'And who may you be, and what do you want here?' he asked pleasantly, and returned the salute.
'We're Boy Scouts,' replied Dick, 'and our patrols are out for a big scouting-run over the heath.'
'Ah, yes! Boy Scouts—I've heard of you,' said the big man, still smiling at them. 'Well, I'm in the same line myself. But you can't come any further this way, mateys. You'll have to scout back, if you don't mind.'
'Why must we do that, sergeant?' asked Dick, who had noted the chevrons on the big man's sleeve, and understood them.
'Well,' said the good-natured soldier, 'it's like this: We've got a lot of big, bad convicts at work over there,' and he jerked his head behind him, 'and we keep 'em strictly to themselves, you see. They're bad company for anybody but the men as looks after 'em, so we keep this corner of the country clear of other people.'
'At that rate,' laughed Dick, 'the track we want isn't likely to be laid your way?'
'Not it,' said the sergeant, 'else I should ha' spotted it on my round. No, mateys, you can cut right back. Ta-ta!'
The boys gave him a farewell salute, and ran back towards the spot where they had left the rest of the patrol.
'That's a rum game, ain't it?' remarked Chippy—'a soldier a-walkin' round in a quiet place like that theer. Who's he a-tryin' to cop?'
'Perhaps watching to see that no convicts escape,' suggested Dick. 'You know, Chippy, they often try to cut and run if they see a chance.'