rty had been considerably
alarmed by the crash of Toller's stones among the branches, or by his
long-range sniping of the white-clothed luncheon-table. On one occasion
Toller had landed a huge pebble, the size of an eight-pounder shot, into
the very bull's-eye of the feast--to wit, a basket containing six
bottles of Heidsieck's Special Reserve. It was this performance which
led Sir George to report the case to the authorities and insist on
Toller being put under restraint.

* * * * *

By the evening of the day when Toller disappeared from the Perryman
sheepfolds he had completed the long walk to his former haunts, and
recovered his weapons from under the cairn where he had carefully hidden
them six years before. The axe, of course, was uninjured; but the slings
were rotten. As soon as it was dark, therefore, Toller stole down to the
pastures, captured a steer, brained it with the flint axe, stripped off
the skin, made a fire, roasted a piece of the warm flesh, covered his
tracks, and before the sun was up had made twenty miles of the return
journey, with half a dozen fine new slings concealed beneath his coat.
He arrived at Deadborough at nightfall the day but one following, having
taken a circuitous route far from the highroad. He at once made his way
into the hills.

Beyond the furthest outposts of the Perryman farm lie extensive wolds
rising rapidly into desolate regions where sheep can scarcely find
pasture. In this region Toller concealed himself. About two miles beyond
the old quarry, on a slaty hillside, he found a deep pit, which had
probably been used as a water-hole in prehistoric times; and here he
built himself a hut. He made the walls out of the stones of a ruined
sheep-fold; he roofed them with a sheet of corrugated iron, stolen from
the outbuildings of a neighbouring farm, and covered the iron with sods;
he built a fire-place with a flue, but no chimney; he caused water from
a spring to flow into a hollow beside the door. Then he collected slate,
loose stones, and earth; and, by heaping these against the walls of the
hut, he gave the whole structure the appearance of a mound of rubbish.
Human eyes rarely came within sight of the spot; but even a keen
observer of casual objects would not have suspected that the mound
represented any sort of human dwelling. It was a masterpiece of
protective imitation, an exact replica of Toller's previous abode on
Clun Downs. His fire burn