DICK'S ACCIDENT
Dick and Chippy took the road again an hour after dinner amid a volley
of cheers raised by the labourers on the farm. The men had gathered in
the stockyard to see them start, and gave them three times three and a
tiger; for the Hardys were very popular with their dependents, and,
beyond that, the men felt respect for coolness, pluck, and skill for
the sake of the qualities themselves.
The two scouts felt a glow of delight in this achievement such as no
words can describe. They marched on their way with a swinging stride,
as if they stood on air. First they had the keen professional delight
of having built up by their own observation a theory which proved true
in every particular save one--that the blood found on the scene of the
accident had flowed from a cut in the arm, and not in the head. But
that was a mere detail; in every item that mattered their deductions
had proved sound.
'I should just like to have asked him when the brake went,' said Dick.
'Pretty well at the top of the hill, I know.'
'Must ha' done,' said Chippy, 'by the spin he'd got on the machine.'
They had not seen or spoken to their comrade before leaving the farm.
Fred Hardy was in too weak a state even to know what his brother scouts
had done for him, let alone seeing them or thanking them; his life
still hung on a thread, but that thread would for a surety have been
snapped had not the patrol-leaders discovered him and checked the
bleeding.
'An' to think, arter follerin' him up, he turned out one of us,'
murmured Chippy.
'Wasn't it splendid!' cried Dick.
Yes, that was the very crowning touch of the adventure. They would
have done it all with the most cheerful willingness for anyone, old or
young, sick or poor; but to rescue a brother scout--ah! that gave a
flavour to the affair which filled them with purest delight.
Now the scouts swung forward with steady stride; they had lost a good
deal of time, and the miles stretched before them--a formidable array
to be ticked off before the spires of Bardon would be seen. This sweep
back from Newminster was longer than the road they had followed to the
city, and the extra distance was beginning to tell. They made a good
strong march for three hours, and then halted for a short rest; and
upon this halt a rather awkward accident took place, in which Dick was
the sufferer.
The scouts had been tempted to pause at a point where a shallow brook
ran for some hundreds of yards beside the road, forming one boundary.
They had just made a long stretch of hot, dusty road, and their feet
were aching. The water tempted them to halt, and strip off shoes and
stockings, to bathe their heated and weary feet.
They sat down on the roots of a tree beside the stream, and dangled
their feet in the cool running water, and found it very pleasant and
refreshing.
'There's a fish acrost th' other side, just gone into a hole in the
bank,' said Chippy; 'wonder if I could get 'im out?'
'Are you any good at catching fish with your hands, Chippy?' asked his
companion. 'I never had any luck that way. I've tried in that brook
on the heath, but they mostly seem to slip through my fingers.'
'There's a knack about it,' replied the Raven. 'Now, I dessay, Dick,
ye tried to shut your hand round 'em.'
'Yes, I did,' said the Wolf.
'Ah, now, that's wheer ye went wrong,' returned his friend. 'Ye want
to mark 'em down under a stone or in a hole, then press 'em hard agin
the side, an' hold 'em theer a while. Then ye can jerk 'em out when
they've lost their wind a bit.'
Chippy proceeded to show how it was done. He slipped his shirt-sleeve
back to the shoulder, and introduced his hand cautiously into the hole.
He made a sudden movement, and snapped 'Got 'im!' and held on. A
minute later he drew out a small trout, his finger and thumb thrust
into the gills, and showed it to Dick.
'Quarter-pounder for ye,' he said, and dexterously broke its neck.
'Let's see if we can get enough for supper, Chippy,' cried Dick;
'they'd go down first-rate with the sandwiches;' for Mrs. Hardy had
insisted on storing their haversacks with a plentiful supply of ham and
beef sandwiches. They spent half an hour or more paddling about in the
cool, clear water, but only three small ones came to hand.
Then Chippy thrust his arm up a hole among the roots of an alder, and
gave a chuckle of delight. 'A big un at last,' he cried; 'I've got
'im.' But suddenly his note changed.
'Ow!' he yelled, in comic anguish, and whipped his hand out of the
hole. Blood was streaming from his forefinger.
'I say,' cried Dick, 'what a savage trout!'
''Tworn't a trout at all,' wailed the Raven; ''twor a big rat, an' he
bit me.'
The scouts roared with laughter as Chippy flipped the blood into the
water.
'He'd got you that time,' chuckled Dick.
'Sure enough,' nodded the Raven. 'I thought it wor' a pounder at the
least. He's nigh on bit my finger through.'
Dick had his patrol staff in hand: he thrust it up the hole and tried
to poke the rat out. But the hole twisted among the roots, and was a
safe fortress for its wily defender.
'Well, I've done all the gropin' I want, this time,' remarked Chippy,
washing his finger in the stream.
'Yes, we must be off again,' said Dick, and began slowly to wade
towards the bank where their shoes and stockings lay.
Suddenly he started and picked up one foot.
'Ah!' cried Dick, 'that was sharp, and no mistake.'
'Wot's the matter?' called out Chippy, approaching him.
'Trod on something sharp,' said Dick.
'I should think yer did,' cried the Raven; 'look at yer foot. We must
see to this.'
Dick looked, and saw the clear water stained with blood as it swept
past his foot. He bent down and looked at the bed of the stream.
'Confound it all,' he said, 'it's the end of a broken bottle I've
trodden on. No wonder it warmed me up a bit. Somebody's chucked it
into the brook as they passed.'
The boys scrambled to the bank, and there Dick's wound was examined.
It was on the outer side of the right heel, not long, but deep, for the
broken bottle had thrust a sharp splintered point upwards, and the cut
bled very freely. They washed it well in the cold water until the
blood ceased to flow, then rubbed plenty of the mutton-fat in, for that
was the only kind of ointment they had.
'Quite sure theer's no salt in this?' asked Chippy. ''Cos salt 'ud be
dangerous.'
'Quite sure,' replied Dick. 'I boiled it down myself. It's pure fat.'
Chippy looked anxious. 'It's frightful awk'ard a cut in yer foot,' he
said. 'How are ye goin' to march, Dick?'
'Oh, I'll march all right,' said Dick. 'I wish, though, it had been my
finger, like yours, Chippy.'
The Raven nodded. 'True for you,' he said, 'ye don't ha' to tramp on
yer hands.'
They bound up the cut in a strip torn from a handkerchief, got into
their stockings and shoes, and went forward. Dick declared that his
cut gave him little or no pain, but Chippy still looked uneasy. He
knew that the time for trouble was ahead, when the cut would stiffen.