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

by John Finnemore · English · Gutenberg #30810 · 464,292 chars · public domain (US)

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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]
                Most recently updated: January 5, 2021

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLF PATROL: A TALE OF BADEN-POWELL'S BOY SCOUTS ***




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[Frontispiece: IT WAS CHIPPY.  _Page_ 18.]





THE WOLF PATROL

A TALE OF BADEN POWELL'S BOY SCOUTS


_BY_

JOHN FINNEMORE


_Author of_

"Jack Haydon's Quest," "Two Boys in War-time," etc.




A. & C. BLACK, LTD.

4, 5, AND 6, SOHO SQUARE

LONDON, W.1

1923




_First published October_ 15, 1908

_Reprinted_ 1909, 1910, 1911, 1914 _and_ 1917

_This edition published in_ 1922; _Reprinted in_ 1922, 1923



_Printed in Great Britain by_

WARRILLOWS LTD., PRINTERS,

Birmingham and London.




DEDICATED (BY SPECIAL PERMISSION)

TO

LIEUT.-GENERAL R. S. S. BADEN-POWELL, C.B.

THE FOUNDER OF THE ADMIRABLE MOVEMENT

ON WHICH THIS STORY IS BASED




PREFACE

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.'



THE SCOUT LAW*

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.'




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

       I.  THE 'SLUG'
      II.  THE FOUNDING OF THE WOLF PATROL
     III.  CHIPPY HEARS OF NEW THINGS
      IV.  THE NEW SCOUT
       V.  THE CHOKING-OFF OF CHIPPY
      VI.  CHIPPY CHOPS THEM UP
     VII.  THE PATROL DECIDES
    VIII.  THE PATROL LEADERS
      IX.  THE WOLVES AND THE RAVENS
       X.  THE PATROL'S SURPRISE--A THIEF
      XI.  CHIPPY MEETS A STRANGER
     XII.  DICK AND CHIPPY MEET A SERGEANT--THE
           QUEER TRAIL--A STRANGE DISCOVERY
    XIII.  ALBERT, WHO WASN'T ALBERT
     XIV.  CHIPPY AND THE SPY
      XV.  FLIGHT
     XVI.  THE SPY IS SEIZED
    XVII.  HOPPITY JACK'S STALL
   XVIII.  CHIPPY'S BAD TIME
     XIX.  A BROTHER SCOUT TO THE RESCUE
     XX.  THE OPINIONS OF AN INSTRUCTOR
     XXI.  CHIPPY GOES ON SCOUT DUTY
    XXII.  CHIPPY GOES IN CHASE
   XXIII.  THE OLD WATER-GATE
    XXIV.  ON BOARD THE 'THREE SPIRES'
     XXV.  A NARROW SHAVE
    XXVI.  CHIPPY MAKES HIS REPORT
   XXVII.  DICK'S GREAT PLAN
  XXVIII.  THE SCOUTS MARCH FORTH
    XXIX.  WINNING A SUPPER
     XXX.  THE FIRST CAMP
    XXXI.  THE BIG TROUT
   XXXII.  TERRORS OF THE NIGHT
  XXXIII.  THE MARCH RESUMED
   XXXIV.  SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE
    XXXV.  A BROTHER SCOUT--THE TWO TRAMPS
   XXXVI.  CHECKMATE
  XXXVII.  AT NEWMINSTER
 XXXVIII.  HOMEWARD BOUND----A DISH OF EELS
   XXXIX.  THE STORM--WHAT HAPPENED WHILE THEY
           DRIED THEIR CLOTHES
      XL.  THE SCOUTS' SECOND CAMP
     XLI.  THE POACHERS
    XLII.  DRAGGING THE POOL--A LITTLE SURPRISE
   XLIII.  THE BROKEN BICYCLE
    XLIV.  THE BROTHER SCOUT
     XLV.  AT THE HARDYS' FARM
    XLVI.  DICK'S ACCIDENT
   XLVII.  THE LAST CAMP
  XLVIII.  IN THE RAIN
    XLIX.  DIGGING A WELL
       L.  THE OLD HIGGLER
      LI.  THE WELCOME HOME




THE WOLF PATROL


CHAPTER I

THE 'SLUG'

'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.'




CHAPTER II

THE FOUNDING OF THE WOLF PATROL

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.




CHAPTER III

CHIPPY HEARS OF NEW THINGS

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.




CHAPTER IV

THE NEW SCOUT

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.'




CHAPTER V

THE CHOKING-OFF OF CHIPPY

'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.




CHAPTER VI

CHIPPY CHOPS THEM UP

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.




CHAPTER VII

THE PATROL DECIDES

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.




CHAPTER VIII

THE PATROL-LEADERS

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.'




CHAPTER IX

THE WOLVES AND THE RAVENS

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.




CHAPTER X

THE PATROL'S SURPRISE--A THIEF

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.




CHAPTER XI

CHIPPY MEETS A STRANGER

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.




CHAPTER XII

DICK AND CHIPPY MEET A SERGEANT--THE QUEER TRAIL--A STRANGE DISCOVERY

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!'




CHAPTER XIII

ALBERT, WHO WASN'T ALBERT

'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.




CHAPTER XIV

CHIPPY AND THE SPY

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.




CHAPTER XV

FLIGHT

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.




CHAPTER XVI

THE SPY IS SEIZED

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.'




CHAPTER XVII

HOPPITY JACK'S STALL

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.




CHAPTER XVIII

CHIPPY'S BAD TIME

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.




CHAPTER XIX

A BROTHER SCOUT TO THE RESCUE

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.




CHAPTER XX

THE OPINIONS OF AN INSTRUCTOR

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.'




CHAPTER XXI

CHIPPY GOES ON SCOUT DUTY

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.'




CHAPTER XXII

CHIPPY GOES IN CHASE

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.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE OLD WATER-GATE

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

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