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

'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.

CHAPTER LI

THE WELCOME HOME

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