till
struggled, held by the wire at hand. It had dragged the fur off its leg,
and white nerve fibres, torn bare, glimmered in the red flesh under the
moon.

Both fighters were now growing weaker, and each knew that a few minutes
more must decide the fortune of the battle. Bonus still fought for the
gun, and now his weight began to tell. Then, as he got within reach, and
stretched hand to grasp it, Blanchard, instead of dragging against him,
threw all his force in the same direction, and Sam was shot clean over
the gun. This time they twisted and Will fell underneath. Both
simultaneously thrust a hand for the weapon; both gripped it, and then
exerted their strength for possession. Will meant using it as a club if
fate was kind; the other man, rating his own life at nothing, and,
believing that he bore Blanchard the grudge of his own ruin, intended,
at that red-hot moment, to keep his word and blow the other's brains out
if he got a chance to do so.

Then, unheard by the combatants, a distant gate was thrown open, two
brilliant yellow discs of fire shone along the avenue below, and John
Grimbal returned to his home. Suddenly, seeing figures fighting
furiously on the edge of the hill not fifty yards away, he pulled up,
and a din of conflict sounded in his ears as the rattle of hoof and
wheel and harness ceased. Leaping down he ran to the scene of the
conflict as fast as possible, but it was ended before he arrived. A gun
suddenly exploded and flashed a red-hot tongue of flame across the
night. A hundred echoes caught the detonation and as the discharge
reverberated along the stony hills to Fingle Gorge, Will Blanchard
staggered backwards and fell in a heap, while the poacher reeled, then
steadied himself, and vanished under the woods.

"Bring a lamp," shouted Grimbal, and a moment later his groom obeyed;
but the fallen man was sitting up by the time John reached him, and the
gun that had exploded was at his feet.

"You 'm tu late by half a second," he gasped. "I fired myself when I
seed the muzzle clear. Poachin' he was, but the man 's marked all right.
Send p'liceman for Sam Bonus to-morrer, an' I lay you'll find a
picter."

"Blanchard!"

"Ess fay, an' no harm done 'cept a stiff leg. Best to knock thicky poor
twoad on the head. I heard the scream of un and comed along an' waited
an' catched my gen'leman in the act."

The groom held a light to the mangled hare.

"Scat it on the head," said Will, "then give me a