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

Within three-quarters of an hour Chippy was back, travelling at scout's pace.

'You've been jolly quick, Chippy,' shouted Dick.

'Had a bit o' luck,' returned the Raven, wiping his sweat-soaked face; 'met a farmer's cart goin' into Eston, and tied th' old man's cart at the back, so I didn't 'ave to go all the way.'

'What about the motor-car?' asked Dick. 'Had it run through the village?'

'Not it,' replied the other; 'turned sharp to the left at the cross-roads.'

Dick got out the map, and the scouts saw that the driver knew the country; he had taken the most solitary road of the neighbourhood.

'A set of sneaks,' said Dick.

'Bad uns,' agreed his chum.

'I say, Chippy, it was no end good of you to cut off like that with the cart, but I would rather have lent a hand,' cried Dick.

'Let's 'ave a look at that 'ere foot,' was the Raven's only reply.

The foot was looked at, anointed with vaseline, bound up afresh, and then the march was resumed.

Dick now had a very bad quarter of an hour, for his foot had stiffened rather while Chippy was away. But he set himself to tramp it out, and when they passed a station beside the road, and heard an engine whistle, and saw from a bridge the rails running away towards Bardon, he only limped on faster, and put aside the temptation of a lift in by train.

After a while his foot became more easy, and he was able to set it down without giving any decided indication that there was something amiss. For this he was very glad before long, when the two scouts met friends who would soon have spotted a lame walker, and have cut his march short.

CHAPTER LI

THE WELCOME HOME

It was about half-past four when they gained a point where the country began to wear a familiar look.

'Shotford Corner!' cried Chippy. 'We'll see Bardon from the cob.'

The cob, as Chippy called it, was a small knoll on which stood a finger post, with many arms to guide wayfarers along the roads which met at Shotford Corner. The boys gained the knoll by the smallest of the side-roads which ran in at that point.

They paused beneath the finger-post, and looked ahead. There was their old familiar heath spreading away to the distant spires of Bardon, and from this point on they knew every step of the way. 'Six miles to Bardon' was on the arm above their heads.

'We'll be home in less than a couple of hours now,' said Dick. 'We'll put this journey to our credit easily enough, Chippy.'

Suddenly behind them a wild honk-honk – h-o-n-k of a motor-horn broke out. The boys looked along the road, and saw a car coming towards them at full speed with two figures in it. The driver was performing a fantasia on his horn; the passenger was waving his cap.

'Why,' cried Dick, 'it's my father out in his car with Uncle Jim.'

'Well, here you are,' shouted Mr. Elliott, as the car sped up to them. 'We've been scouring these roads all the afternoon in search of you. How have you got on?'

'Oh, splendid, father – splendid,' cried Dick. 'We should like to start again on Monday, shouldn't we, Chippy?'

'It 'ud suit me fust rate,' said the Raven, respectfully saluting his employers.

'Well,' laughed Mr. Elliott, 'I don't know about that. I'm afraid there'd be trouble with your headmaster and with Mr. Malins, who has rather missed Slynn.'

The Raven saluted again, blushing with pleasure to find that the manager had missed his services.

'You look uncommonly fit, the pair of you,' said Mr. Jim Elliott, marking the brown faces, the lean, lithe look of the hardy, toughened scouts.

'Yes, uncle, we feel up to the work all round, and we've had a grand time.'

'Have you had plenty to eat?' asked Dick's father.

'Plenty, father,' cried Dick;' and we've had the jolliest times sleeping. Three nights we camped, one we slept in a hayloft, and one in the cabin of a barge.'

'Lodgings have been cheap, then?' chuckled Mr. Elliott; 'but how much of the second half-sovereign have you spent for food?'

Dick laughed in triumph, and fetched out the bit of gold.

'Not a stiver,' he said; 'and there's the best part of the other half-sovereign too.' And he laid a heap of silver and copper in his father's hand.

Mr. Elliott counted it in surprise. 'Why, there's seventeen and fourpence farthing here,' he said. 'Do you mean to say you two have been out for a week, and only spent two and sevenpence three-farthings all told?'

'We do,' cried Dick. 'We've won and earned fairly all the rest of our food. I'll tell you everything, and you shall judge for yourself, father. But it's too long a tale to go into now.'

Mr. Elliott stared through his goggles in wonder at the money. 'Well, Jim,' he said at last to his brother, 'these scouts of yours can look after themselves, it seems.'

'That's the chief thing that Baden-Powell's scouts are expected to learn,' said the instructor, smiling; 'it is quite clear that Dick and Slynn have picked up the art in great form.'

'Done the whole thing on two and sevenpence three-farthings!' repeated Mr. Elliott, his wonder growing as he thought it over. 'Dick, you'd better come into the business straight away. You'd be able, I should say, to give your uncle and myself most valuable advice on the subject of cutting down expenses.'

Dick laughed, for his father's surprise filled him with the utmost delight. Chippy, too, was on the broad grin.

'Here,' said Mr. Elliott suddenly, 'take it; it's yours. Share it up between you.' He poured gold, silver, and copper into the hat which Dick promptly held out for the money.

'I'm not going to say "no" to that offer, father,' said Dick; 'for I've a use for my half of the money.'

'Same here,' murmured Chippy; 'the party's name is Joseph Thatcher, Little Eston.'

'Now, Chippy,' cried Dick, 'how in the world did you know what was in my mind?'

The Raven chuckled. 'I knowed,' he murmured, and would say no more.

Dick explained who Joseph Thatcher was, and what misfortune had befallen him.

'He gave twenty-eight shillings for the donkey,' concluded Dick, 'and this will go a long step towards setting him up again. The poor old chap's horribly frightened of the workhouse at present.'

'Ah,' said his father, 'the road-hog is the curse of decent motor-drivers. One black sheep can cover the whole flock with discredit. Well, now, boys, jump in, and I'll run you into Bardon in triumph.'

'Oh no, no, father,' cried Dick; 'thank you very much, but that would spoil the whole thing. We must finish it out to the last step on foot.'

'What Spartans!' said Mr. Elliott; 'still ready to face six miles of hot, dusty road after a week's tramping.'