At length, the searcher crossed the field on a line that would bring him close to where Foster lay, and the latter let his face sink lower and tried to check his breathing.  He durst not look about, but heard the man’s heavy boots splash in the boggy grass, until the fellow suddenly stopped.  Foster thought he had seen him, but did not move.  In the Northwest, he had now and then caught a jack-rabbit by carefully marking its hiding-place, but had not seen it afterwards until he nearly trod upon the crouching animal.  It was comforting to remember that his pursuers had not watched him drop behind the rushes.

“Hae ye seen aught, Jock?” the keeper near him called, and Foster was conscious of keen relief.

“Naething ava,” answered the other.  “If he went doon the burn, he’s no’ come oot.”

“He’s no’ there; ye would ha’ seen him if he’d headed back.”

There was silence for a moment or two and Foster heard the water bubble in the moss as the man moved his foot.  The fellow would tread upon him if he took a few steps in the right direction, but his mackintosh was much the color of the withered grass and his face and hands were hidden.

Then the man on the wall remarked in a thoughtful tone:  “I’m no’ quite sure he went ower the dyke.  Ye see, I was kin’ o’ staggered by the clout on the head, and he might ha’ slippit oot by the gate.”

“It will be Lang Pate, of course.”

“Just him,” agreed the other.  “He was near enough to reach me with his stick and the light no’ that bad.  Besides, wha’ else would it be?”

Foster, seeing that he had escaped notice, felt amused.  Long Pete was suspected and therefore judged guilty; the keeper’s last argument banished doubt.

“My heid’s sair,” the man resumed.  “We’ll look if they’ve gone doon the glen, and then tak’ the road if ye’ll row up the net.”

The other crossed the field and Foster lay still until he heard him climb the wall and afterwards made for a hole that led into the road.  Somewhat to his surprise, he found that he had brought the partridges.  He followed the road quietly, keeping in the shadow of a dyke, although he thought the gamekeepers had gone the other way, and on turning a corner came upon the poachers lurking behind a thorn bush.

“We thought they had caught ye,” one remarked.

“I suppose you were anxious about it, because you were afraid I might put them on your track.”

“I canna say ye’re altogether wrang, but whaur are they the noo?”

“Looking for you in the glen, I believe.  But which of you is Long Pete?”

The man he had met first said it was his name, and Foster resumed:  “Then I imagine the fellow with the gun means to declare that you struck him.”

“He would!” Pete remarked, grinning.  “Weel, it’s lucky I hae twa three friends wha’ll show that I couldna’ ha’ been near the spot just then.  But we’ll need to hurry.”