The Wolf Patrol Part 36

an' it's a sure thing if only th' eel's at 'ome. Lemme get 'old 'o one fust, an' show ye how to pull 'im out.'

Chippy put a lob on his hook, and then pinched a small split bullet--of which his friend had given him half a dozen--on the line about six inches above the hook. He dropped the weighted bait into a dark hole between two fragments of stone, and moved it gently about. Two or three minutes pa.s.sed; then the Raven drew his bait up.

'n.o.body in,' he remarked; 'try next door.' He moved a yard along the bank, and dropped the bait into a second dark crevice. It was seized instantly, and the line sharply plucked.

'One 'ere,' said Chippy; 'there's no mistake about hearin' from him, if there's one about.'

'Look how he's pulling at the line!' cried d.i.c.k, as the slender cord jerked again and again.

'Yus,' said Chippy; 'nuthin' plucks an' pulls like an eel. Now he's got a good hold o' the bait, an' out he comes.'

The Raven began to pull firmly but slowly, keeping the line quite taut.

'Don't try to yank 'im out,' he said to his pupil. 'Sure's ye do, ye'll break the line an' lose the lot. Pull gently at 'im till he's tired; then out he comes, smooth an' easy.'

Three or four minutes pa.s.sed before Chippy drew the snake-like head of the eel out of the black hole between the stones.

'A good un,' he snapped, drew on the line a little harder, and swung an eel weighing half a pound or more to the bank, where he promptly put one foot on the eel and drew the line taut.

'See wot I'm doin'?' said the Raven. 'If ye don't look out, he'll tangle hisself all up in yer line, an' give ye a fine old job to get 'im free.' With that he whipped out his knife, and despatched the wriggling creature by cutting off its head.

d.i.c.k now took his stick and line to try his luck, while his comrade dug out hook and bait, which had vanished down the eel's throat. d.i.c.k caught a little one in the first hole that he tried, and drew it safely to the bank. But there he failed to control its wild, sinuous movements, and it tangled itself up in his line in such a style that Chippy had to come to his aid.

After that he got on much better, and caught two good-sized ones, and held them and the line taut, while Chippy sailed in with the knife and whipped their heads off.

In a short time they had seven, for the holes were well furnished with occupants, and with these seven they stayed content. They washed them in a quiet backwater, and rubbed them as clean as they could with wisps of dry gra.s.s, and then packed them in Chippy's haversack, with more dry gra.s.s about them.

'Mek' us a jolly good supper to-night,' said the Raven.

'They will,' cried d.i.c.k. 'Now for the road again. We've got an uphill stretch before us, Chippy, according to the map.'

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

THE STORM--WHAT HAPPENED WHILE THEY DRIED THEIR CLOTHES

Within a mile again, the track they were following--a very ancient vicinal way--began to rise over a long stretch of moorland used mainly for sheep-walks, and covered in places with wide patches of low-growing bilberry-bushes. On some of these bushes the purple little berries were already ripe, and the boys gathered them in handfuls, and ate them as they walked.

Suddenly a low, heavy muttering called their attention to the western sky, and they saw a blue-black cloud rising swiftly.

'Thunder,' said d.i.c.k; 'that's what this terrific heat has meant.'

'Best step out,' remarked the Raven. 'No shelter about 'ere for a mile or two.'

They stayed no longer to gather bilberries, but pushed on at a steady swinging stride, looking back from time to time at the storm, which seemed to pursue them. A wind sprang up, and wild gusts raced past them, and howled across the moor. Light, swift clouds which seemed to be flying before the storm hurried across the sky, and the suns.h.i.+ne was swallowed up and the day darkened.

d.i.c.k looked back and whistled.

'Here comes the rain, Chippy,' he said. 'We'd better put our jackets on.' They did so, but the Raven shrugged his shoulders as if he was of the opinion that jackets would be but slight protection against the downpour now rus.h.i.+ng upon them.

The thunder-shower was perhaps a couple of miles away, and marching across the country in a line as straight as if drawn with a ruler. A clump of pines stood out darkly against the white veil of the streaming rain. As the scouts looked, the pines were swallowed up, and the wall of water stalked swiftly on towards them.

They looked round, but there was not the faintest chance of gaining the least shelter. All round them the earth was covered with low-growing bushes; there was neither tree nor hedge nor fence to break the force of the torrential downpour. A mile in front the road topped the ridge and disappeared.

'There may be shelter beyond the ridge, Chippy,' cried d.i.c.k. 'Let's run for it.'

They ran, but in vain. Long before they gained the ridge the storm was upon them--first a few heavy drops, then a downpour which made the earth smoke again. In two minutes the scouts were wet to the skin, and the storm lasted twenty. Then it raced past them, hissing and roaring, and left them tramping down the farther side of the ridge, their boots full of water, and not a dry thread about them save for the blankets stowed in the waterproof haversacks.

When the rain pa.s.sed away, the two scouts, who had been tramping steadily along without growling at the weather, stopped and looked at each other, leaning on their sticks.

'Well, Chippy,' laughed d.i.c.k, 'we look like a pair of drowned rats.'

'That's about it, d.i.c.k,' grunted the Raven, and tried to do a step or two of a dance. This set the water bubbling out over the tops of his shoes.

'We must dry ourselves somehow or other,' went on d.i.c.k. 'You know, B.

P. says it's jolly dangerous to go on in your wet clothes.'

'Sat under a waggon wi' nuthin' on while he dried 'em when he'd been wet,' quoted Chippy.

'And you remember his dodge for drying his toggery?' said d.i.c.k.

'Rather,' returned the Raven; 'fire under a cage o' sticks.'

'Right,' said d.i.c.k; 'and there's a copse ahead. We'll halt in it, and dry ourselves.'

They marched briskly for the copse, hung their haversacks on the branch of a small, low-growing oak, and went to work at building a fire. It was no easy task, but by searching in corners where thick bushes had turned aside the worst of the downpour, they found odd handfuls of dry stuff to start their blaze. Luckily the matches had been in d.i.c.k's haversack, and were perfectly dry. A small dead larch afforded them twigs and sticks when once the fire was started, and d.i.c.k chopped the dead tree into small, handy pieces, and fed the flames with them. They did not want a lasting fire, but a heap of hot ashes, and this would be soonest afforded by small pieces of wood.

While d.i.c.k was busy with the tomahawk, Chippy attacked a thicket of tall, straight-growing hazels with his knife, and cut an armful of the springy rods. As soon as the fire burned down, the boys took the rods, sharpened each end, took an end each, bent the rod into an arch, and drove the ends deeply into the soft earth. In this way they had soon covered the fire in, as it were, with a great basket. Then they stripped off their sodden raiment, wrung it out, and spread it over the bent hazel-rods to dry.

The excellence of the plan was soon manifest. Clouds of steam began to rise from the wet clothes, and promised that they would soon be dry.

But it was cool after the rain, and the clothes hid the fire, and the scouts felt no inclination to sit under a waggon, as their great leader had done; they felt more inclined to move about a little to warm themselves.

'It's jolly cold compared with the heat before the thunderstorm,' said d.i.c.k.

'Ain't it?' said Chippy. 'I'll race ye to th' end o' the copse an'

back. That'll warm us a bit.'

'Right,' said d.i.c.k. 'Let's cut along where the larches and firs are.

It'll be fun sprinting over the fir-needles, and soft to the feet.

Where do we run to?'

'The big beech yonder,' said the Raven. 'I'll count. We'll go at three.'

He counted, and away bounded the two scouts, racing at their fastest for the big beech which they were to touch, then to return to their fire.

Now, the last thing they expected to have was a witness of their race.

They believed that the copse was a lonely patch of wood on the lonely heath. So it was, save for one house which lay just beyond the wood where the ridge sloped away to the south. The house was that of a sheep-farmer, whose flocks fed over the moorland; and as the boys raced through the little wood, the shepherd left the farmsteading, where he had been sheltering from the storm, and came up through the copse to go about his business.