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 the task of reclosing the heavy trap. It fell into place with a soft thud, which echoed along the water-gate, and as it did so Chippy glided into the open, and turned the nose of his craft down-stream. He now put out all his strength, sculled a dozen hard, swift strokes, then held his hand, and floated close beside the wall in the deep shadow.

From this cover he saw the boat glide out and the men give way as they gained the open stream. They pulled out some distance, and so skilfully did they use the muffled oars that Chippy scarce caught a sound.

'Rullocks muffled, too,' thought the scout; and very likely the thieves had muffled the rowlocks also.



CHAPTER XXIV

ON BOARD THE 'THREE SPIRES'

When the boat was well out from the shore its nose was turned, and it began to drop at an easy pace down the river. In cover of the bank Chippy was sculling his best. He had seen how the warehouse was robbed; he meant to see where the plunder was taken.

Beyond Elliotts' warehouse there were only two or three scattered buildings, and then the river-shore stretched away empty and deserted. For nearly a mile the men pulled steadily down, and left Chippy a long way behind. But the night was brightening fast; the moon was coming up, and he could see the dark spot upon the water which meant the gliding boat laden with plunder.

Then the boat turned and came towards the shore on the scout's side. It crossed his line of sight, and disappeared as if into the bank.

'Gone up Fuller's Creek,' said Chippy to himself, and sculled harder than ever. Fuller's Creek was a wide, deep backwater, never used nowadays for any active purpose, though occasionally an old hulk was towed there, and left to rot. Chippy supposed that his men had pulled up to the very top of the creek, where there was a deserted landing-stage, and he put all the strength of his wiry frame into driving his boat down to the creek and up it as hard as he could go.

He entered the broad, dark water-mouth, for the moon was not yet shining into the creek, and sculled into its shadow. Half-way up, a dark bulk loomed high in his path, and he swung the nose of his craft to port, to pass round the Three Spires, an old barquentine left to rot in Fuller's Creek out of the way of the river traffic.

The Three Spires, named from the three chief churches of the town, whose steeples rose high above the roofs of Bardon, was a broad, roomy old craft, and had carried many a good cargo in her time. But she was now past her work, and, her spars, rigging, and raffle all torn away, her hulk lay abandoned in Fuller's Creek, for the breakers-up did not want her.

It was mere luck that Chippy threw his skiff's nose over to port, for he was bearing straight for the Three Spires as she lay end on, and port or starboard was all one in point of distance as regarded sculling round her. But he threw his bow over to port, and thereby made a striking discovery. For beside the great bulk lay a small bulk, and the latter was a boat swinging to the shattered taffrail of the Three Spires by her painter. Chippy checked his way, and the two boats floated side by side on the quiet, dark backwater, with the hull of the deserted barquentine towering above them against the sky.

Chippy threw out a long breath of immense surprise. 'They ain't gone on to the stage,' he thought. 'They're here. They're on this old un. This is their boat.' He heard movements on board the barquentine, and he sculled a few swift strokes which sent him forward under the thick shadow of her broad stern, where he checked her way again.

The sounds were those of men who scrambled up her forward companion, and at the next moment Chippy's cars told him that they had approached the side of the Teasel, and one was swinging himself into the boat.

'This is the last,' he heard a voice say. 'We'll get it down, and have a look at what you've picked out this time.'

'One knows what's in the bundles; t'other don't,' reflected Chippy. 'They mean to open 'em. That'll keep 'em busy a bit.'

He waited until his ears assured him that the men had gone down the companion again, then sculled back to the point where their boat floated below the port taffrail. This was the only point at which the deck of the vessel could be gained. The Three Spires lay on the mud, heeled over to port, and everywhere else her sides were high, smooth, and unclimbable.

And now Chippy made a mistake—a great scouting mistake: he did too much; and the scout who does too much blunders just as surely as he who does too little. Had Chippy sculled quietly away with the ample information he had already gained, the thieves might have been taken red-handed. But he burned to put, as he thought, a finishing touch to his night's work. He wanted to see what was going on in the forepeak of the Three Spires, and he wanted to see the faces of the men; it was almost certain that he would recognise people so familiar with Quay Flat and Elliotts' warehouse. He took the painter of his tiny craft, and threw two easy half-hitches round the painter of the large boat. He could cast his rope loose in a second, and it would be ample hold to keep his craft from drifting away. He laid the sweep where it would be ready to his hand if he had to make a rush, then swung himself up to the taffrail by the rope which the thieves had fastened there for their own use.

'They're forward,' murmured Chippy to himself, and crept without a sound along the slanting deck. His stockings were still in his pockets; his boots he had left in the skiff.

The companion-hatch was broken, and the men had gone up and down through the hole which yawned above the steps. To this gap Chippy crept, and thrust his head forward inch by inch until he was looking into the deserted forecastle. He saw the men at once. They were almost directly beneath him, kneeling on the floor, while one was deftly slipping the cord which bound one of the stolen bales.

Chippy scarcely dared to breathe when he saw how close he was to the thieves. 'If I could only get a look at 'em, I'd 'ook it,' he thought to himself, and waited for their faces to be shown in the shine of the lantern, whose slide was partly turned to give them light. But one held the lantern while the other opened the bale, and the light showed no more of them than the worker's hands, the latter tattooed like those of a seaman.

Suddenly the scene changed with magic swiftness, and the pursuer became the pursued. It happened simply enough. The man unfolding the bale asked his companion a question. His voice was pitched in so low a murmur that Chippy did not catch what was said, but he heard the second man's reply. 'No, I 'ain't got it,' said he who held the lantern.

'Then we've left it in the boat,' rejoined the first speaker in louder tones; and he sprang to his feet and shot up the crazy steps of the companion as nimbly as a cat.

It was so swift, so sudden, that the man was out on the deck before the scout, stretched at full length beside the companion-hatch, could get to his feet. The man slipped along the deck as smartly as he had swarmed up the companion, and Chippy was clean cut on from his boat.

What could he do? Nothing but sit tight and hope that his boat would not be discovered in the gloom of the barquentine's shadow. Vain hope. Scarce had it been formed than a savage growl of anger and surprise broke the silence. His boat was discovered.

The man below heard his companion's cry. The dullest would have read warning in it. He leapt to his feet, and bounded up the companion in turn.

'Anything wrong?' he called in low tones.

'Here's another boat,' said the other.

'Another boat!' murmured the second thief, and scrambled swiftly along the deck, and thrust his head over the side.

The two men were thunderstruck. A second boat! That meant someone abroad of whose presence they had not dreamed.

'Was it there when we came?' asked the second man.

'Not it,' replied the discoverer; 'the painter's made fast round ours.'

'Then, whoever came in that boat is aboard now,' went on his companion, 'an' we've been spied on an' followed.'

'It's a little boat. There can only be one,' said the other.

'Stand by the boat,' said the man aboard. 'I'll settle the spy.' And he clinched his words with a dreadful oath.

'Don't go too far,' said the man in the boat, who was a more timorous fellow.

'Too far!' growled the other. 'It's sink or swim with us now. There's somebody on this old barky as is fly to our little game, an' his mouth has got to be stopped. Wait; stave his boat in, and you keep in ours. Stave it in now while I'm here. He won't run away.' And again the desperate thief broke into a volley of savage imprecations.

Chippy had heard all this, and recognised how true was the last assertion of the infuriated rogue. There was no running away from the barquentine. No prison surer while his boat was in their hands. And at the next moment there was a crash of boat-hook on wooden plank. Three blows were struck. The little boat was not new, and its timbers gave easily. Three planks were staved in; it filled and sank.

'It's gone,' said the man in the boat; and his companion turned to search for him who had approached the barquentine in it.

Chippy had left the companion and darted forward while they talked. The sounds of the planks going in his boat told him that his case was desperate; his retreat was cut off. He found the stump of the foremast, and crouched behind it, and lay still. Twice the man in search of him crept round the vessel in the darkness, and Chippy shifted noiselessly from side to side as he passed.

There were movements aft, and suddenly a flood of light streamed along the deck. The searcher had fetched up the lantern, regardless of the chances of the light being seen ashore, and flung its full blaze forward.

The slide was turned at the lucky moment for the rogue who held it. Chippy stood beside the foremast, one hand laid on it, his head bent and listening for any sound. The ring of light fell full upon him, and the desperate ruffian gave a growl of satisfaction when he saw his prey.



CHAPTER XXV

A NARROW SHAVE

'It's a kid—a cheeky kid,' he cried in low, savage tones. 'I'll soon settle him.'

'P'raps he'll keep quiet. Ask him if he'll swear to say nothin'?' called out the man in the boat, his tones low and eager.

'Shut up!' snarled the other; 'as if any kid could keep quiet! I ain't a-goin' to do time for the likes of him. Not me! I'll chuck him into the hold.' And he clinched his words with another stream of fierce imprecations.

He scrambled towards the spot where Chippy stood as fast as his feet could carry him. The scout knew that he was in great danger; his acquaintance with longshore folk was extensive, and he knew that among them were to be found a few ruffians and thieves as desperate as any alive—men who would not value a boy's life any more than a fly's, if it became necessary to their safety to take it. If he were seized, he would be knocked on the head, and his body flung into the hold of the Three Spires, into the deep muddy bilge which lay there, as safe a hiding-place for a crime as could be found.

There was but one way of escape, and he turned to it at once. His boat had gone, but the river was still his refuge and way of release. He seized the broken taffrail, swung himself over it, let himself go, slid swiftly down the side, holding himself straight and stiff as a bar, and struck the water with his bare feet with less than a splash, with no more than a sharp clunk, and at the next instant was striking out with all his might for the side of the creek.

The man creeping along the deck uttered a savage oath full of baffled fury as he saw Chippy vanish over the side, and heard him enter the water; then scrambled swiftly back to the boat, and sprang in.

'He's jumped over,' he growled. 'Pull round and after him. We'll get him yet.'

'P'raps he's drownded,' said the other.

'Not him,' cried the fiercer thief; 'he didn't drop into the water like one as gets drownded. He's makin' off—that's what he's a-doin'. Pull, I tell ye—pull!'

They bent to the oars, and the skiff was driven at speed round the stranded hull of the barquentine. For his part, Chippy was swimming as he had never swum before. He was lashing the water with all his might, swimming his favourite side-stroke, his fastest way of moving, now glancing at the dark mass which marked the side of the creek, now glancing behind to see if the boat pursued. In one thing he was very unlucky. He had struck straight away from the side over which he had slipped, the side upon which the boat was not lying, and was swimming into the moonlight which now bathed the farther side of the creek. He shot into the lighted space as the boat slid from under the shadow of the broad stern, and was seen at once. Across the quiet water Chippy heard the voice of his more dangerous foe: 'There he is! there he is!' cried the ruffian. 'Pull, I tell ye—pull! we'll have him easy before he touches bank.'

Chippy looked ahead, and felt that there was horrible truth in this. Stripped to the buff, he would have escaped without a doubt, for he could go through the water like a fish. But he was now fully clothed, and the water-sodden garments clung round him like a coating of lead, impeding his strokes, and cutting down his pace in cruel fashion.

Still, he fought gamely, putting out every effort to drive himself through the slow, dead water, and keeping his mind fixed on the shore ahead, and not on the boat darting after him under the propulsion of two powerful oarsmen.

He wanted to look back, but he drove the feeling off. He knew it would not help his speed to mark how near his foes were, and he could, in any case, do nothing but swim—swim for his life. There is no more helpless creature in the world than the swimmer overtaken in the water. He can neither fight nor fly. His powers are needed to support himself, and, once disabled, the deadly water takes him into its murderous embrace.

But, of a sudden, Chippy was forced to mark the terrible danger which hung over him.

'Pull straight ahead,' said a voice, which seemed almost in his ear. He turned his face, and his heart leapt in his side. The muffled rowlocks and sweeps had brought the boat almost full upon him in silence, and the ruffian who sought his life was springing into the bows armed with the boat-hook. The boy scout saw all this clearly in the moonlight—saw the second man pulling with a terrified face turned over his shoulder, saw the heavy, iron-shod pole swinging aloft to fall upon his head. He drew a long breath, and filled his lungs deeply. As he did so, the shadow of the bow fell upon him, and at that instant he dived like a water-hen. There was a tremendous splash just at his ear, and a heavy blow was dealt on his shoulder, driving him deeper still. He turned over on his back, and opened his eyes, for he had closed them at the instant of diving. He saw directly above him a dark mass, and knew that he was under the boat. It passed slowly on, and he rose, and his face came to the surface and was brushed by a rope. He seized the rope and hung on, and drew, cautiously, a deep breath. He looked round, and found that he had caught the painter as it dragged astern, and that the way of the boat was checked. Then Chippy heard a voice. 'Pull round a bit,' it asid; 'we shall soon see if he rises again or no.'

'Not he,' said another voice, which quavered. 'Never! never! He'll ne'er rise again after that frightful crack you hit him. I shall hear it all my days.'

The hardier ruffian chuckled. 'I did fetch him a good un,' he said—'a reg'lar oner. I felt the hook light on him. But pull, I tell ye—pull! There's no time for moanin' an' groanin' now.'

Chippy felt that way was being given to the boat, and he struck out softly with one arm and both feet in order that he should not drag on the boat and betray his presence. By the aid of the painter, he could keep his head low behind the broad stern, and quite out of sight of the two rogues in the boat.

His shoulder ached where the boat-hook had fallen upon it, but the blow had not been disabling, for the force had been partly broken by the water. In one way, it was very lucky for the scout that he had received this sharp crack, for the thief who sought his life was now fully under the impression that the boy had been beaten under. This caused the two rogues to be less thorough in their search for a head showing above the water. The boat was gently paddled round the spot where Chippy had disappeared, but the men did not move to and fro in the boat, glancing on every side. Had they done so, the head bobbing along under the stern would have been discovered, and there would have been a short shrift for the daring scout.

'He'll never come up—never,' said the rower, his voice still unsteady; 'you stunned him, an' I've heard as anyone stunned will never rise again.'

'That's true,' said the ruffian, who still poised the boathook ready to deal a second blow if needful—'that's true, an' like enough he's gone down for good. Anyhow, he's been under long enough for us to be sure he's settled. Here, what are ye up to?'

This question was addressed to his companion, who now dipped his oars deeply, and began to pull a strong stroke.

'I'm off ashore,' said the latter; and Chippy could hear the fellow's teeth chattering as he spoke. 'I've had enough o' this. I'm goin' to get on the bank.'

'Pull away, then, chicken-heart,' jeered his more brutal comrade. 'After all, the stuff's safely stowed away. There's no need to go back to the old barky.'

The boat was steadily driven inshore, and at the stern Chippy swam his hardest to take his weight off the painter and keep his head under cover. 'I got to look out,' said the cool scout to himself, 'or I'll get that boathook on my nut yet.'

But once more fortune favoured the brave, and the boat slid into the deep shadow of the old landing-stage, and Chippy was still undiscovered. No sooner did they enter the friendly dusk than Chippy released the painter, and let himself float without movement. The boat pulled on a dozen yards to the stairs, and the scout swam gently to the shelter of a great pile. Chippy now heard the rower fling down the oars and spring out of the boat, and rush up to the stage above.

The second man poured a stream of jeers after his less resolute comrade, then sat down, took the oars, turned the boat, and pulled away down the creek, evidently bent on restoring the craft to its proper anchorage.

The boat shot away and disappeared round the end of the stage, and Chippy struck out for the stairs and crawled to land. He was by this time pretty exhausted, and he sat for a few minutes on the lowest step, to rest and draw a few easy breaths, while the water poured from him in streams. As soon as he had recovered a little, he sprang up the steps, and hurried homewards on his bare feet; for his boots were at the bottom of the river, and he considered himself a very lucky scout to think that he was not there beside them.



CHAPTER XXVI

CHIPPY MAKES HIS REPORT

The next morning Chippy turned up at Elliott Brothers' prompt to time. He had had a big ducking, a rattle on his shoulder, and not much sleep; but he was as hard as nails, and looked none the worse for his adventure. He had also purchased a pair of boots from a pawn-shop in Skinner's Hole. They were not up to much, for one and sevenpence was the total sum the scout could raise; but they covered his feet in some sort of shape, and he could do no more. Mr. Malins set him to work to shake out and tie up a great heap of sacks in the basement, and when Chippy had finished this task he went and took a peep at the clock in the church-tower at the end of the street.

'Mr. Elliott's in by now,' muttered the scout to himself, and he marched straight up to the office of the junior partner, and tapped at the door.

'Come in,' called a voice; and in Chippy went, and closed the door behind him.

Mr. Elliott looked up from the morning letters, with which he was busy, and raised his eyebrows.

'Well, Slynn,' he said, 'and what may you want?'

Chippy stood up very straight, and saluted.

'Come to report, sir, on the robbery at the warehouse.'

'What!' shouted Mr. Jim Elliott, and his eyebrow went up higher than ever.

'Went on scout, sir, last night, about ten,' began Chippy, and then plunged into the recital of his adventures.

He had no more than fairly started when the door whirled open once more, this time without any formality of tapping, and in burst the senior partner in a state of great excitement.

'Jim, Jim,' he called out, quite failing to notice that his brother was not alone, 'there's more stuff gone. The warehouse was broken into again last night, for all the police were on the watch. Altogether a good seventy pounds' worth of goods have been stolen.'

'Ah, yes, Richard,' returned his brother. 'I'm just receiving a report on the matter from one of my scouts.'

'About the burglary,' cried the senior partner, knitting his brows in wonder and astonishment, and observing for the first time the bolt-upright figure of the Raven, who promptly saluted. 'Do you mean to say this boy knows something about it?'

'I fancy he does,' returned Mr. James Elliott. 'Take a chair, and we'll hear what he's got to say. He'd only just begun his report as you came in.'

The senior partner sat down, and stared at Chippy with an expression of doubt and perplexity. 'But suppose we're just wasting time here, Jim,' he expostulated.

'Better hear what he's got to say,' said the instructor quietly; 'he's a good scout, and a good scout doesn't waste people's time. Now. No. 1, Raven Patrol, go on with your report, and make it short and clear.'

Chippy went ahead at once, and for five minutes the two gentlemen listened in perfect silence to his husky voice as he ran swiftly over the points of his adventure. He stopped speaking, saluted, and stood at attention once more.

'Never heard a more extraordinary narration in my life,' burst out the senior partner. 'It sounds incredible; the boy's been dreaming.'

'No, I think not,' replied his brother; 'or if he has, we can soon put his statement to the proof.'

'Just what was in my mind,' said Mr. Elliott; 'we'll take him down to the warehouse at once, Jim, and look into this.'

A four-wheeler was called from the hackney stand near the church, and within a few minutes the two partners and the errand-boy were being driven to the waterside. At the gate of the warehouse yard they met Mr. White, the manager.

'The thing's more mysterious than ever, Mr. Elliott,' cried the manager, 'Here's Inspector Bird of the police; he's been all over the place, and he can't find any sign that a single fastening has been tampered with; and a constable was on patrol all night.'

'Ah,' said the senior partner, 'have you looked at the trap which gives on the old water-gate, White?'

'Old water-gate, sir!' cried White. 'What's that? I never heard of such a thing.'

'No, possibly not; it's been out of service for so many years,' replied Mr. Elliott; 'but it exists nevertheless, and we'll have a look at it.'

At this moment they were joined by Inspector Bird, and after a few words between the police-officer and Mr. Elliott, the party of four men and the scout went in search of the trap, the senior partner leading the way with a lantern, for which he had asked, in his hand.

At the farther end of the great storeroom a flight of winding stone steps led down into a huge cellar. Mr. Elliott went first, and threw the light of his lantern back to guide the others; for there was no hand-rail, and an ugly fall awaited anyone who might miss his footing.

'Why, sir,' said White, 'we never use this place; it's too damp. I've only been down here once before in the five years I've been with you, and there's neither door nor window to it.'

'Yes, White, there's a door,' replied Mr. Elliott; 'but it's in the floor, and that's what we're going to look at.'

Guided by the shine of the lantern, the party marched across the floor of the huge damp vault, and the senior partner paused beside a broad trap-door, and threw the light upon it. He gave a long, low whistle, and his brother said, 'Ah, first point to Slynn, Richard.'

'It is, it is,' said the latter, after a pause—'it certainly is.'

The trap-door was in two halves, meeting on a broad central bar slotted into the stones at either end. Each half was secured by a couple of big iron bolts running into sockets fixed on the bar. The right half was firmly fastened; the left half was unfastened at this instant; the great bolts were drawn back, and the sockets were empty.

The senior partner put his foot on the left flap. 'Here you are, inspector,' he said. 'The thieves came in here.' And in a few words he explained about the old water-gate.

'Then they had an accomplice inside, sir,' cried the inspector.

'Yes, that's very certain,' replied Mr. Elliott. 'He drew the bolts before he left the warehouse for the night, but he hasn't been yet to replace them.'

'My word, sir!' burst out White, 'there's one man never turned up to work this morning—Luke Raper. Can he have had anything to do with it?'

'Is everyone else here?' asked the inspector.

'Everyone,' returned White.

'Then I'll send one of my men after Raper at once,' said the police-officer.

'Very good,' remarked Mr. Elliott; 'and while Raper is being looked up, we'll go on the next step of our investigations.'

He had already ordered a boat to be got ready at a stage near at hand, and thither went the two partners, Chippy, and Inspector Bird. The manager was left at the warehouse to see that everyone employed about it stayed there until the police had finished their inquiries. The boat was rowed by a couple of watermen, and as soon as the party of four had taken their seats it was pulled down the river and up the creek to the spot where the derelict old barquentine lay.

The first man on the Three Spires was Mr. James Elliott. He scrambled down the companion, and raised a loud cry of surprise and pleasure. 'Here they are!' he called out. 'Here are the missing bales! Slynn was right in every particular.'

He was soon joined by the others, and again the senior partner indulged in his long, low whistle when he saw the missing goods neatly piled in a dry corner.

'As clever a hiding-place as ever I heard of!' cried Inspector Bird. 'No one would ever think of overhauling this old hulk. But there's your stuff, sir, all right.'

The senior partner dropped his hand on Chippy's shoulder. 'Slynn,' he said, 'you are a brave, clever lad. I'll admit now that I could scarcely believe your story, but I am sure that you have spoken the truth in every particular. My brother and I are not only grateful to you for this recovery of our property, but you have done a service to every honest man about the warehouse. It ought not to be difficult now to trace the thief and remove all suspicion from straightforward men.'

'A very good piece of work indeed, No. 1,' chimed in the instructor; then he turned to his brother. 'Well, Richard,' he said in quiet triumph, 'this is one up to the boy scouts, I think.'

'It is, Jim,' returned the senior partner; 'there's no mistake about that. A movement which trains youngsters to be cool and level-headed in this fashion ought to be supported.'

At this moment Inspector Bird, who had been searching the vessel generally, came back to the group below the companion. He had been given a general idea of Chippy's work in the discovery of the stolen goods, and now he wished to question the scout.

'First thing,' he said, 'did you know either of the men?'

'No,' said Chippy; 'I never saw their faces, and the only way I could spot one of 'em 'ud be becos he'd lost a finger.'

'Lost a finger!' cried Mr. Jim Elliott. 'Why, Luke Raper's a finger short!'

'Ah, ha!' said Inspector Bird; 'this begins to look like narrowing it down, gentlemen. It seems to me the sooner we have a talk to Mr. Luke Raper, the better.'

'We'll go back to the warehouse,' said the senior partner, 'and see whether your man has Drought Raper up to the mark.'

So back to the warehouse they went, leaving one of the watermen to guard the goods on the Three Spires until they could be removed. But there was no Luke Raper at the warehouse, nor was he ever seen there again. The police found that he had vanished from his lodgings, leaving no clue whither he had gone, and he was never traced. Chippy always felt certain that he was the timorous partner of the pair of thieves, and had fled because he feared implication in the murder which he believed had been committed.

Almost at the same time a wild, drunken longshoreman, known as Spitfire Bill—a name which his savage temper had earned for him—disappeared from the wharves of Bardon River, and very possibly he was Raper's accomplice. No one could say, for neither man was ever brought to book; but Raper's guilt was certain, for every other man about the place could account for himself clearly, and none other than Raper had a deformed hand.

Mr. Elliott wished to give Chippy a handsome reward, but the Raven steadily refused to take it. 'Can't be done,' was his reply. 'Yer see, theer's Law 2 an' the back end o' Law 5; they'm dead agin it.'

However, Mr. Elliott did something which filled Chippy and his followers with immense delight. He rigged out the Raven Patrol, from their leader down to No. 8, in full khaki scout's rig, so that when they went out in friendly competition or on a scouting-run with their friends the Wolves it was hard to say which patrol was the more smartly turned out.



CHAPTER XXVII

DICK'S GREAT PLAN

No one was more delighted to hear of Chippy's clever work in connection with the robbery than his fellow patrol-leader, Dick Elliott. Part of Dick's delight, if the truth must be told, was on his own account. 'Now,' he said to himself, 'if I can only get permission to go myself, I ought to be sure of Chippy as my companion for the week.'

What did this mean? It meant that Dick was turning over in his mind a splendid plan which he had formed for Whitsun week, if only he could gain permission to carry it out.

He was burning to go a real scouting journey—a journey upon which he would be cast upon his own resources, sleeping under the sky, or in a hay-loft or barn, and marching through the country, patrol staff in hand, taking what might come. He thought it would be splendid if he could set out on such a tramp with Chippy for a companion; and surely, after Chippy's splendid bit of work for the firm, it would be easy to beg for a week's holiday for him.

The Grammar School was always closed in Whit-week for local reasons. The fine old building stood at one side of the wide market-place, and this place was the scene of a great annual fair—a fair as old as the town itself, and possibly older. In former days, when manners were ruder and rougher, the school had not been closed during Whitsun Fair, and traditions still existed among the schoolboys of wild pranks played by their predecessors among the booths and stalls. In this way enmity arose between the boys and the fair-folk—an ill-feeling which had more than once given rise to pitched battles and serious rioting, as the town records went to prove. So towards the close of the eighteenth century the practice arose of closing the school during the fair, and forbidding the boys to frequent the market-place. During the hundred years and more that had passed since then the fair had fallen off very much, but the Whit-week holiday was still given at the school.

Dick's first move in the matter was to go to his uncle and lay the whole affair before him, including his hopes of having Chippy as a companion.

'I don't see that you could come to much harm in a few days,' said his uncle, when Dick had finished. 'I suppose you want me to back you up with your father and mother.'

'That's just it, uncle,' cried Dick; 'if you'll only do that, I shall be awfully glad.'

'Well, go ahead,' said his uncle; 'I'll do what I can for you.'

Even with his uncle's help Dick had some difficulty in gaining his parents' consent. At last his father was struck with a brilliant idea, which he thought would settle the affair very neatly. 'We'll let him go, as he's so keen on it,' said Mr. Elliott to his wife; 'but we'll soon have him back. I've thought of a plan.' And he explained it.

That evening Dick was in the schoolroom busy with his lessons for the next day, when he was summoned to the study, where his father was sitting by the fire with the evening paper.

'Well, Dick,' said Mr. Elliott, 'about that scouting idea of yours, now.'

'Oh, father,' burst out Dick, 'I can go, can't I? And Chippy as well? I'm sure you ought to be willing to spare him for a week.'

'Perhaps, perhaps,' laughed Mr. Elliott; 'but wait a little. I'm going to put a plan before you, to take it or leave it. Here it is: You shall start Whit-Monday morning, and I'll give you a couple of half-sovereigns. One will be for the expenses of yourself and your companion——'

'Hooray! Chippy's coming!' yelled Dick.

'Your companion on the road,' went on Mr. Elliott; 'and you must give me your word as a scout that you will not go outside that ten shillings for any expense whatsoever. The other half-sovereign is for your rail-fare home as soon as you are on your beam-ends—and that will be pretty soon, I shouldn't wonder. It will cover you up to sixty miles third-class, and you're not likely to get outside that radius on your feet.'

'And we can stay out till the ten shillings is gone, father?' cried Dick.

'Up till Saturday night,' returned Mr. Elliott. 'You must be home again before Sunday.' He chuckled as he said this, for he did not suppose for an instant that the scouts' trip would last more than a day or two. 'They'll soon run through a trifling sum like ten shillings,' he had said to his wife, 'and then, in honour bound, they must return.'

Dick gave his word joyfully, and returned to the schoolroom to gloat over the happy time ahead, when a pair of brother scouts would march out upon the world in search of adventure. The next day he sought out Chippy, and imparted the glorious news. The Raven's eyes glittered again at the thought of such a splendid time, and he entered into the romance of the thing with a zest even deeper than Dick's own; for Chippy's life had known little change and little real pleasure until the boy scouts' movement had claimed him for its own.

'We'll camp same as in the books,' cried Chippy, his voice huskier than ever in his excitement; 'an' we'll practise them dodges o' cookin' the grub, so as we'll eat on the cheap. Ten bob! Why, ten bob! We'll goo fur on ten bob!'

'And it will be all right about your wages for the week, Chippy,' said Dick; 'I've settled about that with Uncle Jim. He laughed, and said he rather fancied the firm wouldn't grumble at that.'

Chippy smiled and nodded, and then the boys plunged into eager discussion of things they must do and master in order to be ready for this noble trip.



CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SCOUTS MARCH FORTH

At seven o'clock on Whit-Monday morning the sun's rays fell on the backs of two boys marching westwards from Bardon at the scout's pace: Dick and Chippy were on the road. They were in full scout's uniform, and Chippy, in his new rig, looked as smart as Dick. Their hats and shorts were of khaki shade, their shirts grey flannel, their neckerchiefs and shoulder-ties of their patrol colours, their coats rolled at their waists with spare socks and vests tucked away in the pockets, their haversacks slung over their shoulders. In their haversacks there was no food at present, for they had to purchase everything they would need from their precious ten shillings; but each carried a blanket which Mrs. Elliott had found for them. Then Chippy carried a tin billy—a present from their instructor—and Dick bore, slung at his belt, a tiny axe, tomahawk shape, its head weighing fourteen ounces. This was intended for cutting wood; and, beside the axe, each had a strong, sharp jack-knife, with spring back, so that the blade could not close on the fingers. Being patrol-leaders, each wore his badge on the front of his hat, and had a lanyard and whistle; and thus accoutred, with patrol staff in hand, they marched on their way.

'I hope it will keep fine, Chippy,' said Dick; 'we can't afford to pay money for lodgings. How long do you think we shall be able to keep going on our money—till the end of the week?'

'Hope so,' replied Chippy. 'I don't want to goo back till we're obliged.'

'Nor do I,' cried Dick. 'Well, there's the last of Bardon for a bit.'

They looked back from a little ridge, and saw the spires of the town over a row of poplars.

'Ta-ta, Bardon,' said Dick. 'We mean to have a look at Newminster before we see you again.'

'We do,' grunted Chippy.

Newminster was a famous cathedral city rather more than forty-five miles from Bardon. To go there and back would mean a tramp of some ninety miles in the six days, and that would be a very fair achievement to carry out on ten shillings for all expenses. The boys talked over ways and means as they went on. 'We got to look out for everythin' we can pick up as 'ull help us,' said Chippy.

'I see,' replied Dick; 'we must try to live on the country. That would be real scout style, Chippy. But it isn't a hostile country; we can't take anything.'

'No, no,' agreed Chippy; 'no pinchin', o' course. Still, theer's things to be had in places. Fish, now—we could cop some fish in some rivers wheer it's free to put a line in.'

'I never thought of fishing,' said Dick; 'that's a good idea. But we've got no rods or tackle.'

Chippy gave a chuckle, and dived a band into a pocket of his shorts. He drew out a hank of fine cord and a screw of paper. In the paper were half a dozen hooks on gut. 'That's all as we want,' he remarked. 'Wait till we come acrost a river wheer there's suthin' to cop.'

'Good for you, Chippy,' laughed Dick. 'A few fish will help us along in style. Only we mustn't poach.'

'No, no,' said Chippy; 'we'll play fair.'

By eleven o'clock the boys had made, with occasional halts, just about eight miles, and both had the knot out of their neckties. Dick had seen an old cottage woman labouring at her well, and had lent her a hand with the heavy bucket, and drawn all the water she would want for the day, while Chippy had sprung forward to hold the pony of a lady who was visiting a sick woman in a cottage near by.

In connection with Chippy's good turn, a discussion arose between the two scouts as they marched on from the hamlet where these things had happened. The lady had offered Chippy sixpence, and, of course, he had refused it.

'Now, look 'ere,' said Chippy; 'o' course, I didn't tek' the sixpence, becos the knot worn't out o' me neckerchief, an' the job worn't worth sixpence, nohow, an' we got to do all them sorts o' things for nuthin', by orders. But s'pose I did a job for some'dy as was really worth sixpence, an' I'd done me good turn that day, could I tek' the sixpence to help us along? It 'ud come in uncommon handy. An', besides that, we're allowed to earn money, though we mustn't beg it or tek' it for little trifles as we ought to do for nuthin'.'

Dick looked puzzled, and thought for a moment before he spoke.

'What you say is very true, Chippy,' he said at last, 'and if you like to earn some money for scout work, why, that's all right. But I don't think we could use a single farthing of it for this trip. You see, we're bound to the ten shillings.'

'Righto, Wolf,' said the faithful Raven; 'but if some'dy offered us a drink o' milk for a hand's turn, or summat like that, I s'pose there'd be no wrong theer?'

'No, I should think not,' replied Dick. 'That would be living on the country in an honest sort of way, and on good scouting lines.'

'Just so,' said his fellow scout. 'I don't mind a rap how it goes, as long as we understand one another. Now we'll look out for a good place to mek' our fust halt.'

At the general shop of the hamlet they had made their first purchases and broken into the ten shillings. They had bought enough flour to fill a ration-bag for sevenpence, two ounces of tea for twopence-halfpenny, a penny packet of baking-powder, half a pound of brown sugar for a penny farthing, and the old woman who kept the shop had thrown a lump of salt as big as Dick's fist in for nothing. So they had spent elevenpence three-farthings, and their purchases were stowed away in the linen bags which Dick and his sister had made ready for the trip.

'Big hole in a bob for a start,' commented Chippy; 'but we must stretch the stuff out.'

'Oh, the flour will make us a heap of chupatties,' said Dick. 'We'll get a lot more to eat for the money than if we'd spent it in bread.'

'Rather,' said Chippy, 'an' we'll want it, too. Here's a spring. Just the place to fill the billy.'

He filled the big tin, and then they looked round for a spot to make a fire. Fifty or sixty yards past the spring a grassy cart road turned aside from the track, and they went down it for a hundred yards till they reached a quiet sunny corner.

Chippy set the billy down, and both turned to and built a fire, at which they were now pretty expert. First they gathered a dozen handfuls of dried grass and made a little heap. Over this heap they built a pyramid of dried twigs and tindery sticks gathered at the foot of the hedgerow. A match was set to the dried grass, and a little red flame sprang swiftly up and began to curl about the twigs and sticks. Now the boys were busy scouting here and there for large sticks to pile again in a bigger pyramid above the burning heap, and in a corner where hedge-cuttings had been flung in the previous winter they found plenty of fuel. Soon they had a capital fire, and the billy was put on to boil, while Dick turned his hand to the chupatties.

He unrolled his coat, and spread it on the ground with the lining upwards. Upon the lining he made a heap of flour, and formed a hole in the centre with his hand. Into this hole he poured hot water from the billy, and added a little salt and baking-powder. Then he mixed the whole well together, kneading and working it with his hands, the latter sprinkled with flour to prevent the dough from sticking to his fingers. Finally he had a couple of flat buns or cakes of dough. In the meantime Chippy had been getting the fire ready. A good pile of red-hot wood ashes had gathered in the centre of the burning sticks. When the dough was ready these ashes were swept aside, and the cakes laid on the hot earth. Then the ashes were piled round the cakes, and they were left to bake.

When the chupatties were nearly baked, the billy was boiled up again, and some tea and a handful of sugar thrown into it. Dick had cut a long skewer of wood to try the cakes, and he now pronounced them done. They were taken from the ashes and set to cool, while each scout fished a tin mug out of his haversack. Soon they were seated at their first meal, a thousand times more happy than any two kings.



CHAPTER XXIX

WINNING A SUPPER

While they ate the chupatties with the relish gained by their morning's tramp, and washed them down with steaming hot tea, they looked over the map which Dick had spread between them.

'Here we are,' said Dick, putting his finger on the very cartway itself, which was clearly shown in the capital map.

Chippy nodded.

'Lemme see,' murmured the latter. 'Wot's the best way to head arter this?'

The two scouts were steering clear of all high-roads and beaten tracks. They were both agreed that there was no fun in tramping along under telegraph wires and in the dust of motor-cars. Anyone could find his way where there was a row of milestones and finger-posts to keep him straight. They were marching purely by the map, following byways and narrow, hidden country lanes, and unfrequented tracks which led by moor and heath and common. There was another immense advantage, too, in moving by such routes. Not merely was it excellent scouting practice, but it afforded them quiet places for camping. It is not easy to camp along a high-road: there are too many people about. No sooner does the smoke of the evening fire begin to rise than a squad of village loungers turn up to watch the preparations, or perhaps, worse still, someone in authority arrives, and forbids the campers to halt in that spot.

'Lemme see,' murmured Chippy again. 'Here's a river; that's about seven mile again, as fur as I can mek' out.'

Dick measured the distance. 'Just about seven miles,' he said.

'Wot d'yer say to campin' pretty handy to it to-night?' went on Chippy.

'So that you can try your hand on the fish, eh?' laughed Dick.

Chippy nodded.

'All right,' said Dick, 'we'll strike out for it. We shall have to do about two miles along a main, then we can branch off again, and get up to the river in very quiet country. See, there's hardly a house marked on the map.'

'All the better for mekin' a camp,' said Chippy; and Dick agreed.

When they had finished their meal they lay in the sunshine, chatting and watching the fire die away. Before they left they took care that every ember was extinguished, so that no harm could come to the place where they had made their halt.

It was about two o'clock when they resumed their journey, and they moved at an easy pace, with the aim of reaching their camping-ground towards five. That would give them ample time to make their preparations for the night.

Until four o'clock the march was quite uneventful, then Chippy had an adventure with a baker's cart. They were passing through a village whose street was spanned at one end by a railway bridge. Near the bridge stood a cottage lying well back from the road, and as the scouts passed, a baker drove up, and went to the cottage with his basket on his arm.

While he was at the door, a train whizzed up and thundered over the bridge, and the horse took fright and dashed away, galloping up behind the two boys. Both of the latter began to run with all their might in the same direction as the horse, which soon caught them up. He was about to pass them on Chippy's side when the Raven flung aside his staff, and seized the shaft with his right hand, and thus was enabled for a few yards to keep an equal speed with the horse. Then Chippy gripped the near rein with his left hand and tugged with all his might. The terrified creature was not yet too wild with fear to fail to answer to the pull on the bit, and swung round to the left. In this way the scout managed to jam the frightened brute's head into the tall bank, and thus pulled it up. In dashed Dick and seized the other rein, and between them the scouts held the horse until the baker ran up and helped them to secure it.

The baker was profuse in his thanks—above all, when he had looked over the horse and cart, and found that neither was a penny the worse, thanks to the Raven's clever manoeuvring.

Chippy scratched his jaw thoughtfully, then spoke up:

'D'ye reckon it's worth a loaf to ye—a big un?'

'A loaf!' cried the baker, 'it's worth every loaf I've got in the cart, and more, too. The mare might have broke her leg and the cart been smashed, and I gave three-and-twenty pound for the mare less 'n a fortnight ago.'

'We'll let it go at a loaf,' murmured Chippy; and the baker picked out the best he could find and gave a thousand thanks with it. Chippy put the loaf in his haversack, and the scouts trudged on.

'It'll stretch our flour out a bit,' said Chippy, and Dick grinned.

'After all, Chippy,' he said, 'the loaf was well earned, and no mistake. I don't see that we're not playing fair by picking up things like that.'

'I don't see aught wrong in that,' replied the Raven; 'that's living on the country in as straight a way as can be, I reckon.'

Beyond the village they climbed a rise to a ridge, and at the crown of the ascent they looked ahead, and saw a wide valley before them, with a shining stream winding its way through a green river-flat.

'There's the river, Chippy,' said Dick, 'and there goes the road up the side of the valley, turning away from the river.'

He pointed to the white ribbon of dusty road which climbed a distant rise and disappeared.

'We'll mek' straight for the river,' said the Raven.

'Right,' said Dick. 'Cross-country it is;' and the boys struck away into the fields. They spent some time in reaching the river, for they carefully avoided crossing fields where grass was growing for hay, or where corn was green; but at last they were on its banks at a point where it wound across a big patch of rough common land, dotted by flumps of gorse and broken by two or three spinneys.

The river was not wide, but it was slow, and seemed deep. The boys tried two or three places with their patrol staffs, and could not touch the bottom. Then they started to prospect for a camping-ground for the night.

'How about under that little hanger?' said Dick, pointing to a tiny wood which clung to a bank a short distance back from the river.

'Looks all right,' rejoined Chippy; and they went towards it. They were crossing a grassy strip between two clumps of furze when a small spiny creature with a sharp nose trundled across their path some distance ahead. Chippy leapt out and darted in pursuit, his staff raised. Dick followed, saw the staff fall, and came up to find the Raven turning over a dead hedgehog with the point of his stick.

'Supper for two,' chuckled Chippy, 'an' a jolly good un.'

'Supper?' cried Dick, 'Why, it's a hedgehog. Who can eat a thing like that?' and he made a face of disgust.

'Them as know's wot's good,' murmured Chippy, with a cheerful wink. 'Wait till ye've had a bit. Besides, ain't we scouts? An' scouts ha' got to tackle anythin' an' everythin'. Look wot it says in the books. Look wot B.P. et at one time an' another.'

'You're right, old chap,' said Dick; 'but just for a minute it seemed so jolly queer to knock over a spiny little brute like that, and then talk of eating it.'

'Gipsies eat 'em reg'lar,' replied Chippy, 'an' I know 'ow they handle 'em. They're good—I tell ye that.'

Carrying the hedgehog by a withe cut from a willow, the scouts went on to the ground below the hanger, and pronounced the spot first-rate for a camp. There was a sandy patch at the foot of the bank, and here they resolved to build their fire and sleep.



CHAPTER XXX

THE FIRST CAMP

The fire was taken in hand first thing, for Chippy would need a great pile of red-hot embers for his cookery. The hanger was littered with dry sticks, so that there was no lack of material, and soon they had a rousing fire crackling on the sandy soil.

At the foot of the hanger they met with a stroke of luck. They found a young beech-tree which had been blown down in some winter storm. It was now as dry as a bone and easy cutting, and Dick went to work with the little axe, and soon cut and split a heap of logs some eight or ten inches long and three or four inches through—first-rate stuff, for no tree in the wood burns more sweetly than beech. While the fire was under way, and while Dick hacked at the beech, Chippy had gone in search of clay. He was gone soms time, for he did not hit on a clayey spot at once. But he worked along the bank of the stream where the wash of the water had laid bare the nature of the soil until he struck upon a seam of red clay, and dug out a mass with his knife and the point of his staff.

He brought the clay to the fire, and next fetched a billy of water from the river, and worked the clay into a mass which would spread like stiff butter. Now he took the hedgehog, opened it, and removed its inside. Then he began to wrap it in a thick covering of the clay.

'Aren't you going to skin it?' cried Dick, who had been watching his brother scout's doings with deep interest.

'I am,' said Chippy, 'but not now—leastways, it'll skin itself when the time comes.'

Soon Chippy held in his hands a great ball of clay, inside which the hedgehog lay like a kernel in a nut. The fury of the fire had passed by now, and the small beech logs were heaped in a glowing mass of fiery embers. With a spare log Chippy drew the embers aside, and laid his ball of clay on the heated ground, and raked the ashes into place again.

'Now,' said he, 'when we're ready for supper, that theer 'ull be ready for us.'

'It doesn't look as if our supper was going to cost us much,' laughed Dick. Chippy looked up with his dry, quiet smile.

'As it's runnin' so cheap,' he said, 'we might goo in for suthin' extra. Wot d'yer say to a drop o' milk in the tea?'

'Where are we going to get it?' cried Dick.

'When I was down theer'—and Chippy jerked his head towards the river—'I seen a house acrost the fields. If ye'll turn me up a copper ot o' the cash-box I'll tek' a billy an' buy a pennorth.'

Dick laughed and turned out a penny, and away went Chippy after the milk, while Dick watched the fire and the haversacks they had piled beside it.

While Chippy was away an old man came up-stream whipping it with a fly-rod. The time of the evening rise was coming on, but very few circles broke the surface of the smoothly running river. Dick went over and asked him what luck he had had.

'Only two, an' them little uns,' said the old man. 'You see, this is a free stretch for about a couple o' miles, an' it gets fished a lot too much. There are some in it, an' big uns too, but they'm too wide awake to tek' the fly.'

When Chippy came back Dick reported this. 'Not much chance for you, old chap,' said Dick; 'the old fellow had got a good fly-rod and fine gut, and he could do little or nothing, so it isn't likely we shall get trout for breakfast in the morning.'

But Chippy's calm was quite undisturbed. 'Said as there wor' some about, an' big uns too, did he?' remarked the Raven. 'That's good enough fer me. Shouldn't wonder but wot I'll yank one or two on 'em out yet.'

He set the billy down beside the fire, and Dick cried out in wonder. 'By Jingo, Chippy, what a jolly lot of milk! You made that penny go a tremendous long way. You must have dropped across a good sort.'

'Just wot I did,' rejoined the Raven—'a stout old lady, with a heart to match the size of her waist;' and he flipped the penny back at the treasurer.

'And you've brought the penny back!' cried Dick.

'Wouldn't tek' it nohow,' replied the other; 'said I was kindly welcome.'

'Why, we needn't make any tea,' said Dick.

'Just wot I thought,' remarked his companion; 'that's tea an' sugar saved at a bang. Bread, milk, an' 'edgehog ought to fill us out aw' right this time. Now, what about gettin' the bed ready afore we have supper? After supper I may be busy for a bit.'

'Right you are,' said Dick; and they turned to their first attempt of making a scout's bed.

The farther end of the hanger was composed of a thick growth of larch-trees, and here there had been a fall of timber in the winter. Two or three lots of logs had not yet been carried away, and the two scouts chose four logs of fairly suitable length for the framework of their couch, and pegged them into position. They could soon have chopped the logs to the right length, but they did not do so, for that would have been damaging other people's property, and no scout acts in such a way as to raise difficulties for those who may come after him.

When the woodmen had felled the larches they had stripped off the branches and cut away the plumy tops with their axes, and heaps of branches and tops lay about among the remaining trees. With axe and knife the scouts cut great armfuls of the tips and carried them to the framework. Here they laid them to overlap each other like the slates on a roof, as Mr. Elliott had shown them, and within an hour they had a dry, springy bed, upon which they flung themselves, and rolled in delight and kicked up their heels for a minute or two.

'One little job agen before supper,' said Chippy, 'but it'll only be a short un. I want two or three minnows, an' I saw a place wheer they wor' swimmin' in hundreds.'

The scouts ran down to the river, and Chippy pointed to a shallow where a great shoal of the tiny fish were glancing to and fro, their sides glittering as they turned in the light of the setting sun. Chippy throw himself flat on the bank, and very slowly and cautiously slipped his hand into the water. The minnows darted away, but soon returned, and the scout, with a swift, dexterous scoop, tossed a couple high and dry on the bank, where Dick secured them. A second attempt only landed one, but it was a good-sized one, and Chippy sprang to his feet.

'I reckon three 'ull be enough for now, an' we ain't supposed to catch more'n we can use. That's in the books. Got 'em safe?'

'Safe and sound,' replied Dick. 'But we can't eat these tiny things, Chippy.'

'Not likely,' said the Raven, 'but they'll make first-rate bait: that's wot I'm arter. Now for supper.'

'I'm ready,' said Dick. 'I'm as hungry as a wolf.'

'Right thing for one o' your patrol,' chuckled Chippy, and the boys laughed as they raced back to their camp.

Chippy opened the heap of ashes and drew out the ball of clay. Very carefully he broke the clay open and disclosed the white flesh of the hedgehog, cooked to a turn, and smelling deliciously.

'Where'e the skin?' cried Dick; 'and I say, how good it smells!'

'Skin's stuck fast in the clay wi' the prickles,' replied the Raven. 'Cut some chunks o' bread while I get it out.'

Dick took the loaf and cut some good slices with his knife, while his comrade dexterously divided the hedgehog into handy pieces. Then they sat about their fire and made a glorious supper. The bread was good, the milk was sweet, the hedgehog's flesh was tender and toothsome. Dick forgot all about his first dislike as he ate his share and applauded Chippy's skill and cookery.



CHAPTER XXXI

THE BIG TROUT

'The light's going fast,' remarked Dick, as supper was ending.

'So it is,' said Chippy, 'and I ain't got a fishin'-rod yet.'

He sprang to his feet and seized the tomahawk.

'Where are you going to get one?' cried Dick.

'Handy by,' replied the Raven, and marched to a thicket of hazels within thirty yards of the camp fire. Dick heard one or two strokes of the little axe, and then Chippy came back dragging a tall, straight hazel stem nine or ten feet long. He sat down, took his knife, and began to trim off the side branches.

'So that's your rod, is it?' said Dick.

'Jolly good un, too, for what I want,' returned Chippy. 'Ye'll soon see.'

He trimmed the hazel and cut down the weaker end until he had a strong, pliant rod about eight feet long. Next he unwound his hank of cord, tied one end round the rod a foot from the bottom, then wound the cord round the rod for its full length beyond, and tied it again at the top. In this way the whole spring and strength of the rod would be behind the cord, and aid it in its pull.

'No use just to fasten the line at the top,' commented Chippy; 'if yer do, p'raps the top 'll break, an' then theer's yer line, hook, an' everythin' gone.'

He opened his packet of hooks and took out a largish one, whose shank was covered smoothly with lead.

'I got these hooks from an old chap as lives close by us,' said Chippy. 'He's a reg'lar dab 'and at fishin', an' I've been with him many a time to carry his basket an' things. He rigged me up wi' these when I told 'im about our trip, an' I know wot to do becos I've seen him at it often enough. Now for the minnows.'

Chippy took the largest minnow, and, by the light of the fire, deftly worked it over the hook and lead until the latter was hidden in the body of the tiny fish.

'They call this the "pledge,"' he said, as he fastened the line into the loop of the gut; 'an' the way yer use it is the "sink-an'-draw" dodge. It's a sure kill, an' yer almost certain to get a big un.'

'But it's going darker and darker!' cried Dick.

'Dark's the time to use it,' replied his friend; 'that's when the big uns come out an' swim at the bottom o' some deep hole, an' wait for summat to show up atween them an' the sky.'

The scouts now went down to the bank, where Chippy had marked a likely-looking pool between two big hawthorn-bushes. They moved very softly, according to his orders, and when they gained the bank the weighted minnow was swung out, dropped into the water without a splash, and then lowered and raised slowly—the 'sink-and-draw' motion.

For five minutes Chippy worked steadily, and then he felt a sharp tug. In this style of fishing one strikes at once. Chippy struck, and found he was fast in a fish. He could not play it, for he had no reel. Nor is it safe to play under bushes in the dark. It is a case of land or smash, though a practised hand will land where a novice is certain to smash. Chippy put a swift but even strain on the pliant rod, and swung his fish up and out. The line was strong, the gut was good, and the trout was well hooked. Out it came, turning and tumbling on the grass, and Dick pounced upon it, for its under sides showed gleams of silver in the faint light, and he could see it bounding. Chippy took it from him, unhooked it, slipped his forefinger into the trout's mouth, and broke its neck with a dexterous jerk of finger and thumb. Then he weighed it in his hand. 'Not a big un,' he whispered; 'about half a pound. There ought to be more on 'em in this pool.'

He examined the minnow, and found that by good luck the trout had done little or no damage to it, and it would serve another turn, so he went to work once more. Several minutes passed, and then he had another bite, and again landed his fish, but it was a little smaller than the first.

'No big uns in this pool,' murmured Chippy. 'Theer's another good place about thirty yards up. We'll try that.'

The minnow had been badly torn by the teeth of the second trout, so by the light of a couple of wax matches, struck one after the other by Dick, Chippy fixed a fresh bait on the leaded hook. Then they went up to the second pool.

'S'pose yer have a try here,' whispered Chippy to Dick. 'It's as easy as can be. Ye must just let it down an' pull it up again, quiet an' easy. Ye'll know soon enough when a fish lays hold on it. Then give a little jerk to fasten th' 'ook in. Next lug him right up, pullin' smooth an' steady wi'out givin' an inch. If yer do, he'll get away, most likely.'

Dick took the rod and let the minnow down into the smooth dark pool where stars were reflected between the shadows of overhanging branches. Down and up, down and up, down and up, he lowered and raised the bait, many, many times, but there was no sign that the pool held a fish. He was about to whisper to Chippy that it was useless to try longer, when there came a tremendous tug, which almost tore the hazel wand out of his grasp. He tightened his clutch convulsively, and in recovering the rod he struck the fish, for at the next moment the tug of a tightly hooked 'big un' shook him from head to foot. Then there was a terrific splash at his feet, which caused his heart to jump into his mouth. The trout had leaped clean out of the water.

'Pull up! Pull up!' yelled Chippy, and Dick pulled. The fish was so firmly hooked that he was still there, and now the rod bent and twisted in Dick's hands as if that, too, were alive and trying to free itself from his wild clutch. Dick raised the fish slowly, for it felt tremendously heavy, and when he had it on the surface it kicked and wallowed till you might have thought a dog was splashing in the water.

'A good swing an' step back,' roared Chippy. Dick obeyed, and gave a big lift. He felt the hazel bend and tremble in his hands, then Chippy pounced on something, and the rod was still.

'Have we got it?' cried Dick breathlessly, for he had felt sure that the trout was too strong for their tackle.

'Got 'im,' snapped Chippy in triumph, 'an' a good un, too. They say it's allus the new hands as get the best luck. We've got plenty now, an' it ain't allowed to tek' more'n we can eat.'

This trout was far too big for Chippy to kill with finger and thumb, so he whipped off his jacket, rolled the fish in it, and the two scouts hurried back to the camp fire. Here Chippy despatched the trout by a sharp tap behind its head, delivered with the handle of the tomahawk, and the boys gloated over their prize. It was a fine, short, hog-backed trout, weighing well over three pounds, and in the pink of condition.

''Bout as much as anybody wants to lift out wi' a nut-stick,' commented Chippy, while Dick stared entranced at his glorious shining prize.

'Time to turn in now, I shouldn't wonder,' said the Raven, and the Wolf looked at his watch.

'Close upon ten,' said the latter.

'Well, we've just about 'ad a day of it,' said his comrade. 'I'll bet we'll be off to sleep like a shot.'



CHAPTER XXXII

TERRORS OF THE NIGHT

It was not until they lay down and waited for sleep that the boys felt the oddness and queerness of this first night in the open. Bustling round, making the fire, cooking, rigging up their camp, eating supper, fishing—all those things had kept at bay the silence and loneliness which now seemed to settle down upon them like a pall. They were quite comfortable. Each was wrapped snugly in his blanket. The bed of larch-tips was dry and springy. The haversacks, stuffed with the smallest tips, formed capital pillows. Yet sleep did not come at once.

After a time Dick spoke.

'Listen to the river,' he said.

'Rum, ain't it?' replied Chippy. 'Daytime it didn't seem to mek' no noise at all. Now yer can't hear nothin' else.'

The river, as a river always does, had found its voice in the dark: it purred and plashed, while over a shallow some distance below, its waters ran with a shrill babbling, and a steady roar, unheard by day, came up from a distant point where it thundered over a weir.

'Good job we made a rattlin' fire afore we turned in,' remarked the Raven; 'seems like comp'ny, don't it?'

'Rather,' said Dick; and both boys lay for a time watching the dancing gleams, as the good beech logs blazed up and threw the light of their flames into the depths of the hanger which rose above the camp.

Sleep came to Dick without his knowing it, but his sleep had a rude awakening. He woke with the echo of a dreadful cry in his ears. For a moment he looked stupidly about, utterly at a loss to discover where he was. Then the cry came again—a horrible, screaming cry—and he sat up, with his heart going nineteen to the dozen.