Nought but a pair of owls hollering to each other did Samuel hear for a good bit.  The moon was so bright as day, for the hunter’s moon it happed to be at full, and all was silence and peace, with silver light on the falling leaves and great darkness in spruce and evergreen undergrowth.  ’Twas at a gate that Sam suddenly heard a suspicious sound and stood stock-still.  Footsteps he thought he heard ’tother side of a low broken hedge, where birches grew and the gate opened into a rutted cart-track through the woods.  The sound was made by no wild creature, pattering four-foot, but the quick tramp of a man, and when Sam stood still the sound ceased, and when he went forward he reckoned it began again.  There was certainly an evil-doer on the covert side of the hedge, and Borlase practised guile and pretended as he’d heard nothing and tramped slowly forward on his way.  But he kept his eyes over his shoulder and, after he’d gone fifty yards, stepped into the water-table, as ran on the south side of the beat, and crept back under the darkness of the hedge so wily as a hunting weasel.  Back he came as cautious as need be, and for a big and heavy chap he was very clever, and the only noise he made was his breathing.  He got abreast of the gate, still hid in night-black shadows, and then he heard the muffled footfall again and a moment later a man sneaked out of the gate with a gun in one hand and a pheasant in the other.  Sam licked his hands and drew his truncheon, and then the moon shone on the face before him and the light of battle died out of his eyes.  For there was Chawner Green, with a fur cap made of a weasel skin drawed down over his head and the moonshine leaving no doubt as to his identity.

Chawner stood a moment and peeped down the road to see if the policeman was gone on his way.  Then out strode Samuel and the elder man used a crooked word and stared upon him and dropped his pheasant in the road.  He turned as to fly but ’twas too late, for Sam’s leg-of-mutton hand was on his neckerchief and Mr. Green found hisself brought to book at last.

And then Samuel saw a side of Chawner’s character as cast him down a lot, for the man put up a mighty fight—­not with fists, because he was a bit undersized and the policeman could have put him in his pocket if need was; but with his tongue.  He pleaded most forcibly for freedom, and when he found his captor was dead to any sporting appeal, he grew personal and young Borlase soon found that he was up against it.

At first Chawner roared with laughter.

“By the holy smoke,” he said, “I’m in luck, Sam!  I thought ’twas Billy King had catched me, and then I’d have been in a tight place, for Billy’s no friend of mine; but you be a different pair of shoes, thank the Lord!  Take your hand off, there’s a bright lad, and let me pick up my bird.”

“I’m cruel sorry for this—­cruel sorry,” began Samuel in great dismay.  “I’d rather have any misfortune fall to my lot than have took you, Mr. Green.”