A leveled gun twinkled in the moonlight, and for a moment Foster hesitated.  He hardly thought the man would shoot, and it would be awkward if he was arrested with the partridges in his hand.  Springing suddenly forward, he struck, from below upwards, with his stick.  There was a flash and a report, but he felt himself unharmed and brought the stick down upon the gamekeeper’s head.  He heard the gun drop, and then turned and, keeping in the shadow of the wall, ran across the field.  When he was near the opposite end, he saw another man waiting to cut him off, and seizing the top of the dyke swung himself over.  He came down among withered fern and ran back behind the wall towards the spot where he had left his first antagonist, until he struck a small, winding hollow through which water flowed.  This seemed to offer a good hiding-place, but Foster knew better, although he followed it for a short distance.  One can often hide best in the open and it was prudent to avoid the obvious line of search.  Creeping out of the hollow, he made for a clump of rushes and felt satisfied when he lay down behind it.  His waterproof and cap were gray, and his pursuers would have to search all the field before they found him, unless they were lucky.

After a few minutes, he saw them, but while one plunged into the hollow, the other sat on top of the wall.  This seemed to be the fellow he had struck, and Foster was relieved to see he was not badly hurt.  The man, however, occupied a commanding position, because Foster’s chance of remaining unseen depended largely on the searcher’s height above the ground.  He knew from experience gained in hunting that a very small object will hide a man so long as the line of sight he must avoid is nearly horizontal, but the fellow on the wall could see over the rushes.  In consequence, immobility was his only resource, and he very cautiously turned his head enough to enable him to see.

The gamekeeper who had entered the hollow presently came back into the field and began to walk methodically up and down, and Foster regretted his rashness in helping with the net.  The poachers had vanished, but the others seemed to know there was somebody about, and since they were gamekeepers would be hard to deceive.  His cover was not good, and although he might have changed his place when the fellow in the field was farthest away, he feared that a movement would betray him to the other on the wall.

In the meantime, the chill of the wet soil crept through his mackintosh and his hands got numbed.  He thrust them into the mossy grass for fear they should show in the moonlight, and buried his face in the rushes, which prickled his skin.  He could, with some trouble, see through the clump and anxiously watched the fellow who came steadily nearer.  Now and then he turned aside to examine a whinn bush, and Foster saw that he had acted wisely when he dropped behind the rushes.  Had he chosen a prominent object for cover, he would have been caught.