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RUSSIAN CENTRAL ASIA
1867-1917
 RUSSIAN AND

EAST EUROPEAN

STUDIES

CHARLES JELAVICH, Tsarist Russia and Balkan Nation-

alism. Russian Influence in the Internal Affairs of Bul-
garia and Serbia, 1879-1886
ANDREW M A L O Z E M O F F , Russian Far Eastern Policy,
1881-1904. With Special Emphasis on the Causes of the
Russo-Japanese War

NICHOLAS V . RIASANOVSKY, Nicholas I and Official

Nationality in Russia, 1825-1855
RUSSIAN A N D E A S T E U R O P E A N S T U D I E S

RUSSIAN
CENTRAL ASIA
1 8 6 7 - 1 9 1 7

A STUDY IN COLONIAL RULE

Richard A. Pierce

BERKELEY AND LOS ANGELES

1960
U N I V E R S I T Y OF C A L I F O R N I A PRESS
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS
BERKELEY AND LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

LONDON, ENGLAND

© 1 9 6 0 BY THE REGENTS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGUE CARD NUMBER: 59-11314

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

 PREFACE

RUSSIAN HISTORY still offers many comparatively neglected topics

for investigation. One of the most interesting of these is the story
of the expansion of Russia's Asian frontiers, and the colonization
of the borderlands which have always played such an important
role in her development. I hope that this survey of the half-
century of Russian rule in Central Asia before 1917 may facilitate
other more specialized studies of this area and period, which has
much to offer the historian, sociologist, ethnologist, or economist.
Because this subject involves names and terminology in Russian
and in a variety of Asiatic tongues, the problem of transliteration
has been a thorny one. I have dealt with it by using a modified
form of the Library of Congress system of Russian transliteration
not only for Russian terms and names but also for those in Turkic
and other languages, which I have used in their pre-1917 Russi-
fied forms. Although not satisfactory from a philological view-
point, this method at least assures consistency, and follows the
same form used in the bulk of the literature on the subject, which
is in Russian. Dates in this work prior to February 1/14, 1918, are
exclusively in the Old Style. To convert into New Style, add 12
days before 1900 and 13 days thereafter.
Research can never be self-sufficient, and this work has bene-
fited from many types of aid. I wish to express a debt of gratitude
first of all to the late Professor George V. Lantzeff, who aroused
my interest in the history of the Russian frontier regions and in
the subject of this book. Appreciation for their courtesy and
cooperation is due the personnel of the various libraries where
vi Preface
I have sought the materials used in this study, particularly the
University of California Library, the Hoover Library and Insti-
tute, the Library of Congress, the New York Public Library, the
West German State Library at Marburg, the superb library of
Russian materials at the University of Helsinki, the Turkological
Institute of Istanbul, and others here and abroad. The quest was
fruitful in many more ways than I had originally hoped.
A Fulbright fellowship to Germany in 1953-1954 was of great
aid in my gathering of material. A grant from the Project for the
Study of the History of the CPSU, of Columbia University, in
1956, enabled me to devote additional study to the origins of
Bolshevism in Central Asia.
I am likewise grateful to Mr. G. C. Guins, Professor V. P. Timo-
shenko, Dr. S. N. Shendrikoff, the late General A. N. Vagin,
and others who shared some of their personal experiences in Cen-
tral Asia with me, thus helping me better to visualize and under-
stand the bygone era with which this book is concerned. It is
regrettable that those occupied with recent Russian history have
made so little use of the valuable but ephemeral material to be
found in the oral testimony of members of the Russian emigra-
tion.
I am indebted to the family of the late Senator Count K. K.
Palen for allowing me to use his unpublished account of his in-
spection of the Turkestan administration in 1908-1909, the lively
style and vivid description of which complements his lengthy
and detailed official reports.
My deep appreciation is also extended to Professor V. A. Ri-
asanovsky and Mrs. Olivia Price who painstakingly read the man-
uscript and made many helpful suggestions. Mr. Joel Walters has
contributed much in the final editing of the book. To my wife,
Vera Pierce, I am deeply grateful for the aid and encouragement
which have meant so much in the completion of this task. To
others who contributed to this undertaking in various ways I also
extend my sincere thanks. However, the assessment and inter-
pretation is my own and I am responsible for any errors of com-
mission or omission.
RICHARD A. PIERCE
Kingston, Ontario.
 CONTENTS

I. INTRODUCTION 1

Part One: Conquest and Administration

II. T H E RUSSIAN ADVANCE 17

in. TERRITORIAL ORGANIZATION 46

IV. ADMINISTRATIVE STRUCTURE 64

V. ADMINISTRATIVE R E F O R M AND DEVELOPMENT 79

Part Two: Colonization

VI. URBAN DEVELOPMENT 95

VII. RURAL COLONIZATION 107

Part Three: Economic Development

VIII. LAND TENURE, TAXATION, AND WATER L A W 141

IX. NATIVE PASTORALISM 153

X. AGRICULTURE 163

XI. PUBLIC WORKS 175

xn. INDUSTRY AND TRADE 190

viii Contents

Part Four: The Clash of Cultures

XHI. EDUCATION 203

XIV. NATIVE REBELLIONS 221

XV. THE REVOLUTION OF 1 9 0 5 234

XVI. THE RISE OF NATIVE NATIONAL CONSCIOUSNESS 249

Part Five: Imperial Twilight

XVII. THE WAR 265

XVIII. THE NATIVE REBELLIONS O F 1 9 1 6 271

XIX. THE COLLAPSE OF THE IMPERIAL REGIME 297

XX. CONCLUSION: THE COLONIAL HERITAGE OF THE

USSR 302

APPENDIX 307

ABBREVIATIONS 310

NOTES 311

GLOSSARY 337

BIBLIOGRAPHY 339

INDEX 347

MAPS

Administrative Divisions of Russian Central Asia, 1917

(endpapers)
The Russian Conquests in Central Asia 43
The Native Revolts of 1916 in Central Asia 294
 INTRODUCTION

I
THE IDEA that it is unethical for one people to control the des-
tinies of another has come late in the development of the human
social conscience, but it is increasing in force. Already this con-
cept has caused the breakup of long-established systems, and has
cast the very concepts of "empire," "colonies," and even "trustee-
ship" into the same disrepute accorded "imperialism," "colonial-
ism," and "exploitation."
A large share of the responsibility for this change in attitudes
can be ascribed to the doctrines of national self-determination
fostered by the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Although
most of its more than 175 different nationalities were brought
forcibly under control by its forerunner, the Russian Empire, the
USSR professes to have solved its nationality problem and has
urged its own example upon the rest of the world.
Advocates of the Soviet solution to the nationality problem
have given special publicity to the Soviet republics of Central
Asia. The romantic past of these lands with their pathos of glory
and long decline, their inhabitants' religious ties with the rest of
the Moslem world, and their economic and cultural affinity with
other underdeveloped regions have made Soviet accounts of the
progress of these new states a potent propaganda weapon both
at home and abroad.
An accurate appraisal of any historical era requires first of all
a clear picture of what has gone before. Soviet accounts always
paint the plans and achievements of the new order in Central
Asia in glowing colors, but generally portray the old prerevolu-
2 Introduction
tionary regime in dismal hues. Until the late 1930s Soviet histori-
cal writing described the Russian conquest of Central Asian
peoples as having resulted in a "double oppression"—"a national-
colonial oppression, based on the bayonets of the Russian-military-
feudal imperialism and the feudal oppression of the native upper
classes." 1 "Tsarist" policy assertedly delayed these people's cul-
tural growth, denied their children access to Russian schools,
halted their national development, and in general led them to-
ward poverty and extinction.
Accordingly, only in revolt was there hope of improving what
was clearly an intolerable state of affairs. The uprisings of the
toilers, striking back at the system of colonial oppression imposed
upon them by "tsarism" and at the feudal oppression of their own
upper classes, were therefore portrayed sympathetically as "na-
tional-liberation" movements. For many years such interpreta-
tions were standard doctrine, making the new regime stand out
even more clearly against the darkness of the past. Then, during
the late 1930's and World War II, the political wind changed. To
promote internal solidarity it was found desirable to modify in-
terpretations detrimental to the Russians. "Tsarism" continued to
receive the blame for errors and retarded development, but in-
stead of being an "evil," annexation to Russia was now found to
have been a "lesser evil" than conquest by foreign powers or con-
tinuation of native rule.2 In spite of "tsarism," association with
Russia was seen to have accelerated bourgeois and capitalist
relationships in Central Asia, while the Russian democratic in-
telligentsia were seen to have extended warm sympathy to the
freedom-loving Central Asian peoples. The "common historical
fate" of the Russians and the Central Asians thus became ever
clearer.3
Meanwhile the Russian people, after having been extolled as
"the first among the equal members of the Soviet family of
peoples," 4 had become by 1945 "the leading people" of the
USSR.® The "fraternal aid" extended in both past and present to
the Central Asians and the other more backward, less numerous
peoples of the USSR by the Russians, the "elder brother," began
to be stressed. It was pointed out that "along with the tsarist
Introduction 3
generals and officials came Russian workers, scientists, doctors,
agronomists, and teachers, who played a great cultural and revo-
lutionary role in the life of the peoples of Middle Asia." 6 By 1951
Russian annexation was no longer even a "lesser evil" but a posi-
tive good.7
Uprisings, on the other hand, could no longer be pictured in-
discriminately as "national-liberation" movements. Instead, a fine
distinction was drawn between uprisings directed against Rus-
sians, which were invariably "reactionary," either fostered by
feudal elements in native society or instigated and supported by
foreign powers, and those directed solely against the native "ex-
ploiter" class, and therefore "progressive."8
Through the years the efforts of Soviet historians to thread their
way through this ideological labyrinth and still keep faith with
their personal convictions resulted in recurrent charges of ad-
herence to "bourgeois-nationalism," "great-power chauvinism,"
"Pan-Islamism," "Pan-Turkism," "Pan-Iranianism," "cosmopoli-
tanism," "nihilism," "the single stream theory," and various other
specters of communist demonology, together with a succession of
recantations, blasted careers, and revised editions. In February,
1954, apparently to clarify doubtful points and to end confusion
in historical writing on Central Asia, an eight-day "scholarly ses-
sion on the history of the peoples of Middle Asia and Kazakhstan"
was held in Tashkent.9 This conference purported to expose cer-
tain "pseudo-scientific nationalistic assertions" regarding patri-
archal-feudal relationships among the nomadic peoples, and to
reveal the "tremendous progressive significance" of Russian an-
nexation on the development of the Kazakhs and Uzbeks, the
"essentially reactionary" nature of the Pan-Islamic and Pan-Turkic
movements, and the "revolutionary, popular-liberation nature" of
the uprisings of 1916. It called for "a Marxist-Leninist periodiza-
tion" of the history of the peoples of Central Asia.
Dicta laid down at the Tashkent conclave and confirmed a few
weeks later at another conference held in Moscow 10 appear to
have brought about comparative harmony. Taking the 1916 up-
risings as an example, one later work states that "in the majority
of the areas of Uzbekistan the uprising of 1916 was a popular-
4 Introduction
liberation movement" (it is to be noted that the earlier term
national-liberation has been supplanted by popular-liberation);
another states that "in its fundamental character it was an anti-
tsarist, anti-militarist, anti-feudal, popular-liberation uprising";
while yet another informs us that "in its character it was an anti-
colonial, popular-liberation uprising." 11 As for the Russian "an-
nexation" of Central Asia (a more innocuous term which has sup-
planted earlier mention of "conquest") 12 we are informed by
various authors that it was "an historically progressive manifes-
tation," "a deeply progressive manifestation," "of great progres-
sive significance," "undoubtedly of progressive significance," "of
enormous progressive significance," and "of extraordinarily im-
portant objective-progressive significance." 13
This, of course, is not history but catechism. With all due re-
gard for the achievements of Soviet scholars in this realm, the
conflicts and inconsistencies in Soviet historiography regarding
Central Asia during the past several decades give ample ground
for doubt both as to the permanence and the validity of the equi-
librium currently imposed by party theorists. In short, one may
question whether Soviet sources have given or are likely to give
an adequate picture of this period.
Nor can the gap be filled by the treatment given the Imperial
regime in Central Asia by most Western writers. The greater in-
terest in the contemporary Soviet regime, and the rarity of much
of the older source material has led to neglect of the prerevolu-
tionary period. What mention there has been of the subject in the
West has frequently displayed an afterglow of the prejudice
against the Imperial regime which prevailed abroad before 1917,
or has borrowed Soviet viewpoints.
With such evident defects in our knowledge of Central Asia
during the period in question, further study of it is necessary for
a clearer view of the present. Whatever the nature of this period,
it was the prologue to all that occurred after 1917. This study
will therefore undertake to give an impartial and objective survey
of the main features of the Imperial Russian regime in Central
Asia, and to present sufficient facts to make possible the determi-
Introduction 5
nation of the nature and extent of the changes which took place
there during that time.
Attention will be directed primarily to the period following
the initial Russian conquests in the region, from the establish-
ment of the Governor-Generalship of Turkestan in 1867 until the
end of the Imperial regime in 1917. This period, spanning exactly
half a century, gave ample scope for the Russian system of colo-
nial rule to be applied and to display its characteristics. Central
Asia thereby provided a laboratory, on the threshold of our own
time, in which Imperial Russia could use the experience gained
in Siberia and other borderlands in the course of several centuries.
Better knowledge of what was undertaken there can add to our
understanding of the colonial efforts of other powers during the
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It will also provide
background essential for correct evaluation of the aims, claims,
and achievements of the present-day Soviet regime.

SOME ESSENTIAL GEOGRAPHIC BACKGROUND

The region which will concern us here is a largely homogeneous

geographic, ethnic, and cultural unit extending eastward from
the Caspian Sea and the lower Volga to the border of China, and
northward from Iran and Afghanistan to Siberia. Today it com-
prises the Kazakh, Kirgiz, Uzbek, Turkmen, and Tadzhik Soviet
Socialist Republics of the USSR.
There is no comprehensive term for this region in western
usage. "Turan," "Turkestan," "Russian Turkestan," "Central Asia,"
and "Middle Asia" all have been used, but with various mean-
ings. "Russian Central Asia" will be used here as the least ambig-
uous of the several alternatives.14
For clarity it will be well to describe this region in terms that
will permit comparison with more familiar areas. Covering more
than 1,500,000 square miles, it is about half the size of the United
States and more than seven times the size of France. It occupies
approximately the same range of latitude as the territory from
Denmark to Algeria or from the southern tip of Alaska to southern
California. Superimposed upon a map of North America it would
6 Introduction
be nearly equivalent in area to the United States west of the Mis-
sissippi, but in latitude a considerable part would lie north of the
Canadian border.
Topographically, Russian Central Asia is generally lacking in
outstanding features. Only the high mountain ranges of the Tien
Shan to the east and the Pamir-Alai systems to the south relieve
the prevailing monotony of prairie and desert. Lack of high bar-
riers on the north has exposed the region to many invasions.
Most of Russian Central Asia forms a great basin, once the bed
of an inland sea, of which today the Caspian Sea, the Aral Sea,
Lake Balkhash, and many smaller lakes are all that remain. Most
of the rivers of the region are fed by melting snow from the
mountains fringing on the basin on the southeast. Many combine to
make up the great Amu-Daria and Syr-Daria (the ancient Oxus
and Jaxartes rivers of Alexander of Macedon's time). These
emerge from the mountains and make their way across the desert
plains until, wide and shallow and laden with yellow-brown sedi-
ment, they discharge into the Aral Sea. The Ili and several smaller
streams flow into Lake Balkhash. Others, among them the Chu,
the Talass, the Zeravshan, the Murgab, and the Tedzhen, are
sucked dry by the hot sun or drained by irrigation and eventually
dwindle and disappear into desert sands. This lack of outlets to
the open seas has always hindered access of the Central Asiatic
peoples to other lands.
Dry river beds throughout Central Asia testify to a moister
climate and greater plant cover long ago. The snow fields and
glaciers in the Tien Shan and the Pamirs, vestiges of the last ice
age, have gradually diminished, with a consequent decrease in
the amount of water supplied to rivers and lakes. Geographers
still dispute whether the region is in the process of further desic-
cation, or whether the moisture supply has reached some sort of
equilibrium subject only to cyclic variations. Only in the north is
water relatively more abundant. There in the steppe, or prairie
grasslands, rise the Tobol and the Irtysh, but these then flow
toward the Arctic as part of the mighty Siberian river system.
The grasslands of the north change into semidesert toward the
south, and that in turn becomes desert, relieved occasionally by
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 CHAPTER XV
A KNIGHT OF KING ARTHUR

And so Danny was alone as he walked across the village green

towards the circus field. He was keen to see those jugglers and the
marvellous conjurer, for tricks appealed to the detective instinct in
him, and he was wonderfully good at discovering how they were
done.
The sun had just set, leaving in the sky a red glow that was fading
quickly into green. In the soft purple dusk the flaring lights away
ahead in the circus field looked very weird. Black figures hurried
about, making a confused shouting. The boat swing swayed
regularly like the pendulum of a huge clock. And over all there was
the monotonous sound of the organ in the roundabout, playing the
same tune over and over again.
Danny had the strange feeling in him which said, “Something is
going to happen.” But what he did not know. Before long he was
through the gate, and himself one of the figures moving about
between the flaring lights. He could hear now what the shouting
was. It was the cocoanut-shy man persuading people to have a shy,
while the lady at the toffee-stall tried to shout him down and make
them spend their money with her instead.
Many other people were shouting, too, and stalking about in the
field Danny noticed Black Bill. He was giving final orders before the
performance began. Presently he went up to a big yellow caravan,
mounted the steps, and banged on the door. Someone inside
opened it—a very ugly old woman.
Black Bill spoke a few words to her, and she brought out someone
else, all shrouded up in a big black shawl. Taking this figure rather
roughly by the arm, Black Bill led it through the crowd towards the
performers’ entrance of the big tent. Just then a bell was clanged
and clashed, and the crowd began to surge into the performance.
 Danny went with it. He had one of the reserved seats in the front
row.
It was the same performance as he had seen in the morning, but
at last came the time for the troupe of Indian Jugglers. They entered
amidst loud applause. There were two jugglers, a conjurer, and the
famous dancing girl. They all had dark-brown faces, and were
dressed in gorgeous colours, and much gold lace. The jugglers
performed first, juggling with plates and balls and knives. Then
came the dancer. Danny thought he was going to be rather bored
with her, but as soon as she began he was spellbound. He had never
before seen anything so quick or active or graceful. And she was
cheered and encored again and again, and each time her dance was
different. At last she sank down tired out, and Danny had a chance
of looking at her face.
The first thing that struck him was that she looked frightened. He
saw her glance anxiously at Black Bill. Then it struck him that if she
had not been dark brown she would have been very pretty. Then he
noticed that she had grey eyes, and he began to feel sure that she
was a white girl painted brown. He had just come to these
conclusions when the conjurer stepped forward and began his tricks.
Unlike an English conjurer, he had no table, but kept all his things
—strange baskets, silk cords, bangles, knives—on the floor. Behind
sat the dancing girl on a cushion, and also the jugglers. Presently
the conjurer asked for a volunteer to come and help with the trick.
Before any one had time to move Danny was over the balustrade,
and had stepped up and offered his services. He always did this at
entertainments, and had been able to discover many a trick by
keeping his eyes open. It was a difficult trick; another volunteer was
called for, and the two jugglers were also used to hold out a big
Turkish rug. When Danny had done what was required of him for the
moment he was told to sit down on one of the cushions and wait till
he was wanted again. It was as he sat here, not far from the
dancing girl, that something began to happen.
While the conjurer talked and the people laughed he heard a voice
say in a faint whisper:
“Don’t turn your head, Scout, but listen to me.”
 “Yes?” he said.
“I am being kept prisoner by Black Bill. I am miserable. Oh, rescue
me, rescue me!”
“I will—but how?” said Danny, keeping his eyes on the conjurer,
and pretending to laugh as if he was amused at his jokes.
“Come to the big yellow caravan at midnight. Knock three times.
Black Bill will be out. The old woman sleeps sound. Then we can
make a plan.”
Danny’s heart beat wildly. Here was an adventure such as he
loved. And the chivalry of rescuing a maiden in distress made him
feel he was like one of Arthur’s knights. Then a thought flashed into
his mind—the tramp’s missing daughter!
As Danny sat in the centre of the circus ring with the gas-lights
flaring and the band playing, it all seemed to him like some strange
dream, or as if he had stepped back into the past and was part of a
fairy tale. And there was a “princess” in the fairy tale, too. The
frightened grey eyes of the poor little dancer, with her brown face
and gleaming jewels, had awakened a chivalrous sense in him, that
said, “I will save her, or die in the attempt!”
Before long the time came for him to step forward and help the
conjurer once again—she had whispered her instructions only just in
time. Danny cared no longer for the tricks; he scarcely noticed what
was happening during the rest of the performance; his mind was
working hard, turning over plans by which he could save the girl
from the clutches of Black Bill, and get her out of the gipsy camp
unseen.
The conjurer having finished all his tricks the Indian troupe went
off, and ladies in pink tights came on, riding white horses. But Danny
had no eyes for these; through a crack in the canvas he watched
Black Bill throw a cloak around the dancer and lead her out.
At last the show was over. The crowd surged out, and Danny with
it. In such a crush it would be easy to get near the yellow caravan,
unnoticed. Then it struck him that his scout uniform would make him
a marked figure. He must look as ordinary as possible, so as to
attract no one’s attention. Slipping into a dark corner between the
big tent and the lion’s cage, he began to disguise himself as best he
could. Taking off his hat he hid it under a heap of dirty straw. His red
neckerchief he folded up and put in his pocket. Taking off his shirt
he turned it inside out and put it on again, thus hiding from sight his
badges, Leader’s stripes, shoulder names, etc. He pulled up his
stockings over his knees, and then, as a last bright idea, tied an old
piece of sacking round his waist, like an apron. He had noticed that
the boy who cleaned out the animals’ cages wore just such an
apron. Now, by the flickering light of the gas flares, he would pass
as one of the circus hands.
Mingling with the crowd, he made his way towards the yellow
caravan. It stood a little apart; there was no cover near enough to
conceal his approach. What should he do? He stood looking about
him. He must hide somewhere, for it was not quite eleven yet; there
was over an hour to wait until the coast would be clear for him to go
to the yellow caravan. At eleven all the people would be turned out
of the circus field, and only the gipsies would be left. Then, to his
relief, he noticed that the cart belonging to the boat swings was the
nearest one to the yellow caravan. It was empty save for the big
tarpaulins used for covering the swings when they were packed up.
It would be a perfect hiding place. He waited until some of the
crowd moved that way, and then he went too. Climbing quickly up
by the wheel he slipped softly inside and drew the tarpaulin over
him. Breathlessly he listened, but there was no sound of any one
following him.
Presently a clock struck eleven, and a bell, like a very loud muffin
bell, clanged above the other circus noises, and Danny listened to
the sound of the crowd going out at the gate and making its way
homewards along the country roads. Then, very stealthily, he
managed to peer out. He saw a crowd of the gipsies collected round
the big camp fire. The red glow lit up their faces. Others hurried
about, clearing up. And among them Black Bill strode to and fro,
giving orders.
Danny had managed to arrange himself in such a way that he
could see out quite easily, and yet not be seen. He watched
anxiously while the gipsies moved about, and one by one retired to
their caravans. At last there was no one left but the two night
watchmen by the fire. Black Bill had also retired to his caravan,
which was drawn up alongside the yellow one. At about a quarter to
twelve Danny saw him come out and walk towards the gate. The
two watch men were evidently good scouts, for they both turned at
once and watched him go.
“Now’s my time,” said Danny to himself, with a queer feeling
within him, half of excitement, half of fear. The question of how he
should cross the open space from his hiding-place to the yellow
caravan troubled him, for the two night watchmen might very easily
see him. “If only a cloud would pass across the moon, I would make
a dash for it,” he told himself. Then he noticed something. The moon
was throwing the black shadow of the boat swings right across the
open space to the caravan. It was a narrow strip of shadow, but a
good Scout can make use of the smallest cover.
Slipping softly down from the cart on the side farthest from the
watchmen, Danny crawled round and lay quite flat for a moment in
the shadow. But the men did not move or turn their heads—they
had not heard him. Then, dragging himself along on his elbows, he
slipped like a snake along the black line, which made him invisible.
When he was half-way across, one of the ponies grazing near
started, with a snort of surprise. The two men turned at once and
looked straight in Danny’s direction. Instantly he dropped his head,
hiding his face in the grass; it was the only white thing about him,
and might attract their attention. With pounding heart he waited, not
moving a muscle. But there was no sound of approaching footsteps.
Slowly he raised his head and looked. Thank God, the men had not
seen him!
Slowly, slowly he crept on, until he passed under the caravan. At
last he was safe on the other side. Standing up on the hub of the
wheel he tapped gently on the window. It was opened at once and
he found himself face to face with the dancing girl.
 CHAPTER XVI
DANNY FINDS MARIETTE—AND IS KIDNAPPED

She was no longer a dark-brown colour, nor had she long black hair.
As Danny looked at her sad little pale face it seemed to him that she
was extraordinarily like the Tramp!
“Oh, you’ve come, you’ve come—thank God!” whispered the girl.
“I knew you would,” she added. “Scouts are like the knights in old
days, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” said Danny, “I promised I would. Tell me, quick, what am I
to do?”
“Listen,” said the girl, “and I’ll tell you who I am. We can talk
safely, because Black Bill will be out half the night, and old Hannah
is in a heavy sleep—she drinks, and once asleep nothing will wake
her. First, I must tell you, I’m not a gipsy, like these people——”
“I can see that,” said Danny.
“Well, they stole me from my daddy ages ago—I think it must be
seven or eight years. They’ve always kept me shut up in this place,
except when they take me out and make me dance. When I used to
cry for my daddy Black Bill used to beat me. I don’t cry now—I’m
too miserable. They never give me a chance to talk to any one. But I
read in a paper about Scouts, and when I saw you sitting so close to
me at the circus, suddenly a great hope seemed to jump up in my
heart. I was sure if you knew how terribly miserable I am you would
help me to escape.”
“Yes, yes!” said Danny. “But tell me, what was your father?”
“An artist,” she said. “Oh, he used to paint such lovely pictures—
full of fairies, they were! I often dream of them and—and—of him.
Oh, my poor, poor daddy!” she said suddenly, with a great sob.
“What have you done all these years without your little Mariette?” A
big tear rolled down her cheek.
“I say, don’t cry!” said Danny, giving her his handkerchief. “Your
daddy is quite near here. He is spending his life hunting for you, and
praying God to let him find you. I promised to help him. How good
God is to have let me find you!”
“I prayed, too,” whispered Mariette.
“Now,” said Danny, “how can we get you away? Shall I creep out
of the field and fetch a party of police and men and have Black Bill
arrested?”
“No, no,” said Mariette in a terrified whisper, “don’t leave me, don’t
leave me! Take me with you—take me to my daddy! If you brought
police it would be no use. Black Bill has a terrible way of hiding me.
Besides, he is friends with all the police. It would be no good. Oh,
take me with you!”
Danny looked about him. Would it be safe to take her across the
open ground and get through the hedge? He would risk it. Once
through they could run, and he knew every gap and short cut. They
would make straight for the barn where her father was living during
the hay harvest. He would think it was a wonderful dream when he
saw his little Mariette, her golden curls shining in the moonlight, as if
she really was a moonlight fairy.
“Can you climb out of the window?” whispered Danny.
“Yes,” she said. But before she had time even to begin, a cry of
horror broke from her, and Danny started violently, for a rough hand
had been laid on his shoulder.
“All right, young scoundrel,” said Black Bill, as Danny turned round
and faced him. “Out of the window? That’s your little game, is it?
We’ll see about that!”
Taking a piece of cord out of his pocket he knotted Danny’s wrists
behind his back, then tied his feet together. Dragging him round to
the caravan door he propped him up against the steps and entered.
A few blows woke old Hannah from her heavy sleep. He could
hear Black Bill giving her orders. His struggles to free himself were
useless; and even if he could have run away he would not have
done so, for his one thought was to stay and help Mariette.
The noise had brought the two watchmen on the scene. They
stood there quaking at the thought of what Black Bill would do to
them for having allowed a stranger to intrude into the camp. And,
sure enough, his rage was terrifying when he came out and saw
them. When he had finished abusing them he sent one of them to
fetch his two sons. Before long they had arrived. Taking one of them
aside Black Bill gave him some instructions in a low voice, and
turning to the other told him to loose Danny’s feet, blindfold and gag
him, and then lead him to the happy home Black Bill had ready for
him.
“All right, young
scoundrel,” said
Black Bill. “That’s
your little game,
is it?”
 As the dirty handkerchief was tied over his eyes intense rage filled
Danny’s heart.
“Good-bye, Mariette!” he shouted, before his captor could stop
him. “Go on praying—we shall escape all right in the end!” Then a
thick muffler was fastened over his mouth, and he felt himself being
led away across the grass.
Over rough ground they went, along lanes, across ploughed fields.
Every now and then Danny was lifted up and pitched roughly over a
gate, or dragged through a hedge. It seemed to him that they had
been walking for miles when at last his captor halted, and he heard
the sound of a key grating in a rusty lock. He felt himself being led
through a doorway, and his feet resounded with a hollow sound as
he walked over a wooden floor.
“Sounds like an empty house,” he told himself. And the musty,
close smell seemed to confirm this idea. Another door was unlocked,
and Danny felt himself being led down some stone stairs. Then
through another door they passed.
“Loose him,” said Black Bill’s harsh voice. This was done, then
taking up an old tin can, Black Bill’s son went out and returned with
it full of water. By it he placed a loaf.
“There you are,” said Black Bill; “you can feast on that for a few
days. It will teach you not to come prying into other people’s
business. Come,” he added, turning to his son. The two men went
out, slamming the door behind them, and Danny heard their heavy
footsteps going up the stairs.
Gradually his eyes got used to the darkness, and he found he was
in a kind of cellar. It was empty save for a heavy wooden settle at
one end. The only opening, besides the door by which he had
entered, was a little barred window some ten feet up in the wall.
Sitting down on the settle, Danny heaved a heavy sigh. Then he
suddenly remembered something, grinned, and began to whistle.
“Well,” he said, “this is an adventure anyhow, and I’m sure to
come out all right.”
 CHAPTER XVII
THE CUBS TO THE RESCUE

No Danny! There was consternation at the Hall. Where could he be?

The Cubs were wild with grief. While all the grown-ups puzzled their
heads over the question, the Cubs went straight to the point and
arrived at the correct conclusion by a guess. “That old beast, Black
Bill, has stolen him,” they said. But the grown-ups said it was
absurd, and little boys should not talk nonsense. A careful inquiry
began as to where Danny had last been seen, and it was soon
proved that he had gone down to the circus for the 8 o’clock
performance.
“There you are,” said the Cubs, “we told you so—Black Bill’s stolen
him.”
Mr. Beak, the bailiff, and the foreman from the farm were sent
down to the gipsy camp to make inquiries as to whether Danny had
been seen there the night before; but Black Bill said he had not
noticed any Scout at his circus, and it was impossible to gather any
information.
The Cubs were in despair.
“Look here!” said David, “we must take the search into our own
hands. Let’s call a Council.” So they called a Council, and the whole
Six assembled in the old pigsty.
“Boys!” cried David, standing on an upturned trough, “Danny, our
chief, has been stolen by Black Bill. No one will believe it—no one
will go to his rescue. Who is ready to take up the quest? Who will
promise to die rather than give up the search?”
“I!” yelled everybody, jumping up.
David was very pale; this was no game, and the sorrow and
anxiety of the Cubs was very real. “Let us all swear, here, to each
other, as Cubs, that we will go out and face any danger, and not rest
till we have found Danny.”
 Solemnly they promised. Suddenly Nipper cried, “P’raps he’s
dead!” And buried his face in a truss of straw and made noises that
sounded suspiciously like sobs. The others turned away in disgust;
it’s all very well to feel like crying—any chap may do that—but no
Cub gives in to himself and does it, he sets to work and does
something really useful and helpful.
Bill cleared his throat and began to speak.
“I vote,” he said, “that we elect David boss of this show, and make
proper plans, and then start off at once.”
So a serious Council started. The boys were paired off in twos—
David and Hugh (the gamekeeper’s son), and Bill and Jack (the
blacksmith’s son), and, of course, Nipper and little Bobby Brown.
We cannot here recount all that the Council decided, but we will
follow each pair, and see what adventures befall them, as they set
out, like the knights of old, bent on rescuing their captured chief.
It had been decided that Bill and Jack should go to the camp and
reconnoitre. David and Hugh were bent on another quest—but more
of that later.
The gipsies were striking camp. Black Bill seemed in a great hurry
to get a move on, and was swearing at his men, right and left.
Walking along the side of the meadow, by the hedge, Bill and Jack
kept their eyes open for any clue that might present itself, and
before long they were rewarded.
“Look!” whispered Bill, suddenly gripping his companion’s arm,
and pointing. “Danny’s hat!”
Dropping into cover behind the hedge the two Cubs peered
through at the strange sight before them—a ragged gipsy boy,
barefooted, and clad in an old red shirt, wearing a P.L’s hat. The boy
was busy clearing out the straw from the lion’s cage. There was no
one near.
“Let’s ask him where he got it,” said Jack. “We might get some
clues from him, and if we could get hold of the hat, it would be a
proof that Danny was in the camp, and that something must have
happened to him.” So the two Cubs stood up, and looked over the
hedge at the gipsy boy.
 “Where did you get that hat?” asked Bill. He had no intention of
making an impertinent remark, but the boy seemed to see
something very offensive in the question.
“Nah, then, none o’ yer cheek!” he said, and flung a lump of mud
straight into Bill’s face. Bill was furious, and started forward, his
temper fairly up, when Jack called him back to his senses.
“Don’t give in to yourself, you ass,” he said. “Don’t you see it’ll
spoil the whole game?”
Bill checked himself; but it was a hard struggle.
“I say,” said Jack, over the hedge to the boy, “you might be a
sport and tell us where you found that hat, because it belongs to a
friend of ours, and if you don’t tell us where you found it we shall
think you stole it from him.”
The boy told them to shut up in such a rude way that Bill flushed
up again, but he held himself in.
“Look here,” said Jack, “if you will give us back our friend’s hat, I’ll
give you this.” He held out a fine, new Scout knife. The boy’s only
reply was to throw an armful of dirty straw over the hedge, and all
over the two Cubs.
“Then,” cried Jack, “we’ll jolly well take it from you!” And, with
these words, he leapt lightly over the hedge, followed by Bill, and
caught the big gipsy a neat left-hander under the chin. The boy,
taken unawares, was sent sprawling, and Bill lost no time in
snatching the hat off his head.
A group of gipsies working further on had seen, and now came
towards the group.
“Better clear out,” said Jack. “We’ve got our evidence.” Jumping
over the hedge they quickly made their way back to the Hall.
They found Mr. Ogden and Mr. Beak talking over the question of
Danny’s disappearance with a policeman. In a few words they told
their story.
“H’m,” said Mr. Beak, “look’s rather strange. They’ll have to
account, somehow, for Danny’s hat being in the possession of one of
their boys.”
So the policeman and the bailiff and the two Cubs went down to
the camp. Black Bill was interviewed once again. This time he sent
for his sons, and questioned them before the policeman.
“Oh, yes,” said one of them. “I know about that scout. It was like
this here. He got in with a queer lot o’ folk what come from the
town, not the kind o’ people as we likes to encourage in our circus.
They was so rowdy and disreputable we had to give ’em a warning,
and threaten to call in our friend the policeman here. That made ’em
wild, and they started smashing up our Hoop-la with the balls off the
cocoanut shie. Our lad, in charge of the Hoop-la, had a scuffle with
the Scout, who was the ringleader of all the mischief, and he must
have got his hat then. We threatened to report the Scout’s behaviour
up at the Hall. He took fright at that, and so did they all. They
started off for the town, and he begged them to take him too; he
was afeared to go in so late, and in the state he was in. So they all
went off together.”
Mr. Beak and the policeman looked very serious.
“I heard about that lot,” said the policeman, “but I didn’t know as
how the Scout had got mixed up with them. Not the kind of
companions as Mr. Ogden would like for him.”
“Well,” said Mr. Beak, “we’d better go and report this information
to Mr. Ogden, and see what further steps can be taken.”
Then the Cubs stepped forward, with blazing eyes.
“But d’you mean you believe these beastly lies about Danny?”
cried Bill.
Mr. Beak shrugged his shoulders. “Well,” he said, “what else can I
do? Of course it’s very sad, but then Danny should keep out of the
way of bad company.”
Mr. Beak was one of those weak-minded people who always
believe everything they are told, and accept the first solution to any
problem that comes along, because it is less trouble than finding out
the true one.
“But it’s all a lie, a lie, a lie!” shouted Bill. Jack was at his elbow.
“Shut up, you bandarlog,” he whispered, “look at Black Bill.”
Bill glanced up and met the eyes of the circus manager fixed upon
him in an awful and piercing scowl. He nearly jumped out of his skin,
and for a moment stood still like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake,
beneath the gaze of those terrible black eyes. In that moment he
felt more sure than ever that Black Bill knew where Danny was.
To the Cubs’ dismay Mr. Beak reported the story to Mr. Ogden,
who seemed inclined to believe it. But something even worse was to
happen. Black Bill himself walked down to the Hall that night with
the policeman, to make (so he said) a report of the matter himself to
Mr. Ogden.
He had a short interview alone with the Squire, and then went
away with a horrible grin on his face. Mr. Ogden came out as white
as a sheet, and in a towering rage. He ordered the search for Danny
to be stopped, and said he had disgraced himself, and could now
shift for himself; he washed his hands of such a young scamp.
The Cubs, in despair, set to work with redoubled energy, and that
night a strange adventure befell David and Hugh.
 CHAPTER XVIII
DETECTIVES

Whilst Bill and Jack had been getting actively to work in search of
Danny, David and Hugh had been making plans. Retiring to a
particular and secret den of their own, in a pile of logs, they faced
the problem in a really logical way. With pencil and notebook, and
the quiet determination of true detectives, they reviewed the
situation.
“First,” said David, “what do we know?... Danny was last seen
going to the circus. Then gipsies are people who are often thieves or
something. Danny is a detective. If there was anything fishy about
those gipsies he would be sure to get on the scent. If Black Bill
caught him at it he would be sure to keep him prisoner, so we had
better take it that he has been kidnapped by Black Bill. What do we
do?”
“Try not to let Black Bill out of our sight,” said Hugh. “Follow him
everywhere he goes. Try and get as near to him as possible, in case
we can overhear him talking about Danny; and keep our eyes open
for any clue there might be.”
“Yes,” said David thoughtfully, “that’s just what we must do. But
the circus is moving on this afternoon. It’s going to Bradmead—
that’s five miles away.”
“Then we must go, too,” said Hugh. “We may have to stay away
some time, so we must take all we might want with us. And we must
be prepared for anything that might happen.”
“Yes,” agreed David, “let’s make a list.” He sharpened his pencil
and flattened out his notebook.
“Money,” said Hugh. “If you haven’t got enough money to buy
anything you may want, or to pay for railway journeys, or to bribe
people with, you’re done. I’ve got £1 5s. saved up in my money-box.
I’ll take that.”
 “I’ve got a sovereign my godfather sent me last week—a late
birthday present, because he was at the front when my birthday was
on.”
“Good,” said Hugh. “Then, food. You must have food with you,
because you can’t be sure of being able to buy it, and you can’t
carry on if you’re starving.”
“Cook,” said David, “has been crying ever since she found Danny
was lost. If she hears we are going to seek for him she’ll give us any
amount of grub.”
“Rope,” said Hugh. “We might have to let ourselves down into a
pit, or out of a window.”
“Yes,” said David, writing in his book, “and the pit might be dark,
so we might need two electric lights, and some candles and
matches.”
“We might have to file some bars,” said Hugh. “Put down a file.”
“We might have to have a fight,” said David, “so I think we’ll take
two of the old daggers out of grandfather’s armoury. We shall have
to sharpen them, ’cos they’re awfully blunt.”
His eyes gleamed fiercely.
Hugh nodded. “But after the fight we might want to do first aid,
so I think we must have bandages and lint and things.”
David wrote in his book.
“And we might be in an awful hurry,” continued Hugh. “What
about taking Danny’s bike? I can ride it if the saddle is put right
down, and you can go on the step. We could hide it somewhere near
the gipsy camp, in case of need.”
“That’s a good idea,” said David. “And we might want to disguise
ourselves. What about you borrowing a set of your sister’s clothes?
I’ll get the false nose we have for acting, and a pair of specs, and
grandfather’s Inverness cape. No one would recognize us, then.”
“You’re right,” said Hugh. “And I think we’d better have a map—
there’s that one Danny was teaching us map reading with.”
“Yes, yes,” said David, “and a compass, in case we get lost in the
dark.”
Before long they had collected all the things down on their list,
and packed them in an old sack and a carpet bag. Concealing them
in their den, under the logs, they set out to go down to the camp,
and begin their watch on Black Bill, meaning to come back for the
things as soon as they saw signs of the circus getting ready to move.
They had not gone far before they met Bill and Jack returning with
Danny’s hat, and the story of how Black Bill’s son had told the bailiff
an awful lie about Danny. This convinced David and Hugh more than
ever that Black Bill had kidnapped Danny, and they hurried on
towards the camp.
Black Bill did not move from the field all the morning; but the
Cubs managed to discover from a little gipsy girl that the camp was
going to start for Bradmead directly after dinner. Dinner was then
nearly ready, as you could tell from the lovely smell that came from
the big black pots on the fire.
“Look here,” said Hugh to David, “you stay here keeping your eye
on Black Bill, and I’ll go on to Bradmead on Danny’s bike, and take
the things and find a secret hiding-place for them. Then I’ll come
back towards the caravans, which will be on the move by then. If I
can’t spot you, I’ll make the peewit noise and you answer with the
owl’s.”
So the two Cubs parted.
The long line of caravans set out, soon after Hugh had started. It
looked like a giant caterpillar of many colours crawling slowly down
the white, dusty road. Black Bill was on his big horse, as usual, and
it was all David could do to keep him in sight, as he rode backwards
and forwards along the line, for David was keeping himself very
carefully under cover.
It would never do for the gipsies to know that the Cubs were
following them up, for they must have realized that, however much
they had managed to hoodwink the bailiff, the police, and the
Squire, the Cubs still had very strong suspicions, and were hot on
the trail.
The cavalcade had proceeded nearly three miles when David,
crawling along at the bottom of a deep ditch, under a hedge, heard
the plaintive cry of a peewit, on the field side of his ditch. He
answered with the cry of an owl on the wing. The peewit call
sounded again three times in quick succession—a recognized signal.
Scrambling up the bank David soon discovered his fellow-detective.
“Hullo,” whispered Hugh. “I’ve found their camping site, and a fine
hiding-place for us in an old disused water cistern a few fields away.
I’ve stowed everything there, and camouflaged the opening with
some dead branches and an old torn rick-cloth.”
“Good,” whispered David.
And so the two Cubs pressed on, keeping abreast of the circus,
but invisible to the gipsies.
 CHAPTER XIX
BY THE LIGHT OF A LANTERN

All the rest of the day David and Hugh kept a close watch on Black
Bill’s every movement.
Towards evening they noticed a boy leading out his big black
horse, saddled and bridled.
“He’s going out!” said Hugh. “We must follow him. You stay here
and keep watch on the camp, and I’ll follow him on Danny’s bike.”
Creeping off to their secret cache, Hugh found the bicycle, and
was on the road with it just as Black Bill rode out of the field. It was
no easy thing to keep him in sight, and yet keep far enough behind
not to attract his attention. However, Hugh managed to do it.
To his surprise he found they had returned to the village. Here
Black Bill dismounted and left his horse at the inn. Then he turned in
through the big gates of the Hall. At the gates he met the village
policeman, and together they walked up the drive.
Black Bill’s interview with the Squire we described before.
“That’s rum,” said Hugh, as Black Bill came out of the study, a
nasty grin on his face. “What ever could he want to say to Mr.
Ogden?”
In a few words Hugh explained to Bill that he and David would not
be in that night, but he did not say where they were, in case Bill
should be questioned by the grown-ups. Then, mounting his bicycle,
he set out, once again, to follow Black Bill.
It was nearly dark when they arrived back again at the camp.
Hugh was frightfully hungry, and was glad to find that David had
fetched some food from the old cistern, and their coats, and a few
other things. They had supper, and then decided to take it in turns
to curl up in the ditch and sleep, one of them keeping watch.
The last of the summer dusk had been swallowed up in darkness,
when David, who was taking the first watch, suddenly strained every
nerve to hear and see. Yes—it was Black Bill, softly leaving his
caravan, and moving towards the gate!
Waking Hugh, David hurriedly put on the haversack containing all
the things the detectives might need. Then the two boys crept out
after Black Bill, making no sound with their rubber shoes on the
grass.
“Notice carefully the way we are going,” whispered Hugh, “or we
shall never find our way back.” For Black Bill was climbing over
gates, crossing fields, and following small paths. At length he
reached what looked like a deserted and rather ramshackle
cowhouse, standing in the corner of a field. The roar of a train told
them that they were near the railway, and the glint of red lights far
away beyond the trees, told them a station was about half a mile
distant.
Stepping up to the shed Black Bill rapped on it a peculiar knock.
The door was immediately opened, and he entered. The door was
softly shut, again, after him.
“Let’s creep round,” whispered Hugh, under his breath, “and see if
there is a window or anything we can listen through.”
They crawled round to the back of the shed, and, to their joy, saw
that there was a hole in the wall of the shed, where some boards
had slipped. Under this hole chanced to be a big pile of soiled straw
and hay. Climbing softly up on this the Cubs crouched down, keeping
their heads low.
“It’s quite safe to light up,” they heard Black Bill say. “No one ever
comes this way; there’s no fear of being discovered or overheard.”
There was the sound of a match being struck and a lantern being
lighted. Cautiously the Cubs peered through the hole, and found
themselves looking down on two men, seated with their backs to the
hole. The man who had opened the door to Black Bill was a
sneaking-looking individual, with a foxy face and mean little eyes. By
the light of the lantern they could see the eager expression on his
face, and the ugly grin on that of Black Bill. Strange shadows danced
in the flickering, yellow light, and a feeling of horror came over the
Cubs.
 CHAPTER XX
A CONSPIRACY OVERHEARD

“Well,” said the stranger, “’ave yer fixed it up?”

“Yes,” said Black Bill. “Crale, or Ogden as he calls himself now, will
be at the cross-roads at 12.30. I had a talk with him this evening.”
The Cubs looked at each other. Mr. Ogden? What could it mean?
They had come out to find Danny, but apparently they had got on
the track of a bigger mystery than they had bargained for.
“We can turn into the wood,” said Black Bill, “and have our little
talk with him there. I don’t reckon that it’ll take very long.” He
grinned, showing a row of cruel-looking teeth.
“How did you get him to agree to come?” said the foxy-faced
stranger.
Black Bill laughed. “I told him,” he said, “that you and I were the
only ones left of the old gang. That we were working hard for our
living, now, and we didn’t see why he should swank it as a blooming
squire, when we helped him make the money he bunked to America
with. I said if he refused to meet us, and talk the matter over, I
would make known the whole story to the public, and bring disgrace
on his name, and show every one that he is not an honest English
gentleman, but a forger, who made off with the swag, letting an
innocent man suffer imprisonment for him.
“I told him I had a way of making his story known, without
bringing suspicion on myself; and I said now we’d found him again,
we weren’t going to let him go.”
The Cubs, listening with all their ears, could not make head or tail
of all this, for they did not know the story the tramp had told Danny.
All they knew was that Mr. Ogden, the twin’s grandfather, was having
a plot made against him—an extraordinary plot they could not
understand. It was their duty to save him.
“And what is yer goin’ to say to ’im to-night?” asked the man.
 “I’m going to tell him that now he’s back, and has got plenty of
money, we can start the gang again, with me as boss and him as
one of the partners—the partner what provides the money! I’ve
drawn up this statement” (and here Black Bill produced a paper),
“and I’m going to say if he doesn’t sign it, and keep to it, we will
make his story known. Then, I’ll make him write a big cheque, as a
start off!”
The foxy-faced man rubbed his hands together and chuckled.
What could it mean? The Cubs were sorely puzzled. Then Black
Bill said something which made them prick up their ears.
“As to that Scout I caught the other night, I made Ogden agree to
leave off the search for him. I’ve got him safe, and, whatever
happens, he mustn’t escape.”
“Well,” said the stranger, “strikes me we’d better be getting a
move on, if we are to be at the cross-roads before 12.30.”
The two men rose, and the Cubs lay flat on the pile of damp hay.
They heard them go out and slam the door; and their footsteps
sounded on the cobbled path outside the shed.
“Now,” said Hugh, “what on earth are we to do next?”
“I can’t understand it all,” answered David, “but if grandfather
really has something funny about his past, we had better not tell the
police about this meeting at the cross-roads. And yet I hate the
thought of him meeting Black Bill alone. You don’t know what he
might do.”
“I’ve got an idea!” said Hugh suddenly. “Let’s rush back and get
the bike, and get there before them, and go and tell the whole thing
to the Tramp. He would be sure to know what to do. And he would
come with us and hear what they all say in the wood.”
“Good idea!” said David; and, with all haste, the Cubs set out for
the place where the bicycle lay concealed.
Unmistakably it was Black Bill and
the stranger.
[To face page 97.
 CHAPTER XXI
THE “WICKED UNCLE” FOUND AT LAST

Black Bill and his accomplice had set out across the field in a
direction which Hugh felt sure would bring them out on to the high
road. It was, therefore, with all speed that the Cubs scrambled back
along the little path, over gates, and through gaps, until they found
themselves once again near the gipsy camp. Fetching the bicycle
from their hiding-place in the old cistern, they wheeled it quietly
across the grass on to the road. After lighting the lamps Hugh
mounted, waited for David to be firmly settled on the carrier of the
bike, and then began to fairly hog it down the road. Fortunately for
him the way lay almost entirely down hill.
The Cubs must have gone nearly a mile when they noticed two
black figures walking in the middle of the road, just ahead. Hugh
jammed on his brakes and rang his bell loudly. The figures jumped
out of the way, and as the bicycle flashed past them, the golden
circle from its lamp lit them up. Unmistakably it was Black Bill and
the stranger.
“That’s good,” panted Hugh over his shoulder; “there’s still four
miles for them to walk to the cross-roads. I don’t suppose they’re
walking more than four miles an hour, and we must be going about
fourteen. We shall get there long before they do.”
And sure enough the church clock was striking twelve as the Cubs
flashed through the little sleeping village and passed the cross-
roads.
“I’m jolly glad there’s two of us,” said David. “I wouldn’t like to be
on this job alone. It’s so beastly dark, and I hate all these plotting
people. I wish I was at home in bed.”
“Don’t give in to yourself,” said Hugh. “Let’s stick it out. Once
we’ve found the Tramp we shall be all right.”
They turned up the little lane that led to the farm. At the gate
they got off the bike and propped it up against the fence. Then they
crept across the yard to the barn where the tramp slept.
Hugh was carrying the bicycle lamp. Standing just inside the barn,
he flashed it round to find the Mysterious Tramp. Yes, there he was,
lying on a pile of straw.
Creeping up to him, David shook him gently.
“Hullo,” said the Tramp, opening his eyes, and then sitting up.
“Who is it?”
“Us,” whispered David; “two of the Cubs.” Hugh put down the
bicycle lamp, and the two boys squatted in its circle of yellow light.
“What on earth brings you two kiddies here?” said the Tramp.
It was very comforting to hear his cheery voice. The Cubs each
got hold of one of his hands.
“Oh, sir,” said Hugh, “we are in the middle of such an awful
adventure.”
“And you want to drag me into it?” said the Tramp.
“Yes,” said David, “but it won’t be long before they meet at the
cross-roads. We want to tell you all the story, and then you will know
what to do.”
“Fire ahead then,” said the Tramp.
David quickly told all they had done, seen, and heard.
As he reached the part about the conspiracy in the cowhouse, the
Tramp started.
“What,” he said, with sudden feverish interest, “a gang of what?”
“Forgers,” said David, dwelling with an enjoyable thrill of horror on
the word.
“And they want to re-form the gang,” said Hugh, “and make Mr.
Ogden one of the partners—the one who provides the money.”
“And they say if he doesn’t promise all they want they will tell
everybody all about the past, when (as they say) he was the boss of
their gang, and made off to America with all the swag. And they say
he wasn’t called Ogden in those days—his name was Crale.”
“What!” said the Tramp, with a sudden, hard, fierce note in his
voice that startled the Cubs, and made them peer through the dim
light to try and see his face. “What!” he repeated.
“Crale!” said David.
 He little knew what that name called up in the mind of the
Mysterious Tramp—sad scenes of eight years ago. In the darkness
he seemed to see a long white road, winding between green woods,
and on the road he himself, a gay young artist, with a little fair-
haired girl holding on to his hand, and jumping about for very joy of
being alive, and then a dark, sinister-looking house, with Mr. Crale
standing at the gate. “The wicked uncle looks very cross this
morning, daddy,” would say Mariette; “poor wicked uncle, perhaps
he wishes he had a little girl. He must be awful lonely.”
And then another scene. The sneering face of Crale, as handcuffs
are clipped on to the wrists of the young artist, and he (an innocent
man) is arrested as a forger. And then his face again, in the court,
giving evidence, and showing the false letters, supposed to be from
the artist, making over his little girl to one of the members of his
gang.
But David was continuing his story, and the Tramp was obliged to
turn his mind from the sad past to the strange present.
“We were hunting for Danny,” continued David, “and we heard this
plot by accident. We don’t much care what happens, as long as we
find Danny. We thought we’d better follow up and hear what Black
Bill says to grandfather, because it might give us a clue.”
“Yes,” said the Tramp eagerly. “Yes, we will go to the wood at once
and try and hear what passes.”
Danny’s fate was far from the Tramp’s mind. Here at last he was
getting close to that which had occupied all his thoughts for nearly
eight years. Here was a chance of learning the whereabouts of his
little Mariette and—of revenge.
Extinguishing the lamp the two Cubs and their friend crept down
the little lane towards the wood. They did not step out into the
open, at the cross-roads, but crawled through a gap into the wood,
and made their way silently along a narrow mossy path. The clouds
had dispersed, and now the moon shone brightly.
Crouching in the black shadow of a holly bush, the three
“detectives” took up their position where they could see the white
roads, and the signpost in the moonlight, and also command the
wide, fern-fringed path leading down the wood, from the little gate.
 They had not been waiting long before two black figures
appeared, swinging along the Bradmead road. Reading the signpost,
they halted and looked around. Then it was that the tall spare figure
of Mr. Ogden stepped forward from the gloom and advanced towards
Black Bill.
“It’s our old friend Crale right enough,” said Black Bill, turning to
his companion, “but his beard forms a good disguise. Thought he’d
pass for a blooming gent, and a high and mighty squire, he did.
Here’s your old mate, Bingey,” he said, turning to Mr. Ogden.
The squire grunted. “Come into the wood,” he growled sullenly,
“and then get on with what you’ve got to say.”
Moving with the extreme caution Danny had taught them, the
Cubs crawled towards the spot where the three men had gone,
followed by the Tramp, until they were close enough to hear every
word that passed.
“Well,” began Black Bill, “this here is our proposition to you, Mr.
Crale.” He began to unfold a long plan that it was difficult for the
Cubs to understand. When he had explained everything he made his
threat of exposing Mr. Ogden’s shameful past, unless he would agree
to fall in with their scheme.
The Tramp was breathing hard; thoughts raced through his brain.
Here he was, close at last to his old enemy, and he would have his
revenge at last.
“Make your choice,” said Black Bill in a threatening voice. “Sign
this paper, and write me a cheque for £1,000, or go back to your
swell house and wait for the police to come along to-morrow.”
The squire stretched out his hand and took the paper. He fumbled
in his waistcoat pocket for a fountain pen. Smoothing the paper out
on his knee, he bent over it, trying to read it in the moonlight.
“What’s this sentence?” he said, peering closer. “How can I sign
what I can’t even read?” He ran his finger along a line. Black Bill
came near, and bent over the paper to see what it was the squire
could not understand. He was altogether off his guard and in a
defenceless position. Like a steel spring Mr. Ogden’s hands shot out,
catching him by the throat, and forcing him down on to the ground.
At the same moment another figure sprang up from behind a log
and grappled with Bingey.
A cry of horror broke from the Cubs and a muffled exclamation
from the Tramp. So his revenge was not to be so easy after all.
Ogden might yet escape. But even as he looked, he saw the tide
turn. The squire, for all his wiry strength and all his knowledge of
jujitsu, was a poor match for Black Bill’s powerful muscles. Besides,
he was well over fifty, and Black Bill was some years younger. The
Tramp breathed hard. He was seeing a terrible revenge upon his
enemy.
Then, like a golden flash, a memory came into his mind—his
conversation with Danny last autumn: “God won’t answer your
prayers till you forgive your enemies,” Danny had said. Revenge was
a terrible sin—the Tramp knew that. And then, in those breathless
moments he knew that his time for deciding had come. For God’s
sake he would forgive his enemy. More, he would risk his life to save
him. Springing forward he threw himself on to the struggling men.
With a yell of rage Black Bill let go of the squire, and turning on
his new assailant aimed a blow at him with a knife. It sank deep into
the Tramp’s arm, and things would have gone badly for him had not
David and Hugh joined into the fray.
Catching hold of Black Bill’s legs, they little by little managed to
wind them up with the rope they had brought with them. Then,
while the squire and the Tramp held him down, they bound his arms
also. At last he was helpless, and the Tramp and Mr. Ogden stood
up; Bingey had been settled by Mr. Ogden’s man, and lay gagged
and bound.
 CHAPTER XXII
AT DAWN

The Tramp’s arm was bleeding badly, and the Cubs’ first thought was
to bind it up for him with the bandages they had so thoughtfully
included in their list of requirements. This done, the party stood
looking at each other in silence.
“You have saved my life,” said Mr. Ogden, stretching out his hand
and speaking in a voice shaken with emotion. “No words can express
the gratitude of one man to another who has done that?”
The Tramp smiled a little grimly, and took the outstretched hand.
To him this was a handshake of forgiveness.
“I don’t know who you are,” said the Squire, “but if there is any
way in which I can serve you, you will be doing me a favour by
letting me know of it.”
There was a strange silence. Then the Tramp gave a dry little
laugh. “You ruined my life, Crale, eight years ago,” he said. “I doubt
if you can make up for that now.”
The Squire started and reeled back against a tree.
“Graham?” he said. “You?” He peered at him through the
moonlight. Then covered his face with his hands.
After a moment he looked up again. “The thought of you,” he said,
“has haunted me all these years. But I had not the courage to do
the only thing that could put things right—give myself up. You have
had the courage to save my life and the grace to forgive me. Now,
by God’s help, your every wrong shall be righted; justice shall be
satisfied. What is the use of speaking of this here? Let us get these
men back to the Hall. In the morning we will send for the police for
their arrest—and mine.”
The Cubs were altogether mystified at what was passing. The
leading back of Black Bill and Bingey, and their imprisonment at the
Hall, filled them with delight. To-morrow morning Danny would be
found.