“Oh, come on,” said Evelyn impatiently, “I don’t want to stand here watching you refuse.” They each had another unsuccessful try, and then, saying contemptuously, “Gosh, you’re feeble; I’m jolly well not going to wait; you’d better follow the trail,” she galloped off in the direction of the bobbing hats. The sight of Evelyn disappearing into the distance lent strength to Richard’s legs, and Peter, ridden really determinedly, cleared the timber easily. They galloped on, and Margaret was left. She tried everything she could think of to get Pixie over: short runs and long runs, showing her the fence, hitting, kicking and patting her, but Pixie simply said that it was much too high, and she wasn’t going to consider jumping it. In the end Margaret lost her temper. She beat Pixie, and called her all the insulting names she could think of, but it was no use. And when she had had thirty-nine refusals, Margaret reluctantly decided to follow the trail. Pixie, delighted to leave the horrible jump, tore along, neighing occasionally for the other ponies. They cantered down the lane and into another wood, where Margaret, who had all she could do to control Pixie and avoid the trees, suddenly found she had lost the trail. When she managed to pull up she retraced her steps, but somewhere she went wrong, and instead of finding the trail she came out on a heath, covered with gorse and bracken and intersected by a mass of small winding paths. Then she noticed the fog creeping up, and at the same time she realised that she was completely lost. “Oh, Pixie,” she said, “what on earth shall we do?” And she almost started to cry before she remembered that only feeble people—people like Jill Morrisson—cried when they were lost. She rode on until she came to a clearing. Five tiny paths led off in different directions. How Margaret wished for James and his compass. She stood in a quandary, unable to decide which path to take; they all looked exactly alike. Suddenly she thought, Perhaps Pixie knows the way home—perhaps she will be like a pony in a book. And, dropping the reins, she said, “Come on, old lady, take me home. Home, Pixie, home.” Pixie put down her head and grazed. “Oh, you are a horrid, beastly, greedy pony,” said Margaret tearfully as she wrenched it up. “The fog’s getting thicker than ever and I don’t want to stay out all night. I’m so cold and hungry.” And in spite of it only being feeble people who cry, she burst into tears. Pixie grazed for a few moments, then she turned and set off at a purposeful trot down the smallest and steepest of the little winding paths.
Evelyn had galloped away from the timber jump with the lightest of hearts. She was well in the lead, and, as she had sighted the hares, it could not be long before she caught up with them, which would just prove to Hilary and Roger how silly they were to make such a fuss about her riding Romany in preference to Mrs. Maxton’s lazy old Woodcock. Evelyn was glad that Hilary had won when they tossed up to decide who should ride Northwind, for, if she had won, she could not have said that he was dull and lazy, though he was when compared with Romany, family opinion was too strong when it came to criticisms of the ponies.
“You’re much the best of them, old lady,” said Evelyn impulsively as she leant forward and patted Romany’s sweat-soaked neck, marvelling that the pony was still pulling, though lathered from head to foot. When they reached the clump of trees near which Evelyn had seen the bobbing hats, she pulled up and looked about her. To her disappointment there was no one in sight.
“Oh, dash,” she said aloud, “where can they have got to?” She turned abruptly at the sound of hoofs behind her, to see Richard galloping up. “Hallo,” she said, “you got over, then?”
“Yes,” said Richard. “Where are they? Can you see them?”
“Do you think I’d be standing here if I could?” asked Evelyn disagreeably.
“All right, keep your hair on,” said Richard. “But I suppose that means we’ve lost them; that’s what comes of leaving the trail and trying to take short cuts.”
“Why didn’t you stick to the trail, then?” said Evelyn. “I never asked you to follow me; in fact I’d much rather you hadn’t.”
“Same here,” said Richard. “I don’t believe in following other people—especially girls—but I thought you probably had some inside information, since your family are both the promoters and the hares.”
“Are you suggesting that I’m cheating?” asked Evelyn in a dangerously quiet voice.
“No, I’m not suggesting anything,” said Richard, quite meekly. “Where do you suppose they’ve got to?” Evelyn didn’t bother to answer; she rode on at a trot; Richard followed. After about ten minutes, he said, “Don’t you think it would be a good plan to walk for a bit? I’ve got the most agonising stitch.”
“Gosh, you are a cissy,” said Evelyn, and she trotted faster than ever.
“Look at the fog coming up,” said Richard. “Now we’re going to get properly lost; that’s what comes of relying on girls.”
“Oh, shut up,” said Evelyn. “I’ve told you I don’t want you tagging round after me. Why the dickens don’t you go in another direction?”
“Because I don’t want to,” said Richard. “Crikey, this fog is getting thick,” he went on. “We shan’t be able to see a yard in front of our noses soon. Have you any idea where we are?” he asked, an anxious note creeping into his voice.
“None at all,” said Evelyn, enjoying his discomfort. “I should think we’re going round and round in circles.”
“I expect the others have caught the hares by now,” said Richard. “In fact they’re probably sitting comfortably at your place, waiting for us to turn up. Gosh, I’m cold. I wish I were sitting by a blazing fire having tea.”
“I doubt whether the others have found the hares,” said Evelyn. “I only hope they haven’t got too hopelessly lost.” It was then that Evelyn remembered her mother saying, “Oh, well, it’ll be quite all right if Evelyn’s a hound, as she’ll be able to keep an eye on Margaret and James.” Gosh, she thought, I hope nothing has happened to them. Marga’s alone, and goodness knows where Jim is. What will mummy say? Suddenly she noticed Richard was speaking. “Don’t you think so?” he said.
“Think what?” asked Evelyn.
“Oh, crikey,” said Richard, “are you deaf? I was asking if you thought it would be a good idea to shout in case the others are anywhere near.”
“I suppose we can try,” said Evelyn, “but I should think they’ve all fallen into chalk quarries by now.”
“I hope not,” said Richard. “What would mummy say if I turned up without Jill? Still, it’s not my fault. I said she’d never keep up, but mummy insisted she should come.”
“Why did we have a beastly paper-chase?” said Evelyn, her voice near breaking. “I’m sure something must have happened to the others.” They rode sorrowfully on, shouting into the impenetrable wall of fog at intervals.
“It’s getting thicker than ever, Hil,” said Roger, pulling Sky Pilot up and gazing into the fog. “I think we shall have to call it off; they won’t be able to see the trail in another ten minutes if it goes on coming up as fast as this.”
“Oh, dash it!” said Hilary. “Why does the weather always have to spoil everything? I suppose we’d better turn back and tell the others.”
“Yes, I think so,” said Roger, “and with any luck we’ll meet them before the fog blots out the trail completely.”
They turned their ponies and retraced their steps. They rode on, through the ever-thickening fog, and with each moment their forebodings grew. At last Hilary said, “Do you think anything’s happened to them? They ought to be here by now.”
“Heaven knows,” said Roger gloomily. “They’ll be hopelessly lost if they’ve missed the trail; but there’s just a chance they turned back earlier and have gone home.”
“Evelyn wouldn’t,” said Hilary with conviction.
“No, I suppose not,” said Roger. “She’s too jolly obstinate. Sssh, did you hear a shout?”
“No,” said Hilary, listening intently. “Yes, wait a minute. What was that?”
“Them, I think,” said Roger excitedly, and he gave a blood-curdling scream,
which was meant to be a view-holloa. As it died away they both listened, and, to their delight, they heard an answering yell.
“It’s them all right,” said Hilary. “Come on.” And she broke into a trot.
“Wait a sec.,” said Roger. “It sounded more on our right to me; they may still be on the Roman road.”
“Probably they missed the trail where it turned off into Downley Wood,” said Hilary, “but we can’t go right back there. Shall we take a short cut across the fields and risk getting lost?”
“It’s the only thing to do,” said Roger, “and I think there’s a gate on the right in a minute; I noticed it on the way down.” They soon came upon the gate, and they were delighted to find a footpath, which led across the fields in the direction of the Roman road. They followed it as best they could, shouting as they went. Gradually the answering calls became louder, until they were separated from Noel, Susan, John, James and Jill only by a decrepit and broken-down hedge. Both parties were overjoyed to see each other, but this turned to dismay when they realised that Evelyn, Margaret and Richard were still missing.
“Oh, gosh,” said Roger dispiritedly, “you got parted, then?”
“Yes,” said John, “but they were so far on ahead, we felt sure they would catch you before the fog got really thick.”
“Where did you last see them?” asked Hilary.
“At the bottom of the Nut-walk,” said Noel. “We stopped to put Jill’s saddle back and they disappeared.”
“Which was the right trail in the wood?” asked James. “The thin one?”
“Which wood do you mean?” asked Roger.
“The one where the trails parted,” said James. “One went straight on and the other led to the Roman road.”
“They both led to the Roman road,” said Roger; “but the one that went straight on was a longer way round. Do you think they took that one?”
“Yes,” said James. “Their hoof-marks went that way.”
“Well, where in the dickens can they have got to?” said Roger, “for it only took me ten minutes longer than you, didn’t it, Hilary?”
“That’s right,” said Hilary. “But, of course, I didn’t hurry.”
“I think the best thing we can do,” said Roger, “is to try to find our way across the footpath and down Lindon’s Lane, where I laid the false trail. I should think they must be over that way somewhere, but if they’re not—well, we shall be on our way home.”
“We’ve got to find a way into your field, first,” said Susan.
“Yes,” said John, “and we can’t jump, because there’s a strand of barbed wire in the hedge.”
“There’s a post here that looks pretty rotten,” said Noel, who’d been investigating. It was rotten, and, when she and John both pushed, it broke off close to the ground. Then Roger and Hilary stood on the wire while the others led their ponies across, and afterwards propped up the post again before mounting and riding on. The ponies all seemed tired except for Sky Pilot; he was nervous and shied at gates, bushes and cows as they suddenly appeared out of the fog. The riders, who were cold, hungry and anxious, tried hard not to show it. They discussed all the pleasant things which might have befallen the three missing hounds, and the horrid possibilities, of which their minds were full, they kept to themselves. Every few minutes they all shouted together, and at last, when they were riding down Lindon’s Lane, Roger in the lead, they heard an answering call, very faint, but definitely an answer.
“There, that must be them,” said Hilary, as relief surged through everyone, for dead men cannot shout. They all felt inclined to hurry in the direction of the shout, but they were prevented by the fog, which seemed thicker than ever concentrated between the tall overgrown hedges of the lane.
“What about singing?” suggested John. “That might guide them to us.”
“ ‘Tipperary?’ ” asked Hilary. All seven of them sang with a will. They grinned at each other, and made as much noise as they could, so relieved were they at having found the rest of the hounds. When they had sung “Tipperary” twice, Susan suggested “Pack Up Your Troubles.” Then John wanted “Ten Green Bottles,” which was followed by “What shall we do with the drunken sailor?” to please James, and they were in the middle of the second verse of “John Peel” when there was a shout quite close, and in a few moments Evelyn and Richard were among them.
“But haven’t you got Marga?” asked Hilary in a horror-struck voice. “The others said she was with you.”
“She was,” said Evelyn, “but she got left behind in some beastly lane. We took a short cut, because we saw you, and, as she couldn’t get Pixie over the jump, she was going to follow the trail.”
“Oh, heavens!” said Roger. “This is the last straw. Never again will I organise anything. Where on earth can Marga have got to?”
“She’s awfully scatterbrained,” said Hilary. “She’s bound to have done something silly. We must find her. What will mummy say?”
“I’m sure she’s fallen into a chalk quarry,” said James, voicing everyone’s fears.
“Nonsense, Jim,” said Roger, trying to sound cheerful. “If it was you I’d be much more worried, because, in spite of your compass, you always get lost; but though Marga’s rash, she’s awfully good at finding the way.”
“It’s going to be the dickens of a job finding her,” said John. “What shall we do—divide up into parties?”
“Heaven forbid!” said Roger. “We shall all lose each other again. No one but Hilary and me knows the way home, do they?”
“No, I’m completely at sea,” said John.
“So am I,” said Noel.
“And me,” said Susan.
“We must do something,” said Evelyn. “We can’t just stand here.”
“I wish I’d lent Marga my compass,” said James.
“She wouldn’t have known how to work it if you had,” said Hilary.
“Personally,” said Richard suddenly, “I think we had better go back to your place, and, if she hasn’t got there first, we can call the police and have a proper search party.”
“Oh, yes,” said Jill. “Do let’s go home, I’m so cold.”
“Crikey!” muttered John.
“I’m not going home,” said Hilary. “We’ve got to find Marga.”
“Nor am I,” said James, giving Richard a challenging look.
“Wait a minute, though,” said Roger. “I’m not sure that Richard isn’t right. It’s a quarter to two,” he went on, braving the incredulous looks his sisters were giving him, “and by now the parents will have realised we must be lost; but they can’t search for us, because they don’t know where we were going, and the fog makes it so impossible. The best thing would be to ring up, but I should think the nearest telephone is the Cresswells’ and that’s at least three miles away. Then if we were to do as John suggested, search in parties, we’re bound to lose each other. Neither party will know if she’s been found, and meanwhile she’ll probably get home and turn everyone out to look for us.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Hilary slowly. “But I hate the thought of going, just in case she’s anywhere about. Couldn’t I stay, while you and Evelyn take the others home and collect a search party?”
“But quite honestly, Hil,” said Roger, “I don’t think she’s anywhere round here; she’d have heard our shouts if she was. She got quite a long start of us, you know. Then supposing she was home when we got there, everyone would have to turn out to look for you.”
“That’s true,” said Hilary. “I suppose it’s the only thing to do.”
“Come on, then,” said Richard impatiently, “let’s get going.” They rode on, speaking very little, but occasionally giving a view-holloa, just in case Margaret was about. At last they came out on the Basset-Fenchurch road, and they parted from the Morrissons at the lane which came out opposite Orchard Cottage. Roger apologised for the unpleasant time they had had, Richard replied that it wasn’t his fault, and Jill didn’t bother to answer. As t
hey disappeared down the lane at a fast trot, John said, “Thank goodness we’ve got rid of them.”
“Yes,” said Susan. “To keep on grumbling like that, just because they were cold, when anything may have happened to Margaret.” Noel, who was riding beside her, made a face and muttered, “Shut up, you idiot.” There was a loud sniff from James, and Roger said, “We must be nearly at the Cresswells’ now. I think I’d better brave that ghastly woman and ring up mummy. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Hilary. “But I’ll go. I’m better at escaping than you, and anything to end this horrible suspense.”
“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind,” said Roger.
“We’d better keep our eyes open,” said Hilary, “or we shall ride past. I’m sure the fog’s thicker here.” When they reached Dormers, Roger held Northwind while Hilary went in. She was quite a long time, it seemed ages to the others waiting in suspense, and when she came back every hope was dashed: Margaret hadn’t got home, she told them, and Mrs. Radcliffe was waiting for them to get back before she started to look for her in the car. They rode gloomily on. Roger dropped back beside Hilary and asked in a low voice, “What did mummy say? Was she very upset?”
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