DARTMOOR LEGACY

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 61, Issue 187, 22 May 1941, Page 7

DARTMOOR LEGACY

By T. C. BRIDGES.

CHAPTER: IV. TO THE RESCUE. ! “Judy!” Bob cried, and next moment the little dog camo squeezing through the tiny hole. Judy was not as a ruie demonstrative, but now she sprang straight into her master’s arms and licked his face. ‘‘l’ll, be damned!” Peter exclaimed. “How the devil did she find you?” I “If she could talk she’d tell us.” Bob said as he hugged his dog. “As it is, iwe’ll never know.” His face lit up. ; “Peter, have you a pencil?” “Yes,” said Peter, taking out a sman notebook with pencil attached. 1 “We’ll write a note and send her home with it.” “Will she go?” : “Yes, if I tell her.” ! “But there’s no one there.” : “There will be. To-morrow’s the day that Mrs Caunter, the bailiff’s wire, comes to tidy up and do my washing,” :Peter drew a long breath. “It’s a chance anyhow,” ho said and ; began to write. Bob found string and tied the note firmly to Judy’s collar. 1 The task was to get Judy to go back. Well she knew that something was very wrong. She had found her master and ■did not understand why she should leave him. The idea of going back alone to the empty farm house was against ah her instincts. Bob had to be almost harsh before ho could persuado her to go And then, as he watched through the tiny opening, he saw her stop and look back and heard her whine softly “That dog’s human,” said Peter. “There are few humans to compare with her,” Bob answered. His voice was harsh with emotion, but Peter understood.

They sat and waited. There was nothing else to do. The damp air bit coldly into their sweat-soaked bodies and now and then one or the other got up and paced to and fro. They had put out their candles to save light but it Was not qpite dark for a little daylight came through the hole. They could see now that, the entrance of the adit was only 20ft away. It was maddeiring to be so near to freedom and yet so far.

Time dragged by. The light began to Jade It was now six o'clock. It would be. eight next morning before Mrs Caunter arrived at the farm. Then, even if she, saw the note, it must he some time before she got help. At the best they had at least 16 hours to spencTm this cold, damp, gloomy prison. For a long time neither spoko but at last Bob broke the silence. “Could we make a fire out of some of the old pit pfops?” he asked. “We might,” Peter answered, “hut the smoke would choke us. We’ll have to stick it, old lad.” “Then let’s have another sandwich. That will still leave, two for breakfast.” Before Peter could answer there came a sharp bark, and then a shout. “JScter, are you in there?” “It’s dad,” said Peter, then lifted his great voice in a bellow. “Here we are, Boh and I. We are behind a big fall. You can’t come in that way.” He explained to his father just what ho had to do and at onpo came the answer. •

“All right. Gaunter and another man are with me. Go back to the winze. Wo’ll have you out in no time.” Peter spoke.

“Bob, that dog of yours ought to liavo a medal.”

“Sire - shall have - rabbit for supper,” Boh said. “That will appeal to her far more than a medal.”

“YOU LOOK PROSPEROUS.”

It was years since Bob had been in London. In a suit of dark blue pinstripe flannel with well-polished brown shoes, a new felt hat and a pair of pigskin gloves he looked and felt a different man from’ the shirt-sleeved Dartmoor farmer. -Women looked at him approvingly Armed with introductions from Mr Newcombe, he was on bis way by bus to the City, to interview Mr Peyton, managing director of the South Western China Clay Company. The report of the expert who had examined the deposit of clay discovered in the Bittifer Mine was in his pocket and was very satisfactory. To Bob all seemed well in : the best of all possible woi’lds. Going lup Ludgate Hill, ho glanced at his ;watch, found he was early for his .appointment so got out at St. Paul’s ! and decided to walk the rest of the way

Adver\lure and Love in the Caribbean Sea.

(Copyright).

to Broad Street. He had just reache the pavement on the left when some one said: “You look prosperous, Hamlyn.” * Bob found himself facing a man a fe\ years older than himself, a man wh must have once been remarkably© - goo looking but had now gone badly t seed The whites of his eyes Wet yellowed, veins made blue lines in hi puffy cheeks, his hair was thin and hi waist line bulged. Yet it was only second or two beforo Boh placed him “Basil Tiber!” ho exclaimed. “That’s who,” answered the other “Come and have a drink.” “Too early. Nothing open yet,” sail Bob Tiber grinned. “Never too early for me, my lad Basil can get a drink any time, day o night.” Bob glanced again at hi watch “I have an appointment in the City But I’d like a yarn. Lunch with me.’ “Right you are. The Gresham. Tha suit you?” “Yes. Meet me there at one.” Tibe: nodded and went off. As Boh Walkoi eastwards his thoughts wove busy Tiber had been the bosom friend o Mark Kingston. He had been witl him in the sailing boat when caugli in the squall off Miami. It was he win had brought back the story of Mark’) death, he himself having been picket up by a'fishing boat after clinging t< the wreckage for half a day. Bob line never seen Him since. It would lie in teresting to know just what bad hap pened Then he found himself at liis destination and’for the time being foxgot everything except the coming interview When he met ’fiber at the Gresham Tiber looked at him with ,somf suspicion.. “Been making a fortune?” he inquired “I’m hoping to make a bit,” Bob answered niodostly. “Wish you’d put me on to something good,” said Tiber. “I’ve had no lucls since that Florida trip.” “Tell me about it,” JBob said as they took their seats. “I’ve told all there is to tell,” said Tiber rather glumly. “I lost the best pal a man ever had and I’ve done no good since.” Bob questioned him and, under the influence of a bottle of Burgundy and a good meal, Tiber mellowed and talked. But- Bob did not learn much that he had not heard already. “You came in for what was left, didn’t you?” Tiber asked. “Yes, and I’ve been trying ever since to make a living out of it,” Bob replied. “Trying successfully, I gather,” Tiber said with a laugh which Had a touch of envy in it. “Three hundred acres of barren moorland, a, dilapidated farm bouse, no stock and no money—-what would you have done with that, Tiber?” Tiber

shrugged. “Swapped it for a barrel of beer, if any one had been fool enough to trade.” “I’ve done better than that. I found china clay.” Tiber’s eyes widened. “The deuce you did. Enterprising of you. I very - honestly congratulate you.” -Bob was a little above himself. He told Tiber the whole story— bow he had been shot at, liow he and Peter had been prisoned in the mine. After all, why shouldn’t he? He had known Tiber a good many years and had nothing against liim except that he was a waster. Tiber’s interest was intense. “My hat, what- a story ! What are

you doing—selling or forming a company?” “A company. I don’t want to loaf. I’m going to help to work the new pit.” “Let me in for a few founder’s shares,” Tiber asked with a laugh. “Indeed I shall not forget old friends,” Bob assured him. Then Tiber said he must go and they paytecl. Two days later Bob received a. letter which gave him a considerable shock. It ran as follows: Re Bar Tor Farm. “Dear Sir, —-We undei’stand that you ave in occupation of the above estate and propose to work it for china clay. We have to inform you that the original owner, Mr Mark Hingston, is still alive and, on his behalf, we must warn you that you have no rights in the property.—Yours faithfully, Bruce, Powell and Stratton.” (To Be Continued).