The Merry Men win Glory
Mice could have been little quieter than Robin Hood and his Merry Men
during the whole of the passages between the two plain-clothes
policemen and the talkative stranger.
Almost bursting with mirth at first, they followed Robin's example by
stuffing their handkerchiefs into their mouths to stifle their laughter.
The fact that the afternoon was cold for crouching about amongst bushes
did not concern them--they had watched football on much colder days.
What was an occasional shiver compared with such undiluted amusement as
this? How glad they were then that they had taken Robin's advice to
conceal themselves, instead of blundering into the empty cottage at
Little John's fatheaded suggestion.
Later, agog with excitement, they had something to do to hold their
tongues, as it became evident to most of them that the stranger was
playing a dirty trick on the two disguised policemen. Robin got out of
his pocket a scrap of paper and wrote on it the one word "drugged".
This was passed from hand to hand, and all the Merry Men nodded in
agreement.
There was need of his strong and quick leadership, too, when the
stranger's flag-signalling began. Again using paper as an agent, Robin
pencilled a few directions to Flenton, who handed the slip to the three
other boys mentioned on it. He and this trio were the sturdiest
runners in the Junior school, and their instructions were to steal
quietly off by the Bramble Path, known to the Foxes as the easiest
descent other than the roadway, and, while taking care not to be seen,
reach the police-station as speedily as possible and inform the Chief
Constable of the strange things that were happening. The Bramble Path
was a narrow sunken track that wound steeply down the hillside through
closely-growing brambles and bushes. It afforded a first-rate hidden
escape from the neighbourhood of the cottage for the Foxes, who were
not without practice in the art of moving silently and taking advantage
of cover.
Meanwhile, Robin did some furious thinking. He calculated the chances
of a successful attack upon the sham tourist, but abandoned that idea
as melodramatic, not to say dangerous. Moreover, he had been near
enough to overhear what the stranger said about the swift coming of a
car, and where, he reflected, would be the sense of tackling one
offender, when there might be three or four others in league with him?
Robin had the gumption to see that a battle with grown men, most
probably armed, on this lonely moorland, would be a very different
thing indeed from a wild rough-and-tumble with the Squirms in Foxenby's
Forest. This was no cinema rehearsal, but a grimly realistic piece of
business, with which no Fourth Form schoolboys had the strength to
grapple. Whatever was done, therefore, must be accomplished by silent
strategy.
Motioning the Merry Men to remain quietly in their somewhat cramped
positions, he waited with fast-beating heart until the throbbing of a
motor-engine indicated that the expected car was climbing the hill.
Half-a-minute later the car drew up, and two small, thick-set men, each
carrying what appeared to be ordinary travelling-bags, hurriedly joined
the verse-reciting stranger.
"Why the deuce did you keep us waiting so long?" irritably inquired one
of them. "Wasn't the coast clear?"
The "tourist" pointed to the two drugged men on the ground.
"I stumbled across this typical pair of British working-men sitting
here as though they'd taken root--waiting for their boss to come, they
said. Probably they were going to start pulling the cottage down. I
had to win their confidence and dope them, as you see. Of course, it
took time."
"Bully for you, Cyrus!" was the admiring admission. "You're sure
they're safe?"
"Try them. See this."
The poet turned one of the policemen half over and let him roll back
with a thud. The drugged man snored on.
"That's all right. Now let's hurry up with the job before their boss
does come, what?"
They all three disappeared into the cottage.
Robin wasted not a moment. Already, by means of another slip of paper,
he had arranged with Dave what to do. As swiftly as they dared the
pair ran to the waiting and unattended motor-car. Each had his
penknife ready. Robin selected a front wheel and Dave a back one.
Rapidly they plunged their knives up to the hilt a few times into the
tyres.
"That'll settle 'em," whispered Robin, triumphantly. "Now, let's have
all the Merry Men creep farther back from the danger-zone. We've got
to see this thing through."
A few of the less-adventurous spirits "got the wind up" and made off
down the Bramble Path, but Robin was not sorry to see them go,
particularly as they were careful to make no noise. In the last
resource, if the security of the remainder were threatened, they, too,
could make themselves scarce by the same convenient route.
Barely another minute had elapsed before a medley of very hard swearing
proceeded from the interior of the cottage. It had not taken long to
wrench up the boards, which the police had nailed down again after
forge's discovery, and the thieves were doubtless feeling as Mother
Hubbard did when she opened the bare cupboard door. These particularly
dirty dogs had not even a bone to console themselves with, either!
For reasons dictated by prudence, however, the thieves quickly stopped
their angry noise, and came darting out of the cottage in a violent
hurry. Into the motor-car they leapt, the bearded reciter proving the
sprightliest of the three. It was a self-starting car of a first-class
make, and ought to have bounded forward at a touch of the driver's
hand. Instead, it tottered jerkily for a few yards, causing the driver
to draw up with a frightened oath.
"Punctured, by jingo!" he cried. "One of those confounded gorse-thorns
must have jabbed itself into us as we rushed up the incline. Outside,
chaps! Quick! Lift off the spare wheel and let's have it fixed.
Those fellows behind there may be waking presently."
"Here it is, on this side--the front wheel!" cried the reciter. "All
together, boys, and we'll have her on in a jiffy!"
The urgency of the occasion speeded their efforts, and soon they were
ready for re-starting. But yet another bitter disappointment awaited
them.
"Confound it, the old bus won't get a move on even now!" snarled the
driver. "What in thunder's amiss with her?"
They stared at each other in blank dismay for a moment. Then out
jumped the driver again, and his voice had a note of dread in it as he
called out that the rear wheel was punctured too.
"Impossible!" said the reciter, "an unheard-of thing!"
"See for yourself, idiot!" snapped the driver. "It's no thorn
puncture, either. Somebody's shoved a knife into the tyre. Here's a
hole--clean cut."
The other two made a rapid examination of the tyre and came to the same
conclusion.
"But who the blazes could have done it?" queried the reciter. "Not
those two sots behind us. I doped them too well; they're snoring
still."
"The repair outfit, quick," the driver commanded. "Willy nilly, we've
got to mend this tyre or foot it, and on Shanks' pony we may not be so
lucky this time. Somebody--goodness knows who--is aware we are here,
and has slashed us up. It's the car or nothing for us, now."
With feverish haste they applied every art of which they were capable
to the repair of the tyre. But not all the mechanical skill in the
world can perform miracles, and there is no royal road to tyre-mending.
Minutes that were precious to the trio slipped by, and, though they
encountered no set-back in their task, it nevertheless seemed an
endless one. Therefore, their nerves had reached a pitch of high
tension when the unmistakable sound of a swiftly-moving car caught
their startled ears.
"What's this?" said the driver anxiously. "Who could need to be
driving up here, and at dusk, too?"
"You're easily rattled, Dodger," sneered Cyrus the Poet. "Most
probably it's the car of a local doctor, called out to some yokel with
a stomach-ache."
"I'm not so sure," the driver said. "Things don't look healthy. I
vote we hop it. The swag's gone--the car's crocked--it's bad luck to
hang around here."
He proved a true prophet. Just as he finished speaking the other car
glided swiftly into view, and was upon them before they could stir.
Half a dozen men seemed literally to jump out of it upon the shoulders
of the trio. They were men, too, of powerful north-country build,
almost ox-like in their strength, and the three thieves had about as
much chance amongst them as rats in the mouths of trained dogs. They
had time to make only the faintest show of fight before they were
lifted bodily into the capacious police-car, with hefty constables
practically sitting on them to keep them quiet.
The game was up, and they resigned themselves to the inevitable. An
inkling of the way in which they had been trapped dawned on them as the
car started downhill, for from behind them there came the sound of a
boyish cheer, which raised mocking echoes among the hills. And at
least one of them--Cyrus the Poet, to wit, whose head was jammed
uncomfortably against the door--caught a sight of a posse of schoolboys
jumping joyfully down the hill, so that the secret of the slashed
tyres, and the sudden police raid, was laid bare to him in the depths
of his humiliation.
To the succour of the two drugged men the police-doctor came in his own
car, wherein were also Flenton and the three swift-footed heroes who
had raced into town at Robin's bidding. All the Merry Men went
willingly back to assist in lifting the still-stupefied policemen, and,
then, forming fours, they marched down the hill in a singing
procession, and entered the school-yard with hoarse but happy shouts of
triumph.
Thus, by a chain of fortunate circumstances, it had fallen to the lot
of Foxenby's boys themselves to avenge the burglary at the school, and
Old Man Wykeham's delight almost choked his utterance as he proudly
announced to the assembled Foxes what Robin Arkness and his Merry Men
had done. He promised them another special holiday at a reasonable
interval after Shrove Tuesday, and made no protest against a
particularly boisterous dormitory supper which the Juniors of both
Houses arranged in honour of Robin Hood and his Merry Men.
"There'll be a trial now," said Roger to Dick, "and you, Robin Hood,
and Fluffy Jim will be the star turns in the witness-box."
"By the ears of the school donkey, I'll be nothing of the kind!"
exclaimed Dick. "You're deliberately trying to put the wind up me,
Roger, you old fraud!"
"'Pon honour, Dick, I'm as serious as the Judge will be on that solemn
occasion. They're bound to subpoena you as a witness. Probably I,
too, will have to go."
"You can jolly well be my deputy," said Dick, with emphasis. "I should
blush and fidget like a first-form kid reciting 'Casabianca' if they
started quizzing me in a public court."
Roger was right, nevertheless. All three had to give evidence at the
trial, and Robin Arkness, for one, showed a self-assurance which amused
everybody but the prisoners. Nor could Dick have acquitted himself so
badly as he feared, for the cracksmen, all of whom had given Scotland
Yard trouble before, were sent to ponder over their errors in the cold
seclusion of a convict prison, and it was quite possible that the
picture of the lonely cottage on the moor would haunt their plank-bed
dreams on many a fretful night to come.