. A thick
wood bordered one side of the road, which went up a long hill, and pale
birch trunks that caught the light stood out against dusky firs. Now
and then a rabbit ran across the road and plunged into the grass, and
presently there was a sharp rattle of wings. A flock of wood-pigeons
circled round in the moonlight and flew back into the frees. Then a
cock-pheasant crowed.

Mordaunt stopped in the gloom where a nut-bush hung over the gate of a
ride. Somebody had disturbed the birds; one could trust the pigeons to
give the alarm when an enemy was about. Mordaunt was a sportsman and a
good shot, but he waited because he wanted to find some relief from his
tormenting thoughts. He was just inside the Langrigg boundary and
imagined the gamekeeper began his round at the other end of the estate.
By and by dry underbrush rustled and there was a noise like a briar
dragging across somebody's clothes. Afterwards all was quiet for a few
moments, until a dark figure came out of the gloom close to the gate.

Mordaunt let the man get over and then touched his arm. The other
started, and stepping back, struck the gate. The blow was soft as if
something had eased the shock and the fellow's shape was bulky about
his hips. Mordaunt knew a poacher has generally a large pocket in the
lower lining of his coat. As the fellow lifted a short, knotted stick,
he turned his face to the light and Mordaunt saw it was Tom Shanks, the
old marshman's son.

"You can put down the stick," he said, coolly. "I expect you have been
smoking pheasants, but they're Langrigg bird's, not ours."

Shanks leaned against the gate and looked at him with dull suspicion.
Although his face was coarse and heavy, his eyes were cunning; he
slouched, but when he moved his step was light.

"There's nowt that's not Langrigg's," he growled, grasping his stick.
"Gentry stands by yan anodder. Are you gan t' tell?"

Mordaunt pondered. They were alone and he knew Shanks's sullen
ferocity. On the whole, he thought he was in some danger unless he
could satisfy the fellow. Shanks did not mean to let him seize the
heavy stick.

"I've not much ground for standing by Mr. Dearham and it's not my
business to protect his game," he said.

"If I thowt you'd send keeper after me----"

"Put down your stick," said Mordaunt, with haughty impatience. "If I
wanted to send the keeper, I'd certainly do so. But how many pheasants
did you get?"

"Nobbut two. T' bird