They walked leisurely over the combes till they reached the line of
notice-boards.

"Listen a shake. Foxy's up wind comin' down hill like beans. When you
hear him move in the bushes, go straight across to Aves. They want to
catch us _flagrante_delicto_."

They dived into the gorse at right angles to the tunnel, openly
crossing the grass, and lay still in Aves.

"What did I tell you?" Stalky carefully put away the pipes and
tobacco. The Sergeant, out of breath, was leaning against the fence,
raking the furze with his binoculars, but he might as well have tried
to see through a sand-bag. Anon, Prout and King appeared behind him.
They conferred.

"Aha! Foxy don't like the notice-boards, and he don't like the
prickles either. Now we'll cut up the tunnel and go to the Lodge.
Hullo! They've sent Foxy into cover."

The Sergeant was waist-deep in crackling, swaying furze, his ears
filled with the noise of his own progress. The boys reached the
shelter of the wood and looked down through a belt of hollies.

"Hellish noise!" said Stalky, critically. "'Don't think Colonel Dabney
will like it. I move we go into the Lodge and get something to eat.
We might as well see the fun out."

Suddenly the keeper passed them at a trot. "Who'm they to combe-bottom
for Lard's sake? Master'll be crazy," he said.