The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts

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.

CHAPTER XL

THE SCOUTS' SECOND CAMP

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.

CHAPTER XLI

THE POACHERS

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.