The Wolf Patrol Part 45

'Was it a dog prowling about?' cried d.i.c.k.

At this moment a hollow bark rang from the depths of the coppice:

'Wow-wow! Wow-wow!'

'There it is,' said d.i.c.k; 'a dog.'

'No,' replied Chippy. 'I know wot it is now. That's a fox. I'll bet theer's a vixen wi' cubs in this coppice, an' she's smelt the rabbit an' collared it.'

'Then I hope that weasel will start hunting again, laughed d.i.c.k, 'and chevy up another breakfast for us.'

'Well, it's gone, an' theer's no use tryin' to look for it,' said Chippy, and tucked himself up in his blanket again.

CHAPTER XLVIII

IN THE RAIN

The scouts were falling off to sleep once more when they were aroused again, this time by the divinest music. A nightingale began to sing in the little wood, and made it echo and re-echo with the richest song.

Suddenly a faint murmuring began to mingle with the lovely notes. The murmuring grew, and the bird's song ceased. The air was filled with the patter of falling rain.

'Rain!' cried d.i.c.k; 'that's rain, Chippy.'

'On'y a shower, p'raps,' said his comrade.

'I hope so,' returned the Wolf.

They felt nothing of the rain at present, for they were camped beneath a fir which stood as an outpost to the coppice, and its thick canopy was stretched above their heads. Chippy sprang up and threw fresh fuel on the fire, and looked out on the night.

'Theer's a big black cloud creepin' up from the sou'-west,' he said.

'That looks pretty bad for a soaker.'

In a short time the scouts knew they were in for a real drenching. The patter of the rain came heavier and thicker, until it was drumming on the fir-branches in steady streams. Soon great spots began to fall from the lower branches of the fir beneath which they lay.

'I've just had a big drop slap in my eye,' said d.i.c.k, sitting up.

'What are we going to do, Chippy?'

'Got to do summat,' said the Raven, 'an' quick, too, afore we're drownded out.'

'Let's rig up a shelter tent with the blankets,' suggested d.i.c.k; and they set to work at once. They pulled the four fence-rails which formed the framework of their bed from their places, and laid them side by side in search of the shorter ones. They proved much of the same size, so Chippy went to work with the hatchet to shorten a pair, while d.i.c.k began to dig the holes in which to step them. The ground was soft, and with the aid of his knife d.i.c.k soon had a couple of holes eighteen inches deep. While he did this Chippy had cut two rails down, and fastened a third across the ends of the shorter ones, with the scouts' neckties for cords. They had ample light to work by, for the fire had flared up bravely.

Now they swung up their framework of two posts and a cross-bar, and stepped the feet of the posts in the holes, throwing back the soft earth, and ramming it in with the short, thick pieces cut off the rails. This made a far stronger hold for the uprights than anything they could have done in the shape of sharpening their ends and trying to drive them down.

Next they took their blankets, and hung them side by side over the cross-bar, one overlapping the other by a couple of feet. With their knives they cut a number of pegs from the hard gorse stems, and sharpened them, and drove them through the blankets into the bar, pinning the blankets tightly in place. The tough gorse-wood went into the soft rail like nails, and the back of the tomahawk made a splendid hammer. They had a fourth rail, and they pegged the other ends of the blankets down to that, drew it backwards, and there was a lean-to beneath which they leapt with shouts of triumph.

'Done th' old rain this time,' yelled the Raven. 'Now we'll keep a rousin' fire goin', and sit here and listen to it.'

There was, luckily, no wind, or the scouts might not have been so jubilant; it was a heavy summer rain, pouring down strong and straight.

The boys were pretty wet before they had got their shelter rigged up, but the fire was strong and warm, though it hissed vigorously as the heavy drops fell from the branches of the fir.

'Any chance of putting the fire out, do you think?' said d.i.c.k.

'Not if we keep plenty o' stuff on it,' replied his chum. 'Hark 'ow it's patterin' on the blankets!'

'They'll be jolly wet, and take some drying,' said d.i.c.k. 'Still, better for them to get wet than for us.'

'We ain't cut a trench,' said Chippy.

'To carry off the water,' cried d.i.c.k. 'No, we haven't. But we can dig that from cover, just round the patch we want to sit on.'

They went to work with their knives, and cut a trench six inches deep round the pile of bedding on which they were seated, and then had no fear of being flooded out with rain-water.

Down came the rain faster and heavier. The whole air was filled with the hissing, rushing noise of the great drops falling on the trees, the bushes, the open ground, but the scouts sat tight under their blanket lean-to, and fed the fire steadily from the heap of sticks and stems which the Raven had piled up.

'Weasels for weather-prophets for me arter this,' grunted Chippy; and d.i.c.k nodded his head.

'It was my Uncle Jim who told me that about the weasels,' said d.i.c.k.

'He said they're always very active before stormy weather.'

'Just about fits it this time, anyway,' remarked the Raven. The mention of Mr. Elliott brought to mind their chums in Bardon.

'I wonder how our patrols are getting on without us, Chippy?' said d.i.c.k.

'Oh, it'll gie the corporals a chance to try their 'ands at leadin','

returned the Raven. 'I wish they could just see us now. They'd gie their skins to jine us.'

'Rather,' laughed d.i.c.k; 'this is just about all right.'

It is possible that some persons might not have agreed with him, and at one o'clock in the morning might have preferred their beds to squatting on a heap of brushwood under the shelter of a blanket, the hissing fire making the only cheery spot in the blackness of the cloud- and rain-wrapped moorland. But the scouts would not have changed their situation for quarters in Buckingham Palace. There was the real touch about this. It seemed almost as romantic as a bivouac on a battlefield.

'Well, s'pose we try for a bit more sleep,' said the prudent Raven; 'long march to-morrer, yer know.'

'We've got to keep the fire up,' said d.i.c.k; 'it would never do to let that out.'

'O' course not,' replied Chippy; 'we must take turns to watch. Now, who gets fust sleep--long or short?'

He held up two twigs which he had plucked from the bedding; the ends were concealed in his hand.

'Short gets first sleep,' said d.i.c.k.

'Aw' right,' replied the Raven; 'you draw.'

d.i.c.k drew, and found he had the long draw.

'Wot's the time?' asked Chippy.