The Hermit of Far End | Page 7

debarred from all manner of sport, employed two or three objectionably lynx-eyed keepers to safeguard his preserves for the benefit of his heirs and assigns.
No covers were better stocked than those of Barrow Court, but Brady rarely risked replenishing his larder from them, owing to the extreme wideawakeness of the head gamekeeper. It was therefore not without a warm glow of satisfaction about the region of his heart that he made his way homeward through the early morning, reflecting on the ease with which last night's marauding expedition had been conducted. He even pursed his lips together and whistled softly--a low, flute-like sound that might almost have been mistaken for the note of a blackbird.
But it is unwise to whistle before you are out of the wood, and Brady's triumph was short-lived. Swift as a shadow, a lithe figure darted out from among the trees and planted itself directly in his path.
With equal swiftness, Brady brought his gunstock to his shoulder. Then he hesitated, finger on trigger, for the lion in his path was no burly gamekeeper, as, for the first moment, he had supposed. It was a woman who faced him--a mere girl of twenty, whose slender figure looked somehow boyish in its knitted sports coat and very short, workmanlike skirt. The suggestion of boyishness was emphasized by her attitude, as she stood squarely planted in front of Black Brady, her hands thrust deep into her pockets, her straight young back very flat, and her head a little tilted, so that her eyes might search the surly face beneath the peaked cap.
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.
"Caught this time, Brady, my man," chuckled the keeper triumphantly. "It's gaol for you this journey, as sure's my name's Clegg. Has the fellow been annoying you, Miss Sara?" he added, touching his hat respectfully as he turned towards the girl, whilst with his other hand he still retained his grip of Brady's arm.
She laughed as though suddenly amused.
"Nothing to speak of,