CHAPTER XLIII
THE BROKEN BICYCLE
That morning the brother scouts enjoyed an experience which gave them keener pleasure than perhaps anything else which happened during their journey. It began about eleven o'clock, when they were following a country road upon which hamlets, and even houses, were very far apart.
They were approaching the foot of a very steep hill, when the Raven's eyes, always on the watch, as a scout's eyes should be, caught a gleam of something glittering in a great bed of weeds beside the road. He stopped, parted the weeds with his staff, and disclosed a broken bicycle, diamond-framed, lying on its side. It was the bright nickelled handle-bar which had caught his eye.
'Somebody's had a smash, and left the broken machine here,' said Dick; and Chippy nodded.
Now, Dick's statement of the case would have satisfied most people, and they would have gone on their way. There was the broken bicycle, and the rider had left it. Perhaps he meant to fetch his disabled machine later. In any case an untrained person would have seen nothing that he could possibly do, and would have dismissed the matter from his mind. But that would not do for the Wolf and the Raven. It was their duty as scouts to got to the bottom of the affair, if possible, on the chance that help was needed somehow or somewhere, and they began a careful examination of the machine and its surroundings.
The cause of the accident suggested itself at once—a broken brake and a runaway down the hill, with a smash at the foot. There were two brakes on the machine. One was jammed; one had a broken wire. Whether the jammed brake had been so or not before the accident they could not tell. As far as they could judge, the broken wire had left the rider helpless on the steep slope. They looked up the hill. The track came down fairly straight, until it was within a few yards of the bed of weeds. Then it swerved sharply aside. A yard from the angle of the swerve lay a large stone. Deduction: The front wheel had struck the stone, driven it a yard to the left, and itself had swerved violently to the right, and dashed on to a heap of stones hidden under the growth of weeds. The shock had been tremendous. How discovered? The frame was badly twisted and broken, and the machine was an excellent one; the transfer bore the name of a first-rate maker.
Now, what had happened to the rider? He had been pitched flying from his machine, and Dick found where he had fallen. Three yards from the spot where the broken bicycle lay, the weeds were flattened, as if a heavy body had dropped there. Then Dick gave a long, low whistle.
'By Jove, Chippy! look here!' he cried, and pointed with his staff. The Raven hastened up, and whistled too, when he saw a patch of blood lying around a sharp-edged stone. The blood was quite fresh, and that proved the accident was recent.
'Poor chap dropped with his head on the stone, and cut himself pretty badly,' said Dick; and Chippy nodded.
'It ain't a big machine,' he remarked.
'It's just about the size of mine,' returned Dick. 'It may be a fellow about our age, Chippy, by the look of the bike.'
Now arose the vital question: Had the unlucky rider received help or not? How had he left the place—on his own feet, or with assistance? The scouts settled that in a minute's close search. They had taken care not to potter about and confuse the spoor with their own markings. They soon came to the conclusion that such marks as they could find were made by the rider when he had dragged himself to his feet.
'Has anyone passed here since the accident?' said Dick.
'Soon find that out,' cried Chippy; and the two scouts turned their trained eyes on the dusty road, which gave up instantly the knowledge its surface held.
Two tracks only were recent. One was made by a pair of wheels and the feet of a horse; the other by a pair of large, hobnailed shoes. The wheel-tracks were narrow, and the horse had trotted till it was some distance up the hill, then fallen into a walk. The boys decided that a gig and a labourer had passed along, both going the same way.
Ten yards up the hill the bicycle track crossed a track of the gig. Thirty yards up the hill the ribbed Dunlops had wiped out the side of a hobnailed impression. Very good. The bike had come down the hill after these had passed; it had been the last thing on the road. This greatly strengthened the idea which the scouts had already formed, that no help had been available. Now they began to search for the rider's line of movement from the place.
Dick found it: a footprint on a dusty patch in the grassy wayside track. He called to his companion. When Chippy had seen it, Dick set his own foot on the track; his shoe exactly covered it.
Now the scouts gathered their impressions together, and reconstructed in theory the whole affair. A boy of about their own age had ridden over the brow of the slope, with only one brake available on his machine. Near the top of the hill the brake had broken; they regarded this as proved by the tremendous way which the machine had got on it. The rider was skilful, for his track was true, and he would have escaped had it not been for the large stone in the track, and this, it was very likely, his great speed had prevented him from seeing until too late; another point, by the way, to prove the early giving-out of the brake. He had swerved violently aside, and struck the heap of stones by the bank before he could regain control of his machine, and the smash followed. After the smash the rider had pulled himself together, and gone alone from the place; his trail ran up the hill, and it looked as if he were making for home; it was certain that he was pretty badly hurt.
'Now, Chippy,' said Dick, 'the point for us is this: Has he got safely home or not?'
'Foller 'im up,' said the Raven briefly; 'scout's job to mek' sure.'
Dick nodded, and without another word they struck the trail, and worked their way up the steep slope.
'Blood,' said Chippy, and pointed out two stains on the grass.
'Blood it is,' replied his companion, and they pressed forward.
Near the top of the slope, where, just at the crown, the hill was at its steepest, the boys stopped in amazement. Here was a trail with a vengeance! The roadside grass gave way to a sandy patch twenty yards long, and the patch was scored with long, dragging marks. Then Dick-pointed with his staff. There in the soft soil was the impression of a hand, and dark spots lay along the trail.
'By Jove, Chippy! the poor chap!' cried the Wolf. 'The hill proved too steep for his weakness. Look, he's finished it on his hands and knees.'
Dick bent, and laid his own hand over the clear impression on the sand.
'Same size again,' he cried; 'he's just about our age, Chippy.'
'It's the blood he's lost as fetched 'im down,' said the Raven, his face very grave; 'but he's a good plucked un. He's fightin' his way somewheer.'
At the top of the hill came a level stretch, and here the wounded rider had gathered himself together again and stumbled forward. Within a very short distance the road forked, and at the fork the trail was lost. The two roads were hard and stony, and showed no trace of footmarks, and the blood had ceased to fall.
'A road apiece,' said Chippy.
'Yes,' said Dick. 'You take right; I'll take left. First one to find anything whistles.'