The Runaways (20 page)

After a moment or two the male cub came forward slowly, then suddenly pounced, grabbed the chicken leg, and disappeared back into the cave, followed by the female cub. Smiler was overcome with a great joy. Frightened they might be, but they had taken food from him.

He tore the chicken in two and threw half of it well into the cave. It landed near the female cub who was worrying around her brother to get at the leg which he was eating and guarding from her with swift strokes of his forepaws. She turned and seized it and ran into a corner of the den. As she did so, the sunlight funnelling into the cave was abruptly blocked off. Undisturbed by this the two went on with their eating.

Outside Smiler had blocked the little opening he had made by piling large turfs and clods of earth into it. It was all part of the plan he had worked out when he had faced the problem on his hands. The cubs had to be fed and watered, but for the time being he could not risk their coming out of the den and escaping from him. Yarra was dead now. They were
his
cubs and he had to look after them sensibly and see that they came to no harm until he could work out a plan for them.

While the cubs ate in darkness, Smiler dragged Yarra free from the soil and turf that partly covered her. He knew exactly what he must do with her. Not that he liked the idea, but it seemed the only thing for him to do. If he buried her on the hill side or up on the plain he could never cover up the evidence of his digging.

Some soldier might spot it, or scavenging rats or foxes might find it.

Scattered all over the plain were dozens of old wells which had been dug in the years long past when the land had not belonged to the army, and the long plain sweeps were grazed or tilled. Smiler knew such a well at the head of the valley. Hating every moment, but knowing he had to do it, he dragged Yarra a quarter of a mile up the valley to the well. It was in a little clump of thorn trees. The Army authorities had years ago capped most of the wells with concrete tops or wooden platforms so that the exercising troops should not fall down them by accident. This well had a timber top. The thick planks were loose in places. Smiler pulled a couple aside. The well was a very deep one. He dragged Yarra across the platform and let her drop through the gap he had made. As he put the heavy planks back there were now tears in his eyes. It was a moment of great sorrow.

Keeping in cover all the way, he went back to Imber village and found an old bucket which he filled with water from the spring near Imber Court. He took the bucket back to the den, left it outside, and then went back again to the village. This time he returned with three or four short lengths of plank from the broken-up floor boards of one of the cottages, and a small, battered old tin bowl.

For the next hour Smiler worked away, keeping a sharp lookout for the movement of any Land Warden. He was following the plan he had worked out.

He opened up the small entrance to the cave, made it larger, and then tossed the last half of the chicken through to the cubs. They took it and began to quarrel over it. He filled the tin basin and put that through the opening on to the floor just inside. The smell of the water brought the cubs at once to the basin. To Smiler's delight, both cubs rushed to it and began to lap thirstily, taking no notice of him. He was tempted to reach his hand through and stroke them. He decided not to do this. He was country-wise enough now to know that if you wanted to be friends with an animal you never rushed things.

While the cubs drank and then went back to their chicken, Smiler worked at making a small plank doorway for the considerably reduced mouth of the cave. He arranged it so that he had three short planks fixed vertically down across the mouth. The middle plank he organized so that he could pull it upwards at will to make an opening. The outside planks he fixed firmly top and bottom with a packing of soil and turf which he firmed down with heavy strokes of the flat spade head.

When this was done Smiler tidied up the outside of the cave as well as he could, clearing the small plateau where Yarra used to sun herself. He spread turves and old leaf mould from under the tree screen around the place to make it look less disturbed. Then, knowing that the cubs were well fed and watered for the time being, he left them.

All the way back to Joe's cottage, while he went his secret ways across the plain with the larks giving their evening chorus above him, Smiler was occupying himself with
his real problem.

Yarra was dead and the cubs were alive. But the cubs were not old enough to look after themselves. He ought to tell someone that they were up on the plain so that they could be caught and taken back, say, to Longleat where they would be looked after properly. But if he told Joe about them, or Miss Milly or Mrs Lakey, it would mean that a lot of public attention would be drawn to himself. Publicity would lead him back to the reform school. He could, of course, just make an anonymous telephone call to the police or one of the Land Wardens, telling about the cubs but not giving his name. But not even that would save him, because the news would become public, be in all the papers and be talked about – and then Joe would hear about it. And Joe was clever enough to put two and two together. Joe liked having secrets and could keep them. Smiler suspected, however, that Joe couldn't keep a really big secret. Not when he had been an hour or two in the Angel. ‘Cheetah cubs up in a little old cave in Imber valley?' Joe would say to himself. ‘And some unknown person – sounded like a boy's voice it's said – telephoned about 'em …?'

Joe would look at him, Smiler, across the supper table and say, ‘Wouldn't 'ave been you by any chance, would it, Johnny lad?' And that would be it. Joe had shown him all the secret ways around Imber and that part of the country. Joe knew how much time he spent up there. Joe would know that if
anyone
was ever going to spot Yarra's cave, and then find out she had cubs, and go to the trouble of digging them out and building a door … Oh, Crikeys, thought Smiler. Joe would have it out of him in no time. And then the word would go round! He was pretty sure that Joe already didn't believe the story about his aunt at Crockerton … Oh, Lordy … There would be that reform school waiting. Once Joe knew, something was bound to go wrong.

So, that evening, sitting by himself in the gloaming on the river bank – Joe was already away to the Angel – Smiler came to a big decision.

He
had
to keep free until his father returned. Also, he had to see that the cubs were properly looked after. That meant he had to telephone the police or someone. And
that
meant that the moment he did so he would have to take off. Right away from this part of the world, covering his tracks as he went. He would have to go right away and find another job somewhere. But he didn't want to move on. He liked working at Danebury House. He liked Miss Milly and Mrs Lakey (though not quite so much), and he liked Joe (better than anyone), and, in a way, he quite liked seeing Pat Bagnall now and then and having a chat with her.

But
, Samuel M., he told himself, no matter what
you
like and what
you
want to do – you've got to tell about the cubs. Samuel M., that means you
have got
to move on. Not today. Not tomorrow. But pretty soon. As soon as you've got a plan made out for yourself.

Sadly, Smiler went back to the cottage and counted his savings. He had thirty odd pounds, a few bits of clothing, a bicycle and a suitcase which he'd bought to carry his gear in. All he needed now was a plan. It would have to be good, because when he disappeared
that
would start questions, too … Crikeys, it wasn't going to be easy to work out.

However, during the next week while Smiler was worrying at his plan for disappearing, he had the cubs to look after.

This was very hard work. He was up before dawn and away from the cottage long before Joe was awake. He would ride up past Danebury House, hide his bicycle, and make his way across the plain to the cubs. Food was no problem. He packed his haversack with dog meat from Joe's store and dropped fivepence into Joe's cash box now and then to pay for it. He would give the cubs their breakfast, refill their water bowl, and then shut them up and be back at Danebury in time for work. In the evening when he had finished work at Danebury, he would take some dog meat from the kennel store and go back up to the cubs and give them their evening meal.

Within three days the cubs got to know him. When he came to the cave door he would whistle to them. The moment he pulled up the plank they would be waiting for him, snapping and spitting with excitement. But he was worried about giving them exercise. Young animals could not be kept shut up all the time. Fortunately the male cub solved this problem for him.

Smiler arrived on the fourth evening to find that the middle door plank had been butted away. Both cubs were playing around by the tree screen. He saw them as he came up the steep slope and they saw him.

Smiler stood where he was, not knowing what to do. Then, to his surprise, the cubs began to move down towards him. He gave his low whistle. They broke into a fast trot through the long grasses, every high-shouldered movement and graceful stride they made reminding him of Yarra.

Smiler crouched down. The cubs came to him, but stopped a few feet short. The female squatted on her haunches. The male circled slowly round at a safe distance. Smiler pulled his haversack round and took out a piece of meat and held it up. Immediately the female came towards him.

Smiler got to his feet and, holding the piece of meat high, began to move up to the den entrance. Both cubs followed him. Just before they reached the small plateau, the male cub made a sudden leap towards the meat that nearly took Smiler by surprise. It was a higher jump than he had thought the cub could make.

After that it was easy. Smiler tossed two large lumps of meat into the den and the cubs went in after them. Smiler watered them. Before he left, he made the door much firmer so that they could not get out. On the way back to the cottage he thought about exercising the cubs and worked out a plan for the next morning.

It worked perfectly. He pulled up the plank door and held his meat-filled haversack close to the opening. Both cubs came to it. Smiler moved away and slung his haversack high on his back. He moved up the valley side for a hundred yards. The cubs followed him and the scent of the meat in the haversack. When he turned and went back to the cave the cubs turned with him. At the cave entrance, he threw meat inside and the cubs went in after it. That was the beginning of their training, and they learnt quickly.

By the weekend, so long as he had meat in his haversack and they had not been fed, they would follow him. By the middle of the next week Smiler could hang his haversack high on a branch of one of the screening trees and walk off. The cubs would go with him though the first time the male sat obstinately under the tree for a while.

At the end of two weeks, the rule was firmly fixed. Both cubs followed him for a walk before returning to the cave to be fed from the haversack that hung from the tree. By this time, too, the cubs would let him handle them, stroke them, and massage their necks which they loved. If they strayed a little from him they would come back at the sound of his whistle. Smiler was delighted with all this.

It was nearing high summer now. The cubs were growing fast and were well used to Smiler. So long as the weather was good and the cubs were fed and watered, there was no hurry, Smiler told himself, about settling their future. The days wore into July and every morning and evening Smiler would exercise the cubs up the long narrow valley and across a small stretch of plain at its head. Fed or not, they came with him, answered his call, and had no fear of his touch. Though Smiler was always careful when he did this. Twice the male cub had scratched him inadvertently in a moment of rough play.

The buzzards knew the trio and so did the other birds and beasts. At the valley head one evening a young rabbit got up from the grass and the male cub went after it and caught it. For a moment or two Smiler did not know what to do. He realized that it would be dangerous to try and take the rabbit from the cub. So he turned and began to walk back towards the den. The female followed him. He whistled to the male as he walked. After a moment or two the male, mouth closed over the rabbit's neck, turned and followed him, carrying his prey. The male cub carried the rabbit back and into the den.

So, slowly, Smiler learnt how to handle the cubs in different situations and the cubs came to know Smiler. And Smiler gave them names. The male he called Rico and the female Afra. He didn't know why he called them that, but he was rather pleased with his inventions.

Although by now Smiler had long made up his mind what he eventually must do about things he kept on putting it off because he enjoyed being with the cubs so much. Each time that he made up his mind to do something, he had changed it within a few minutes of being back with them.

During the fourth week of his taking charge of the cubs, unknown to him, a decision began to be made for him.

One Friday evening Joe said to him, ‘Johnny my lad, tomorrow afternoon I'm a-going to give you a treat. And don't tell me you don't want to come because you want to go up on that old plain. What you got hidden up there, anyways? A gold mine?'

‘I just like being up there, Joe.'

‘And so do I, Johnny. But a change won't do you any harm. A treat I'm going to give you and a treat you're goin' to have. We'll be back by six so you can slip up there for an hour after, if you want.'

So Smiler, who never liked disappointing Joe – and even felt a bit guilty for keeping his cheetah secret from him – said he would like to have a treat.

Joe duly gave him his treat, the both of them driving off in the green van. By the time Smiler – who had thoroughly enjoyed himself – got back he knew exactly how to solve part of his remaining problem.

While Joe was giving Johnny his treat, Major Collingwood was having tea with his wife at Ford Cottage. They were having it out on the small front lawn that overlooked the river. The Major, although he still thought about it now and then, had long ago lost his interest in tracing Mr Hunted. He had come to a dead end. The Major was the kind of man who, when he came to a dead end, didn't like to stay there long. He turned round and found something else of interest to do.