“More ways than one of winning a battle,” chuckled the old soldier, smiling behind his whiskers. First, he recovered his watch, medals and the four-pence. They were still on the ground beside Vaga. Protruding from the robber’s pocket was a rough blue pouch. Very carefully the old soldier drew it out. “This will pay for the shakings,” said Grampa, stowing it away in his game leg. “I’ll sample the scoundrel’s tobacco when we’re well out of this.” As he straightened up the long, green bottle of patent medicine caught his eye. “I’ll take this along too,” he muttered, sticking it in his pocket. “Maybe it will help my rheumatism.”
The fire had died down and it was so dark and forbidding in the blue forest that Grampa decided to snatch a few hours’ rest before making an escape. Stretching unconcernedly beside long-legged Skally he fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. And so well trained was this old campaigner that in two hours, exactly, he awoke. The sun had not yet risen, but in the dim grey light of early morning Grampa could make out the forms of the sleeping bandits. Stepping softly, so as not to waken them, he touched Tatters on the shoulder. The Prince started up in alarm, but when Grampa, with fingers to his lips, motioned for him to come he seized his red umbrella and tip-toed after him.
“Have I lived to this age to be an old father to a bandit?” puffed Grampa indignantly as they hurried along. He shook his fist over his shoulder. “Farther and farther away is what I’ll be.” Grampa laughed a little at his joke. “But we can’t go without Bill,” he muttered suddenly, as they passed the rock under which the robbers had thrust the valiant weather cock. With some difficulty they lifted off the rock and, first whispering strict orders for silence, unwound Bill from the various coats and cloaks. Then Tatters, fearing the creak of Bill’s wings would arouse the bandits, stuck him under one arm.
“Wish I knew where they kept their supplies,” whispered the old soldier as they pushed on through the heavy underbrush and made their way around gnarled old trees. “My teeth need some exercise.”
“What a dreadful lot of crows there are in this forest,” mused the Prince, who had scarcely heard Grampa’s last remark. “Why the trees are black with them!”
“Well, do you expect me to eat crow?” sniffed the old soldier, waving his sword to disperse a flock of the birds that were circling around his head.
“No, but—” Tatters got no further, for at that instant crows of an entirely different nature made them both leap into the air. The sun had risen and as the first rays penetrated into the dim forest Bill flew out of Tatters’ arms and, perching on a low branch, burst into such a brazen clamor of cock-a-doodle-doos that the whole forest rang with it.
“Hush! Halt! Stop that alarm!” gasped Grampa. “Now, you’ve done it!”
“Oh, Bill, how could you!” groaned the Prince. Snatching off the skin of the thread bear, he flung it over the iron weather cock and seizing him unceremoniously began to run after Grampa. They had already put a goodly distance between themselves and the bandits, but a few minutes after Bill’s crowing shots came echoing through the wood and the next instant they could hear the outlaws crashing through the brush. They sounded like a herd of elephants.
“We’ll have to hide,” panted the old soldier. “Here, crawl into this hollow tree.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Grampa dove into the tree himself and Tatters, taking a firmer hold on Bill and the red umbrella, followed.