Charlie's Gang (8 page)

When was he going to stop being a wimp?
Being scared of something can ruin a whole life
he said to himself. And he swore that if he ever saw that little terrier again, he would say that he was sorry.

While Charlie and his gang were making their way home across the fields, and Beattie was setting off to try and find Brian in Birmingham, Dora and Emily were sitting on the wall outside the Featherstone house, studying the
Ratcatcher's Manual (Amateur Edition)
together.

‘Dad's been talking about the farm he's bought,' Emily told Dora, ‘and Mum met that old bloke in the village who told her it was a massive rat clearing job that we'd never manage on our own. I want to go there and look at it, but I'm having a problem persuading Mum to take me.'

They were looking at
Chapter 3
of the Manual. It was entitled
Serious Rat Infestations in Large Buildings.

‘Here,' said Emily, ‘it explains that we have to start at the top of the building and drive the rats down to a narrow place where we can get them as they come through. Bash them one I suppose it means. Sounds a bit scary.'

Dora wondered just how many rats there would be.

‘It's quite technical,' Emily went on, ‘it talks about rats per square foot, and how long they've lived in wherever it is. Time of year, breeding seasons and so on. A bit complicated.' She shut the book, ‘I'll work on Mum.'

Dora had mixed feelings. She'd never been good at diagrams, and the book had a great many. She did know however, that there was such a thing as too many rats for three terriers. She thought of Charlie and his gang, and wondered whether the other three dogs were any braver than him. He'd be no use whatsoever, handsome or not. She sighed. If only Emily could understand dog language, she could discuss it with her.

After lunch Mr Featherstone, home for the day, was getting ready to visit his new property. Dora heard him talking to Mrs Featherstone.

‘Mayor Barnsley's been on the phone,' he told his wife. ‘Apparently the people in the village are up in arms about my holiday flats. Worried about strangers coming in, and traffic, and burglars and mess and litter and dogs. They can't cope with change round here. It's pathetic. What's the matter with traffic? And I'd
like
to see some different faces. And maybe if I can get more people and traffic into the village I'll be able to sell that other site to a nice big supermarket. We could do with a supermarket up against the park, don't you think?'

Mrs Featherstone wasn't sure.

‘Emily! Take that rat book upstairs! I'm sick of the sight of it! Honestly, I wish I'd never got those terriers, and if you keep on thinking about rats all the time, I'll have to take them back to the Rescue!'

‘Can Dora and I come with you to the farm?' Emily asked her father.

‘If you like,' he said.

11

Darren

Beattie managed to find her way back to the cottage easily, ducking and diving to keep out of sight. The white in her coat stood out against the green and brown fields. Her stomach rumbled with a mixture of hunger and fear. She saw that the van was back and that Andy's motorbike was missing, and within moments heard the sound of an engine whining, high pitched as Darren accelerated along the lanes. The fields would be safer, she thought, but she needed to keep alongside the lanes too, so she could remember the way. She set off as fast as she could, and soon her spirits began to rise as the sound of the motorbike faded and she guessed that Darren had gone back to the old farmhouse to search for her there.

But she was wrong. As she rounded a sharp bend, he was waiting for her. He'd parked the motorbike and walked quietly back, hiding behind a bush waiting to pounce. He must have seen her coming.

‘Gottcha!' he shouted, as he threw his jacket over her and pushed her down to the ground. ‘Thought you'd make a break for it did you? Well, ha ha.' He pinched her through the cloth, and she yelped in pain. But as she lay still waiting for him to take hold of her, she thought,
Now what would Mother do? Bite!
So, as Darren brought his arms underneath her to lift her up, she bit him hard just above the elbow. Snarling and baring her teeth for a second bite, she took him by surprise. The jacket he had thrown over her was thin, and she'd felt her teeth sink into his arm.

‘You little....' But he loosened his hold for a second, and Beattie was away. She crossed the lane and pushed through a prickly hedge opposite, as Darren leapt to his feet and over a nearby gate to follow her, swearing horribly and making clear what he would do to her when he got his hands on her again. But she was far faster than him, and he soon gave up.

Beattie ran, impressed by her success. The first time she'd bitten anyone!

But which direction to take? She trotted on for several miles, until the light began to fade and she realised that she was lost. She came to a main road and knew she had to cross it, but the speed of the traffic frightened her. She took a breath and ran across. There was a squeal of brakes and a lorry swerved to avoid her. Dust flew and a long blast from a horn sounded. Beattie fled. She was aware of the lorry braking and a car swerving out of its way as it pulled in to the side of the road, but she didn't stay to see what happened after that.

She was too tired and hungry to run for long, but the houses and flats on this side of the road looked more like the sort of place where Brian lived. She also recognised the railway line, which she knew ran towards town. She decided to follow it, and settled into a slow walk on a pavement running alongside the line.

More houses appeared to the right of her, and from one of them the smell of food was so overpowering that she gathered her energy and jumped over the garden wall in the hope of finding something to eat. For the second time that day she surprised herself, as she reached up high and grabbed something which was half hanging from the overfilled bin. Fish and chips! Or the cold remains of them, and within moments she had swallowed the lot. Who minded vinegar? Not her.

Refreshed and relieved, she licked the greasy paper, took a drink from a nearby birdbath, and was off again.

The railway line stretched away into the distance, towards the lights of the city. Beattie decided to stay near to it. Surely by now Darren would be watching telly with Andy and Mike, and would have forgotten all about her. But she was wrong again, as she heard the sound of a motorbike and guessed that he too was following the railway line. She listened. What she urgently needed was a bridge, and one that motorbikes weren't allowed to cross.

But as the sound of the engine came closer, she realised that it sounded different - lower and deeper - and that a blue light was flashing, lighting up the darkness. She paused and pressed herself against a garden wall, waiting for it to pass.

The motorbike stopped alongside her, and a man's voice spoke into a radio, ‘Reference your earlier report, there's a stray dog here on Pullman Street. Also white terrier. Could be the one that caused the near traffic accident. Can't see an owner anywhere. Call the dog warden and I'll hang on to it....over.' He turned to look at Beattie, ‘Come on boy, or is it girl? Come!'

Although the blue light scared her, the man's voice was kind, and the white helmet and leather gloves Beattie recognised as belonging to a policeman. She shuffled over and lay shivering in front of him. He picked her up and held her lightly under one arm while he spoke again into his radio. ‘Yes...I've got her...I'll hold her till the warden gets here. About half way up Pullman Street.'

Beattie had met policemen before. They called from time to time to see Darren at home, who generally, when this happened, hid behind the sofa and pretended to be out. If he wasn't quick enough the police would come in and talk to him, after which he would go off in a white car with them for a few hours, coming home even more irritable than usual.

Now Beattie was sure that if Darren didn't like the police, they were probably OK, and so she determined to stay with this one if she could. Still her heart beat faster and she shivered as a second, familiar motorbike pulled up, and Darren dismounted.

He came boldly over and spoke to the policeman in a respectful but firm voice,

‘Oh thank you Officer! You've found my dog that I've been looking all over for.'

Darren held out his arms to take Beattie. Beattie trembled and the policeman seemed unimpressed.

‘Oh yes? Your dog eh? So why is it shivering and not wagging its tail in the welcoming way dogs usually have when they've been lost and their owners find them. Name?'

‘Darren Taylor.' said Darren.

‘Not your name! The dog's name please.'

‘Oh.' There was a silence, during which Beattie realised that as usual Darren could only think of
whatsyourstupidname.

‘Funny owner not knowing his own dog,' said the policeman. ‘And why d'you think she's so scared? For your information this animal has been reported as having been the cause of a potentially serious traffic accident. She's to be taken to the Dog Shelter this evening. If she belongs to you, you'd better go there and claim her.'

Darren looked as if he might argue, but instead said, ‘I'll do that,' and went back to Andy's motorbike and started it up. He drove off, as Beattie snuggled into the not-very-snuggly leather jacket the policeman was wearing, and sighed with relief.

A short time later a van pulled up on the street. It had
Dog Warden
painted on both sides of it.

‘Good luck little dog,' said the policeman as he handed Beattie over to a woman wearing white overalls. ‘A skinny little one for you,' he said. ‘Cold and hungry I reckon. It's got a collar on but no nametag. The rescue place will be able to see if she's been microchipped.'

And Beattie was driven away in the back of the Warden's van.

12

Timba

Charlie was not himself at all. Snip tried everything he could think of to cheer him up, and often talked about the Rat Hall job which he was sure would be given to Mr Trundle in the end, because how could three girls manage a job like that alone? But this seemed, for some reason, to make Charlie even more depressed.

He had started going off alone, refusing to answer Snip's anxious questions.

‘I'm the boss,' he told Snip, ‘I have to plan.'

Charlie always went out with the intention of continuing with his home-made therapy. But he made no progress. He knew that there was no point in going out, looking at a rat and coming home again. Even some humans could cope with that. So he felt a failure, and began to lose his natural sparkle. He couldn't sleep for worrying about what his gang would think of him. They would surely lose all respect.

Then one morning, on his way home from one of his unsuccessful trips to the back of Andrew Mulligan's house, he bumped into his friend Timba.

Timba was a Border Terrier who lived in a house next to the pub in East Foxmould. His owners, Mr and Mrs Christie, had five children, hardly any money, and no time to spare. They were not unkind people, but they took little notice of their dog, what with the struggle to feed and wash all the small Christies, and Timba rarely got taken for walks. The children paid attention to him every now and again, but apart from entering him in the Annual Terrier Race, they didn't do much else. He was therefore left to his own devices, which was a pity, as he was a clever dog, and, as it happened, an excellent ratter. Indeed it was he, rather than Sebastian the cat, who kept the local rats under control, but he got no credit for his work, and Sebastian, who got the credit instead, never let on.

Timba got on well with Charlie, whom he greatly admired. The two terriers, very different in appearance and temperament, would chat whenever Mr Trundle came down to the pub. Timba often hung about there in the hope of interesting company. He wished he could join Charlie's gang and be one of the boys.

So it was that at the highest, or actually the lowest point, of Charlie's despair, it was Timba who came to the rescue. On this particular morning, Charlie was trotting gloomily along past the pub, when Timba greeted him.

‘Mornin',' he said, ‘has something terrible happened Charlie? You look bad.'

Charlie made an effort to perk up.

‘Oh no, I'm fine.'

‘Wanna come and have some fun?' Timba asked. ‘There are some rats in the pub shed, and there must be at least eight of them. I've been meaning to do something about them for a while, but you can share the job if you like. Might cheer you up.'

‘It'd take more than eight rats to cheer me up,' said Charlie, barely raising his head to look at his friend, ‘or should I say less than eight.'

‘Whatever do you mean?'

‘Oh nothing,' said Charlie. ‘I'm not so fond of catching rats as you all think.'

‘Eh?'

‘Nothing for you to worry about,' said Charlie. ‘You're a Border Terrier Timba, you wouldn't understand.'