Brendon Chase

by B. B.

  Some blackbirds were making a great noise in the distance and a jay began to scream. Perhaps they had seen a fox or an owl. Robin called Bang and prudently retired under some nearby hazel bushes. He had been conspicuous under the holly.

  And then, without warning, he saw a fine red fox trot out from the bracken thirty yards distant. It looked neither to the right nor left but went at a leisurely loping gait across an open space. When it reached the far side it looked back over its shoulder with one paw raised, the very picture of wild woodland grace. Robin had his rifle trained upon it but the fur was of poor quality. Fox’s coats are not in good condition until later in the year. So the trigger was not pressed and a second later the fox had vanished into the fern.

  Something had scared it, however, and Robin lay doggo. The next moment there came another movement among the bushes and a fallow buck trotted out from between two holly trees. Like the fox it stood motionless. It must have been upwind of Robin for it never glanced in his direction. This was only the second deer he had seen since he came to the Chase and he remembered that their pig was now devoured. It was a gift of a shot; he could not miss. Very cautiously he raised the rifle and drew a steady aim one inch to the left of its wide open eye which was as full of mystery and shadows as the Blind Pool.

  Then he pressed the trigger … Robin swore out loud, for instead of the sharp crack, there was a deadened click. The cartridge had misfired. That tiny sound had been heard, however. With one beautiful arching bound the buck had gone; only a fern frond nodded to a standstill.

  Bang, who all this time had been lying close behind Robin, let out a subdued yelp of excitement. He had evidently seen a deer before in the forest. Almost sick with disappointment Robin drew back the bolt and ejected the useless cartridge. It was one of those which Little John had bought in Brendon, an inferior brand. The copper cap had been dented by the striker pin but somehow or another it had not fired the powder.

  With an angry gesture he threw the offending thing away and put in another, one of the original cartridges he had brought from Cherry Walden.

  This great misfortune quite upset our gallant outlaw. To think that they had been so short of meat and he had missed such a glorious chance! There had been enough good venison within thirty yards of him to last them into the late winter!

  Bang whimpered again and Robin, in an ugly temper, kicked out at him with his shoe and then – rightly – was sorry. Certain he was that the chances of ever getting such an opportunity again were very remote. He had been so sure of his aim; had he fired he knew he would have dropped that buck in his tracks.

  The gentle rain which had now been falling for some time had stopped and the sun tried to break through the clouds. Robin realized that the day was swiftly passing; he must push on.

  After some time he came to a well-trodden path which wound about among the hazels. Indeed, it was so well used and the footmarks, hobnailed footmarks, were so fresh, that he thought it must be the way to Smokoe Joe’s.

  Bang began to be a nuisance, whining very quietly and trying to run on ahead. At last he became so impossible that Robin decided to tie him up to a tree. This he did, well back from the track. He must see where this path led to.

  Very thick nut bushes hedged it in on both sides and it had many sharp corners with twists and turns, a dangerous place. He might meet anybody face to face round these sharp angles and the bushes were so thick he could not turn aside, indeed to do so would make considerable noise and might attract attention. In a short while Robin smelt woodsmoke and a little later saw a blue drift spiralling above the trees ahead.

  It was now imperative to leave the path for this smoke could be coming from no other place than Smokoe Joe’s abode. He crawled along among the bracken – the thickets of hazel were not so dense – and in a short while he came upon a clearing in the trees. In the middle of it were three curious mounds, like huge molehills, made of turf. One of them was not turfed all the way round and showed small faggots, some twelve to fourteen inches long, packed close together in the form of a cone. This heap was not smoking but the other heaps were, the blue reek emerging from a hole in the top, which showed the kiln had been recently fired.

  Piles of faggots were stacked on the far side of the clearing next door to a very well-made shack of logs, built exactly like a Canadian log house. It was quite a large hut with a lean-to shed made of boards at one end. Smoke was also issuing from an iron pipe which protruded from the roof.

  Behind the house the bracken had been cleared and there was quite a little garden. The dark rich soil had been tilled and rows of cabbages, lettuces and other vegetables had been neatly planted out. There was a covered well at the end of the garden, grown round with bushes.

  Over the door of the cabin a pair of stag’s horns had been nailed. But there was no sign of life.

  This must be Smokoe Joe’s place right enough, thought Robin, and he wished he could catch a glimpse of the man himself. He lay among the fern for some time and then, growing bolder, he wormed his way among the bracken until he was within thirty yards of the hut. He would dearly have loved to cut himself some of the cabbages and lettuces but that would have been stealing.

  Evidently Smokoe was not at home. Only the blue smoke issuing from the chimney suggested the place was inhabited. Dare he crawl up to the window and peep inside? The temptation was very strong though he knew it would be a tremendous risk to take. But with every moment this urge to look in at the window grew stronger. Robin was quite startled to see a white hen appear from the back of the house followed by three others. They pecked about round the door and one of them went and drank out of a little pannikin of water. And from behind the house came the grunting of pigs. Smokoe certainly had a cosy little place here, thought Robin, quite a self-contained homestead. Compared with their own camp it was a palace!

  Robin began to crawl forward very cautiously to the edge of the bracken. It was another ten yards to the woodpile. Once there he could approach the house on the blind side. Getting to his feet, with his rifle at the trail, Robin darted across the open space and the next instant he was behind the faggots. He rested here a moment, breathing rather hard. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast with excitement. Then he crawled round the angle of the house on hands and knees until he was under the window. Very cautiously, an inch at a time, he raised himself … higher, higher … another inch and he would be looking in at the window.

  And then – Robin collapsed with a gasp. Someone had leapt upon him from behind. One immensely powerful and hairy claw gripped his right wrist and another seized him by the collar. He was thrown flat on his face and he felt a bony knee in his back. The horrible part of the business was that he had heard no sound, and even now, when his captor held him down, all he could hear was heavy breathing. There was a strong smell of birchwood smoke.

  ‘Ach!’ he gasped. ‘Ah! Let me up! Let me go!’

  ‘I’ve got you,’ said a gruff voice in his ear. ‘I’ve a-caught you, young feller. Gimme that rifle and no nonsense neither.’

  Robin released his hold on the rifle, indeed, he could not help doing so for one blackened and knotted claw had gripped his little finger and was bending it back. He released his hold with a sharp intake of breath; the pain was agonizing.

  ‘Now stand up, you,’ commanded the voice.

  Robin stood up, though a hand still grasped his collar. Then he saw Smokoe for the first time. He was a small wizened man, little taller than himself. He was dressed in old corduroy trousers tied in at the knee, a leather jerkin which had been ripped and cut by briars, a collarless shirt, and a curious conical hat was perched on the back of his head.

  The face was wizened and crinkled like a monkey’s. Two piercing grey eyes, as fierce as a hawk’s, looked at him from under shaggy white brows and the lower part of the face was covered with a long white beard, and white hair hung almost to his shoulders. He couldn’t have seen a barber for years. But it was Smokoe’s nose which arrested the unhappy Robin’s at
tention. It was the largest nose he had ever seen, a monstrous lump of a nose, purple of hue and horrible to behold. Robin Hood was very afraid.

  ‘Wot’s the idea?’ demanded Smokoe. ‘Wot’s the idea, sneakin’ round my shack a-pryin’ on me? I saw yer come outer the bracken. I saw yer slip behind me woodpile. Wot’s the idea?’

  ‘Steady on,’ said Robin, still fascinated by that ghastly nose, ‘you needn’t hang on to my collar, I won’t run away.’

  ‘No,’ said Smokoe grimly, ‘you won’t get a chance. Is this ’ere rifle loaded?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Still keeping a hold on Robin’s collar, Smokoe put the rifle barrel between his knees and withdrew the bolt a little way with his disengaged hand, just sufficient to see that Robin was telling the truth. Then he pushed the bolt home again, cocked the rifle and let go of his captive’s collar, at the same time presenting the muzzle at Robin’s chest.

  ‘Any nonsense and I’ll blow an ’ole in yer,’ growled Smokoe. ‘Now get inside.’ He kicked the door of the shack open and jerked his head towards the opening. ‘In yer go.’

  Smokoe Joe

  ‘Stand over there,’ said Smokoe, nodding towards an iron stove in the corner. ‘Play any tricks an’ I’ll plug a ’ole in yer.’

  ‘You’re Smokoe Joe, aren’t you?’ said Robin, who was now recovering his composure somewhat.

  ‘Yurss, I’m Smokoe and who may you be?’

  ‘I’m … I’m … Jack Robinson,’ said Robin with a rush.

  ‘Oh no you ain’t,’ said Smokoe, wagging his huge nose. ‘Oh no you ain’t. You be one o’ they runaway boys wot the cops are after. I knows all about ’ee. They wus ’ere yesterday; they’ve been ’ere fer the last week huntin’ ye, an’ there’s a reward fer you, Smokoe, they said to me, if you cotches them boys, or one on ’em. And I’ve cotched you, cotched you proper.’

  ‘How do you know I’m one of the boys?’ asked Robin lamely.

  Smokoe’s eyes were fixed on Robin’s nether regions. The rabbit skin kilt had become dislodged in the scuffle and was in danger of dropping round his ankles.

  ‘Ef you ain’t one o’ they boys they’re arter, wot are ye doin’ in that there thing?’

  Robin saw it was no use bluffing. His eyes roved quickly round to the door which still stood ajar. An inquisitive hen was peeping in making a querulous sound, and to Robin’s astonishment he saw a white owl regarding him from the top of a cupboard in the corner. For a moment he thought it must be a stuffed bird until it winked prodigiously with its right eye. Smokoe saw Robin’s wandering eye. ‘Oh no you don’t, me lad.’ Still keeping the rifle pointed at his captive he edged to the door, shut it, and turned the key, putting it into his pocket. ‘It’s no good thinkin’ you’re goin’ to gi’e me the slip, ’cos you ain’t. You’re a-comin’ wi’ me into Cheshunt Toller, an’ I’ll kip ye covered all the way there an’ all. One little slip an’ I’ll plug you!’

  ‘All right, Smokoe, I won’t try and get away,’ said Robin wearily, ‘but for heaven’s sake put that rifle up, it’s got a hair trigger.’

  And then any hope that he had of escaping vanished, for, as he glanced again round the room he saw through the window three figures in the distance coming down the forest path towards the cabin. One was the unmistakable form of Bunting and with him two men who looked like woodcutters.

  Robin thought quickly. He decided to play for time. In another minute or two the men would be at the cabin door.

  ‘Look here, Smokoe, I’ve been doing no harm, nor have my brothers; we’re living wild in the forest and not harming anyone. We heard about you and wanted to meet you.’

  ‘It’s lucky fer you my Gyp weren’t ’ere, ’e’d ’ave never let ye come nigh my cabin,’ said Smokoe. ‘Ef I ’adn’t lost ’im like I did ’e’d ’ave ’ad ye be the breeches ’e would.’

  ‘Your dog?’ asked Robin eagerly. ‘Have you lost him then?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Is he a brindled dog, with a patch over his left eye?’ said Robin quickly.

  ‘Aye,’ said Smokoe, ‘that’d be ’im.’

  ‘Then hide me quick, Smokoe, hide me somewhere, and when the police have gone I’ll take you straight to him. I left him tied up down the trail. We found him trapped in a rabbit hole and saved his life.’

  Smokoe’s face seemed to undergo a strange transformation. ‘You found my Gyp?’ he said, scarcely speaking.

  ‘Yes, yes, hide me, and when they’ve gone I’ll take you straight to him.’

  At that moment a sharp rap came upon the door.

  ‘Smokoe, please! I’m telling the gospel truth, I swear it. Don’t tell them I’m here and you’ll have your dog back.’

  Smokoe’s face was a study. He was trying to make up his mind whether his prisoner was speaking the truth. Two more raps, more insistent, came upon the door and a dim featureless face crowned by a policeman’s helmet, peered in at the window, the face of Bunting. It was dark inside the hut because the light was now fading. The policeman could see nothing.

  In one corner was an apology for a bed. ‘Get under there,’ grunted Smokoe briefly. Robin did not need any further bidding; he threw himself flat on the floor and wormed his way under the bed. He heard Smokoe put the rifle up in the corner of the room and then unlock the door.

  Heavy steps entered. ‘Well, Smokoe, any sign o’ them boys?’

  ‘No, Sergeant, ain’t seen nothin’ on ’em.’ Robin could have kissed Smokoe for that, despite his nose.

  ‘Well we’ve searched the Chase all through and can’t find no trace,’ said Bunting, ‘reckon they ain’t ’ere at all.’

  ‘The Chase be a big place, Sergeant,’ said Smokoe.

  ‘D’you think they’re somewhere around?’ asked one of the woodcutters, a little man with a face like a weasel.

  ‘Don’t know. They may be, mister, there’s no tellin’.’

  ‘Oh well, Smokoe, we’ll be gettin’ along. Goodnight to ye.’ Robin heard steps clump outside again and the door was shut.

  ‘Lie where you are,’ growled Smokoe in a low voice, ‘an’ don’t come out till I tells ye.’

  ‘Righto, Smokoe, you’re a white man,’ whispered the relieved captive. ‘Wait till they’ve gone and we’ll go and collect your Gyp.’

  ‘And no tricks mind,’ replied Smokoe. ‘Ef he ain’t where you say ’e is we go right on to Cheshunt Toller and you’ll be ’anded over.’

  ‘Righto, Smokoe, that’s agreed.’

  The little room grew more dim as the light faded. Robin could hear owls beginning to hoot among the dark trees round the hut. It was rather noisome under Smokoe’s bed and it was with some relief that he at last heard the gruff command, ‘Out you come, you!’

  The prisoner emerged. ‘You’re a grand chap, Smokoe, not giving me away like that.’ Robin looked at the wizened little gnome who stood, still covering him with the rifle, by the stove.

  ‘You’re a desperate young rascal,’ said Smokoe, ‘blame me ef you ain’t.’

  ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough for this, Smokoe!’

  Smokoe kicked open the door. ‘Out ye go, quick march, an’ don’t forget I’m close behind you. One step off the path an’ you’re dead as a stuck porker.’

  As they went down the now darkling track they made a quaint picture, Robin leading and with the muzzle of his own rifle in the small of his back.

  As he walked along he could not help thinking how awkward it would be if Bang had got free. It was with a great sense of relief that at last he came to the tree where he had tied him up and saw Bang jumping and rearing on his string.

  ‘Is that your Gyp?’ asked Robin over his shoulder. But there was no need to ask that question. Smokoe had run forward and had fallen on his knees beside the prancing dog, which was licking the wizened little face all over, including the hideous plum-coloured nose.

  Smokoe seemed to have forgotten Robin’s existence. The rifle had been thrown aside into the grass and he was hugging his dog as if
it were a prodigal son. And strangest of all, Robin saw a sight which almost awed him; large tears trickling down the monstrous nose into the long white beard!

  ‘Well, ef you ain’t the cunningest young monkey I don’t know who is!’ exclaimed Smokoe. He was sitting on the other side of the stove with Gyp’s head on his knee, pulling his ears. ‘Gettin’ round me that fashion when one word from me would’a meant money in me pocket, more’n I get for a year’s work on me kilns! Can’t think wot I was about, being so daft.’

  ‘Well Smokoe, if you had handed me over you wouldn’t have got your dog anyway,’ replied Robin with a grin.

  Smokoe said nothing but continued to pull Gyp’s ears. ‘Yer see, Gyp an’ me ’ave bin together fer ten years now, I’ve come to look on ’im as me own child. You see, ’e’s the only company I ’ave, out ’ere in the Chase, an’ the only one I’ve got to talk to, bar me old owl, Ben, up there in the corner. ’E kips to ’imself though, an’ I can’t talk to ’im like I can to Gyp. I’ve allus ’ad a dawg, but this one is the best I’ve ever ’ad. ’E ain’t a dawg, ’ee’s ’uman, the way ’ee thinks and talks to ye.’

  ‘It was a bit of luck finding him down that hole, Smokoe; he was nearly a goner.’

  ‘Not far from the Blind Pool you say? Blame me, the rascal! ’E’s run off afore but ’e’s allus come back. I knew summat ’ad ’appened to ’im. So you young devils ’ave been running wild in the Chase all this time, ’ave ye?’ said Smokoe incredulously. ‘You’re sportin’ kids I must say!’

  ‘That’s right, Smokoe, we haven’t even known what month it is and we’ve lost all count of time.’

  ‘Can’t think ’ow you’ve managed to live,’ said Smokoe, ‘you look well enough I must say.’

  ‘Oh we’ve shot plenty, rabbits and things, and a –’ Robin stopped. He was about to tell Smokoe about the pig, but something checked him. ‘We’ve caught some good fish in the Blind Pool too.’