ious to find out who it was. A wild
thought came to her, too--perhaps it was the real poacher, for whom she
had been mistaken, that she heard!

Presently the fence turned out, and she had to circle around, following
it, to keep to the straight path. And, as the fence turned in again, she
gave a sudden gasping little cry, that she had the greatest difficulty
in choking down, lest it betray her at once.

For she saw a dark figure against the green background, bending over,
and plucking at something that lay on the ground.

"It is! It really is--the poacher!" she whispered to herself.

She longed to know what to do. There was no way of telling whether there
was anyone about. If she lifted her voice and called for help, it might
bring a game-keeper quickly--and it might simply give the poacher the
alarm, and enable him to escape, leaving the evidence of the crime to be
turned against her. And this time no one, not even Mrs. Chester, would
believe in her innocence.

Slowly Bessie crept toward the crouching figure. At least she would try
to see his face, so that she would recognize him again, if she was lucky
enough to see him. For Bessie was determined that some time, no matter
how far in the future, she would clear herself, and make General Seeley
admit that he had wronged her.

And then, when she was scarcely ten feet from him, she stepped on a
branch that crackled under her feet, and the poacher turned and faced
her, springing to his feet. Bessie screamed as she saw his face, for it
was her old enemy--Jake Hoover!

For a moment he was far more frightened than she. He stared at her
stupidly. Then he recognized her, and his face showed his evil triumph.

"Ah, here, are yer?" he cried, and sprang toward her, his hands full of
the feathers he had plucked from the tail of the pheasant he had snared.

That move was Jake's fatal mistake. Had he run at once, he might have
been able to escape. But now, Bessie, brave as ever, sprang to meet him.
He was far stronger than she, but she had seen help approaching--a man
in velveteens, and for just a moment after Jake, too, had seen the
game-keeper, Bessie was able to keep him from running. She clung to his
arms and legs, and though Jake struck at her, she would not let go. And
then, just in time, the game-keeper's heavy hand fell on Jake's
shoulder.

"So you're the poacher, my lad?" he said. "Well I've caught you this
time, dead to rights."

Squirm and wriggle as he would,