Pigeon Post

  “Well, I took a good look at it. And mind ye, yer mother’s father took me wi’ him when he went to Africa after that same stuff. I’m not easy fooled wi’ metals and such. ‘Seen owt like it?’ I says. ‘I have that, with the old queen’s head on one side o’t and Saint George a-sticking t’ dragon on t’ other,’ I says. He hadn’t much, mind you, nobbut a pinch o’ dust. Dust and a bit as big as a pin’s head maybe. But it was t’ colour of it.”

  “‘I thowt ye’d know it,’ says he. ‘We’ll be getting an assay o’ this and be making our fortunes yet. Gold in t’ fells … That’s a bit o’ news to startle folk …’

  “‘They’ve been startled more’n a bit already today,’ says I. He’d come straight off t’ fells to my cottage, and he’d seen nobody since morning. I give him t’ newspaper, wi’ t’ news reet across t’ front page, o’ weir begun and officers’ leave stopped and the rest. ‘It’ll blow over yet,’ he says, ‘but that’ll tak me oop to London,’ he says, ‘and I’ll be getting an assay of yon gold at t’ same time.’ He was off next day by t’ morning train. Reservist he was. He never come back, and that’s all there is to it. But if you ask me, is there gold in t’ fells, why, I says, ‘Aye, there is. Seeing’s believing. And I’ve seen the stuff wi’ my own eyes.’”

  “Yes,” said Nancy, “but where was it he found it?”

  “Ah, now,” said Slater Bob, “if I’d knowed that, maybe I’d have gone looking for ’t myself. And he tried to tell me, too. He’d his map he’d been making for Government, wi’ numbers on it for the old levels, and adits and sinkings … numbers, mind ye, stead o’ names like we call ’em, Grey Cap and Slate Crop, and Brown’s Dog, and Jimson’s and Giftie and the rest. He showed me his map, but I couldn’t make owt o’ his numbers and arrows and all. He was to take me up to see the place when he come back. But he never did come back …”

  “Yes, but which side of the valley was it?” said Nancy. “If we only knew where to start looking it’d be quite enough.”

  “Nay,” said the old man. “It’s not in this valley at all. It’s away behind us, up yonder, t’ other side o’ t’ Scar. He told me he found that stuff in a bit of a shallow bottom where folk had started a level and dropped it, up on High Topps …”

  Nancy almost groaned. “High Topps?” she said. “But that’s right over the other side of Ling Scar.”

  “Aye,” said Slater Bob. “On High Topps he found it. ‘By an old copper working,’ he said, ‘wi’ heather growing along a fault in t’ rock. Easy to find,’ he said, and he had it numbered on his map. But there’s many a score of those old workings on High Topps, and every fault in t’ rock makes a hold for heather. And then you might be standing on the very spot wi’out seeing what he saw.”

  SLATER BOB TALKS OF GOLD

  “Is it a long way?” asked John.

  “Miles from Beckfoot,” said Nancy. “Over the other side of this hill. We can’t go prospecting up there and get back every night. Mother thought the gold was somewhere near.”

  “Nay, it’s on High Topps,” said the old man. “The gold I’m telling of … not but what you might happen on it somewhere else … No one knows yet nor ever will all that’s hid in these fells.”

  “If only it was a bit nearer home,” said Nancy. “Oh, well, I suppose we ought to be going back.”

  Everybody could hear the disappointment in her voice.

  “If you find it,” said the old man, “I don’t know but what I might give slates a rest. Give me metal every time.”

  “We shan’t be able to look for it just now,” said Nancy. “But thank you very much for telling us about it.”

  “Thank you very much,” said the others.

  They lit their candles, said “Goodbye,” and started along the tunnel, Peggy this time going first.

  Dorothea was still thinking of the old man’s story. “He must have taken his map to the war with him,” she said, almost to herself, “and then he was killed and someone found the map, and years afterwards, they’ll guess what it means and come up here to look … Oh, I say …” She stumbled, and her voice suddenly shrilled. “Perhaps Squashy Hat has got the map and that’s why he’s here.”

  “Gosh!” said Nancy. “If he has, we’ve simply got to go there. There’s no time to lose.”

  She ran back.

  “Look here, Bob,” she said. “Don’t you say anything about it to that snooper. He might go looking for it right away.”

  “He’ll get no forrader with me,” said the old man, and turned again to shaping his prop with his axe.

  Nancy hurried after the others as fast as her guttering candle would let her.

  *

  “Is it all no good?” Roger was asking, his voice echoing in the tunnel.

  “Don’t talk,” said Nancy. “Squashy Hat may be somewhere close to, and listening in the dark.”

  Not another word was spoken on the way out. They hurried silently along. When they turned the last corner into the straight and saw the pin-point of light so far away in front of them, it was as if they could not make it grow bigger fast enough. Their candles were nearly done. The melting wax had not time to cool before it reached their fingers. Peggy, in front, blew hers out. The others did the same. They had no need of candles now. More and more clearly they could see the rugged sides of the tunnel. They came suddenly out into the sunshine among grey piles of stone and slate. Coming out like that into the light after being so long in the darkness inside the hill, they looked at each other as if they were seeing each other for the first time.

  “Well, nobody’s touched our shoes,” said Roger.

  “Look here,” said Susan. “You can get some of the dirt off by standing with your feet in the trickle. Don’t put them all muddy into your shoes. Oh Roger, not your handkerchief!”

  “It’s all right,” said Roger, finishing the drying of his feet. “I haven’t got a cold, so I shan’t want to blow my nose or anything like that.”

  “Hurry up,” said Nancy. “We can get them clean afterwards. Let’s just see if that man’s still there.”

  “Don’t stare at him if he is,” said John. “Just walk straight on as if you hadn’t seen.”

  Two minutes later they were leaving the outworks of the old mine, coming out between piles of rough stones and dropping down the track into the valley.

  “He’s there,” whispered Roger.

  Up on the fellside above the entrance to the old level, the man with the squashy hat was sitting where they had seen him last.

  “He’s got a map,” said Titty.

  “Perhaps it’s the map,” said Dorothea.

  “Don’t let him see we’ve spotted him,” said John.

  They walked steadily on till Nancy could bear it no longer.

  “Somebody tie a shoelace,” she said. “We must see what he’s doing.”

  Titty instantly limped, hopped once or twice, and stopped to untie a shoelace and tie it up again. “He’s coming down,” she said.

  The others turned, as if to urge her to be quick. They could all see him, a tall, thin man in grey flannels, scrambling down through the bracken.

  “He may not be going to the mine at all,” said Susan.

  But at that moment they saw him reach the track and disappear among those great heaps of stones.

  “He’s gone in,” said Dorothea.

  “He won’t get much out of Slater Bob now,” said Nancy.

  “He’ll bump his head if he hasn’t got a candle,” said Roger.

  “Probably got one in his pocket,” said Dick.

  “Not in his pocket,” said Susan. “At least I shouldn’t think so.”

  “Look here,” said Nancy. “We’ll simply have to go and camp on High Topps.”

  “Mother’ll never let us,” said Peggy. “She said we’d have to camp at Beckfoot as long as she was the only native. And when the other natives come everybody’ll want to sail and go down to Wild Cat.”

  “And then it’ll be too late,” said Nancy. “We’ve
got to find it before Captain Flint comes home. And, anyway, we can’t let Squashy Hat get in and find it first.”

  “Do you think he’s heard the story?” said Titty.

  “Must have,” said Nancy. “Look where he was coming from. Over the top of the Scar. He was coming from High Topps. He’s begun looking already. And we’re just hanging about … Come on. When mother knows how awfully urgent it is … And, anyway, it was partly her own idea … Come on. Let’s just see how soon we can get home.”

  CHAPTER IV

  MRS BLACKETT MAKES CONDITIONS

  IT was no good trying to talk to Mrs Blackett until the paperers and plasterers had gone for the day. By that time the pigeons had been fed and Susan and Peggy had got the camp-fire going in the open space in the wood just off the lawn. Mrs Blackett was coming to join them at a meal, tea and supper combined, and the cooks were going to show how good a meal they could make with minced pemmican served hot with plenty of green peas out of a tin and potatoes they had dug for themselves in the kitchen garden. Meanwhile, Nancy and John were at work in the stableyard mending an old handcart. It was a good enough handcart except that one of its wheels kept coming off and one of its handles had been broken. By taking off the good wheel, at Dick’s suggestion, they had found out what was wrong with the other, and the handcart was ready for use and was being run fast up and down the cobbled yard, to make sure that it would not come to pieces again, when Mrs Blackett, hearing the noise, came out to see what was happening.

  “We’ve got to start trekking tomorrow,” said Nancy firmly. “We’ve got to shift the whole camp up to High Topps.”

  “But Ruth, I mean Nancy, you wild creature, whatever for? I thought it was all settled that you were to camp here and go prospecting for gold. Didn’t you find Slater Bob?”

  “Yes,” said Nancy. “And the gold isn’t here at all. It’s up on High Topps. And there’s someone else looking for it. We haven’t got a minute to lose. It’s too late to move tonight, but we’ll get going first thing in the morning.”

  “No,” said Mrs Blackett. “Impossible altogether. Mrs Walker might not mind so very much, but there are the Callums.”

  “What about Susan?” said Nancy. “She’ll look after them. Don’t go and say ‘No’ right away. Come along and see the others. Hi! John, do go and tell Susan mother’s coming and everything’s going to be all right.”

  “I never said so,” said Mrs Blackett. “Don’t tell her anything of the sort.”

  But John was gone. This was something between Nancy and her mother. He couldn’t very well join in and say he wanted to get away from Mrs Blackett’s garden. He slipped away through the house, putting his head in at Captain Flint’s study door on the way. Dick was there, reading about gold in the Encyclopædia. Dorothea was seated at the table taking the chance of scribbling down a few sentences in her story, The Outlaw of the Broads, that she had not had time to finish at school. Titty was looking at the picture of the armadillo.

  “Come on,” said John. “Come along to the camp. Nancy’s begun persuading Mrs Blackett and they’ll be there in two ticks.”

  *

  Mrs Blackett seemed to need a good deal of persuading. From the camp on the lawn, anxious watchers saw that neither Nancy nor her mother was in a hurry to join them. The two of them came round the corner of the house into the garden but they did not at once cross the lawn to the group of small white tents. Instead they walked up and down under those curtainless windows. Fragments of talk, sentences, half sentences, single words, floated across the garden. Mrs Blackett was explaining again and again why it was that, though she did not mind having six children not her own safely camped in her garden, she did not at all like the idea of letting them go camping miles away up on the fells where anything might happen to them and she would not be there to help. And then, whenever she got a chance, there came a loud, cheerful rush of persuasive talk from Nancy.

  “As safe as houses … Much safer in case of earthquakes and things. And anyway, now we know it’s there, it wouldn’t be much fun looking anywhere else. And you know we couldn’t get home every evening. Not from High Topps. Cruelty to animals. We’d be on the road all day and never have any time there at all. Besides, it’d be much better if none of us were here while you’re finishing up the papering and painting. Better for cook, I mean. And you know you’re always saying Susan can be trusted to be sensible …”

  That was all Nancy, but when she paused for breath, Mrs Blackett began again. “It would be all very well if you were all Susans. There’s only one Susan in the eight of you. It’s the Dicks and Dots and Rogers I’d be worrying about …”

  “Me?” whispered Roger indignantly.

  “Shut up,” said Titty. “They’re coming.”

  Mrs Blackett had turned suddenly off the path and was walking across the lawn to the tents. Nancy, with dancing eyes, as if she knew the victory was won, was close behind her.

  “Where is Susan?” said Mrs Blackett. “Oh, there you are.” She turned aside towards the camp-fire, from which Susan had just lifted a boiling kettle.

  “It’s no good trying to get any sense out of my harumscarums,” said Mrs Blackett. “Tell me, Susan, do you really want to go camping away up on High Topps instead of staying here?”

  “Of course she does,” said Nancy.

  “Pirates hold their peace,” said Mrs Blackett, “long enough to let Susan answer for herself.”

  “It’s very nice here, of course,” said Susan.

  Mrs Blackett laughed. “So you do want to go?” she said.

  “Only because of the gold,” said Susan.

  “I’m sure there’s just as much gold here as anywhere else,” said Mrs Blackett.

  “Slater Bob said High Topps,” said Susan, “and he told us just what to look for …”

  “Well done, Susan,” said Nancy.

  “But, of course, there may be other places.”

  Nancy almost groaned.

  “If only my brother were at home,” said Mrs Blackett.

  “But the whole point of everything is to find the gold before he comes back,” said Nancy.

  “It’s to be a surprise for him,” said Dorothea.

  “Or if you could only wait till your mothers are here to decide for themselves.”

  “He’ll be here before that,” said Nancy.

  “And when they come we’ll all be sailing,” said John.

  “And somebody else is looking for it already,” said Titty.

  “Not really,” said Mrs Blackett. “Now, Susan. You tell me, what would your mother say?”

  “She’d say all right if Roger went to bed at the proper time.”

  “She’d tell us about gold-mining in Australia,” said Titty. “She might even want to come too.”

  “I dare say she would,” said Mrs Blackett. “But that’s just what I can’t do with the house all upside down. And what about you?” she added, turning to Dick and Dorothea. “What would Mrs Callum say?”

  “She wouldn’t mind if we promised to do what Susan told us,” said Dorothea.

  “You see how it is, Susan. It all comes down to depending on you.”

  “It’s much safer than the island,” said Susan, and the others looked at her most gratefully. “No night sailing or anything like that, even if we wanted. Nothing can go wrong.”

  “If only it wasn’t so far,” said Mrs Blackett.

  “You’ve got Rattletrap,” said Nancy.

  “And what about milk every day? It’s not like the island, with Mrs Dixon just across the bay.”

  “Atkinson’s farm’s close to High Topps,” said Nancy. “You can see it on the map in Captain Flint’s room. It’s only just across the Dundale road.”

  “And water?”

  “There’s the beck right on the Topps. We’ll camp by the side of it, where the charcoal-burners were. Simply gorgeous, it’s going to be.”

  “Oh well,” said Mrs Blackett. “But it’s no good thinking I can keep coming up there to s
ee you. One of you’ll have to run down every day, to let me know no necks are broken or ankles twisted or anything like that.”

  “What are the pigeons for?” said Nancy joyously.

  “But I can’t spend all day in the stableyard watching for a pigeon when I’ve five hundred thousand things to do and workmen in every room, and cook and me both rim off our legs.”

  Nancy looked sharply at Dick.

  Dick, in spite of himself, turned a little pink. “I think it would work,” he said. “I think I could make the pigeon ring a bell when it came home.”

  “That would settle it,” said Nancy.

  “No it wouldn’t,” said Mrs Blackett. “Somebody would have to spend all day listening for the bell.”

  “It wouldn’t just ring and stop,” said Dick. “The way I’ve planned it, it’ll go on ringing and ringing till somebody comes and turns it off.”

  Mrs Blackett, yielding, caught at a straw. “If you can promise to send a pigeon home every day with a letter, and arrange for it to ring a bell that nobody can help hearing …”

  “Dick’ll do it,” said Nancy. “That’ll be a pigeon a day for three days, and then one of us’ll come home to bring them back. Well done, mother. A pigeon a day keeps the natives away … We don’t want to keep you away, of course. It’s only to save you having to come.”

  “Well, if Dick really can do it,” said Mrs Blackett doubtfully. “And if you can get milk at Atkinson’s, and find a nice place with good water …”

  “She’s agreed,” shouted Nancy. “Barbecued billygoats, mother, but I thought you were never going to.”

  “I put all my trust in you, Susan,” said Mrs Blackett. “And you, too, John,” she added. John grinned. It was kind of her to say it, but he knew she did not mean it. On questions of milk and drinking-water and getting able-seamen to bed in proper time, Susan was the one the natives trusted.