THE PATROL'S SURPRISE--A THIEF
There were several quick feints, but neither loosed his ball. Then
Dick ran right in, and Chippy threw straight at him. The Wolves raised
a howl of joy when their patrol-leader made a clever swerve and dodged
the flying ball. Then Dick let fly in turn, as Chippy sprang away to
the right. But no sooner did the latter's quick eye detect that the
ball had left Dick's hand than he dropped flat on his face, and the
ball skimmed just clear of him.
Down the hill streamed the two patrols, for the battle was over. By
the laws of the game no second shot may be taken at the same enemy.
'Who has won, Mr. Elliott?' cried the boys, as they raced up to the
place where the rival leaders were laughing at each other's failure in
bringing off the finishing touch.
'I shall call it a drawn battle,' said the umpire, 'with the advantage
slightly on the side of the Ravens, as their man has more flags than
the other;' and this decision gave much satisfaction, and all voted it
a first-rate piece of sport.
'Now back to headquarters!' cried Mr. Elliott. 'We'll make a fire, and
try our hand at baking chupatties, for some of you are not up to Test
12 yet.'
The Ravens were very keen on this, for none of them had yet tried their
hands on cooking a quarter of a pound of flour and two potatoes without
cooking utensils, and they were anxious to see how it was done.
'Cut over and fetch the basket, Dick,' said Mr. Elliott, as they gained
the sandpit; 'there's a score of oranges in it as well. They'll come
in handy after scouting over the heath.'
'Rather!' said Dick. 'A good juicy orange is just what I want, uncle;'
and away he ran.
'Shall we gather some sticks ready for the fire, Mr. Elliott?' said
Billy Seton.
'We'll have our oranges first, Billy,' replied the instructor. 'We can
soon get plenty of sticks if all hands turn to.'
A shout of surprise rang across the pit, and all eyes were turned
towards Dick. He was bending over the corner where the basket
containing the flour, potatoes, and oranges had been carefully hidden
under ferns and tufts of dried grass.
'It's gone!' yelled Dick. 'There's no basket here!'
Gone! All ran over to the place at once, and there was the hollow in
the sand where the basket had been set down; but the hollow was quite
empty, and the fern and grass had been tossed aside.
'Someone's bagged it!' cried Billy Seton. 'It's been stolen while we
were away at the Beacon.'
'There's nothing else to account for it,' said Mr. Elliott. 'Now, my
brave Boy Scouts,' he laughed, 'here's your chance to prove your mettle
and skill. Track this thief--for a thief has been here without doubt.'
The boys were full of delight at the idea, and sprang with the utmost
eagerness to search for the track of the rogue who had stolen the
basket. The Wolves took one side of the pit, the Ravens the other, and
began to look out closely for any mark of a foot entering or leaving
the place. Almost at once a Wolf's howl was raised. Harry Maurice had
found the mark of a heavy nailed boot, which had scored the sharply
rising slope at the southern end of the pit. The mark was fresh, and
led out of the hollow, and it seemed very likely that it was the trail
of the thief.
The patrol-leaders took it up and raced along it, with their scouts at
their heels.
For a quarter of a mile it was followed as easily as possible, for the
ground was broken and sandy; then the trail ran on to short, close
turf, and was lost. The patrol flags were driven in, and the band
spread out on a broad front, and carefully advanced, searching for the
spoor. No. 5 of the Ravens hit on it well away to the right, where the
marauder had set his foot on a mole-heap in the turf, and left a clear
track of his big, square hob-nails.
'Kar-kaw! Kar-kaw!' The call gathered everyone to the spot, and the
leaders were agreed that it was the right track. And again they spread
out on a new front, for the trail was once more lost on hard, crisp
turf.
This time it was not eyesight, but smell, which put the pursuers on the
track of their quarry. Chippy had gone some distance ahead on the
probable line, and Dick was near at hand. Suddenly Chippy lifted his
head and sniffed at the air, his nostrils working like a hound's on hot
scent.
'What is it, Chippy?' said Dick, who had noticed his companion's
movement.
'Bacca,' said Chippy briefly. 'Right ahead! Come on!'
'Yes; I can smell it now,' said Dick, as they ran forward. 'It's
coming down the wind.'
The two patrol-leaders burst through a bramble-thicket, stopped dead,
and raised with all the force of their lungs their patrol cries; for
they had run their man to earth. There, straight below them, in a
little hollow, sitting on the stump of an old thorn, and peacefully
smoking, was a man with their basket set before him, its contents
rolled out on the grass.
'Why, it's a big, dirty tramp!' said Dick.
'Yus,' agreed Chippy. 'It's a Weary Waddles, right enough. Now we'll
get 'im on the 'op.'
Up dashed Wolves and Ravens, and there was no need for their leaders to
say a word: the situation explained itself.
'Charge!' roared Dick; and the two patrols burst from the thicket and
swept down upon the marauder in a wild, mad wave of shouting boys and
whirling sticks. For a second the tramp sat moveless in paralyzed
astonishment. Then he grasped what it meant, and he jumped to his feet
and scuttled away as hard as he could pelt.
The swift-footed boys pursued, yelling in delight, and promising that
he should feel the weight of a scout's staff, when a long shrill call
on a whistle checked them. Mr. Elliott had come in sight of the chase,
and he recalled the pursuers at once.
'Let him go,' said Mr. Elliott; 'you've given him a good fright; and
the next time he comes across a hidden basket perhaps he won't be so
prompt in carrying it off.'
'Has he done any harm, Mr. Elliott?' asked Harry Maurice.
'He's had a couple of oranges, Harry, that's all,' said Mr. Elliott,
putting back into the basket the bag of flour and the potatoes which
had been tumbled out. 'Now all of you take an orange apiece--there are
plenty left--and we'll start back and have a go at our chupatties after
all.'
'He knew the heath, that fellow,' cried Billy Seton. 'He'd made for a
jolly quiet place to unpack the basket and see what was in it.'
'Yes,' said the instructor. 'You might have rambled over the heath all
day in a haphazard fashion without hitting on him. It was quite a
scout's bit of work to follow him up. You're coming on; I shall be
proud of you yet!'
So, laughing and talking, and eating their oranges, the Wolves and
Ravens and their instructor marched back to the sandpit, where the rest
of the afternoon was spent in the merriest fashion, so that all were
sorry when the dusk began to settle over the heath and drove them
homewards.