Читать книгу The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts - Finnemore John - Страница 10

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.