They were arresting eyes—­amazingly dark, “like two patches o’ the sky be night,” as Brady described them long afterwards to a crony of his, and they gazed up at the astonished poacher from a small, sharply angled face, as delicately cut as a cameo.

“Put that gun down!” commanded an imperious young voice, a voice that held something indescribably sweet and thrilling in its vibrant quality.  “What are you doing in these woods?”

Brady, recovering from his first surprise, lowered his gun, but answered truculently—­

“Never you mind what I’m doin’.”

The girl pointed significantly to his distended pockets.

“I don’t need to ask.  Empty out your pockets and take yourself off.  Do you hear?” she added sharply, as the man made no movement to obey.

“I shan’t do nothin’ o’ the sort,” he growled.  “You go your ways and leave me to go mine—­or it’ll be the worse for ’ee.”  He raised his gun threateningly.

The girl smiled.

“I’m not in the least afraid of that gun,” she said tranquilly.  “But you are afraid to use it,” she added.

“Am I?” He wheeled suddenly, and, on the instant, a deafening report shattered the quiet of the woods.  Then the smoke drifted slowly aside, revealing the man and the girl face to face once more.

But although she still stood her ground, dark shadows had suddenly painted themselves beneath her eyes, and the slight young breast beneath the jaunty sports coat rose and fell unevenly.  Within the shelter of her coat-pockets her hands were clenched tightly.

“That was a waste of a good cartridge,” she observed quietly.  “You only fired in the air.”

Black Brady glared at her.

“If I’d liked, I could ’ave killed ‘ee as easy as knockin’ a bird off a bough,” he said sullenly.

“You could,” she agreed.  “And then I should have been dead and you would have been waiting for a hanging.  Of the two, I think my position would have been the more comfortable.”

A look of unwilling admiration spread itself slowly over the man’s face.

“You be a cool ’and, and no mistake,” he acknowledged.  “I thought to frighten you off by firin’.”

The girl nodded.

“Well, as you haven’t, suppose you allow that I’ve won and that it’s up to me to dictate terms.  If my uncle were to see you—­”

“I’m not comin’ up to the house—­don’t you think it, win or no win,” broke in Brady hastily.

The girl regarded him judicially.

“I don’t think we particularly want you up at the house,” she remarked.  “If you’ll do as I say—­empty your pockets—­you may go.”

The man reluctantly made as though to obey, but even while he hesitated, he saw the girl’s eyes suddenly look past him, over his shoulder, and, turning suspiciously, he swung straight into the brawny grip of the head keeper, who, hearing a shot fired, had deserted his breakfast and hurried in the direction of the sound and now came up close behind him.