CHAPTER XIV
PHILLIPS' DISCOVERY
As soon as his comrades of the "Otters" had embarked on the first stage of their journey to Wadebridge Station to meet their temporary Scoutmaster, Jack Phillips sallied forth on his shooting expedition.
He was a crack miniature-rifle shot, but although he understood the principle of a twelve-bore gun, he was an absolute novice at the task that had been deputed to him.
A few hundred yards brought him to the fringe of the rabbit warren—an extensive undulating tract of gorse-covered heath liberally honeycombed with holes. Pulling a couple of cartridges from his pocket, Phillips loaded; then, every sense on the alert, he moved cautiously forward.
Yard after yard he walked at a slow pace, but, although he saw hundreds of the swiftly moving little animals far beyond range, not one accommodatingly showed itself to be shot at.
"That's jolly strange," muttered the Scout. "When a crowd of us came over here there were rabbits running about everywhere; now they keep a very respectful distance. I wonder if they know a gun when they see one?"
Phillips halted to straighten his back and to wipe the moisture from his forehead.
"What's that?" he exclaimed to himself, as the sound of a sharp thud came from almost under his feet.
He listened intently. The noise was repeated.
"I wonder if there's a cave underneath here?" he thought. "Seems almost as if there's a man using a pick, only the noise is rather different."
He knelt down and placed his ear against the ground. A wasp, busy amongst the gorse, promptly buzzed so close that he jumped hastily to his feet.
"Bothered if I can understand it," he said to himself. "I'll mention it to Atherton when he comes back. The Island seems chock full of mysterious noises. But, there, I shan't get any rabbits if I fool about here, so here goes."
On and on he went till he neared the cliff on the eastern side of the Island, but without the chance of a shot.
"The rabbits are not out to-day, that's evident," he muttered. "Perhaps they will be more in evidence this afternoon. I'll get back to the camp, for the longer I stay the more the other fellows will expect me to bring back."
With his gun under his arm, Phillips set off at a steady pace, following almost the same route that he had taken on his outward journey.
Half way across the warren, a rabbit suddenly darted out of the furze bush and tore off as hard as it could away from the lad, at the same time making a wide curve to the right.
Before Phillips could fully cock his gun and raise it to his shoulder the rabbit was beyond ordinary range. The Scout took a rapid aim and pressed the trigger. With a report that, compared with the crack of a miniature rifle, was like a cannon going off, the gun kicked and sent the lad spinning. In his excitement he forgot the pain of the blow, for the rabbit was sprawling on the ground.
"Got one, at any rate," exclaimed Phillips, gleefully.
Placing his gun on the ground with more haste than care the Scout ran towards his prize; but before he had covered half the distance the rabbit contrived to regain its feet and crawl down a hole.
"What a nuisance," said the Scout dolefully, and, lying at full length, he thrust his arm down the hole in the hopes of being able to secure the wounded animal. He could hear it scuffling only a few feet away, but it was a case of so near and yet so far: as far as he was concerned he had lost his trophy.
Rather crestfallen, Phillips returned to the camp, where he found Farmer Trebarwith surrounded by an attentive audience of the "Wolves."
"Got anything?" asked Neale. "We heard you firing."
"Of course he's got some," said Hayes. "He's shot so many that he's had to leave them for us to go out and fetch."
"You jolly well shut up," retorted Phillips. "I knocked one over, and that's more than you could do, Hayes."
"Where is it, then?" asked his tormentor.
"It slipped down a hole."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Hayes and the two Coventrys.
"That's enough," said Simpson, reprovingly. "I'll bet Phillips did his best."
"Have you unloaded, young gentleman?" asked the farmer. "Always make sure you have no cartridges in your gun when you leave the warren. Bless me I'll tell ye how to knock over the rabbits, if you like."
"You usually take a dog with you, don't you?" asked Phillips.
"Yes, a dog will turn out any rabbit that is lying close. All the same it isn't necessary. Now, I saw you going through the warren, and I said to myself, 'Sure he'll be main lucky if he gets a shot.' You have to stalk 'em. Keep dead against the wind, and have your gun ready to let fly directly you see a movement in the bushes. You were going with the wind, and they know your scent. Coming back you walked too quickly. It was only haphazard-like that you had a shot at one at all."
"I believe I walked over a cave or something," said Phillips. "I heard a funny sort of tapping noise."
"Whereabouts?" asked several of the Scouts.
"Right in the middle of the warren."
"Don't you know?" asked the farmer. "That's the rabbits in their holes giving warning to those in other burrows. They hit the ground with their hind foot. When you hear that 'tain't much use to stay there: they won't come out again in a hurry."
"I'll try again," said Phillips, giving a glance at the large iron pot that stood in a suggestive position close to the fire.
Making a wide detour, he got to leeward of the warren, then stealthily made his way against the wind. Before he had gone fifty yards two young rabbits of fair size fell the victims of his gun. Three minutes later another excellent shot at sixty yards added a third to the Scout's bag.
"It seems to me that I shall have to send Hayes to fetch them after all," he mused, as he lifted the three dead rabbits. "They are heavy."
Phillips waited a little longer to give the denizens of the warren time to recover from their fright at the discharge of the gun, then he resumed his stealthy advance. Right ahead were the ruins of the old oratory. The Scout remembered that there was a fairly open expanse on the other side where he had often seen the rabbits frisking in the sunshine.
"I'll take cover in the ruins and see if I cannot get in a double-barrelled shot," he said to himself, and with that object in view he crept up the slope on which the ruins stood.
The remains of the chapelry consisted of three roofless walls with open lancet windows. On the west side the masonry had been removed, several masses of stone lying in disorder all down the slope. The walls were destitute of foliage, not even so much as a tendril of ivy softening the hard effects of the dark grey stone.
Since by entering the building on the west side the Scout would have to run the risk of being observed, Phillips decided to crawl through one of the lancet windows, cross the dust-covered floor, and take up a favourable position at the window looking northward.
The opening was narrow. Phillips just unloaded his gun, passed the weapon through, and then began to squeeze between the stonework. As he did so he was surprised to see a portion of the floor almost underneath that window give an upward motion. The dust rose, and as the slab fell there was a well-defined trace of the joint in the stonework.
Again the slab trembled: it was being forced up from beneath.
The Scout took in the situation at a glance. Quickly grasping his gun, he dragged it through the window and propped it against the outside wall, so that it could not be seen from within. Then removing his hat, he peered between two displaced stones, and waited.
He had not long to wait. With a lusty heave the stone rose and toppled backwards, disclosing a circular cavity of about two feet in diameter. Out of the hole appeared the head and shoulders of a man.
Placing his hands on the edge of the aperture, the fellow raised himself clear of the hole and stood blinking in the strong sunlight.
"Golly! It's that chap Tassh. Whatever is his little game," thought Phillips.
As soon as his eyes grew accustomed to the daylight, Tassh replaced the stone, scattered dust over it, and stole to one of the windows in the opposite wall to the one behind which the Scout was crouching.
Looking in the direction of the camp, Tassh muttered an inaudible exclamation, then bending low he crept across the fairly open space and gained the shelter of the gorge. Here he broke into a run, and was soon lost to sight as he made off in the direction of the Tea Caves.
"Atherton was right: that chap's up to mischief, I'll be bound," thought Phillips. "Well, it's not much use my following him alone. He's making for the caves we explored the other day. I'll rout out Simpson and the 'Wolves,' and we can decide what's to be done."
"I say, Simpson," he exclaimed breathlessly, as he reached the camp, "I've seen——"
"Yes, seen—but how many did you shoot?" asked the Leader of the "Wolves." "We're waiting to dress the rabbits in time for our new Scoutmaster."
"They'll have to wait. I've knocked over three. But, I say, I've made a discovery. I've just seen Tassh crawl out of a secret tunnel opening into the old ruins."
At this startling information the "Wolves" were in a state of excitement. Neale and Fraser proposed following the butler, surrounding him and peremptorily demanding an explanation of his suspicious actions—a suggestion that the two Coventrys and Armstrong backed up for all they were worth.
"No, we must wait till we've spoken to Mr Buckley," said Simpson. "We have no authority to waylay the man. I'll tell you what we can do: we'll take possession of the ruins so that he cannot return to the cave or tunnel, whatever it is, without being seen. Hurry up, you fellows; get your staves. No shouting, mind. Double."
It did not take the "Wolves" long to reach the ruins.
"Where's the hole, Phillips?" asked several of the lads.
Without replying, Phillips walked across to the concealed stone and swept away a layer of dirt and dust that Tassh had thrown over it.
"Here you are; help me to heave it up," he said, as soon as the position of the slab was disclosed. "Why, here's a ring let into the stone! Now, all together."
Thrusting a staff through the rusty ring, the Scouts gave a combined heave. The stone came up quite easily.
"I might have known that," remarked Phillips to the Leader of the "Wolves." "Tassh pushed it up, and he does not look a particularly strong man. But why is the lid so light in comparison with its size?"
An examination revealed that the lid was deeply hollowed on the under side, so that its weight was hardly a quarter of what it would have been had the cavity not existed.
"We must have walked over the stone dozens of times and not noticed it sounded hollow," said Hayes. "Now what are we going to do, Simpson?"
"We'll just have a look at this hole or tunnel, whatever it is. Golly! Atherton's missed something by going off to meet the Scoutmaster."
"I wonder how deep it is," said Coventry minor, peering into the pit that yawned at his feet. "There are no steps as far as I can make out."
"I can see a niche on your side, Coventry," announced Fraser. "It looks deep enough to get a good foothold."
"Be careful, young Coventry," cautioned Simpson, as the lad sat down at the edge of the hole, turned face downwards and groped for the niche.
"I'm used to it," replied Coventry minor, confidently. "Here's another one. It's quite easy."
Phillips and the remaining "Wolves" watched the Scout make his way farther and farther down the shaft, till he had descended quite a dozen of the rough footholds cut into the rock.
"Haven't you got to the bottom yet, Coventry?" Simpson called out, with a tinge of anxiety in his voice. "You had better come back, and we'll go to the camp and get some rope and candles."
The Scout instantly began to retrace his footsteps. Possibly owing to the fact that he had already performed the harder task of descending, he momentarily allowed his sense of caution to desert him. The fingers of both hands simultaneously slipped from a lichen-covered niche. He struggled desperately to recover his hold, and fell.
The lads, gathered round the mouth of the pit, heard a stifled cry followed by a dull thud, then all was silent.
"Off belts, lads," ordered Leader Simpson.
In a few seconds a leathern rope, twenty feet in length, was made up. Simpson fastened one end round a staff which was held by four of the Scouts, and threw the free end down the pit; then, without hesitation, he grasped the improvised life-line and swung himself lightly over the edge.
Simpson knew he could trust to these belts. They were not the cheap shoddy article, but well-made ones of well-seasoned leather. The buckles, too, were strong and reliable, so that the Leader of the "Wolves" had good cause to have perfect faith in the rope of belts.
Hand over hand he descended, until he knew that he was literally almost at the end of his tether. Then, proceeding slowly and cautiously, and keeping his feet rigid, he continued his downward course till his hand encountered the buckle joining the two lowermost belts.
"I must risk it and drop," he thought, finding himself unable to touch the side of the pit. "It cannot be so much farther to the bottom."
Relaxing the muscles of his legs in order to bear the shock with the least risk of broken limbs, Simpson released his hold and dropped—a distance of less than two feet. With a sigh of relief he drew a box of matches from his pocket and struck a light.
Lying almost at his feet was the unfortunate Coventry minor. The lad was senseless and bleeding from a cut just above the left ear.
There was no time to be lost. It was imperative that the luckless Scout should be brought up to the open air as quickly as possible.
By the aid of another match, Simpson discovered the position of the line of niches. Then, unfastening the unconscious lad's belt, he refastened it round his chest just beneath his arm-pits. This done, the Leader clasped the buckle at the end of his emergency rope to the ring in Coventry minor's belt.
"Haul up, slowly and steadily!" he shouted.
Ascending by means of the niches, Simpson accompanied his senseless charge, steadying the lad's body to prevent it swaying against the rock, till at length to his great relief Neale and Fraser grasped the rescued Scout and grew him clear of the shaft.
"Is he dead?" asked the unfortunate lad's brother, anxiously.
"No, he's stunned. The sooner we get back to camp and fetch a doctor the better, Hayes and Armstrong, cut off as fast as you can, take the small boat and row across to Polkerwyck and fetch Dr. Carraway. Leave your staves here. Now, 'Wolves,' form a stretcher."
In remarkably quick time the stretcher, formed by means of staves, belts, and long stalks of bracken, was made, and in broken-step form the Scouts carried their comrade towards the camp, Phillips walking by the side to guard against the possibility of the patient falling off.
Before they had covered half the distance, Phillips perceived his patrol descending the road to Polkerwyck harbour.