Outside, the ground above the cave slipped forward in a minor avalanche, sweeping turf and chalk and stones down-wards in a spreading fan which half-buried Yarra’s body. When the movement ended all that could be seen of Yarra was her head and shoulders and her forelegs. Behind her the mouth of the cave was blocked. Inside against the rear wall, the two cubs huddled together in fright.

  Later that night a travelling fox caught Yarra’s scent and came a little way down the valley side to investigate. It sat for a long time looking at Yarra and then moved on. At first light the buzzards, spiralling hundreds of feet above, saw her. The sand-martins hawking the early morning midges and gnats low along the hillside saw her. A white-bellied mouse rummaging among the branches of the tree-screen saw her. All of them knew her and all of them still kept their distance.

  In the cave behind her the two cubs mewed, growled and spat, knowing only their hunger and growing thirst. The male cub explored the blockage and found a small puddle of water trapped in a hollow of the tunnel floor. He lapped at it and was joined by the other cub. By mid-morning their water supply had been exhausted.

  At noon Smiler, who had planned to go up on the plain as soon as he was free, was asked by Miss Milly if he would mind staying and working through the Saturday afternoon. She and her sister were going to Salisbury, and two different lots of people were coming to Danebury Kennels to collect their dogs.

  Mrs Lakey and Miss Milly did not return until six o’clock, but when Smiler got back to Joe’s cottage, knowing he still had plenty of time to go up on the plain for a few hours, Joe said:

  ‘You thinking of going up top for a few hours tonight, Johnny?’

  ‘Well, I was, Joe, if it’s all right.’

  Joe shook his head. ‘ It’s just the opposite. All left. Heard in the Angel this lunch time that the Army people is ’avin’ a special all-night exercise up there. They’ll be goin’ in about now and won’t be out until mid-day tomorrow. Thought I’d tip you off.’

  ‘But they wouldn’t see me, Joe.’

  ‘Too risky, me lad. They might be up to anything tonight. Place jumpin’ with troops – and helicopters, flares and Old Nick knows what up in the sky. You keep out of there until tomorrow mid-day.’

  ‘But Joe, I’d be –’

  ‘Nothing doing, Johnny. I got a responsibility for you. Seein’ that you live ’ere and, in a way, I’m sort of your uncle. Now, you want to go anywheres tonight then go down to the river. This rain’ll ’ave made the big trout lively and fast on the fin.’

  So Smiler – although he had an inward tussle with himself – went down to the river and contented himself with a brace of nice trout.

  Up on the plain during the night the cubs moved restlessly and hungrily in their den, feeling the rumble through the earth of tanks passing up the valley below. They heard, too, the thudding vibrations of exercising troops moving along the ridgeway and the muted gnat-sound of helicopters that passed low over the plain. Now and again, too, came the far thumps of shells falling and exploding.

  Just before twelve the next day, Smiler cycled up to the Heytesbury Vedette hut, going fast past the entrance of Danebury House in case Tonks should be about and spot him. If the Vedette hut were unmanned and the red danger flag not flying he knew that there would be no troops about. He carried his lunch and his field glasses in a haversack on his back, and he was wearing the Major’s old green anorak.

  The hut was empty and no flag flew. He hid his bicycle in a field down the road. In a few minutes he was heading across the plain by one of his many routes to Imber. He had no fear of Land Wardens because they never showed in their Land-Rovers an hour or so either side of mid-day on a Sunday.

  He came down the valley slope past the old church into Imber. He crossed the road and circled away behind the ruined Imber Court and up the far valley side to his favourite spot for watching Yarra and the den.

  It was a clear warm day. He settled himself in his grassy hollow and took out his field glasses and polished the lens and eye-pieces.

  The moment he focused on the mouth of the den he saw the half-buried Yarra. At first he thought she was just sunning herself against the cave mouth. Then he saw the scar on the slope above the cave. The glasses brought up clearly the torn turf and the bare soil and the piled debris closing the mouth of the cave. For a moment he sat there too surprised to know what to do or think. He looked at Yarra again and this time realized with a sharp pang of anguish that she really was half-buried.

  He jumped to his feet and avoiding all cover began to run down the valley side. However, at the bottom of the valley he stopped. His heart was bumping and he was panting for breath but, over his shock and distress at the thought of Yarra being dead, good sense was suddenly taking control. Yarra might not be dead. She might just be trapped and unconscious. If she were still alive she could be dangerous. You’ve got to go cautious, Samuel M., he told himself. And what about the cubs? Where were they?

  He went up the valley side at an angle that would hide him from the road through Imber and also take him clear of the cave. Reaching the ridgetop, he went over it and moved slowly back along it until he judged that he was level with the cave.

  He crawled through the grass. Long ago he had learnt not to expose himself on any skyline of the plain if he could help it. He peered over the side of the steep drop and had a clear view of Yarra. From the way she lay he was certain she was dead. Her pelt was matted and dirty from the past rain and earthfalls. Her head was twisted a little upwards and her mouth gaped unnaturally, showing her teeth. As Smiler saw this there was a dead weight inside him of sadness. Hard against the back of his eyes he felt the sting of tears and fought them back. He and Yarra had, in a way, escaped together. Now, Yarra was gone. It was awful. It ought not to have happened. She should be still as he was, free and fending for herself.

  Lying there, he buried his face in his arms for a while. Then he slowly got up and went to the little plateau where Yarra lay behind the screen of trees and bushes. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind now that she was dead. Even so, he approached her warily. Leave nothing to chance, his dad had always said. Better be safe than sorry.

  But there was no doubt about it. Yarra was gone. He moved to her and put a hand on her neck. It was stiff and there was no warmth in the pelt. He looked round and saw the blocked mouth of the cave and guessed how the collapse had happened … during all that recent rain.

  Then, as he looked at the jumbled pile of loose turf and soil, he heard very faintly a thin half-mewing, half-complaining noise. He went to the blockage and put his ear against it. The noise came again. This time, mixed with the mewing, was a brief, angry, spitting sound. Although he didn’t know it, it came from the male cub.

  Smiler sat back on his hunkers and scratched his head. For the moment Yarra was gone from his mind. The cubs were trapped inside the cave. What on earth was he to do?

  Now Smiler was nothing if not practical and resourceful. Faced with a big problem he knew how to worry his way through it and sort out the right decisions to be made. And he had a big problem – and a lot of little ones – on his hands right now.

  Take it slowly, Samuel M., he told himself. Sounds as though the cubs are both still alive. Thing Number One is, you’ve got to get them out. Thing Number Two is … He began to sort his way through the situation.

  As he sat there the buzzards up above saw him and swung away. All day they had watched Yarra and had been on the point of closing in for a cautious inspection. The carrion crow in a tall treetop at the valley mouth could see him. The carrion crow had become bolder during the day and had twice walked around Yarra from a safe distance but had lacked the courage to move in close. The sandmartins hunting the high-flying noon insects above him, and a hare couched farther down the valley side, had long seen him. Dozens of birds and animals were well aware of Smiler as he sat on his hunkers dealing with his problem.

  A few minutes later and Smiler was making his way over the ridgetop. Not far away was one of the many firepoints which were dotted across the plain. These held beating poles for fighting the rapid fires often caused by some soldier throwing away a burning cigarette end. The one he was heading for, he knew, held an old spade.

  The cubs had to be dug out. They would be hungry, thirsty, and frightened – and young animals in that state might be difficult to handle. He would have to face that one. Neither of them was big enough to do him any real harm so long as he watched himself. Then there was Yarra. He had to do something about her.

  The next three hours were very busy ones for Smiler. He had to go down twice to Imber, and each time he had to keep a sharp watch for any patrolling Land Warden. In those three hours there was a time of great joy for Smiler and a time of great sorrow.

  12. Smiler Takes Charge

  Within twenty minutes Smiler was back with the spade. He began to dig at the blocked entrance to the cave, working hard and fast and expertly. Fortunately the collapsed roof of the den opening was all loose soil and turf. There were no heavy stones amongst the debris. After about ten minutes hard going he had worked his way through the top part of the blockage, digging slightly downwards all the time. Suddenly his spade went through the last of the block. A small hole about the size of a man’s head opened up and the sunlight poured through it.

  He stopped digging and waited, listening. Inside the cave, the two cubs had long heard the sound of Smiler working away with the spade. When he finally broke through both of them were huddled together against the back wall of the den. The sudden sunlight blinded them. The male cub arched his back and snap-hissed, half in fear and half in defiance. The female crouched by him, more hungry than frightened, and gave a series of small mews.

  Outside, Smiler clicked his tongue and gave a few low encouraging cries. He reached back and got his haversack. Inside, wrapped in grease paper for his lunch, was a small, cold, roast chicken. He broke off one of the legs and held it just outside the hole. He couldn’t see the cubs, but he could hear them moving and crying now.

  Inside the cave both cubs suddenly got the scent of the chicken. They ceased their noise. The male cub, drawn first by the smell of food, moved slowly forward towards the patch of daylight at the front of the cave. Two feet from it he stopped. He could see part of Smiler’s face and the smell of the chicken was now stronger. The hunger in him overcame his fear. He climbed up over the loose soil to the opening.

  Smiler, shaking with excitement, saw the male cub’s head framed just inside the opening, saw the short stubby ears, the black lines of the face masking and the orange-brown pelt, black-spotted, of the cub’s neck. Behind the male cub, the face of the female cub appeared. Smiler reached forward and dropped the chicken leg just inside the opening. The movement made both cubs jump back a little, spitting and hissing. Smiler, holding himself very still, guessing that movement would alarm them, made soft encouraging noises.

  After a moment or two the male cub came forward slowly, then suddenly pounced, grabbed the chicken leg, and disappeared back into the cave, followed by the female cub. Smiler was overcome with a great joy. Frightened they might be, but they had taken food from him.

  He tore the chicken in two and threw half of it well into the cave. It landed near the female cub who was worrying around her brother to get at the leg which he was eating and guarding from her with swift strokes of his forepaws. She turned and seized it and ran into a corner of the den. As she did so, the sunlight funnelling into the cave was abruptly blocked off. Undisturbed by this the two went on with their eating.

  Outside Smiler had blocked the little opening he had made by piling large turfs and clods of earth into it. It was all part of the plan he had worked out when he had faced the problem on his hands. The cubs had to be fed and watered, but for the time being he could not risk their coming out of the den and escaping from him. Yarra was dead now. They were his cubs and he had to look after them sensibly and see that they came to no harm until he could work out a plan for them.

  While the cubs ate in darkness, Smiler dragged Yarra free from the soil and turf that partly covered her. He knew exactly what he must do with her. Not that he liked the idea, but it seemed the only thing for him to do. If he buried her on the hill side or up on the plain he could never cover up the evidence of his digging.

  Some soldier might spot it, or scavenging rats or foxes might find it.

  Scattered all over the plain were dozens of old wells which had been dug in the years long past when the land had not belonged to the army, and the long plain sweeps were grazed or tilled. Smiler knew such a well at the head of the valley. Hating every moment, but knowing he had to do it, he dragged Yarra a quarter of a mile up the valley to the well. It was in a little clump of thorn trees. The Army authorities had years ago capped most of the wells with concrete tops or wooden platforms so that the exercising troops should not fall down them by accident. This well had a timber top. The thick planks were loose in places. Smiler pulled a couple aside. The well was a very deep one. He dragged Yarra across the platform and let her drop through the gap he had made. As he put the heavy planks back there were now tears in his eyes. It was a moment of great sorrow.

  Keeping in cover all the way, he went back to Imber village and found an old bucket which he filled with water from the spring near Imber Court. He took the bucket back to the den, left it outside, and then went back again to the village. This time he returned with three or four short lengths of plank from the broken-up floor boards of one of the cottages, and a small, battered old tin bowl.

  For the next hour Smiler worked away, keeping a sharp lookout for the movement of any Land Warden. He was following the plan he had worked out.

  He opened up the small entrance to the cave, made it larger, and then tossed the last half of the chicken through to the cubs. They took it and began to quarrel over it. He filled the tin basin and put that through the opening on to the floor just inside. The smell of the water brought the cubs at once to the basin. To Smiler’s delight, both cubs rushed to it and began to lap thirstily, taking no notice of him. He was tempted to reach his hand through and stroke them. He decided not to do this. He was country-wise enough now to know that if you wanted to be friends with an animal you never rushed things.

  While the cubs drank and then went back to their chicken, Smiler worked at making a small plank doorway for the considerably reduced mouth of the cave. He arranged it so that he had three short planks fixed vertically down across the mouth. The middle plank he organized so that he could pull it upwards at will to make an opening. The outside planks he fixed firmly top and bottom with a packing of soil and turf which he firmed down with heavy strokes of the flat spade head.

  When this was done Smiler tidied up the outside of the cave as well as he could, clearing the small plateau where Yarra used to sun herself. He spread turves and old leaf mould from under the tree screen around the place to make it look less disturbed. Then, knowing that the cubs were well fed and watered for the time being, he left them.

  All the way back to Joe’s cottage, while he went his secret ways across the plain with the larks giving their evening chorus above him, Smiler was occupying himself with his real problem.

  Yarra was dead and the cubs were alive. But the cubs were not old enough to look after themselves. He ought to tell someone that they were up on the plain so that they could be caught and taken back, say, to Longleat where they would be looked after properly. But if he told Joe about them, or Miss Milly or Mrs Lakey, it would mean that a lot of public attention would be drawn to himself. Publicity would lead him back to the reform school. He could, of course, just make an anonymous telephone call to the police or one of the Land Wardens, telling about the cubs but not giving his name. But not even that would save him, because the news would become public, be in all the papers and be talked about – and then Joe would hear about it. And Joe was clever enough to put two and two together. Joe liked having secrets and could keep them. Smiler suspected, however, that Joe couldn’t keep a really big secret. Not when he had been an hour or two in the Angel. ‘Cheetah cubs up in a little old cave in Imber valley?’ Joe would say to himself. ‘And some unknown person – sounded like a boy’s voice it’s said – telephoned about ’em …?’

  Joe would look at him, Smiler, across the supper table and say, ‘Wouldn’t ’ave been you by any chance, would it, Johnny lad?’ And that would be it. Joe had shown him all the secret ways around Imber and that part of the country. Joe knew how much time he spent up there. Joe would know that if anyone was ever going to spot Yarra’s cave, and then find out she had cubs, and go to the trouble of digging them out and building a door … Oh, Crikeys, thought Smiler. Joe would have it out of him in no time. And then the word would go round! He was pretty sure that Joe already didn’t believe the story about his aunt at Crockerton … Oh, Lordy … There would be that reform school waiting. Once Joe knew, something was bound to go wrong.

  So, that evening, sitting by himself in the gloaming on the river bank – Joe was already away to the Angel – Smiler came to a big decision.

  He had to keep free until his father returned. Also, he had to see that the cubs were properly looked after. That meant he had to telephone the police or someone. And that meant that the moment he did so he would have to take off. Right away from this part of the world, covering his tracks as he went. He would have to go right away and find another job somewhere. But he didn’t want to move on. He liked working at Danebury House. He liked Miss Milly and Mrs Lakey (though not quite so much), and he liked Joe (better than anyone), and, in a way, he quite liked seeing Pat Bagnall now and then and having a chat with her.

  But, Samuel M., he told himself, no matter what you like and what you want to do – you’ve got to tell about the cubs. Samuel M., that means you have got to move on. Not today. Not tomorrow. But pretty soon. As soon as you’ve got a plan made out for yourself.