William The Outlaw (2 page)

Again his spirit infected his followers. They cheered lustily. ‘We’re Outlaws, we are,’ they chanted, ‘we’re Outlaws.’

They sat under the largest tree on Ringers’ Hill. They had been Outlaws now for half an hour and it somehow wasn’t going as well as they’d thought it would.
Douglas, wishing to test the food-producing properties of the place at once, had eaten so many unripe blackberries that he could for the time being take little interest in anything but his own
feelings. Ginger had from purely altruistic motives begun to test the roots and was already regretting it.

‘Well, I din’ ask you to go about eatin’ roots,’ said William irritably. William had for the whole half hour been trying to light a fire and was by this time feeling
thoroughly fed up with it. He had just used the last of a box of matches which he had abstracted from the lab that morning.

‘I did it for
you
,’ said Ginger indignantly, ‘I did it to find the sort of roots that people eat, so you’d be able to eat ’em. Well, you can jolly well find
your own roots now and I jolly well hope you find the one I did – the last one. It’s the sort of taste that goes on for ever. I don’ s’pose if I go on livin’ for years
an’ years, I’ll ever get the taste of it out of my mouth—’

‘
Taste!
’ said Douglas bitterly. ‘I wun’t mind a
taste . . .
it’s
pain
I mind –
orful
pain – gnawin’ at your
inside.’

‘I wish you’d shut up,’ said William yet more irritably, ‘an’ help me with this fire. All the wood seems to be damp or somethin’. I can’t get
anythin’ to
happen.
’

‘Blow it,’ suggested Ginger, taking his mind temporarily from his taste.

Douglas, tearing himself metaphorically speaking from his pain, knelt down and blew it.

It went out.

William raised his blackened face.

‘That’s a nice thing to do,’ he said bitterly. ‘Blowin’ it out. All the trouble I’ve had lightin’ it an’ then you jus’ go an’
blow
it out. An’ there isn’t another match.’

‘Well, it’d’ve
gone
out if we hadn’t
blown
it out,’ said Ginger optimistically, ‘so it doesn’t matter. Anyway, let’s do
somethin’ int’restin’. We’ve not had much fun so far – eatin’ roots an’ things an’ messin’ about with fire. We don’t want a fire yet.
It’s warm enough without a fire. Let’s leave it till tonight when we need a fire, to sleep by and to keep the wild animals off. We’ll light one with,’ vaguely, ‘flint
an’ steel lyin’ about anywhere. But we won’t light another now. We’re all sick of it and if we go burnin’ up all the firewood in the wood an’—’

‘All right,’ said William, impressed by the sound logic of the argument, ‘I don’t mind. I’m jus’ about sick of it. I’ve simply wore myself out with it
an’ you’ve not been much help, I must say.’

‘ALL THE TROUBLE I’VE HAD LIGHTIN’ IT AN’ THEN YOU JUS’ GO AN’ BLOW IT OUT.’

‘An’ me riskin’ my life testin’ roots,’ said Ginger. ‘I can still taste it – strong as ever. It seems to be gettin’ stronger ’stead of
weaker. It’s a wonder I’m alive at all. Not many people’d suffer like what I’ve suffered an’ still go on livin’. If I wasn’t strong I’d be dead of it
now.’

Douglas, stung by Ginger’s self-pity, again rose to the defence of his own martyrdom.

‘A
taste
,’ he said. ‘I could stand any amount of tastes. I—’

At this moment a diversion was caused by the return of Henry. Henry had been out to catch rabbits to cook over the fire for supper. He looked hot and cross.

‘Couldn’t catch any,’ he said shortly. ‘I saw a lot on the other side of the hill. I hid behind a tree till they came out an’ then I ran out after them, and
I’m absolutely wore out with runnin’ out after them an’ I’ve not caught one.

‘Let’s go down to the river,’ said Ginger, ‘I’m jus’ about sick of messin’ about here. There isn’t anything to
do
here, ’cept eat
roots, an’ I’ve had enough of that.’

‘No,’ said William firmly, ‘we’ve gotter stay up here. If we go down an’ they start comin’ out to fetch us home they’ll overpower us easy. It’s a
– a sort of vantage ground up here. We can see ’em comin’ up here an’ escape or throw things down on ’em.’

‘Well, I’m sick of stayin’ up here,’ said Ginger.

‘Think of ’em,’ said William tactfully, ‘doin’
G’omtry
at school.’

At this the Outlaws’ discontent faded and their spirits rose.

‘Hurrah!’ said Ginger, who now had completely forgotten his taste, ‘and I bet we can easy make up a game to play here an’—’

‘
Look!
’ gasped Douglas suddenly, pointing down into the valley.

The Outlaws looked.

Then they stood motionless as if turned to stone.

There was no doubt about it.

Down in the valley coming along the path that led up to Ringers’ Hill could be seen the figures of the headmaster and the second master.

For some moments horror and surprise robbed the Outlaws of the power of speech.

Then William said:

‘
Crumbs!
’ but no words could describe the tone in which he said it.

‘They’re – they’re comin’ after us,’ gasped Ginger.

‘Smith must have told him where we’d gone,’ gasped Henry.

Ginger, recovering something of his self-possession, turned to William.

‘I
said
you din’ oughter’ve
told
him,’ he said with spirit.

‘B-but,’ gasped William, still paralysed with amazement, ‘how’d he know we’re Outlaws an’ never goin’ back?’

‘Prob’ly Smith heard us sayin’ it,’ said Ginger. ‘Well, it’s a nice set-out, isn’t it? What we goin’ to do? Fight him?’

Even William’s proud spirit quailed at the thought of doing that.

‘If – if only—’ he began.

Then his speech died on his lips. His mouth dropped open again. His eyes dilated with horror and amazement. Behind the figure of the headmaster and second master came other figures – the
mathematical master, the gym master, three or four prefects.

‘They’re all comin’!’ gasped William, ‘they’re comin’ to take us by force. They – they’re goin’ to surround the hill and take us by
force.’

‘Crumbs!’ said Ginger again. ‘
Crumbs!
’

‘What’ll we do?’ gasped Douglas.

They looked at William and into William’s freckled face came a set look of purpose.

‘Well, we’ve gotter do
something
,’ he said. He scowled ferociously, then a light flashed over his face. ‘I know what we’ll do. Smith must jus’ simply
have told ’em “Ringers’ Hill”. That’s what we told him, “Ringers’ Hill”. Well, you remember the signpost thing at the bottom of the hill with
“Ringers’ Hill” on it?’

Yes, they remembered it – a wobbly, decrepit affair at the bottom of the hill.

William’s face was now fairly gleaming with his idea.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘you remember it was all loose in its hole? I bet if we pushed hard we could push it right round so’s the ‘Ringers’ Hill’ pointed right
on up the other hill. An’ I bet they don’ know this part ’cause they don’t live here an’ they never come here so I bet – well, let’s try anyway, an’
we’d better be jolly quick.’

Behind their leader they scrambled down the hillside to the signpost.

‘Now
push
!’ directed William.

The Outlaws pushed.

The signpost rocked in its hole and – joy! – slowly pivoted round in obedience to the Outlaws’ straining weight. The solitary arm bearing the legend ‘Ringers’
Hill’ now pointed to the hill in the opposite direction.

The Outlaws’ spirits rose.

They gave a cautious muffled cheer.

‘Now
quick
, back again to the top!’ said William and they scrambled once more to the hilltop.

The procession led by the headmaster was approaching.

‘Lie down under the bushes,’ hissed William, ‘so’s they won’t see you. An’ watch what they do.’

Breathless with apprehension the Outlaws crouched under the bushes and watched. They could see the procession come up the road – nearer, nearer. Then – the headmaster paused under
the signpost. The Outlaws held their breath. Did he know the lie of the land or would he be deceived? Evidently he didn’t know the lie of the land.

‘Here we are,’ he called out. ‘Here’s the signpost – Ringers’ Hill – up there.’

Slowly the procession passed on up the other hillside.

The Outlaws climbed out of their bushes. They still looked rather pale. ‘That was a
jolly
narrow shave,’ said Ginger.

‘What we’d better do now,’ said William grimly, ‘is to look for a proper hidin’ place case they find out an’ come back.’

So intent had they been on looking down at the side of the hill where the dread procession was wending its way that they had not noticed an enormous man with bushy eyebrows and
a generally ferocious aspect who was climbing up the hill from the other side. They did not in fact notice him until he had come up behind them and his gruff voice boomed:

‘Well, is this all there is of you?’

The Outlaws turned round with a start.

There was a tense silence.

The Outlaws, having, as they thought, narrowly saved themselves from destruction on one side of the hill, were quite unprepared for this attack from the other. It unnerved them. It paralysed
them. They had no reserve of ingenuity and aplomb with which to meet it.

BREATHLESS WITH APPREHENSION THE OUTLAWS CROUCHED UNDER THE BUSHES AND WATCHED. THEY COULD SEE THE PROCESSION COME UP THE ROAD – NEARER, NEARER.

‘
All?
’ boomed the ferocious man, ‘well, all I can say is that it’s hardly worth my while to come all this way for you. I’d understood that it was quite a
different sort of affair altogether. Do you mean to say that there are only
four
of you?’

THEN – THE HEADMASTER PAUSED UNDER THE SIGNPOST. ‘HERE WE ARE,’ HE CALLED OUT. ‘HERE’S THE SIGNPOST – RINGERS’ HILL – UP
THERE.’

‘Er – yes,’ quaked Ginger.

‘Only
four
of you,’ said the ferocious man ferociously, ‘and how old?’

Douglas and Henry had slunk behind William and Ginger. Ginger nudged William to intimate that it was his turn.

William swallowed and said feebly, ‘Eleven – eleven and nearly three-quarters.’

‘Pish!’ said the man in a tone of fierce disgust. ‘Eleven! As I say I’d never have agreed to come if I’d known it was this sort of an affair. I naturally imagined
– however, now I’m here – and it’s late to start with –’ He looked at them and seemed to relent somewhat, ‘I gathered that you know a fair amount about the
subject and you must be keen. I suppose one should be thankful for four keen students even though they seem so very – however,’ his irritability seemed to get the better of him again,
‘let’s get to business. We’ll start over here . . . quickly please,’ he snapped, ‘or we’ll never get through this afternoon—’

Dazedly, as if in a dream, the Outlaws went to where he pointed. They didn’t know what else to do. The situation seemed to have got entirely out of hand. It seemed best to follow the line
of least resistance and to give themselves away as little as possible. They stood in a dejected group in front of the ferocious man and the ferocious man began to talk. He talked about such things
as strata and igneous rock and neolithic and eolithic and palaeolithic and stratigraphical and Pithecanthropus erectus and other things of which the Outlaws had never heard before and hoped never
to hear again. He asked them questions and got angry because they didn’t know the answers. He asked them what he’d said about things and got angry because they’d forgotten. He
strode about the hilltop pointing out rocks with his stick and talking about them in a loud, ferocious voice. He made them follow him wherever he went, and got angry because they didn’t
follow nimbly enough. So terrifying was he that they daren’t even try to run away. It was like a nightmare. It was far worse than Geometry. And it seemed to last for hours and hours and
hours. Actually it lasted an hour. At the end the man became more angry than ever, said that it was an insult to have asked him to come over to address four half-witted guttersnipes and muttering
ferociously stalked off again down the hillside.