The Wolf Patrol Part 34

On the other side of the village they came to another bridge, this time spanning a ca.n.a.l.

'Here we are,' said d.i.c.k, for the scouts intended to follow the towpath into Newminster: it would save them a mile and a half of dusty high-road.

They went down to the bank and started off along the side of the ca.n.a.l.

It was not a dirty piece of water, malodorous and unsightly, as ca.n.a.ls are in manufacturing centres: it was like a straight stretch of a clear, beautiful river. There was a towpath only on the one side. The other was a gra.s.sy border, where sedges and bulrushes grew, and cows came down from the meadows to drink.

The scouts had barely gone half a mile when they came upon a barge lying beside the bank. They glanced into its cabin as they went by, and saw that a tiny fire was burning brightly in its stove, and that it was a very trim, smart little place. But there was no bargeman, no horse, no one; the barge seemed deserted. The boys went on, and soon heard cries of anger and distress coming down the breeze. They broke into the scouts' trot, turned a bend, and saw a stout lady pursuing a white horse.

Chippy knew all about ca.n.a.ls.

'Broke 'is tow-line, an' now he's 'ookin' it,' observed the Raven.

'Come on--scout's job 'ere.'

The old white horse was not hooking it very fast. There was no need that he should. The stout lady jogged a few steps, then settled into a walk. The old horse cropped the gra.s.s beside the water till she was close at his heels, then he jogged off a little and settled down to grazing again. But the active scouts soon settled his hash. They pa.s.sed the stout lady at full speed, and ran down the old nag within fifty yards. Then d.i.c.k led him back to the barge-woman, who was mopping a hot red face with a big red handkerchief.

'Well, I'm more'n a bit obliged to yer,' she panted, 'an' thank ye kindly. The line parted, and I thought I never should ketch that dratted ole creetur. Ah, ye good-for-nuthin',' she cried to the horse, who now held down his nose and looked meekness itself, 'an' the good missis I am to ye. Allus plenty to eat, and no whippin'.'

'He went off on a little beano,' said Chippy soothingly. 'Don't blame 'im. They all will when they get the chance. Now we'll rig 'im for ye tight an' sound.'

The boys led the horse back to his deserted task, fished the broken rope out of the water, and joined the parted ends with a sheet-bend knot, such as all scouts learn to tie.

'Goin' to Newminster?' asked the bargewoman.

'Yes,' said d.i.c.k.

'In a hurry?'

'Not particularly,' he said.

'Why not ride along o' me? It ain't fast, but it's as easy as anythin'.'

Now, neither scout would have confessed it to the other for worlds, but each of them was feeling the three days' tramp a little; and besides, the idea of gliding along the river-like ca.n.a.l on the barge, which was very clean and gaily painted, was rather fascinating.

'You're very kind,' said d.i.c.k, and glanced at his comrade.

'I'd like it prime,' murmured Chippy.

'Jump on,' said the stout lady; and the scouts were aboard in an instant.

d.i.c.k was less familiar with a barge than Chippy, and he inspected with the deepest interest the snug, neat little cabin, as bright and clean as a new pin, with its little stove, its narrow seats, its shelves, and cupboards, with everything stowed away in s.h.i.+pshape fas.h.i.+on, the whole place reminding him of a room in a big doll's house.

Chippy complimented the lady of the barge on the smartness of her s.h.i.+p.

'We keep it as tidy as we know 'ow,' she replied. 'Me an' my 'usband we niver tek' dirty loads--coals, or anythin' like that. Crockery an'

earthenware we got under the canvas now'--and she nodded forward--'that's the sort o' load for us. Queer thing the ole horse broke loose this arternoon when I'm by myself, which don't often happen. My man he's gone on to Newminster, an' there we'll stop to-night.' Then she gave her attention to steering the barge round a bend, while the old horse plodded along the bank as meekly as if thoughts of running away could never enter his head.

In a quiet bend of the waterway the bargewoman roared 'Wo!' and the white horse pulled up at once and whickered.

'Time for 'is nosebag,' she said, 'an' 'e knows it very well. An'

we'll have a cup o' tea. I allus pull up for that, an' tek' it quiet an' comfortable, wi'out havin' to bother about steerin'.'

She fished out a tin bucket already filled with chaff, and proceeded to climb ash.o.r.e and hang it round the horse's head.

'Tea for three,' murmured the Raven. 'More grub;' and d.i.c.k smiled.

The meal was a very cheerful little affair. The scouts sat on the roof of the cabin in the suns.h.i.+ne, with their cups beside them, and their hostess spread b.u.t.ter liberally on the slices of a large cottage loaf, and encouraged them to eat heartily, and set them a first-rate example herself.

Over the teacups they chatted freely, and the boys explained their movements. Among other things, they narrated their adventure of a few hours ago with the tramps, and the bargewoman was very indignant.

'Lazy good-for-nothin' varmin--that's what I call them tramps!' she cried. 'I know what I'd do wi' 'em. I'd take ivery man-jack of 'em by the scruff o' his neck, an' set him at a job, that I would, as sure as my name's Hester Slade. An' I'd say to him: "When that's done ye'll get sommat to eat, an' not afore." That's wot I'd say. "Work or starve!"' And Mrs. Slade waved the bread-knife above her head, as if it were a sword flourished in defiance of the whole army of tramps in general.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

AT NEWMINSTER

'We come off pretty well,' said Chippy--'lost naught but my stick.'

'I'll show you where to out another afore we get to Newminster,' said Mrs. Slade--'a place where my man often cuts a stick. 'Tis a plantation of ashes on a bank lookin' to the north. Heavy, holdin'

ground, too--just the spot for slow-growin' tough timber.'

She went to the towpath once more to unstrap the tin bucket from the horse's head, and set him to his task again.

'I fancy we shall have to stay somewhere in Newminster to-night, Chippy,' said d.i.c.k.

Chippy grunted in a dissatisfied fas.h.i.+on. The Raven was very keen on doing the trip for the smallest possible outlay of money. It seemed to him so much more scoutlike to live on the country, as they were fond of saying, and to pay for shelter did not seem to be playing the game.

d.i.c.k nodded. 'I know what you mean,' he said, for he had quite understood Chippy's grunt. 'But we're bound to make Newminster, and send off a card to show we've been in the town.'

'O' course,' said the Raven.

'And then it will be rather late to start off again and strike for the open country to search for a camping-place.'

'Right, d.i.c.k--quite right,' rejoined his comrade; 'the wust of it is as lodgin's cost money.'

'Needn't cost ye a single copper this night, anyhow,' said a voice in their ears, and the scouts jumped. Mrs. Slade had come up unseen, and had caught the last words of the Raven.

'Here y' are,' she went on, and pointed to the snug little cabin; 'that's yourn to-night if ye want it.'

'But you'll need it for yourselves,' cried d.i.c.k.

'Not this night,' she replied. 'I've got a married darter in Newminster. She've a-married a wharfinger in a good way o' business.

Such a house as she've got! Upstairs, downstairs, an' a back-kitchen.'

Mrs. Slade visibly swelled in importance as she described her daughter's palatial surroundings. No doubt they seemed very extensive indeed after one small cabin. 'An' 'tis settled we stay wi' her to-night, so the cabin 'ere will be empty, an' ye're as welcome to it as can be.'

The scouts' eyes glistened, and they were easily induced to accept the kindly offer, and so they glided on their way towards the town, chatting together like old friends. Mrs. Slade pulled up for a moment at the ash plantation, and Chippy sprang out with the tomahawk. In five minutes he was back with a tough, straight ash-stick, which he trimmed and whittled with his knife as they made the last mile into the city.