Читать книгу The Young Treasure Hunters - Alfred Judd - Страница 3

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JACK HARDING, panting, flung himself down on the sloping turf, and watched closely the gap in the beech-grown bank on the far side of the meadow. He had not long to look, for within a minute a couple of figures, lightly clad, came tumbling through. These were his brother, Morrice, and his cousin, Tony Wickham. They were the hounds; he—Jack—was the cunning hare.

And the cunning hare chuckled, for he had laid a false trail which his pursuers were almost bound to follow up. Surely enough, they did so. After hesitating for a few moments, Morrice was seen to beckon, and the two hounds scurried away in a totally wrong direction.

“Good!” cried Jack to himself; “that ought to mean my getting clean home. Whew, though—paper’s running short!”

Scrambling to his feet, Jack gazed into the school-bag which hung at his shoulders. He had been so liberal in flinging the “scent” about that the satchel was scarce a quarter part full. And there was still a long way to go.

“Bother!” muttered Jack. “But I must make it last out somehow.”

He jumped a gate presently into Westmoor Lane, and crossed at once to the broad fringe of gorse-grown grass on the opposite side. Here was a wire fence, marking the boundary of Farbrook Woods. The boy was about to leap over this when he noticed several scattered sheets of paper, which lay about in the deep, vigorous growth.

“Hooray!” exclaimed Jack, “the very thing I’m wanting!”—and with all speed he stooped and gathered the fragments together. Besides those pieces among the grass, there were two others caught in the furze bushes, and another which had blown over the fencing. Jack secured them all, stuffed them into his bag, and headed fleetly down the spinney, flinging scent as he went and picking his way between the thick-set bushes with practised caution.

The boy knew every inch of Farbrook Woods, but he threaded the spinney this afternoon with unusual alertness. For Captain Gawler had a new headkeeper now, and Jack was by no means certain whether the man intended to be “friendly” or not.

The “hare” gained the hazel-brake beside the brook, and he waded shoulder-deep in the young growth for some fifty yards, chuckling delightedly. “Those beggars will have a nice job to worm out the trail here!” he told himself, and started forthwith across the stepping-stones. Shadow-like, the lurking trout darted into the dim pool beneath the willows as Jack drew himself up on the far side. Swiftly, then, there was a flutter of foliage and a flash of blue plumage.

“The kingfisher!” gasped Jack. “Oh, I wish the others were here—and Joyce!”

In the diversion of the moment he had forgotten that he was a creature of the chase! Recalling this, he started across the damp bottom of the valley, his legs dashing against the ranks of wild iris which flourished here in all the glory of their yellow-green. It was when he had scaled the farther slope that he sank down to draw breath again and briskly inspect his stock of scent.

The broken bits of paper had dwindled to the bottom of the bag, and Jack pulled out those stray sheets which he had collected in the lane, intending to strip them up. In the act of doing so, however, he paused.

“How jolly queer!” he muttered to himself. “Looks like a sort of puzzle.”

For on every one of those loose sheets certain writing appeared, though in each case it was such an odd jumble of letters or figures that the boy could make neither head nor tail of it. Yet the characters seemed to have been formed with great care, and in ink which had become brown with age.

“Shall I tear them, or shall I keep them?” wondered Jack, and he little guessed what tremendous adventures depended upon that simple question. Finally, however, he stuffed them into an outer pocket of the satchel—a portion of one paper he had already destroyed—and proceeded to shred his original supply into much smaller particles.

“That ought to last me,” he reflected. “And now I’m off again!”

The slope down which he hastened now formed the most dense part of all Farbrook Estate, the giant elms and the slimmer beeches interlacing overhead so as to create a deep twilight, and the undergrowth being an endless tangle. Nevertheless, there were paths to be availed of by those who knew the place—paths soft with beech-husks and decayed leaves. Jack stole nimbly along between the saplings, till suddenly there was a challenging call away on his right.

With a final plunge the boy emerged upon the central footway, and gazed sharply around. Fifty yards distant was the familiar keepers’ hut, built of logs. A man had emerged therefrom, and it was this man who had raised his voice for Jack to stop. It was one of the under-keepers, the boy believed, and probably one whom he knew, but he was not inclined to linger just then. Wheeling to the left, he darted along the avenue at top speed.

“Hold on, Master Jack—hold on!” The tone was not hostile, but the boy was in no mood to waste precious moments in discussion. With the other pounding close behind, he darted off again into cover, and went stumbling down the second part of the slope, using less care and catching a foot disastrously now and again in concealed rabbit-holes. Thus, wildly, he won to the bottom somehow, and slithered headlong into a parched ditch.

Panting fast, he pulled himself together and listened. Apparently he was no longer hailed. Creeping through the border of thick rushes, he was just about to sprint away, when a huge figure loomed up from nowhere in particular and grabbed at his arm.

“Well, young shaver!” said a voice with a rusty creak in it; “an’ what’s your game, eh?”

Jack’s captor was a raw-boned man, whose face and beard and clothing seemed to be all of one shade—a sort of unbleached, sandy hue. He was not at all an agreeable-looking customer. Jack guessed at once that this must be Tozer, the new headkeeper.

“I—I——” Jack squared himself a little. “It’s all right, really,” he declared. “I’m not doing any harm, and I—I often come here.”

“Do you indeed!” was the tart response. “An’ who give you leave?”

“Well, Mr. Rigg never minded——”

“No, perhaps not; but he would ha’ minded if he’d done his duty!” was the surly retort. “I’m put in charge of these coverts now, an’ it’s my instructions from Captain Gawler to keep all trespassers out. An’ I’m going t’ do it, too! There’s fish to be looked after an’ there’s pheasants to be reared, an’ I ain’t going t’ have a lot o’ young scorchers ransacking the place and upsettin’ the nests and——”

“Oh,” broke forth Jack, “but I’m sure we’ve never done a scrap of damage anywhere. I’m called Harding. We live at Burley Grange, and Captain Gawler is my father’s landlord. I feel certain he wouldn’t object——”

“Oh, now, wouldn’t he!” glowered the other, hardening his grip and administering a jarring shake. “Mark this, I’m giving you warning. There’s going to be no more of this scablashin’ and tearin’ of the place to bits! There——”

The boy was about to protest further when his intentions were woefully spoilt by a fearsome disturbance which smote suddenly upon their ears. It began by a shouting and a scampering high up in the wood.

Jack guessed at once what was happening. The two “hounds,” having missed the trail after climbing the Hall fence, had evidently decided to make a bee-line across the grounds, trusting to pick up scent again on the far side. Thus, they had probably chanced upon the same individual who had first challenged Jack.

At all events, there was a furious cracking and crashing, and down through the swaying bracken came reeling two dishevelled figures—figures which ended by thudding into the dry gully with even mightier force than Jack had done. Pushing up between the thick reeds, they scrambled to their feet, to find themselves faced angrily by Mr. Tozer, whose fingers still enclosed Jack’s arm.

Tozer’s wrath flowed over. He lectured the hapless trio in terrible terms, and he waved the notched stick he carried as though he would like to have used it there and then. In the end, with alarming emphasis, he told them that they had now been warned; if caught on these acres again they should be “marched before Captain Gawler—and take the consequences.” After which, with a final flourish of his wand, the dreadful Tozer bade them seek the straightest path out.

Joyce Harding, who had been helping Mrs. Newton with some jam-making, met the three boys as they came up the drive.

“Hallo!” she cried, “so they caught you, Jack! I was afraid they would. Whereabouts did——?”

“Oh, be quiet!” growled Jack. “We were all caught. Something has happened that has fairly spoilt everything. Farbrook Woods are barred to us—we aren’t to go there any more!”