The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy ScoutsFinnemore, John
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The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts
Finnemore, John
Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction; Boy Scouts -- Juvenile fiction
The boys shot through the gateway, and Dick turned abruptly and dropped
down beside it. The gateway was a couple of posts on which a wicket
had once swung, nothing more. But a thick bramble-bush grew beside the
right-hand post, and in cover of this bush Dick was crouching. He
peered through the bush and saw the tramp come tearing round the bend.
The rascal saw Chippy disappearing over the bridge, and thought the
second fugitive had already vanished. He roared a fresh set of
exceedingly impolite remarks and wishes, and came on like a tornado in
full career. And as he charged into the narrow gateway, a stout patrol
staff slid across, and was laid on the inner sides of the posts. He
never even saw it, so madly was he bent on his pursuit, and it did its
work to a miracle. He put one foot fairly under it, and as he rose to
his wild bound the staff took him a little above the ankle and tripped
him up. The surprise was so complete that he could not save himself.
He came down headlong on the hard causeway, and ploughed up the gravel
for a foot or more with his features.
The crash knocked all the wind out of him: it deserted his body in a
fierce whistling sound, something between a grunt and a howl, and he
was half-stunned besides, with his nose flattened into his face.
Dick gave a yell of delight, whipped out his staff--the stout bit of
tough ash had taken the shock with hardly a quiver--and raced after his
comrade. Chippy was a good way down the road, and when he glanced
back, Dick waved his stick in triumph. The Raven at once eased to
allow his friend to come up, and Dick shouted the glad news as he
joined his comrade.
Chippy shouted with delight. 'He's done for,' cried the Raven. 'A1,
that was. No more runnin' for 'im just yet. That was splendid, Dick.'
The boys swung their haversacks across their shoulders and continued
their way at a steady, loping trot.
'Oh, Chippy,' cried Dick, 'but yours was the splendid dodge, the way
you took those fellows in! They never dreamed but that you were sick
with fright. How did you manage it?'
'Oo,' said the Raven, 'there ain't nothin' in that. Anybody can mek'
believe to cry and beg for mercy, like.'
'Ah,' cried Dick, 'but there were real tears streaming down your face,
Chippy. How did you do that?'
'Easy as easy,' replied the Raven. 'Yer just jab yer fingers in the
corner o' yer eyes. I'll show yer.'
'Thanks,' laughed Dick. 'I'll take your word for it, old boy. It
doesn't sound too delightful.'
'I wonder if the old un's out o' the pool yet,' said Chippy, as they
trotted on, and the scouts shouted with laughter as they recalled his
terrific plunge.
'The other can go back and help his friend out when he's got his wind
again,' said Dick.
'Rough on the pool, though,' muttered the Raven; 'that nose o' his wor
enough to mek' the water boil.'
'What luck to lose nothing!' cried Dick.
'Barrin' my stick,' put in Chippy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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