on his way. But he kept his eyes over his shoulder and, after he'd
gone fifty yards, stepped into the water-table, as ran on the south side
of the beat, and crept back under the darkness of the hedge so wily as a
hunting weasel. Back he came as cautious as need be, and for a big and
heavy chap he was very clever, and the only noise he made was his
breathing. He got abreast of the gate, still hid in night-black shadows,
and then he heard the muffled footfall again and a moment later a man
sneaked out of the gate with a gun in one hand and a pheasant in the
other. Sam licked his hands and drew his truncheon, and then the moon
shone on the face before him and the light of battle died out of his eyes.
For there was Chawner Green, with a fur cap made of a weasel skin drawed
down over his head and the moonshine leaving no doubt as to his identity.

Chawner stood a moment and peeped down the road to see if the policeman
was gone on his way. Then out strode Samuel and the elder man used a
crooked word and stared upon him and dropped his pheasant in the road. He
turned as to fly but 'twas too late, for Sam's leg-of-mutton hand was on
his neckerchief and Mr. Green found hisself brought to book at last.

And then Samuel saw a side of Chawner's character as cast him down a lot,
for the man put up a mighty fight--not with fists, because he was a bit
undersized and the policeman could have put him in his pocket if need was;
but with his tongue. He pleaded most forcibly for freedom, and when he
found his captor was dead to any sporting appeal, he grew personal and
young Borlase soon found that he was up against it.

At first Chawner roared with laughter.

"By the holy smoke," he said, "I'm in luck, Sam! I thought 'twas Billy
King had catched me, and then I'd have been in a tight place, for Billy's
no friend of mine; but you be a different pair of shoes, thank the Lord!
Take your hand off, there's a bright lad, and let me pick up my bird."

"I'm cruel sorry for this--cruel sorry," began Samuel in great dismay.
"I'd rather have any misfortune fall to my lot than have took you, Mr.
Green."

"Then your simplest course will be to forget you have done so," answered
the older man. "You go your way and I'll go mine. Your job's on the road,
so you stop on it, Sammy, and if they busy chaps pop along, you can say
you've heard nought moving but the owlets."

"Duty's duty," replied Sam. "You must come along with me, I guess. Give me
your air