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

THE PATROL-LEADERS

A few days later Dick Elliott was standing outside a shop in Bardon High Street waiting for his sister, who was inside. He was on his way to a party, and so was dressed in full fig, a thing he hated very much, but had to put up with on such occasions.

Presently a second boy came along the pavement towards him. It was Chippy, with a big bundle under his right arm. Chippy looked at the smart figure staring into the shop-window, and recognised it.

'One o' them Wolf toffs,' thought Chippy. 'I wish I'd a chance to slug 'im now. I'd soon knock 'is top-'at in the gutter.'

The vengeful Chippy was staring at Dick's glossy silk hat and irreproachable gloves, when Dick looked up straight into the other boy's face. At the next moment Chippy was taken utterly aback, for Dick stepped forward and gave him the full salute. Chippy could scarcely believe his own eyes when he thus received the honours of a patrol-leader.

But he tucked his bundle between his legs, for the pavement was dirty, returned the salute, and proffered his left hand.

'Wot cheer, brother!' murmured Chippy in his husky whisper, for he could think of no more appropriate salutation.

'Oh, I'm all right,' said Dick. 'How are the Ravens getting on?'

'Peggin' away,' returned Chippy. 'We done most o' the things out o' them books.'

'Ah!' said Dick. 'Now about that challenge. When would you like to try a friendly turn against us?'

'Any Sat'day arternoon,' cried Chippy eagerly. 'Yer would meet us, then? Yer leader ain't agin us now?'

'Well, it isn't the same leader,' replied Dick. 'The leader you saw has left us. We tried to get him to come back, but he wouldn't come. I'm the leader now.'

'Good, good!' said Chippy gleefully. 'Wot about nex' Sat'day at three, up at yer sandpit?'

'Yes, I think I can arrange for that,' returned Dick.

'We'll be there, an' proud to come,' said Chippy, whose face shone again with pride and satisfaction. 'An' we'll put up the best we know to gie yer a good practice.'

'We shall get all the practice we want if there are a few more like you among the Ravens,' laughed Dick.

'A bit of luck,' said Chippy modestly, 'that wor all. Well, I must get on. I'm in a job now, an' goin' on an errand. An' when yer at work, there's Law 2 to reckon with – playin' a straight game wi' yer boss.' So the patrol-leaders gave each other the full salute, and each went their way, for Dick's sister was now waiting for him.

'Who's your friend, Dick?' asked his sister. 'He looks like a ragged errand-boy.'

'That's just what he is,' replied Dick; 'but he is also a brother scout, and so I was doing the civil.'

'Good gracious!' said his sister. 'I didn't know boys like that were in it.'

'They run in all shapes,' replied Dick, 'as long as they run straight.'

CHAPTER IX

THE WOLVES AND THE RAVENS

On the next Saturday afternoon, accordingly, the Wolf and Raven Patrols fraternized in the old sandpit on the heath, and Mr. Elliott attended as umpire. The boys were far from being strangers to each other, for they had often met before in a slugging match, but all such foolish old feuds were laid aside, and they prepared eagerly for a friendly struggle in this most fascinating sport of scouting.

'Now, Slynn,' said Mr. Elliott to the leader of the Ravens, 'as your scouts are the visitors, I think you ought to have the choice of the game at which to challenge the Wolf Patrol.'

'Well, sir,' said Chippy, 'wot about "Scout meets Scout"? I think that 'ud suit us, if it 'ud suit the Wolves.'

'Yes,' said Mr. Elliott, 'that would give you some good fun. And, as it happens, that is a game I have been thinking over. I believe you would enjoy it better still if you combined it with hunting. You've all got a ball apiece, haven't you?'

Yes, everybody had a ball of some sort, and all were listening eagerly to the instructor. Mr. Elliott drew a small parcel from his pocket, and opened it. Inside there were sixteen little flags – eight yellow and eight black.

'You see, I am prepared with your patrol colours,' he said. 'The truth is, I was intending to suggest this game myself as one to be taken. Now, let every scout fix a flag in his hat.'

The Wolves took the yellow, and the Ravens took the black, and the flags were fixed.

'The next thing,' said Mr. Elliott, 'is full trot for the Beacon;' and away they all went.

The Beacon was a small hill which rose sharply from the heath, and stood quite alone. It was not very high, perhaps a hundred feet, but from the top you could see far over the heath on every side. In old days a beacon-fire had been lighted on it to warn or arouse the country in times of danger; a fire had burned there when the Spanish Armada came.

The scouts swarmed up the side, and raced each other to the top. Then they gathered once more about the umpire.

'Now,' said Mr. Elliott, 'here's my idea of "Scout meets Scout." The Wolves will go to that patch of burnt gorse which is about half a mile east of the Beacon. The Ravens will go to that big oak which is about half a mile west. Those are the boundaries, and no one must pass them. North and south the land becomes open quite close to us, and nobody may go out there. It isn't likely he would wish to, for he would be seen at once. When I blow my whistle, the two sides will begin to work towards each other, and the hunt opens. The scout who strikes an enemy with his ball captures that enemy's flag. The flag is handed over, and the beaten scout comes up at once to report to me on the Beacon. He is dead, and will leave the contest. That patrol wins which finally captures the whole of the flags belonging to the other patrol.'

'But, Mr. Elliott, suppose you hit a man who has already taken two or three flags belonging to your own side, what then!' asked Billy Seton.

'He gives up everything,' replied the instructor, 'both his own flag and those he has taken. You see, it's a fight to a finish. The last man will simply collect the whole of the flags. The patrol with the finest scout is bound to win, and it gives everybody first-rate practice. There are heaps of hiding-places, and you may employ any means to decoy or deceive an opposing scout, except using his patrol cry, or, as the book says, disguise. But disguise is out of the question at the present moment. Now, away with you!'

Off the boys dashed, the Wolves scouring down the eastern face of the Beacon, the Ravens down the western. Within five minutes both patrols were in position, and they signified this to Mr. Elliott by holding up their patrol flags. Chippy had made the flag for the Ravens, and made it very well too, cutting the raven out of a scrap of an old green curtain, and stitching it on to a piece of calico. When the umpire saw the patrol flags raised above the gorse clumps which hid the patrols, he blew a long blast on his powerful whistle, and the contest began.

On the side of the Wolf Patrol, Dick Elliott ordered his men to spread out widely in the thick cover of gorse-bushes and low-growing thickets, and to push slowly and cautiously towards the Ravens.

'You've got to be jolly careful,' said Dick, 'or if there are many like that patrol leader of theirs, we shall be snapped up before we know where we are. Work in pairs, and one scout will support the other.'

So the Wolves split into four couples, and spread themselves as widely as possible on their front. On the other hand, Chippy sent his men out singly, but also on a well-extended front; and so, creeping, gliding, stealing from patch to patch of cover, and watching closely on every hand, the Wolves and the Ravens drew nearer and nearer to each other.

Dick, with the corporal, Billy Seton, had taken up a post in the centre of their patrol line, and they advanced together. Dick looked on every hand, and was very satisfied with the way in which his men took cover. He could not catch a glimpse of one of them among the patches of gorse and heather and brushwood.

Suddenly Dick stopped dead. He scented danger. Twenty yards ahead a wren was perched on the topmost twig of a thorn-bush, chattering and scolding furiously. Now, there is no bird which gives prompter warning of an intruder than the wren. Whether the intruder be two-legged, man or boy, or four-legged, stoat, weasel, or pole-cat, the plucky little wren always gives the enemy a piece of her mind.

'That bird's been disturbed,' thought Dick, and he dropped behind a great tuft of withered fern and waited and watched. Billy Seton crawled up without a sound, and lay beside him. Three minutes passed, and then Dick saw a shock of black hair pushed right under a low-growing blackthorn, a dozen yards in front.

It was one of the Ravens coming along flat on the ground like a snake. The Raven put his head out of the blackthorn bush and looked and listened carefully. He seemed reassured by the silence, and made a swift dash across the open for the very patch of cover where his opponents were in hiding. Both were ready for him, but he came in on Billy's side, and fell to Billy's deftly-thrown ball.

'You're done for, old chap!' chuckled Billy. 'Hand over your flag, and leg it for the hill, and report yourself.'

The Raven pulled a wry face for a moment, then remembered Law 8, and tried to look cheerful.

'It's a fair cop!' he remarked. ''Ere's the flag. 'Ope you'll soon lose it!'

The others grinned and retired to their ambush, while No. 7 of the Ravens ran to the Beacon to report himself as out of the hunt.

Twenty minutes of careful reconnoitring passed, but Dick and Billy had seen no further token of any Raven on the move. They gained a thick hazel copse, and crept into the heart of it to wait in ambush a little for any sign of an opponent's presence. Peering through the boughs, Billy whistled below his breath.

'What is it?' whispered Dick.