on strongly for a couple of hours.
Suddenly the scouts raised a cheer. Above a grove of limes a short distance ahead, a church steeple sprang into sight.
'Half-way!' cried Dick. 'We've done half the journey, Chippy. Here's Little Eston steeple.'
The Raven nodded. 'We'll halt t'other side,' he said.
In the village they bought a small loaf and a quarter of a pound of cheese, and those were put into Chippy's haversack. At a cottage beyond the hamlet they lent a hand to a woman who was drawing water from her well, and filled their billy with drinking-water at the same time. They made another three hundred yards, then settled on a shady bank under a tall hawthorn-hedge for their midday halt.
'How's yer foot, Dick?' queried the Raven anxiously.
'A bit stiff,' replied Dick; 'but that vaseline has done it a lot of good. I'll peg it out all right yet, Chippy, my son. Now for bread and cheese. It will taste jolly good after our tramp, I know.'
It did taste very good, and the scouts made a hearty meal, and then lay for a couple of hours at ease under the pleasant hawthorns, now filled with may-blossom.
Before they started again Dick gave his foot another rubbing with vaseline, but found it hard going after the rest.
'Look here, Chippy,' he said, 'I mustn't halt again for any length of time. If I do, my foot may stiffen up till I can't move. We must make one long swing in this afternoon.'
The road that ran from Little Eston in the direction of Bardon had a broad strip of turf beside the way, and Dick found this a great ease to his aching foot. But after a time the road narrowed, and was dusty from hedge to hedge. They passed a sign-post which said, 'Two miles to Little Eston.'
'That's a couple scored off,' said Dick; 'the miles are less than double figures now, Chippy.'
'Yus,' said the latter; 'an' we'll get to Shotford Common soon. That'll be easier walkin' than the road.'
A short distance beyond the sign-post an old man leading a small donkey in a little cart met them, and they passed the time of day.
'Mortal hot, ain't it?' said the old man; and the scouts agreed with him. The heat was, indeed, sweltering. It was one of those days of early summer which seem borrowed from the dog-days, and the scouts, tough as they were, were dripping with sweat as they marched along with shirt-sleeves rolled nearly to their shoulders, their shoes and stockings thickly powdered with the white dust which lay deep under foot.
Suddenly Chippy pulled up. 'I'll 'ave that haversack o' yourn,' he remarked.
'You won't, old boy,' replied Dick. 'Every man shoulders his own pack on a day like this.'
'I'll have that haversack,' went on Chippy calmly. 'Bit too bad for a scout wi' a damaged foot to pull a load while another strolls along as easy as can be. So pass it over.'
'I won't,' said Dick. 'It's no load in particular.'
'Then why mek' a row about handin' it over?' queried the Raven.
Dick was about to reply when he paused, looked ahead, and said: 'By Jingo, Chippy, here comes a choker. The haversacks will come handy to put our heads into.'
The Raven turned and saw a huge pillar of dust whirling towards them. It rose high above the hedges beyond a bend near at hand, and came on at great speed. The scouts knew that a motor-car was at the fore-foot of the pillar, and they stepped back into the shallow ditch which bordered the way.
In another moment a big, heavy car, flying at terrific speed, came shooting round the bend, and as it flew it gathered the deep white dust, and hurled it thirty feet into the air; leaving the road in the wake of the car one utterly blinding, choking mass of eddying dust. The scouts threw themselves into the bank and covered their faces with their hats: it was the only way of drawing some sort of breath, and even then their throats were choked with dust till they coughed.
'Nice thing, a motor-car running forty miles an hour over two inches of dust,' remarked Dick in ironical tones.
'It 'ud serve 'em right to bust their tyres on a broken bottle end,' murmured Chippy. 'It ain't safe to scoot along like that on these 'ere narrow roads.'
'It's to be hoped they eased up before passing the old man and his donkey-cart,' said Dick. 'The wind of their passing would be enough almost to upset him.'
'That's wot they've done,' cried Chippy suddenly. 'Look! look! his cart's in the ditch.'
Dick looked, and saw through the thinning cloud that the poor old man was in distress. His cart was turned over, and the donkey was struggling on its side. The scouts ran back at full speed to help him.
'What's wrong?' cried Dick. 'Did the car hit you?'
''Twor comin' a main sight too fast,' cried the old man, 'an' just as it passed, the noise o' it med Jimmy start round an' swerve a bit, an' suthin' stickin' out caught him on the shoulder an' knocked him into the ditch as if he'd been hit wi' a cannon-ball.'
'And they never stopped or asked what was the matter?' cried Dick.
'Not they,' said the old man; 'on they went as fast as iver.'
'What cads!' cried Dick. 'Did you see the number, Chippy?'
'No,' replied the Raven. 'Too much dust.'
'There were four men in it,' went on the old man, 'an' they looked back at me, but they niver pulled up.'
The scouts were loud in their anger against the inconsiderate motorists, and they were perfectly right. The truth was that the men had fled in fear. A chauffeur had taken his master's car without permission to give some of his fellow servants a run, and they dreaded detection, which would get them into trouble at home. However, the car had gone, and its number was not known, and within half a mile there was a meeting of cross roads where the motorists could turn aside without passing through the village. The comrades gave their attention to the matter immediately in hand, and helped the old man to unharness the struggling donkey and draw the little cart back.
The poor beast did not attempt to rise when it was freed. There was a cut on the shoulder where it had been struck, but the wound was not bleeding much, and the old man did not think the hurt was so bad as it proved to be.
'S'pose we tried to get Jimmy on his legs,' he proposed, and the two scouts sprang to help him. They were trying to raise the poor brute when a gamekeeper with his gun under his arm came through a gate near at hand.
'Hallo, Thatcher, what's wrong?' he called out.
'Why, 'tis one o' these here danged motor-cars,' replied the old man. 'Gooin' faster than an express train along this narrow way, an' knocked Jimmy into the ditch.'
The gamekeeper came up, and at the first glance called upon them to lay the donkey down again.
'Let me have a look at him,' he said. 'That cut's nothing. There's worse than that cut, I fancy.'
'I hope no bones have a-gone,' said the donkey's master.
'That's just where it is, Thatcher,' said the gamekeeper, after a short examination. 'The poor beast's shoulder is a-broke right across. He'll ne'er stand on his four legs again.'
Thatcher uttered a cry of distress.
'Broke across, ye say, keeper! Then what's to be done with him?'
'Nothing,' said the keeper; 'there's nothing ye can do to cure him. The poor brute's in agony now. Look at his eyes!'
'Nothin' ye can do,' repeated the owner in a dull voice, his eyes almost as full of distress as those of his injured helpmate. 'An' Jimmy were the best donkey as iver pulled a cart.'
'Nothin' at all,' said the keeper, ''cept a charge o' No. 6,' and he tapped the breech of his gun significantly.
'Shoot him?' cried old Thatcher.
'It's that or let him die slowly in misery,' replied the keeper. 'If ye like I'll put him out of his pain before I go on, but I can't stay long, for I've got to meet someone in Hayton Spinney, and I ought to be there now.'
'You're quite sure nothing can be done?' said Dick to the keeper.
'Perfectly sure, sir,' replied the man; 'the shoulder bone's clean gone. If it wor' a hunter worth three hundred guineas nothing could be done to save the creature's life.'
Jimmy was not worth three guineas, let alone three hundred, but when the keeper had mercifully ended the poor brute's sufferings with a cartridge, and hurried on to his appointment, he left old Thatcher heart-broken beside the body of his faithful servant.
'I dunno what I'm goin' to do now!' cried the poor old fellow to the scouts, who remained at his side to see what help they could render. 'Ye see, wi' Jimmy to help me I've med a few shillin's a week, doin' a bit o' higgling an' odd jobs in carryin' light things. That's kept me out o' the Work'us. But I'm a lost man now. There's nowt but the Union for me, I doubt. An' I've fowt hard to keep out o' that.'
The scouts tried to console him, but the loss of his donkey was a heavy blow to the old higgler.
'Where am I goin' to get another?' he said. 'I'm a bit short-handed now wi' my rent, for I've been ill a good bit on an' off last winter. Eight-an'-twenty shillin' I gave for Jimmy; an' I ain't got eight-an'-twenty fardens to spare.'
He heaved a bitter sigh, and began to strip the harness off the companion of his daily journeys. The scouts helped, and the harness was tossed into the little cart. That had escaped very well in the overset: one shaft was cracked, and that was all.
'Joseph Thatcher, Little Eston,' read Dick, from the side of the cart.
'Ay, that's me,' said the higgler. 'Joe Thatcher: lived in Little Eston all my life.'
'And you were on your road home?' went on Dick.
'Just comin' back from town,' replied the old man. 'I'd been wi' a load of butter an' fowls an' what-not for two or three neighbours, an' left the things at different shops. An' now I must get my cart home somehow an' tell my neighbours what's happened.'
'I see,' said Chippy. 'That's aw' right. I'll run yer cart home for ye.'
'Yes,' said Dick; 'we'll soon run it home for you.'
'No, yer don't,' said the Raven to his friend. 'Ye'll stop here an' tek' care o' the traps till I get back;' and with these words he whipped off haversack and jacket, and tossed them on to the bank.
'Oh, that won't do, Chippy,' cried Dick; 'that's just a trick to prevent me lending a hand.'
'Trick or no trick, it's just wot 'ull happen,' said the Raven firmly. 'It's rather more'n two miles back to Eston—that's four goin' an' comin', an' you wi' a game foot. No, not an inch back do ye stir. Besides, it gies me the chance to strip to the work nice an' comfortable.'
'But you can't shift that cart by yourself,' cried Dick.
Chippy uttered a grunt of scorn.
'There's nothing in it 'cept the harness,' he said. 'Can't shift that, eh?'
He took the shafts and ran the cart into the way as if it had been a big wheelbarrow: there was surprising strength in his slight but sinewy figure.
'Come on, gaffer!' cried Chippy, and he trundled the cart rapidly away down the road, leaving Dick on guard perforce beside his comrade's equipment.
Within three-quarters of an hour Chippy was back, travelling at scout's pace.
'You've been jolly quick, Chippy,' shouted Dick.
'Had a bit o' luck,' returned the Raven, wiping his sweat-soaked face; 'met a farmer's cart goin' into Eston, and tied th' old man's cart at the back, so I didn't 'ave to go all the way.'
'What about the motor-car?' asked Dick. 'Had it run through the village?'
'Not it,' replied the other; 'turned sharp to the left at the cross-roads.'
Dick got out the map, and the scouts saw that the driver knew the country; he had taken the most solitary road of the neighbourhood.
'A set of sneaks,' said Dick.
'Bad uns,' agreed his chum.
'I say, Chippy, it was no end good of you to cut off like that with the cart, but I would rather have lent a hand,' cried Dick.
'Let's 'ave a look at that 'ere foot,' was the Raven's only reply.
The foot was looked at, anointed with vaseline, bound up afresh, and then the march was resumed.
Dick now had a very bad quarter of an hour, for his foot had stiffened rather while Chippy was away. But he set himself to tramp it out, and when they passed a station beside the road, and heard an engine whistle, and saw from a bridge the rails running away towards Bardon, he only limped on faster, and put aside the temptation of a lift in by train.
After a while his foot became more easy, and he was able to set it down without giving any decided indication that there was something amiss. For this he was very glad before long, when the two scouts met friends who would soon have spotted a lame walker, and have cut his march short.
It was about half-past four when they gained a point where the country began to wear a familiar look.
'Shotford Corner!' cried Chippy. 'We'll see Bardon from the cob.'
The cob, as Chippy called it, was a small knoll on which stood a finger post, with many arms to guide wayfarers along the roads which met at Shotford Corner. The boys gained the knoll by the smallest of the side-roads which ran in at that point.
They paused beneath the finger-post, and looked ahead. There was their old familiar heath spreading away to the distant spires of Bardon, and from this point on they knew every step of the way. 'Six miles to Bardon' was on the arm above their heads.
'We'll be home in less than a couple of hours now,' said Dick. 'We'll put this journey to our credit easily enough, Chippy.'
Suddenly behind them a wild honk-honk—h-o-n-k of a motor-horn broke out. The boys looked along the road, and saw a car coming towards them at full speed with two figures in it. The driver was performing a fantasia on his horn; the passenger was waving his cap.
'Why,' cried Dick, 'it's my father out in his car with Uncle Jim.'
'Well, here you are,' shouted Mr. Elliott, as the car sped up to them. 'We've been scouring these roads all the afternoon in search of you. How have you got on?'
'Oh, splendid, father—splendid,' cried Dick. 'We should like to start again on Monday, shouldn't we, Chippy?'
'It 'ud suit me fust rate,' said the Raven, respectfully saluting his employers.
'Well,' laughed Mr. Elliott, 'I don't know about that. I'm afraid there'd be trouble with your headmaster and with Mr. Malins, who has rather missed Slynn.'
The Raven saluted again, blushing with pleasure to find that the manager had missed his services.
'You look uncommonly fit, the pair of you,' said Mr. Jim Elliott, marking the brown faces, the lean, lithe look of the hardy, toughened scouts.
'Yes, uncle, we feel up to the work all round, and we've had a grand time.'
'Have you had plenty to eat?' asked Dick's father.
'Plenty, father,' cried Dick;' and we've had the jolliest times sleeping. Three nights we camped, one we slept in a hayloft, and one in the cabin of a barge.'
'Lodgings have been cheap, then?' chuckled Mr. Elliott; 'but how much of the second half-sovereign have you spent for food?'
Dick laughed in triumph, and fetched out the bit of gold.
'Not a stiver,' he said; 'and there's the best part of the other half-sovereign too.' And he laid a heap of silver and copper in his father's hand.
Mr. Elliott counted it in surprise. 'Why, there's seventeen and fourpence farthing here,' he said. 'Do you mean to say you two have been out for a week, and only spent two and sevenpence three-farthings all told?'
'We do,' cried Dick. 'We've won and earned fairly all the rest of our food. I'll tell you everything, and you shall judge for yourself, father. But it's too long a tale to go into now.'
Mr. Elliott stared through his goggles in wonder at the money. 'Well, Jim,' he said at last to his brother, 'these scouts of yours can look after themselves, it seems.'
'That's the chief thing that Baden-Powell's scouts are expected to learn,' said the instructor, smiling; 'it is quite clear that Dick and Slynn have picked up the art in great form.'
'Done the whole thing on two and sevenpence three-farthings!' repeated Mr. Elliott, his wonder growing as he thought it over. 'Dick, you'd better come into the business straight away. You'd be able, I should say, to give your uncle and myself most valuable advice on the subject of cutting down expenses.'
Dick laughed, for his father's surprise filled him with the utmost delight. Chippy, too, was on the broad grin.
'Here,' said Mr. Elliott suddenly, 'take it; it's yours. Share it up between you.' He poured gold, silver, and copper into the hat which Dick promptly held out for the money.
'I'm not going to say "no" to that offer, father,' said Dick; 'for I've a use for my half of the money.'
'Same here,' murmured Chippy; 'the party's name is Joseph Thatcher, Little Eston.'
'Now, Chippy,' cried Dick, 'how in the world did you know what was in my mind?'
The Raven chuckled. 'I knowed,' he murmured, and would say no more.
Dick explained who Joseph Thatcher was, and what misfortune had befallen him.
'He gave twenty-eight shillings for the donkey,' concluded Dick, 'and this will go a long step towards setting him up again. The poor old chap's horribly frightened of the workhouse at present.'
'Ah,' said his father, 'the road-hog is the curse of decent motor-drivers. One black sheep can cover the whole flock with discredit. Well, now, boys, jump in, and I'll run you into Bardon in triumph.'
'Oh no, no, father,' cried Dick; 'thank you very much, but that would spoil the whole thing. We must finish it out to the last step on foot.'
'What Spartans!' said Mr. Elliott; 'still ready to face six miles of hot, dusty road after a week's tramping.'
'Yes, father, we must do it,' replied Dick. 'To finish up in a motor-car would take the shine off the whole affair.'
'Well, well, as you please,' laughed Mr. Elliott; 'then, you can hand that money back. Your uncle and I are out for a spin, and we'll slip over as far as Eston, and see Mr. Joseph Thatcher, and console him for his loss with your offering. If one motorist upset him, it's only right for another to do the friendly.'
Dick hailed this proposal with delight, and handed back the seventeen shillings and four-pence farthing. 'I'll be bound the poor old chap will get enough to buy a new donkey before all's done,' chuckled Dick.
'Can't say,' said Mr. Elliott, preparing to back and fill till he had his car round; 'depends on whether your uncle's got any loose silver to throw away. Well, we shall catch you up again long before you reach Bardon.'
The car sped away, and the boy scouts watched it for a moment, then marched on down the Bardon road.
'Bit of a temptation, worn't it, to tumble into the car?' said Chippy.
'Oh, Chippy, that would have spoilt it all!' cried Dick. 'My foot's giving me beans rather, but I'm not going to chuck it for a six-mile tramp.'
'I know just how ye feel,' replied the Raven; ''twould ha' seemed to tek' the polish off, but I was thinkin' o' yer foot.'
'That will be all right after a day or two's rest,' said Dick; 'but with the end of the journey in sight I mean to stump it out.'
A couple of miles on he was stumping it out steadily, when all thoughts of lameness and soreness were put to flight by a joyous vision; for just as they gained the heath two files of marching figures came into sight in the distance. The familiar uniforms at once caught the eye of the two patrol-leaders.
'Scouts!' cried Chippy.
'Our own patrols!' yelled Dick. 'Look, Chippy; our patrols have come out to meet us!'
At this instant the two marching figures were seen by the advancing patrols, and on dashed Wolves and Ravens, eager to greet their leaders. Dick and Chippy hurried to meet them, and at the next moment the two leaders and their comrades met, and there was such an outburst of cheering, questioning, shaking hands, and chanting of the scouts' war-song and chorus—a general merry babel of welcome and greeting!
The first to recover were the corporals, who had been in charge while the leaders were absent.
They gave orders for the patrols to line up, and the Scouts obeyed instantly. Wolves on the right of the way, Ravens on the left, they formed up shoulder to shoulder to be inspected by their leaders. Dick and Chippy each went along his own line, and saw that the men were turned out in proper style, and the inspection was careful and thorough. Everything was found correct, and the corporals were congratulated on the manner in which they had handled the patrols during the absence of the leaders. Then review order was broken up, and the patrols gathered in cheerful, laughing, chattering groups to discuss the week's march with the heroes of the day. The Wolf Patrol was a member short. No. 6 had left the town during the week, and his place was vacant among Dick's followers.
'I say, Dick,' said Billy Seton, corporal of the Wolves, 'there's a fellow been following us from the town. He's kept at a distance, dodging behind bushes and gorse on the heath, but I'm sure he was after us. I've looked back a dozen times, and seen him making ground when he thought he wouldn't be observed.'
'That's odd,' said Dick. 'Why should anyone want to follow you?'
'To see where we were going, I suppose,' replied Billy; 'and though I've never had a fair look at him, there seemed to me something familiar about the chap. I can't make it out.'
'Where is he now?' asked Dick.
'Haven't seen him for quite a bit,' replied Billy; 'but I've an idea he's watching us from somewhere.'
The words had scarcely fallen from Billy's lips when a boy in civilian dress stepped from the shelter of a clump of hollies and walked swiftly towards the patrol.
'Why, it's Arthur Graydon!' cried Dick in surprise.
'So it is,' said Billy; 'no wonder I thought I knew him.'
Yes, it was the lost leader of the Wolves who now came striding up to his old friends, as the latter stared at him in wonder.
Arthur's face was pale, and his teeth were clenching his under-lip; but he had made up his mind, and he said what he had to say like a man.
He walked up amid a perfect silence, and saluted the two leaders, who now stood side by side.
'Look here, Dick,' he began—and his voice shook a little—'I heard, by accident, of this march to meet you, and I took the chance of coming when the patrols were together. I'm awfully sorry I made such an ass of myself in the beginning. I've been miserable every day since I left the patrol, and I should like, above everything, to get back to it. I know I behaved badly to Slynn, and insulted him, when he had given me no cause at all. I'm sorry, Slynn. Will you shake hands?'
'Won't I?' roared Chippy, his honest face ablaze with pleasure and friendship. 'An' proud to—prouder 'n I can tell yer.' And the two lads clasped each other's hands in a hearty grip, while both patrols gave vent to their excitement in a tremendous outburst of the scouts' chorus, stamping their feet and clashing their staves together in joyous uproar.
Every boy had been touched deeply by Arthur's speech. His pale face and shining eyes had told of the effort it had cost him to make it, and now everybody set up as much noise as he could to celebrate the reconciliation, and to work off the constraint of the moment.
When Chippy dropped Arthur's hand, Dick seized it.
'I'm jolly glad to see you back, Arthur, old chap,' he cried. 'We shall be delighted to have you in the patrol once more.'
'Thanks awfully, Dick,' said Arthur. 'I heard No. 8 had gone. If I can only get his place, that's what I should like.'
'It's yours, old fellow,' said Dick, 'and long may you wave!'
'H-o-n-k!' A long blast of the motor-horn warned the patrol that Mr. Elliott's car was close upon them. The scouts recognised their instructor seated beside the driver, and formed up to receive him with the full salute.
'I see you've got a guard of honour back to town,' laughed Dick's father, as he brought the car up between the two lines of scouts.
'Yes, father,' cried Dick; 'we think it was immensely good of them to come out to meet us.'
The instructor leaned over the side of the car towards the line of the Wolves.
'Arthur!' he cried, 'this is splendid to see you among the Wolves again.'
'Yes, Mr. Elliott,' said Arthur Graydon, saluting. 'Dick has given me a place there was to spare, and I'm glad to get it.'
The driver blew a long toot on his horn to call attention to something he had to say.
'Wolves and Ravens,' he called out, 'I beg to invite you all to conclude your march this afternoon at my house. With your permission, your instructor and I will now go ahead to announce your arrival, and to see that preparations are made to welcome you in a fitting manner.' And at the next moment the car sped away amid the ringing cheers of the scouts, who now felt certain that the day was to close with a noble feed.
The march was at once resumed, and the scouts tramped over the heath to Bardon chanting the Ingonyama chorus in honour of their leaders. The corporals sang the opening phrase, and then the patrols swept in with a joyous roar of 'Invooboo!' and struck the ground with their staves in time to the long-drawn notes. And at their head marched the brother scouts, their journey nearly ended—the journey which they had made in true scouting style—helpful and courteous to all, hardy, resolute, and enduring, staunch to their oath and their badge, bearing themselves at all points as true knights in the chivalry of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts.
THE END
"A capital book for boys—and men; full of adventure, life and go.... Told with fascinating interest that never flags."—Manchester Courier.
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