by B. B.
Little John wormed his way between two stout hawthorn stems, pulling his parcels after him, stinging his hands and face on some nettles and then, half hidden among the tall weeds and grass, he spied out the land on the far side of the hedge.
Exactly opposite to him was a steep dingle which seemed to be a rubbish tip. It was choked with elder bushes in full flower – their strong scent was almost overpowering – nettles and briars, a grand wild place abounding with good cover for a hunted outlaw.
It was fenced around with stout palings and on the opposite side were some allotments, evidently the village allotments, and there, not far beyond the fence, was a man in his shirtsleeves, digging industriously.
Little John knew that his pursuers might backtrack when they found the van was without a driver. He would be safer in the dingle. Even as he lay deliberating he heard the sound of a car returning slowly up the road. He must act.
He squirmed out of the ditch and crawled rapidly under the fence on top of the steep bank. The next moment he was slithering down, parcels and all, into the underbrush.
He lay there for some minutes without moving. Overhead a greenfinch was singing; he could see it sitting like a little green parrot among the elder flowers. ‘Dreeezio! Dreeezio!’ it sang, a curious, almost tropical song. The low light of the sun shone on the top of the elder bush making bird and leaves a brilliant green against the soft sky. But down in the dingle all was shade. In his nostrils was the sharp ‘stingy’ smell of nettle and the acrid scent of the elder.
Soon he heard voices on the road and a car engine purring. A man shouted, quite near. ‘Hoy!’ then ‘Hoy!’ again. The greenfinch flew off with a startled chirp.
Another voice answered from the allotments. Evidently his pursuers were on his track. Had they seen him go down into the dingle?
He peered through the thick leaves and saw the blue dome of a policeman’s helmet bobbing along the fence in the direction of the allotment. For some time all was quiet, so quiet that a faint rustle below him made him turn just in time to see a large brown rat scurrying past a rusty tin.
Then the car started up and he heard it go off down the road in the direction of Brendon. Little John could breathe again. In a little while came the soft brushing of feet in long grass and peering once more through his leafy screen he saw the man who had been digging in the allotments come up to the fence. He was only ten feet away and the evening light shone full upon him. He was a stout, red-faced labourer, with bushy white eyebrows. He pulled vigorously at a stub pipe and the clouds of blue smoke came out like puffs from a silent gun, the air was so still. He leant his arms on top of the rail and looked down into the dingle; once he seemed to be looking directly at Little John. He bent his head and peered this way and that, still puffing at his pipe. Little John soon smelt the rank shag. Evidently the policeman had told him a wanted man was somewhere close at hand.
It seemed to Little John that the man must see him, crouching there among the bushes, but he did not do so. For, after remaining for quite three minutes with his strong brown arms resting on top of the rail, he slowly moved away towards the allotment. Little John’s pulse slowed – it had been going like a mallet in his temples during that scrutiny – and all was quiet once more.
He glanced down the tangled bank, his eye roving over the rusty tin cans. There was a broken bedstead, an old tin bath, several bicycle frames and a dilapidated pushchair and hundreds and hundreds of tin cans. The inhabitants of Cheshunt Toller must have lived on tinned food, thought Little John. Now and again he caught sight of other rats, obscene scaly-tailed monsters, busy among the refuse. He had certainly chosen a very unsavoury place to hide.
Slowly the sun sank. The golden light left the top of the elder bushes and the rank smell of the dingle seemed to be intensified. It was somehow a very English smell, nettles, elder, grass and rubbish. The greenfinch came back to the bush and began to hop about, other birds with it, sparrows and chaffinches. They were thinking of bed.
Soon it would be time to move. All sounds of pursuit had died away. And then the first star appeared, faint at first, trembling like a tiny diamond in a greeny-blue sea, then becoming more brilliant.
The rats began to be noisy and bold. Cans clinked and he saw one old rat run along the top of the bedstead. He shuddered. If he stayed any longer they might set upon him; they looked fierce enough for anything. Very cautiously he crawled up the bank and peeped between the grass stems. The allotments were deserted, the labourer had gone home. Inch by inch he wormed his way under the rails. There was not a soul in sight. Somewhere to the right, beyond the allotments, lay Brendon Chase. In a few moments it would be nearly dark and he would make a move.
Bats fluttered by, and away in Cheshunt Toller he heard someone playing a mouth organ …
He gathered up his purchases, the porridge packets, the salt, sugar and the cumbersome cabbages. The last-named had been the most awkward of his shopping parcels. Yet he had hung on to them. It was surprising how they missed this vegetable. The wild sorrel and nettle tops which they cooked in the Chase only partly satisfied their craving for green food. Now, as Little John looked at those two large globes of green, his mouth fairly watered and he was glad he had not abandoned them in his wild flight.
With one last look round he got to his feet and set off across the field.
At that precise moment Robin and Big John were skulking by the gate which led on to the forest road waiting for his return. The dim ribbon of the lane, more dim because of its wall of trees on either hand, showed no sign of life save many rabbits, which went hoppitting across from one side to the other, as though propelled by clockwork.
‘Wonder what time it is,’ said Robin in a low voice, ‘he ought to have been back long ago. It must be after eleven.’
‘If we keep very quiet we may hear Cheshunt Toller church strike,’ whispered Big John.
‘Perhaps he won’t come back this way; p’raps he’ll enter the forest on the other side,’ suggested Robin.
‘He wouldn’t know the way.’
‘No, I don’t suppose he would. But supposin’ he was being chased, then he’d try to get back here any old way.’
‘Let’s go back to the oak; he’ll turn up all right,’ said Robin, but his heart was heavy with foreboding.
They reached the clearing and Bang, whom they had left tied up in the tree, actually gave a squeak of delight and pranced on the end of his pigskin lead. They let him loose and he tore round and round the bracken, tail down and ears streaming behind.
‘Shut up, Bang, come and lie down,’ ordered Robin, ‘lie down!’ Bang threw himself full length, panting. Big John stirred over the grey embers and found a few salmon pink cinders. And a minute later bright cheerful flames were jumping up and crackling merrily. They put on some tench to fry while Robin washed some new potatoes which they had dug up in a field outside the Chase.
After their meal they added some more wood to the fire and lay listening. Bang sat beside them licking his chops and yawning from time to time, for he had had some rabbit for supper and was content. Then they saw his ears prick and his muscles stiffen and they knew somebody was coming.
Robin gave the low double owl’s note, their call sign, and the answer came back as softly. ‘Good man!’ exclaimed Robin. ‘He’s got back!’
The bushes rustled and into the firelight limped Little John. He was laden with parcels and his bare right knee was dark with dried blood. ‘Phew!’ he whistled through his teeth and flopped down wearily beside them. ‘Gimme something to eat!’
They piled up his plate with fried potatoes and plump fish and watched him wolf it without a word.
‘Well,’ said his brother outlaws together when he had finished his meal, ‘so you got the stuff all right!’
‘Yes, it’s all here: cabbages, cartridges’ – Little John tossed them across – ‘matches, sugar, porridge oats, flour, salt, thread – I think that’s the lot, and I’ve six bob left too.’
‘Looks as
though you had to run for it, brother,’ said Robin looking at the scratched knee. ‘What happened? You weren’t spotted?’
‘Spotted! I should think I was! I cleared out of Brendon in a baker’s cart, with the populace after me like a pack of hounds on bicycles, carts, gigs, motor cars and on foot. I’ll bet it’s the most exciting market day they’ve ever had in Brendon. And even then I gave them all the slip! Finished up by hidin’ in an ash tip outside Cheshunt Toller!’
‘Blast,’ said Robin when he had heard the full story, ‘I knew something like this would happen. Everyone will be on our trail like terriers after a rat. They’ll comb the forest from end to end. They’ll guess we’re in the Chase. That fifty pounds reward, too … phew! That’ll make ’em all the keener. But they won’t get us; they shan’t ever catch us, they’ll have to cut the Chase down first before they do. We’ll be like rabbits in a woodpile. But there must be no more journeys to Brendon or anywhere else for supplies. When this lot’s gone we shall have to manage.’
Little John wiped his knees tenderly. ‘Got that jumping from old Hawkins’s cart,’ he said reflectively, ‘Phew!’ He opened his jacket and lay back. ‘I thought I was collared good and proper. Wasn’t it just my luck old Hawkins coming along then in his cart! Nobody would have been any the wiser if that hadn’t happened!’
‘I thought you’d get nabbed at the gunsmith’s,’ said Robin. ‘I’ll bet the police would have told them to look out.’
‘A girl served me,’ said Little John, ‘otherwise they might have been sticky about selling the cartridges to me.’
‘That was a bit of luck anyway,’ said Robin. We’ve got enough now, if we’re careful, to see us through. I’ll bet you’re ready for bed, Little John!’
‘You bet I am!’ said that worthy. ‘I’ll sleep tonight like a top.’
‘You can have the next three shots with the rifle,’ said Robin. ‘You’ve earned them, brother!’
13. Smokoe Joe
In the weeks following Little John’s escapade the outlaws knew that greater vigilance was needed. If any search was going on, however, they saw or heard nothing of it; the Chase covered a large area. Had they been nearer the road they might have seen weary, scratched men returning homewards at close of day, and you may be sure that there were some rare tales in the tap room of The Martyr at Martyr Bar. Even the story of Bunting’s trousers had somehow got around in a weirdly distorted form, despite Ernie’s solemn assurance to the victim that it should go no farther.
There was a new and subtle change in the forest. The boys noticed it especially first thing in the morning and late at night. Though they were barely conscious of it, July had come and gone – a sullen, sweating July it had been too – and it was now mid August. A strange silence was everywhere; the leaves seemed tired; no birds, save robins, sang in all that great tract of forest land. Another sign of the passing of summer was the tattered appearance of the silver-washed fritillaries.
In July these glorious butterflies had been met with down every ride. Robin, especially, had been impressed by their flaming swift beauty. They passed along the pathways and over the hot clearings like living flames and once he saw a bush smothered in blackberry blossom which was covered with these beautiful insects feasting on the white flowers. The white admirals had disappeared and only once again did Robin see the purple emperor flying round the same tree close to the Blind Pool.
The outlaws searched the sallow for the larvae of the latter but were unsuccessful, though Big John found the caterpillar of a white admiral on a spray of honeysuckle. It was a quaint little creature of a green which exactly matched the honeysuckle leaves. In his wanderings Big John also came upon a nightjar’s nest. He had been walking through the forest and had nearly stepped on the bird which rose out of the laid bracken in a little opening in the trees. It looked quite unlike a bird, with its toadlike eye and strange spotted plumage. The two richly marbled eggs lay close together by his right foot; they seemed the loveliest things he had ever seen, like handsomely marked stones. He took them back to camp and tried to blow them but to his great disgust they were hard set.
Three days after Little John’s thrilling adventure Robin Hood announced he was going on a hunting trip, as he put it ‘into the interior’ beyond the Blind Pool. He also said he was going alone and taking Bang with him.
Big and Little John pleaded to come but Robin was unwilling. He was rather a strange boy and seemed to be able to enjoy nature much more when he was alone. His discovery of the Blind Pool had given him a rare pleasure which he remembered with gratitude.
‘I shall take the rifle,’ said Robin, ‘and I may be away for a night so don’t get worried if I don’t come back at dusk.’
‘What’s the idea?’ asked Big. ‘We’re all outlaws, aren’t we? We ought to keep together.’
‘Certainly not. Robin Hood didn’t always hunt with the band; he went off for days at a time by himself.’
‘Are you going to find Smokoe Joe?’
‘Maybe I am.’
‘Is that why you’re going by yourself?’ asked Big John.
‘Not exactly. I dunno that I’m going to find anything in particular. I just want to make a long trip into the “back of beyond”.’
‘Well, I do think we might come along too,’ grumbled Little John, ‘especially after I went into Brendon like that.’
‘Sorry, chaps,’ said Robin briefly, ‘but you can’t come and that’s flat. Bang and I will be all right, we’ll be back the day after tomorrow – before, if I find old Smokoe Joe.’
‘I don’t see much point in finding Smokoe,’ said Little John grumpily, ‘he’ll only give us away if he sees us.’
‘He won’t see us, or rather he won’t see me – don’t worry,’ said Robin with a grin, ‘but he’s such a character I want to have a look at him. After all, he’s lived in this forest for years and years; he must know a thing or two. I think he’ll be like old Rip Van Winkle to look at; the Whiting told me he was a wonderful old character with a huge nose, a reg’lar wild man.’
‘You’ll have to take some supplies with you,’ said Little John whose mind was, as ever, running on food. ‘There’s still a little bacon left, though another day will see the last of it. What about something to drink?’
‘Shan’t bother about that,’ said Robin, ‘I’ll find a stream or something. I can’t go burdened with pots and pans. The lighter I can travel the better.’
‘Where will you sleep?’
‘That won’t worry me either, I’ll find some place.’
‘What shall we do when you’re away? We shan’t even have Bang for company.’
‘Try and catch some more of those perch in the Blind Pool. The more we can get now the more we shall have in the winter. If you salt and smoke ’em they’ll keep all right, same as the pig.’
‘I do think you might take us, all the same,’ said Little John with an injured air.
‘Anyone would think I was going off for a week,’ said Robin. ‘I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Big John lugubriously. ‘Supposin’ you’re caught and don’t come back, we shouldn’t know what had happened to you.’
‘I suppose you’d go straight back to the Dower House and give yourselves up,’ snapped Robin. ‘The trouble is with you fellows you haven’t got enough self-reliance.’
The others did not answer; they were sulky.
Robin set off early the following morning. In his pocket were six rashers of forest-cured bacon and twenty rounds of .22 ammunition. The parting was rather strained but the others grudgingly wished him luck.
He took the path to the Blind Pool. When he reached it there was no sign of life upon it. They had shot all the moorhens and the mallard had not been seen since their first visit. Very soon he was in a part of the Chase which was new to him. Here and there grew thick hollies, already covered in yellow berries. They were fine old trees, very tall and bushy, with curious black knobs and lumps, like boils, on their
smooth green trunks. There were many pigeons in this part of the forest, possibly because they are very fond of hollies for nesting sites; later they would seek out the ripe berries, their favourite food.
The holly was always associated in Robin’s mind with the Christmas holidays at Cherry Walden and walks with Miss Holcome along the muddy winter roads. Underneath the trees were carpets of skeleton leaves. These make wonderful fuel for lighting fires. Also the thin dead twigs burn very easily, even in wet weather.
He saw many pigeon’s nests, even though it was now late in the year, and he climbed up to one nest – Bang sitting patiently below gazing up at him with cocked ears – and therein he found two squabs, ready to fly. He took both of them, infant pigeon are excellent eating, and they went into his jacket pocket. Robin was pleased at this because he had not had to use a cartridge on them.
It was a curious gloomy day. The clouds hung low, but there was no wind. He saw little of interest all that morning beyond a few red squirrels and numberless jays, which made such a racket when they saw him moving through the bushes that Robin ground his teeth with anxiety. The jays are the forest watchdogs. Many a keeper has trailed a poacher by their harsh betraying screams. He came to several wide ridings. In one of them were the marks of wheels and the ground was rutted deeply. In winter it would have been a quagmire.
He made a halt under a clump of hollies and ate a rasher of cold boiled bacon. Then he was sorry because it made him thirsty and he could find no water. He wished now he had brought some with him, but they had no water bottle back at camp and he had not thought to make one out of the pig’s bladder.
After a while the thirst subsided and when he came upon a few half-ripe blackberries – the first he had found – they helped to ease matters considerably, even though they were not quite ripe. Suddenly he noticed Bang seemed uneasy. He sat very upright with his ears cocked and now and again he sniffed the air. Robin listened very carefully but he could hear nothing save the gentle drip of rain for the sky was growing darker. Perhaps it was this gentle ‘tick tick’ of rain drops on the leaves which made the little dog restless.
