Danny The Champion Of The World Part 11

16.

The Champion of the World It was not as dark as I had expected it to be inside the wood this time. Little glints and glimmers from the brilliant moon outside shone through the leaves and gave the place a cold eerie look.

'I brought a light for each of us,' my father said. 'We're going to need it later on.' He handed me one of those small pocket torches shaped like a fountainpen. I switched mine on. It threw a long narrow beam of surprising brightness, and when I moved it around it was like waving a very long white wand among the trees. I switched it off.

We started walking back towards the clearing where the pheasants had eaten the raisins.

'This', my father said, 'will be the first time in the history of the world that anyone has even tried to poach roosting pheasants. Isn't it marvellous though, to be able to walk around without worrying about keepers?'

'You don't think Mr Rabbetts might have sneaked back again just to make sure?'

'Never,' my father said. 'He's gone home to his supper.'

I couldn't help thinking that if I had been Mr Rabbetts, and if I had seen two suspicious-looking characters lurking just outside my precious pheasant wood, I certainly would not have gone home to my my supper. My father must have sensed my fears because once again he reached out and took my hand in his, folding his long warm fingers around mine. supper. My father must have sensed my fears because once again he reached out and took my hand in his, folding his long warm fingers around mine.

Hand in hand, we threaded our way through the trees towards the clearing. In a few minutes we were there. 'Here's where we threw the raisins,' my father said.

I peered through the bushes. The clearing lay pale and milky in the moonlight.

'What do we do next?' I asked.

'We stay here and wait,' my father said. I could just make out his face under the peak of his cap, the lips pale, the cheeks flushed, the eyes s.h.i.+ning bright.

'Are they all roosting, Dad?'

'Yes. They're all around us. They don't go far.'

'Could I see them if I shone my light up into the branches?'

'No,' he said. 'They go up pretty high and they hide in among the leaves.'

We stood waiting for something to happen.

Nothing happened. It was very quiet there in the wood.

'Danny,' my father said.

'Yes, Dad?'

'I've been wondering how a bird manages to keep its balance sitting on a branch when it's asleep.'

'I don't know,' I said. 'Why?'

'It's very peculiar,' he said.

'What's peculiar?'

'It's peculiar that a bird doesn't topple off its perch as soon as it goes to sleep. After all, if we we were sitting on a branch and we went to sleep, we would fall off at once, wouldn't we?' were sitting on a branch and we went to sleep, we would fall off at once, wouldn't we?'

'Birds have claws and long toes, Dad. I expect they hold on with those.'

'I know that, Danny. But I still don't understand why the toes keep gripping the perch once the bird is asleep. Surely everything goes limp when you fall asleep.'

I waited for him to go on.

'I was just thinking', he said, 'that if a bird can keep its balance when it's asleep, then surely there isn't any reason why the pills should make it fall down.'

'It's doped,' I said. 'Surely it will fall down if it's doped.'

'But isn't that simply a deeper deeper sort of sleep?' he said. 'Why should we expect it to fall down just because it's in a sort of sleep?' he said. 'Why should we expect it to fall down just because it's in a deeper deeper sleep?' sleep?'

There was a gloomy silence.

'I should have tested it with roosters,' my father added. Suddenly the blood seemed to have drained right out of his cheeks. His face was so pale I thought he might be going to faint. 'My dad would have tested it with roosters before he did anything else,' he said.

At that moment there came a soft thump from the wood behind us.

'What was that?' I asked.

'Ssshh!'

We stood listening.

Thump!

'There's another!' I said.

It was a deep m.u.f.fled sound as though a bag of sand had been dropped to the ground.

Thump!

'They're pheasants!' I cried.

'Wait!'

'They must be pheasants, Dad!'

Thump! Thump!

'You may be right, Danny!'

We switched on our torches and ran towards the sounds.

'Where were they?' my father said.

'Over here, Dad! Two of them were over here!'

'I thought they were this way. Keep looking! They can't be far!'

We searched for about a minute.

'Here's one!' my father called.

When I got to him he was holding a magnificent c.o.c.k bird in both hands. We examined it closely with our torches.

'It's doped to high heaven,' my father said. 'It won't wake up for a week.'

Thump!

'There's another!' I cried.

Thump! Thump!

'Two more!' my father yelled.

Thump!

Thump! Thump! Thump!

'Jeepers!' my father said.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

Thump! Thump!

All around us the pheasants were starting to rain down out of the trees. We began rus.h.i.+ng round madly in the dark, sweeping the ground with our torches.

Thump! Thump! Thump! This lot fell almost on top of me. I was right under the tree as they came down and I found all three of them immediately - two c.o.c.ks and a hen. They were limp and warm, the feathers wonderfully soft in the hand. This lot fell almost on top of me. I was right under the tree as they came down and I found all three of them immediately - two c.o.c.ks and a hen. They were limp and warm, the feathers wonderfully soft in the hand.

'Where shall I put them, Dad?' I called out.

'Lay them here, Danny! Just pile them up here where it's light!'

My father was standing on the edge of the clearing with the moonlight streaming down all over him and a great bunch of pheasants in each hand. His face was bright, his eyes big and bright and wonderful, and he was staring around him like a child who has just discovered that the whole world is made of chocolate.

Thump!

Thump! Thump!

'It's too many!' I said.

'It's beautiful!' he cried. He dumped the birds he was carrying and ran off to look for more.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

Thump!

It was easy to find them now. There were one or two lying under every tree. I quickly collected six more, three in each hand, and ran back and dumped them with the others. Then six more. Then six more after that.

And still they kept falling.

My father was in a whirl of excitement now, das.h.i.+ng about like a mad ghost under the trees. I could see the beam of his torch waving round in the dark, and every time he found a bird he gave a little yelp of triumph.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

'Hey Danny!' he shouted.

'Yes, I'm over here! What is it, Dad?'

'What do you think the great Mr Victor Hazell would say if he could see this?'

'Don't talk about it,' I said.

For three or four minutes, the pheasants kept on falling. Then suddenly they stopped.

'Keep searching!' my father shouted. 'There's plenty more on the ground!'

'Dad,' I said, 'don't you think we ought to get out while the going's good?'

'Never!' he shouted. 'Not on your life!'

We went on searching. Between us we looked under every tree within a hundred yards of the clearing, north, south, east and west, and I think we found most of them in the end. At the collecting-point there was a pile of pheasants as big as a bonfire.

'It's a miracle,' my father was saying. 'It's an absolute miracle.' He was staring at them in a kind of trance.

'Shouldn't we just take about six each and get out quick?' I said.

'I would like to count them, Danny'

'Dad! Not now!'

'I must must count them.' count them.'

'Can't we do that later?'

'One...

'Two...

'Three...

'Four...'

He began counting them very carefully, picking up each bird in turn and laying it carefully to one side. The moon was directly overhead now, and the whole clearing was brilliantly lit up. I felt as though I was standing in the glare of powerful headlamps.

'A hundred and seventeen... a hundred and eighteen... a hundred and nineteen ... one hundred and twenty!' ... one hundred and twenty!' he cried. 'It's an all-time record!' He looked happier than I had ever seen him in his life. 'The most my dad ever got was fifteen and he was drunk for a week afterwards!' he said. 'But this... this, my dear boy, is an all-time he cried. 'It's an all-time record!' He looked happier than I had ever seen him in his life. 'The most my dad ever got was fifteen and he was drunk for a week afterwards!' he said. 'But this... this, my dear boy, is an all-time world record!' world record!'