Adders on the Heath Read Free

there was a natural bathing-place four or five feet deep. It was not big enough for swimming, but proved to be an excellent hole for a cold and refreshing dip. All afternoon he did not see a soul, but, on taking a brisk walk after his rough towelling, he heard, in the woods at the far side of the heath, the sound of foresters felling a mighty tree.
    He returned to the hotel for tea. He had decided that there was no point in spending time shopping in the village, and there was no farm near enough to make it worth the trouble of carrying milk, water and eggs back to his camp. Richardson, besides, was a good trencherman but an indifferent cook. Neither did he want to spend time collecting dead wood for a fire, although the Forest by-laws allowed for this. He had, too, (after hearing of the devastating experience of a friend), a dread of starting a conflagration. His sleeping-bag of wool and camel-hair provided sufficient warmth at night, and comfort was assured by the inflatable mattress on which, over a groundsheet, it rested. He thought that he would be perfectly happy until his friend arrived on the Saturday.
    He enjoyed his tea and lingered over it. When he took the road again it was ten minutes to five. He passed two girls on horseback; and several cars and a lorry either passed or overtook him; otherwise the world, so far as he was concerned, was empty of human beings. He reached camp and decided to continue to follow the course of the river. It was not possible to keep close to the bank because of bushes, thick and dense in places, and some patches of marshy ground, but he met the water again at frequent intervals and came, at last, to the borders of a wood.
    Here all trace of a path was lost. He continued to follow the stream until impenetrable thickets and a good deal of mud made progress less than tolerable. He struck back, through the trees-pine, oak and beech-and regained the open heath. A fair, broad trackway, recently used by wheeled vehicles, led him between gorse and bramble towards his tent.
    He was within a quarter of a mile of his camp when he spotted the runners. There were two of them jogging along across the heath, apparently out for a training spin, for they were obviously in no hurry. In fact, as he watched, they slowed up and then stopped. Rather to his surprise, the shorter of them put field-glasses to his eyes and, after scanning the countryside for a full three minutes, he handed the glasses to his companion.
    The men were a couple of hundred yards away and it was impossible to gain an impression of anything more than their height and general build, yet something about the taller man struck a chord in Richardson's memory. Tantalisingly, however, he could not recall the circumstances under which he must have met the man. As the fellow was in running kit, however, he assumed that he must be a member of some club with which his own had been associated.
    He walked on and then glanced sideways and a little behind him. The taller man was handing back the glasses. They were an odd sort of burden to carry on a cross-country run, Richardson thought. The only rational explanation seemed to be that the two men were to be the hares in a hare-and-hounds chase and were plotting their route. What they had appeared to be watching, however, was a group of forest ponies which had come into view against the dark trees of a fir wood, a Forestry plantation away over to Richardson's right.
    He made his way back to camp and when he got there he spread his anorak on the ground, sat down on it and lit a pipe. He smoked very little, for he was always in reasonably good training, but a pipe helped contemplation and seemed to fit in with the quiet of the approaching evening.
    When he had finished the pipe and knocked it out on to some mud at the edge of the stream, he put everything ready for the night and went off to have dinner at the hotel. He had not expected to see the two runners again, but they must have taken a long cast