The Story of Freginald by Walter R. Brooks Page B

wasn’t going to give him the hair until he was sure Mr. Boomschmidt had got his message. So the wren started off. And Freginald went downstairs again and told Leo.

CHAPTER 7
    At dinner-time the guard was changed and a coarse but ample lunch was served the prisoners. About two o’clock the wren came back. He had seen Mr. Boomschmidt, who had at once halted the northward march and called a council of war. “He said not to worry; he’ll get you out.”
    â€œWhen will he get here?” Freginald asked.
    â€œWell, he’s got a good fifteen-mile march ahead of him,” said the wren. “I shouldn’t expect him before tomorrow.”
    Late that afternoon the rooster came back, to inquire if they had yet decided to join the Confederacy.
    Leo blinked at him good-naturedly. “What’s the use?” he said. “There won’t be any Confederacy by this time tomorrow.”
    The rooster jerked his head indignantly. “That’s a very stupid way for you to talk,” he said. “You don’t seem to realize the seriousness of your position.”
    â€œDon’t you worry about our position,” said Leo. “Boy, you’d better take a look at your own, my old bantam. Pretty proud of those tail-feathers, aren’t you? Well, you’d better admire ’em all you can; you won’t have ’em much longer.”
    â€œYou will regret this,” said the rooster vindictively. “Guards!” he shouted, his voice rising into a shrill squawk. “See that no straw is brought in for the prisoners tonight. They can sleep on the bare ground. And no supper for them, either. Captain’s orders.”
    â€œYes, lieutenant,” said the guards.
    Freginald thought it was rather silly to make the rooster mad, but before he could remonstrate with Leo there was a commotion outside. There was running, and excited talk, and the rooster, who was just leaving, stopped in the doorway and stared nervously up at the sky.
    The prisoners got as near the door as the guards would let them and looked too. Across the littered barnyard was the back of the dilapidated house, and beyond, the close, leafy wall of the forest. And above the trees, swooping swiftly down toward the plantation, was a small flock of birds. Freginald recognized them. They were Mademoiselle Rose’s pet pigeons. They were flying in formation, three by three, and just as it seemed as if they were about to alight in front of the barn, the leader, followed instantly by the others, swerved and swung up out of sight. But as he did so he dropped something that fluttered to the ground.
    â€œThat’s one of Mr. Boomschmidt’s checkered handkerchiefs,” whispered Leo excitedly. “They dropped it so we’d know they were coming.”
    The pigeons were out of sight now, but Freginald and Leo could tell where they were by watching the animals who had gathered in the barnyard. For every head turned slowly as the pigeons circled and dipped. They had evidently been sent as scouts to spy out the enemy’s strength and position.
    In a minute or two they came into sight again, swinging over the house. But just as Freginald caught sight of them, he saw two hawks rise from a tall pine. They beat the air swiftly with their wide wings as they spiraled to get above the pigeons. The rooster flapped his wings and laughed shrilly. “Now we’ll see some fun,” he said. Then he turned and looked at the prisoners. “I suppose this is the rescue party you’ve been waiting for,” he sneered. “Lot of silly pigeons, playing drop the handkerchief! Well, watch what happens to them.”
    But Leo laughed at him. “We’re watching, rooster. Look.” He pointed straight up in the air. Above the pigeons, above the hawks, a tiny speck that none of them had noticed before was growing rapidly larger. It shot downward like an arrow, straight for the larger of the two hawks.