"I don't want to fight," thought Tom Blount, as he rushed off in pursuit
of Pete Warboys, this time with full intention, and not led into it by
accident. "Fighting means knocking the skin off one's knuckles, black
eyes, nose bleeding, and perhaps getting thrashed. And I may be, for
he's a big, strong, heavy fellow, and I don't think I could hit him half
hard enough to make him care. But it seems to me as if I must have a go
at him. Can't stand there and be pelted by such a fellow, it looks so
cowardly. Besides, he's a bit afraid, or he wouldn't run away."
All this and much more thought Tom, as he ran on as fast as he could on
diving into the wood when he left the road. An hour or so ago, when
Pete rushed in among the trees, Tom had soon given up the chase; but he
felt that it would not do to let the young scoundrel feel that he was a
kind of modern bold outlaw, with a sanctuary of his own in the woods; so
clenching his fists hard, Tom sped on, making up his mind to run his
quarry down.
"Uncle James won't mind my leaving him, if I can go back and say I have
punched Pete's head for throwing stones at him.--Bother!"
Tom gathered himself up, and stood flinching during a few moments, for
he had caught his foot against a closely-sawn-off stump, and though the
earth was covered with pine-needles it was hard.
But the accident did not detain him many moments. There in front was
Pete showing from time to time, as he dodged in and out among the tall
columnar tree-trunks, now in shadow, now passing across some patch of
sunshine; and Tom ran on faster than before, the pain having made him
feel angry, and as if he must, to use his own words, "take it out of
Pete," he being the active cause.
From time to time the great hulking lad glanced back, expecting to see
that he had shaken off his pursuer, but looked in vain, for Tom was now
doggedly determined. His brow was knit, his teeth set, and his clenched
fists held close to his sides, and after keeping up the high rate of
speed for some minutes, he now, feeling that it was going to be a long
chase, settled down to a steady football or hare-and-hound trot, which
combined fair pace with a likelihood of being able to stay.
Pete Warboys too had been compelled to slacken somewhat in his clumsy
bovine rush, and Tom observed with satisfaction, as the minutes went on,
and they must have been--pursuer and pursued--toiling over the slippery
fir-needles for quite a quarter of an hour, that Pete glanced over his
shoulder more often than before.
"He's getting pumped out," muttered Tom. "He's so big that he can't
keep his wind, and he'll stop short soon. Oh, I say, why don't I look
where I'm going!"
For this time the sandy earth had suddenly given way beneath him, just
in the darkest part of the wood, and he plumped right down to the bottom
of a rough pit, and went on before he could stop himself right under the
roots of a great fir-tree, half of which stood out bare and strange,
over what looked like an enormous rabbit-hole.
Tom looked wonderingly at the hole, and backed out into the pit, climbed
out, and continued his chase, rather breathlessly now, for the fall had
not been good for his breathing apparatus. He had lost ground too, but
he soon made that up, for Pete was getting exhausted; and, what seemed
strange, since Tom's last fall he had turned off, and appeared to be
running in a circle, till all at once he stopped short with his back up
against a tree, panting heavily, and with the perspiration dripping from
his forehead.
There was a vicious look in the fellow's countenance, for he was showing
his teeth, and as Tom drew near, he spat on one hand, and took a fresh
grip of the thick stick he carried. Then, taking a step forward, he
raised the weapon, and aimed a savage blow at his adversary, that would
in all probability have laid Tom _hors de combat_, at all events for a
few minutes.
But to give good effect to a blow struck with a stick, the object aimed
at must be at a certain distance. If the blow fall when the object is
beyond or within that distance, its efficacy is very much diminished.
Now as Pete struck at Tom, the latter was for a time at exactly the
right distance, but as the boy rushed at him, or rather leaped at him at
last, he was not in the aforesaid position long enough, and the blow did
not fall till he was right upon Pete, getting a smart rap, but having
the satisfaction of seeing the young scoundrel go down as if shot, and
roll over and over at the foot of the tree.
Tom went down too, for he could not check himself; but he was up first,
and ready enough to avoid another vicious blow from the cudgel, and
catch Pete right in the mouth a most unscientific blow delivered with
his right fist. All the same though it did its work, and Pete went down
again.
Once more he sprang up, and tried to strike with the stick, but Tom's
blood was up, and he closed with him, getting right in beyond his guard,
and for the next few minutes there was a fierce struggle, ending in both
going down together, Tom unfortunately undermost, and by the time he
gained his feet his adversary was off again, running as hard as he could
go.
"A coward!" muttered Tom, after running a few yards and then giving up,
to stand panting and exhausted. "Ugh! how my side hurts!" he said, as
he clapped his hand upon his ribs where the blow from the stick had
fallen. "I don't care though; I won, and he has gone."
He stood trying to catch sight of Pete again, but could not see him, for
the simple reason that the lad had dropped down behind a clump of
bracken growing silver-leaved in the sunshine in an opening in the wood,
and here he crept on, watching as, after hesitating, Tom began to retire
hastily, so as to return to his uncle in the chair.
Tom did not go far though without stopping, for he had aimed to reach
the pit into which he had fallen, and here he stood gazing down,
evidently puzzled, for there was something particular about the place
which attracted him; while, to increase his interest, all at once there
was a rustling noise, and Pete Warboys' long lean dog thrust out its
head from the side hole beneath the fir-tree roots, which hung out quite
bare, looked up, saw who was gazing down, turned, and thrust out its
long bony tail instead. This, however, was only seen for a moment and
then gone.
"That's strange," thought Tom, as he walked on back pretty fast now, for
it suddenly occurred to him that his uncle must be out of patience, and
that he had been longer than he thought for.
He found too that he had run farther than he thought, and he was getting
pretty hot and breathless by the time he trotted out of the wood, and
into the sandy lane, where, instead of his uncle's face as he sat
looking back impatiently in the chair, there was the bare road and
nothing more, save a red admiral butterfly flitting here and there and
settling in the dust.
"He must have asked somebody passing to wheel him back," thought Tom,
who immediately began to play Red Indian or Australian black, and look
for the trail--to wit, the thin wheel-marks left by the chair. But
though he found those which had been made in coming plainly lining the
soft sandy road, and ran in different directions toward home, there were
no returning tracks.
"Then he must have gone on," thought Tom; and he ran back to where he
had left his uncle, to see now faintly in the hard road a continuation
of the three wheel-marks, so very distinct from any that would have been
left by cart or carriage, being very narrow, and three instead of two or
four.
He went on slowly trying to trace the wheel-marks, but the road soon
became so hard that he missed them; a few yards farther on he saw the
faint mark made by one, then again two showed, and then they ceased, but
he was on the right track, he knew; and walking rapidly on down the
hill, with his eyes now on the road, now right ahead toward the river
and the ford, he began wondering who could have come along there, and
where his uncle had made whoever it was take him.
"Why it would be miles round to get home this way," thought Tom.
"Perhaps he was thirsty, and asked some one to take him down to the
river, and is waiting."
It was not a good solution of the problem, and he was not satisfied, for
there was no sign of the chair near the ford. But there were traces
again in the sand which had been washed to the side, and here the chair
had made a curve and run close to the bank for a few yards; then out
into the hard road, and he saw no more for a couple of hundred yards,
and then they were on the left-hand side, and Tom's blood began to turn
cold, as they say, for the tracks bore off to the side road leading down
into the sand-pit.
"Why the chair ran away with him, and perhaps he's killed."
At this thought Tom's legs ran away with him down into the thick sandy
road, where the wheel-marks were deeply imprinted, showing that the
chair had been that way.
Now he had never been down into the pit, and only once as far as the
edge, into which he had peered from the road above, whence he had looked
down upon a colony of martins darting in and out of their holes in the
sand-cliff. He had determined to examine the place, but that morning he
was compelled to hurry back to breakfast. Now he had to explore the
depths of the pit in a very different mood; and he was not half-way down
the slope when he found that the wheels had suddenly curved off, and
then, from the marks on the smooth sand, it had evidently turned over.
And there, sixty or seventy yards away, and fully a hundred feet below
him, it lay bottom upwards, while away to its right sat its late
occupant, making signs with his stick.
Tom did not attempt to go on down the roadway, which meant quite a
journey, but began to descend at once, slipping, scrambling, falling and
rolling over in the loose sand, which gave way at every step, and took
him with it, till at last, hot and breathless, he reached the invalid's
side.
"Hurt, uncle?" he panted.
"Hurt, sir?" cried Uncle James angrily. "I'm nearly killed. I don't
think I've a whole bone left in my body. You dog! You scoundrel! You
did it on purpose. You knew it was not safe to leave that miserable,
wretched wreck of a thing. It was all out of revenge, and you wanted to
kill me."
"Oh no, uncle," cried Tom, staring in astonishment at the vigour his
uncle had displayed. For there was no moaning, no holding the hand to
the breast, and complaining of shortness of breath, but an undue display
of excitement and anger, which had made cheeks burn and eyes glisten.
"I'm very sorry, uncle; it was that young scoundrel's fault."
"I don't believe it, sir. It was a trick. Disgraceful!"
"Wait a minute, uncle, and I'll fetch the chair. I'll get it here, and
then help you up to the top before I take it up."
"Fetch the chair!" stormed James Brandon. "It's a wreck, sir; one
wheel's off, and the front one's all bent sidewise. Here, give me your
hand."
He caught hold of the extended wrist, and with that and the stick,
toiled up the steep slope, to the boy's astonishment; and when they had
reached the road, jerked the wrist from him, and walked on without a
word till they came in sight of the house, when Tom plucked up the
courage to speak.
"Really, uncle, I did not think of anything but running after that lad."
"I want no excuses, sir," cried Uncle James fiercely. "I know what it
means. You are too idle--you are sick of wheeling the chair. It was
all a planned thing. But mind, I shall take a note of it, and you will
find out that you've made the great mistake of your life. Here, you
sir!"
This was to David, who was in the garden; and he hurried up.
"Go and order me a fly to come here directly."
"From the station, sir? It's over there all day now."
"From anywhere, only make haste."
"Yes, sir," said David; and he gave Tom a sharp look as much as to say,
"Rather too much of a good thing to go over there twice." Then he
fetched his coat and went off.
"Hallo! Walking?" cried Uncle Richard, coming out of the observatory.
"Where's the chair?"
"Broken, smashed, thanks to this young scoundrel; and it's a mercy I'm
alive. But I'll have no more of this."
Uncle James strode into the house, and his brother turned to Tom for an
explanation, and had it.
"But he did not walk back all the way?"
"Every step, uncle, and didn't seem to mind it."
"Humph!" ejaculated Uncle Richard, frowning, as he locked up the yard
gate and followed his brother into the house.
Half-an-hour later Mrs Fidler announced dinner, when Uncle James came
down looking black as thunder, and answered his brother in
monosyllables, refusing to speak once to Tom, at whom he scowled
heavily.
"I'm sorry you had such an upset, James," said Uncle Richard at last.
"Thank you," was the cold reply.
"But I don't think you are any the worse for it."
"Thank you!" said Uncle James again, but more shortly.
"Tom, my lad, tell David as soon as dinner is over to borrow the Vicar's
cart, and go to the sand-pit and fetch the broken chair."
"David has gone to the station, uncle," said Tom.
"Station? What for?"
"Uncle sent him for the fly."
"Fly?"
"Yes, sir," said Uncle James. "I sent your gardener for the fly, and if
there's any charge for his services I will pay him. I see I have
outstayed my welcome, and the sooner I am off the better."
"My dear James, don't be absurd," said Uncle Richard. "What you say is
childish."
"Of course, sir; sick and helpless men are always childish."
"There, don't take it like that. Tom assures me it was an accident. If
you are upset by it, let me send for the doctor to see you."
"Thank you; I'll send for my own doctor as soon as I get back to town."
"You're not going back to town to-day," said Uncle Richard, smiling.
"We shall see about that," said Uncle James, rising from his place, for
the dinner was at an end, and walking firmly enough out of the room.
Uncle Richard frowned and looked troubled. Mrs Fidler looked at Tom,
and as soon as they were alone she began to question him, and heard all.
"Well," she said, "I'm not going to make any remarks, my dear, it isn't
my duty; but I will say this, I don't like to see your dear uncle
imposed upon even by his brother, and I hope to goodness Mr James will
keep his word, for I don't believe you upset him on purpose."
Uncle James did keep his word, for an hour later he was in the fly with
his portmanteau on his way to the station.
"And never give me so much as a shilling, Master Tom, and me been twice
to fetch that fly. If he wasn't your uncle, sir, I'd call him mean.
But what did you say? I'm to fetch the chair, as is lying broken at the
big sand-pit?"
"Yes, in Mr Maxted's cart."
"Did it fall over?"
"Yes, right over, down the slope from top to bottom."
"And him in it, sir?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll forgive him, and young Mr Sam Brandon too. My word, sir,
I'd ha' give something to ha' been there to see."
"But he must have hurt himself, David."
"What there, sir? Tchah! that sand's as soft as silk. Wouldn't like to
come and help fetch the chair, sir?"
"Yes, I should, David; I should like the ride."
"Then come on, sir, and we'll go round the other way from the Vicarage
gates. Right from top to bottom, eh, sir? Well, I would have give
something to ha' been there to see."