by B. B.
‘Last time I saw him,’ said Little John, ‘he was hanging on inside his car, being shuttled about like a pea in a pod. That was when they were chasing me, when I went into Brendon in the summer.’
The others laughed. ‘Ah,’ said Smokoe, ‘that wur a narrer shave, I must say, they nearly ’ad you then, master. It was smartish work gettin’ away like that. I ’eard all about it, o’ course, when I went to Cheshunt Toller, they told me in the shop. The ’ole village was talkin’ of it. One thing, they didn’t never find ye. An’ Doctor Bowers, ’ee’ll ’old ’is tongue. ‘Ee’s the best feller that ever walked. An’ ain’t ’is little gel a pretty one! She cum to the ’orspital wi’ some flowers fer me when I wur there. Doctor must a given ’er a badger skin, cos she was a-wearin’ a muff made outer it. She weren’t ’arf pleased about it and axed me if I’d sent it ’er. ’Course I didn’t let on. I says “Yes.” ’
Meanwhile, during Smokoe’s narrative, poor Big John had been turning a deeper red, and when the others looked at him he was matching the holly berries over the stove.
‘Big John’s going to marry Angela, aren’t you, Big John?’ teased Robin.
‘Well, ’ee cud goo farther an’ fare worse, blame me!’ said Smokoe enthusiastically. ‘So she’s your gal, is she, master? Well, good luck to ye!’
‘They’re only teasing me, Smokoe,’ gulped the unhappy Big John, when he had finished trying to strangle Robin Hood, much to the excitement of Gyp and the owl, which bobbed up and down and snapped its bill in fright.
‘Just listen to them owls!’ exclaimed Smokoe, after the noise had subsided. ‘Never known ’em kick up such a racket! Wonder ef Buntin’ is taking a walk!’ He went to the door and opened it.
The boys could see him framed then against the background of moonlit snow. They could glimpse the dark palisade of bare oaks and the naked sallows against the stars. An icy breath stole into the warm little room.
Gyp, with ears pricked, scurried out into the snow and stood listening, a long blue shadow behind him upon the frozen trampled surface, for a shaft of lamplight streamed through the open door.
‘Sick ’im, Gyp,’ muttered Smokoe and the dog vanished. ‘If anyone’s sneakin’ round Gyp’ll nip ’em,’ said Smokoe, ‘but most likely it’s that old fox agin arter me fowls.’
‘We heard one barking in the Crown woods the other night,’ said Robin. ‘We shall have to shoot him. Hark! Gyp’s found something!’
The outlaws crowded to the door and they all stood listening. Some way among the trees they heard furious barking.
‘Treed a fox, I expect,’ said Robin.
‘Not ’e, it ain’t no fox,’ said Smokoe. ‘Blame me, wot’s up now!’
They heard Gyp give a piercing howl, and the next minute he came racing across the snow with every hair standing up like a bottle brush. He rushed past them into the shack and squeezed under the bed.
‘Blame me,’ said the mystified Smokoe, ‘I’ve never known ’im do that afore.’
‘It’s hysteria,’ said Little John. ‘Tilly, that’s our spaniel at the Dower House, she used to do the same thing.’
‘’Steria me foot, you gi’e me me ole gun,’ said Smokoe briefly. ‘I’m goin’ ter see wot it is.’
Robin passed him his huge muzzle-loader and Smokoe rammed home a charge of buckshot.
Big John picked up their rifle and they all followed. Once outside the shack and with the door shut they all stood together listening. Massed clouds were coming up from the north obscuring the half moon, and on the faint breeze they heard Brendon bells ringing their Christmas peal.
‘Doan’t see nowt,’ said Smokoe, ‘but Gyp must a seen summat over there. Come on, masters.’ They crunched across the frozen snow until they were among the trees. The light was too poor for tracking so they could find no clue, and a match which Big John struck was blown out.
‘It ain’t much good,’ said Smokoe at last, ‘wotever it was ’as gorn. I doan’t ’ear nuthin’ neither, but me ’earin’ ain’t good.’
They stood under the birches but only the low singing of the wind was heard among the bare branches and the faint, gusty peal of bells coming and going.
As they went back to the shack, something softly brushed Robin’s cheek. It was a snowflake.
‘We’re goin’ to ’ave more snow,’ said Smokoe. ‘Blame me ef we ain’t!’
They found Gyp still under the bed, trembling.
On Smokoe’s invitation the outlaws slept that night in his shack, lying round the stove on sacks filled with bracken. Before they dropped off to sleep, Big John poked Robin Hood in the ribs. ‘Glad we haven’t got to go back to camp tonight!’
‘Why?’
‘Dunno. It was a bit creepy, Gyp behaving like that. He’d seen something.’
‘P’raps he’d seen the Martyr!’ said his brother.
Big John gave a shudder.
‘Merry Christmas, masters!’
‘Merry Christmas, Smokoe!’
‘’Ere’s a little summat in the way of a Christmas box,’ said the old man shyly, producing an object wrapped in dirty brown paper.
‘Oh, Smokoe, and we haven’t got anything for you!’ exclaimed Robin in quite a shocked voice. ‘We talked about it, but we hadn’t anything to give you and all our money’s gone.’
‘Bless ye, masters, you saved old Smokoe’s life, didn’t you? Isn’t that about the best Christmas box I could ’ave?’
‘Why,’ exclaimed Robin who had unwrapped the parcel, ‘what a lovely bit of work! You didn’t do it, did you, Smokoe?’
‘Aye, worked at it in me spare time like,’ said the old man proudly.
It was a superb carving in walnut of a fox with a mallard in its mouth.
‘But it’s a masterpiece, Smokoe, the best you’ve ever done.’
‘D’you think so?’ said Smokoe. ‘Thought it was good meself, blame me ef I didn’t! I’m glad ye like it.’
The carving was put on the table. It really was a magnificent work of art. Smokoe had carved the fox in a position of tense action. It was crouched forwards, its head bent as it grabbed its prey.
‘’Ee’s jist collared the old duck in the rushes,’ explained Smokoe. ‘Like I saw one do at the Blind Pool one day.’
‘You’ve absolutely got it,’ said Little John delightedly, ‘you’re a real artist, Smokoe. We’ll always keep this, all our lives.’
‘Well, ef this ain’t a fine Christmas mornin’, snowin’ again!’ exclaimed the old man, opening the door of the shack.
Instead of the sparkling, frosty snow and clear, cloudless sky, the forest was blotted out by a moving wall of snowflakes.
‘We’ll be snowed up soon,’ said Big John, who could hardly tear himself away from Smokoe’s present.
‘Ah, we shall an’ all, masters. There won’t be any souls bother us today, I’ll warrant!’
Starving blackbirds were hopping about outside the shack and on the trees round about magpies and crows sat hunched and miserable. While the outlaws threw out some crumbs for the birds, Smokoe took a shovel and cut a path round to his hen house.
In a few moments he came stumbling back in a great state of excitement. ‘Masters, masters!’ he was shouting, ‘Summat’s bin an’ broken into me ’en ’ouse, two on ’em ha’ gone! Feathers an’ blood all over the place, an’ the door o’ the ’ouse broke right in!’
‘The fox!’ exclaimed Big John.
‘Fox, me foot,’ retorted Smokoe, ‘it weren’t no fox, there’s pug marks like I’ve never seen afore!’
And sure enough, when the outlaws went back with Smokoe, they saw huge claw marks all about the hen house. They even discovered that the animal had been round the cabin during the night and, strangest of all, it had raked out all the old tins in Smokoe’s ash pit. The fast falling snow was soon covering the spoor and when they tried to track it back into the woods it was lost.
Smokoe’s ‘blame me’s’ became more frequent than ever, and indeed, the mystery was quite unfathoma
ble. But there were other things to think about.
Now all hands were turned to preparing the Christmas dinner. As the outlaws had expected, Smokoe produced a well-hung pheasant and tossed it on the table for the boys to pluck. Everybody grinned but nothing was said and the feathers were cremated in the stove. As Smokoe’s small oven would not hold all the good fare, they lit another fire behind the house and cooked the vegetables on it, an idea of Robin’s which worked admirably.
When at last the time for the meal arrived, Smokoe produced from the cupboard a box of scarlet crackers which he had bought in Cheshunt Toller. These were arranged on the deal table round the centre decoration, which was, most appropriately, the carved fox.
The pheasant was disposed of, then followed venison cutlets, with Brussels sprouts and roast potatoes. And like a magician, Smokoe marched in with a real plum pudding, also bought in Cheshunt Toller, with a sprig of holly in the top.
In a short while everybody, even Little John, was incapable of eating anything else. They pulled the crackers and Smokoe put an orange paper cap on his head. The boys thought they had never seen anything so funny in all their lives.
Gyp was given some venison bones which he took across to his mat in the corner under Smokoe’s bed, but Ben the owl was drowsy and irritable and spent all his time asleep on top of the cupboard.
At last Smokoe broached the bottle of port. They charged their tumblers and drank toasts. The first was to Big John for the part he had played in saving Smokoe’s life. The boys had never had strong drink before and this port was no cheap stuff, as Smokoe said. Much merriment reigned. Outside the window they could see the soft flakes falling thickly and steadily.
‘Drink up, masters, no ’eeltaps,’ said Smokoe, who was sitting at the head of the table. ‘I reckon this is about the best Christmas old Smokoe has ever ’ad. I ain’t enjoyed meself so much since I wur a nipper! I don’t know what I shall do when ye goo, blame me ef I do!’
‘Don’t let’s talk of that,’ said Robin, ‘let’s enjoy ourselves while we can.’
‘Hear, hear!’ said Big John, a little thickly. ‘Le’s all be jolly, le’s all be jolly together! Goo’ ole Smokoe! Goo’ ole Robin Hood! Goo’ ole Little John! We’re the outlaws nobody can catch!’
‘What about a song?’ shouted Robin Hood, waving his glass above his head. ‘Let’s have a carol!’
‘Ah, masters, let’s have a carril,’ piped Smokoe, and he began:
‘Goo’ King Wenceslas ’ee looked out,
When then the snow lay crewel,
’Eat was in the very sod,
Which the …’
Smokoe’s quavering voice broke off in the middle, trailing away into a shrill squeak, and he dropped his head into his hands.
‘What’s up, Smokoe?’ asked Robin anxiously. ‘Not as drunk as all that, surely!’
Smokoe was mumbling, ‘No good, too much port, Smokoe’s seein’ things.’
Big John, who at that moment happened to glance at the window, blenched visibly and looked wildly at Smokoe. As for Little John, he gave one hiccup and dived under the table.
‘What’s the matter with everybody!’ exclaimed Robin. ‘You all seem to be seeing things.’
Smokoe, who all this time had been peeping at the window from between his fingers, shook his head sadly. ‘It’ll pass, it’ll pass!’
Then Robin was aware that the room seemed to be darkening, as though something was eclipsing the window. He swung round.
There looking in at them, its brutish breath fogging the cold glass, was a large grizzly bear!
Robin was so utterly taken aback he sat petrified. Certainly the Duke’s port had been a vintage wine to produce so vivid an illusion! Then came Smokoe’s voice, muffled in his hands.
‘D’you see wot I sees, masters, a-lookin at the windy?’
‘It’s a … a … bear!’ gasped the incredulous Robin Hood.
‘Then I ain’t the only one!’ said Smokoe, triumphantly galvanized to life. His chair fell over with a crash, waking up Gyp, who sat up staring about him.
Then Gyp, who was certainly not under the influence of alcohol, proved beyond all doubt that what they saw was no phantom of the mind. His hair went up on end and with a desperate howl he fled under the bed. Smokoe jumped for the corner where his huge blunderbuss stood. He grabbed it and faced about. But the bear had gone from the window; all he saw was the falling snowflakes, and a little foggy patch on the glass. A silence ensued, save for heavy breathing.
A trembling query came from under the table. ‘Has it gone?’
‘Ah, master, ’e’ve agone all right. Smokoe’s goin’ to get to the bottom o’ this; I ain’t ’avin no bears aprowlin’ round this shack.’
‘But, hang it!’ stammered Big John. ‘We’re living in Brendon Chase, not the Canadian backwoods. You don’t have bears in England, at least, not running around in the woods.’
‘Be careful, Smokoe, we don’t want him coming in here!’ exclaimed Robin, as Smokoe advanced, breathing hard, towards the door.
First he opened it an inch but the icy wind, whistling through the crack, made his eyes water. Then he cautiously protruded his huge nose, then his shoulder and looked quickly right and left. There was no trace of the bear. But the claw marks were there in the snow.
‘He’s gone round the back,’ whispered Smokoe with a nod and a wink. And then Robin, whose sense of humour had always been strong, doubled up over the table, crying with laughter. The sight of Smokoe, the orange paper cap still on his head, his huge nose and the vast blunderbuss in his hand was too much for him. And the humour of the whole situation was too ridiculous for words. A real live grizzly prowling about their shack in Brendon Chase, and on Christmas Day of all days!
‘’Old yer rattle,’ snarled Smokoe, angry for the first time since he had caught Robin spying on him, ‘’old yer rattle, can’t yer?’ But the sight of Smokoe angry only made Robin laugh all the more. He laughed until dreadful cramps seized him across the stomach and the tears were streaming down his face. With a muttered exclamation of impatience Smokoe disappeared outside. Big John and Little John stole out after, leaving poor Robin still weak with laughter, collapsed helpless on the table. When the boys got outside they saw Smokoe, treading very high because of the deep snow, his huge blunderbuss at the ready, and his eyes staring, half in astonishment, half in fright. He was going very slowly along by the side of the shack, hugging the wall. Then he reached the corner and knelt down. The blunderbuss came slowly up as he took a wobbly aim.
‘Don’t shoot, Smokoe!’ hissed Big John. ‘You’ll only sting him up!’
But at that moment there was an opening mushroom of orange flame, a cloud of dense smoke and an explosion which rocked the old man back on his heels.
‘Drat ’im, ’ee jist went b’ind me fowl ’ouse as I fired,’ gasped Smokoe, scrambling to his feet.
‘For heaven’s sake don’t try and get any nearer,’ said Robin, who had now mastered himself sufficiently to join them. ‘If you’ve stung him he’ll come out and savage you, sure.’
Ominous growls were coming from behind the hen house, and as they stood watching, the bear came shuffling out on all fours, travelling very smoothly and easily through the trees, never looking back until he reached some birches on the far side of the clearing, when he stood up on his hind legs, his mouth slightly open and his paws hanging down against his brown, furry tummy.
‘Why!’ exclaimed Robin, whose sharp sight missed nothing. ‘He’s got a big collar round his neck! He must have escaped from somewhere.’
‘Poor old chap,’ said Big John. ‘I hope you didn’t sting him up, Smokoe.’
‘Not I,’ growled the old man, ‘’ee went be’ind the ’en ’ouse just as I shot off. ‘’Ow was I to know ’ee was a tame bear? Anyway, ’ee ain’t any rights prowlin’ round me place without as much as by your leave.’
‘There he goes!’ exclaimed Robin. ‘He’s had enough of us.’
As they watched they saw
the big, brown form shuffling away into the forest, and a second later the whirling snowflakes hid him from view.
The big brown form shuffling away into the forest
Smokoe stood for some time with his mouth open, the bright paper cap on the back of his head and a thin trickle of smoke still issuing from the mouth of the huge gun.
‘Go on, Smokoe, say it,’ chuckled Big John.
‘Blame me!’ said Smokoe.
22. Run to Earth
The knowledge that a bear was loose in Brendon Chase, even though it had a collar round its neck and looked the most cuddlesome creature, was rather alarming. Besides, Smokoe’s shot had peppered it, and a peppered bear might be indignant, nay, revengeful.
‘I’m mighty glad we aren’t going back to the tree tonight,’ said Big John, when at last the lamp was lit and the door well barricaded. ‘I don’t mind going back in daylight, but it would be mighty creepy in the dark, knowing that he was somewhere around!’
‘Maybe he’ll come back,’ said Robin, ‘and have another shot at breaking into the fowl house. He was very likely trying to get in there for warmth and wasn’t after the fowls at all. Bears eat berries and things like that, and they dig up roots in the woods and eat ’em.’
‘O’ corse ’e was arter they fowls,’ said Smokoe indignantly. ‘It weren’t no fox which ’ad ’em, ’is foot marks were there, weren’t they, and blood and feathers all over the place? Why, it’s as plain as a pikestaff!’
‘I thought he looked a jolly old chap,’ said Little John. ‘P’raps if we’d made friends he’d have been all right.’
‘Ah, maybe ’e would,’ said Smokoe, with heavy irony, ‘an’ we could ’ave ’ad ’im in ’ere wi’ us tonight, all merry like tergedder.’
The others laughed. ‘Poor old bruin,’ said Robin. ‘I’m afraid he got a warm reception.’
‘Ah, an’ a warm tail, I’ll warrant,’ said Smokoe. ‘I’ll bet ’e’ll be careful like where ’e sits ’im down tonight. It wur buckshot I give un, too.’
