[8]
BARRETT CEASES TO EXPLORE
'Fetchimout!' said the voice, all in one word.
'Nice cheery remark to make!' thought Barrett. 'He'll have to do a goodbit of digging before he fetches _me_ out. I'm a fixture for thepresent.'
There was a sound of scratching as if the dog, in his eagerness tooblige, were trying to uproot the tree. Barrett, realizing that unlessthe keeper took it into his head to climb, which was unlikely, he wasas safe as if he had been in his study at Philpott's, chuckled withinhimself, and listened intently.
'What is it, then?' said the keeper. 'Good dog, at 'em! Fetch him out,Jack.'
Jack barked excitedly, and redoubled his efforts.
The sound of scratching proceeded.
'R-r-r-ats-s-s!' said the mendacious keeper. Jack had evidently pausedfor breath. Barrett began quite to sympathize with him. The thoughtthat the animal was getting farther away from the object of his searchwith every ounce of earth he removed, tickled him hugely. He would haveliked to have been able to see the operations, though. At present itwas like listening to a conversation through a telephone. He could onlyguess at what was going on.
Then he heard somebody whistling 'The Lincolnshire Poacher', astrangely inappropriate air in the mouth of a keeper. The sound was toofar away to be the work of Jack's owner, unless he had gone for astroll since his last remark. No, it was another keeper. A new voicecame up to him.
''Ullo, Ned, what's the dog after?'
'Thinks 'e's smelt a rabbit, seems to me.'
''Ain't a rabbit hole 'ere.'
'Thinks there is, anyhow. Look at the pore beast!'
They both laughed. Jack meanwhile, unaware that he was turning himselfinto an exhibition to make a keeper's holiday, dug assiduously. 'Comeaway, Jack,' said the first keeper at length. 'Ain't nothin' there.Ought to know that, clever dog like you.'
There was a sound as if he had pulled Jack bodily from his hole.
'Wait! 'Ere, Ned, what's that on the ground there?' Barrett gasped. Hispill-boxes had been discovered. Surely they would put two and twotogether now, and climb the tree after him.
'Eggs. Two of 'em. 'Ow did they get 'ere, then?'
'It's one of them young devils from the School. Master says to me thismorning, "Look out," 'e says, "Saunders, for them boys as come in 'ereafter eggs, and frighten all the birds out of the dratted place. Youkeep your eyes open, Saunders," 'e says.'
'Well, if 'e's still in the woods, we'll 'ave 'im safe.'
'_If_ he's still in the woods!' thought Barrett with a shiver.
After this there was silence. Barrett waited for what he thought was aquarter of an hour--it was really five minutes or less--then he peepedcautiously over the edge of his hiding-place. Yes, they had certainlygone, unless--horrible thought--they were waiting so close to the trunkof the tree as to be invisible from where he stood. He decided that thepossibility must be risked. He was down on the ground in record time.Nothing happened. No hand shot out from its ambush to clutch him. Hebreathed more freely, and began to debate within himself which way togo. Up the hill it must be, of course, but should he go straight up, orto the left or to the right? He would have given much to know which waythe keepers had gone, particularly he of the dog. They had separated,he knew. He began to reason the thing out. In the first place if theyhad separated, they must have gone different ways. It did not take himlong to arrive at that conclusion. The odds, therefore, were that onehad gone to the right up-stream, the other down-stream to the left. Hisknowledge of human nature told him that nobody would willingly walkup-hill if it was possible for him to walk on the flat. Therefore,assuming the two keepers to be human, they had gone along the valley.Therefore, his best plan would be to make straight for the top of thehill, as straight as he could steer, and risk it. Just as he was aboutto start, his eye caught the two pill-boxes, lying on the turf a fewyards from where he had placed them.
'May as well take what I can get,' he thought. He placed them carefullyin his pocket. As he did so a faint bark came to him on the breeze fromdown-stream. That must be friend Jack. He waited no longer, but divedinto the bushes in the direction of the summit. He was congratulatinghimself on being out of danger--already he was more than half way upthe hill--when suddenly he received a terrible shock. From the bushesto his left, not ten yards from where he stood, came the clear, sharpsound of a whistle. The sound was repeated, and this time an answercame from far out to his right. Before he could move another whistlejoined in, again from the left, but farther off and higher up the hillthan the first he had heard. He recalled what Grey had said about'millions' of keepers. The expression, he thought, had understated thetrue facts, if anything. He remembered the case of Babington. It was amoment for action. No guile could save him now. It must be a sternchase for the rest of the distance. He drew a breath, and was off likean arrow. The noise he made was appalling. No one in the wood couldhelp hearing it.
'Stop, there!' shouted someone. The voice came from behind, a factwhich he noted almost automatically and rejoiced at. He had a start atany rate.
'Stop!' shouted the voice once again. The whistle blew like a steamsiren, and once more the other two answered it. They were all behindhim now. Surely a man of the public schools in flannels and gymnasiumshoes, and trained to the last ounce for just such a sprint as this,could beat a handful of keepers in their leggings and heavy boots.Barrett raced on. Close behind him a crashing in the undergrowth andthe sound of heavy breathing told him that keeper number one was doinghis best. To left and right similar sounds were to be heard. ButBarrett had placed these competitors out of the running at once. Therace was between him and the man behind.
Fifty yards of difficult country, bushes which caught his clothes as ifthey were trying to stop him in the interests of law and order,branches which lashed him across the face, and rabbit-holes half hiddenin the bracken, and still he kept his lead. He was increasing it. Hemust win now. The man behind was panting in deep gasps, for the pacehad been warm and he was not in training. Barrett cast a glance overhis shoulder, and as he looked the keeper's foot caught in a hole andhe fell heavily. Barrett uttered a shout of triumph. Victory was his.
In front of him was a small hollow fringed with bushes. Collecting hisstrength he cleared these with a bound. Then another of the events ofthis eventful afternoon happened. Instead of the hard turf, his footstruck something soft, something which sat up suddenly with a yell.Barrett rolled down the slope and halfway up the other side like a shotrabbit. Dimly he recognized that he had jumped on to a human being. Thefigure did not wear the official velveteens. Therefore he had nobusiness in the Dingle. And close behind thundered the keeper, now onhis feet once more, dust on his clothes and wrath in his heart in equalproportions. 'Look out, man!' shouted Barrett, as the injured personrose to his feet. 'Run! Cut, quick! Keeper!' There was no time to saymore. He ran. Another second and he was at the top, over the railing,and in the good, honest, public high-road again, safe. A hoarse shoutof 'Got yer!' from below told a harrowing tale of capture. The strangerhad fallen into the hands of the enemy. Very cautiously Barrett leftthe road and crept to the railing again. It was a rash thing to do, butcuriosity overcame him. He had to see, or, if that was impossible, tohear what had happened.
For a moment the only sound to be heard was the gasping of the keeper.After a few seconds a rapidly nearing series of crashes announced thearrival of the man from the right flank of the pursuing forces, whilealmost simultaneously his colleague on the left came up.
Barrett could see nothing, but it was easy to understand what was goingon. Keeper number one was exhibiting his prisoner. His narrative,punctuated with gasps, was told mostly in hoarse whispers, and Barrettmissed most of it.
'Foot (gasp) rabbit-'ole.' More gasps. 'Up agen ... minute ...(indistinct mutterings) ... and (triumphantly) COTCHED IM!'
Exclamations of approval from the other two. 'I assure you,' saidanother voice. The prisoner was having his say. 'I assure you that Iwas doing no harm whatever
in this wood. I....'
'Better tell that tale to Sir Alfred,' cut in one of his captors.
''E'll learn yer,' said the keeper previously referred to as numberone, vindictively. He was feeling shaken up with his run and his heavyfall, and his temper was proportionately short.
'I swear I've heard that voice before somewhere,' thought Barrett.'Wonder if it's a Coll. chap.'
Keeper number one added something here, which was inaudible to Barrett.
'I tell you I'm not a poacher,' said the prisoner, indignantly. 'And Iobject to your language. I tell you I was lying here doing nothing andsome fool or other came and jumped on me. I....'
The rest was inaudible. But Barrett had heard enough.
'I knew I'd heard that voice before. Plunkett, by Jove! Golly, what isthe world coming to, when heads of Houses and School-prefects go on thepoach! Fancy! Plunkett of all people, too! This is a knock-out, I'mhanged if it isn't.'
From below came the sound of movement. The keepers were going down thehill again. To Barrett's guilty conscience it seemed that they werecoming up. He turned and fled.
The hedge separating Sir Alfred Venner's land from the road was not ahigh one, though the drop the other side was considerable. Barrett hadnot reckoned on this. He leapt the hedge, and staggered across theroad. At the same moment a grey-clad cyclist, who was pedalling in aleisurely manner in the direction of the School, arrived at the spot. Acollision seemed imminent, but the stranger in a perfectly composedmanner, as if he had suddenly made up his mind to take a sharp turning,rode his machine up the bank, whence he fell with easy grace to theroad, just in time to act as a cushion for Barrett. The two lay therein a tangled heap. Barrett was the first to rise.
The Pothunters Page 8
