The Poacher | Page 5

after childhood is
gone. But take the same child, put it by degrees in situations of peril,
requiring thought and observation beyond its years, accustom it to
nightly vigils, and to watching, and to hold its tongue, and it is
astonishing how the mind of that child, however much its body may
suffer, will develop itself so as to meet the demand upon it. Thus it is
with lads that are sent early to sea, and thus it was with little Joey. He
was a man in some points, although a child in others. He would play
with his companions, laugh as loudly as the others, but still he would
never breathe a hint of what was his father's employment. He went to
church every Sunday, as did his father and mother; for they considered
that poaching was no crime, although punished as such by the laws;
and he, of course, considered it no crime, as he only did what his father
and mother wished. Let it not be thought, therefore, that the morals of
our little hero were affected by his father's profession, for such was not
the case.

Having entered into this necessary explanation, we will now proceed.
No band of North American Indians could have observed a better trail
than that kept by our little party. Rushbrook walked first, followed by
our hero and the dog Mum. Not a word was spoken; they continued
their route over grass-lands and ploughed fields, keeping in the shade
of the hedgerows: if Rushbrook stopped for a while to reconnoitre, so
did Joey, and so did Mum at their relative distances, until the march
was resumed. For three miles and a half did they thus continue, until
they arrived at a thick cover. The wind whistled through the branches
of the bare trees, chiefly oak and ash; the cold, damp fog was now
stationary, and shrouded them as they proceeded cautiously by the
beaten track in the cover, until they had passed through it, and arrived
on the other side, where the cottage of a gamekeeper was situated. A
feeble light was burning, and shone through the diamond-paned
windows.
Rushbrook walked out clear of the cover, and held up his hand to
ascertain precisely the direction of the wind. Having satisfied himself;
he retreated into the cover, in a direction so as to be exactly to leeward
of the keeper's house, that the noise of the report of his gun might not
be heard. Having cleared the hedge, he lowered his gun, so as to bring
the barrel within two or three inches of the ground, and walked slowly
and cautiously through the brushwood, followed, as before, by Joey
and Mum. After about a quarter of a mile's walk, a rattling of metal was
heard, and they stopped short; it was the barrel of the fowling-piece
which had brushed one of the wires attached to a spring-gun, set for the
benefit of poachers. Rushbrook lifted up his left hand, as a sign to Joey
not to move; and following the wire, by continually rattling his barrel
against it, he eventually arrived at the gun itself; opened the pan, threw
out all the priming, leaving it with the pan open, so that it could not go
off; in case they fell in with another of the wires. Rushbrook then
proceeded to business, for he well knew that the gun would be set
where the pheasants were most accustomed to roost; he put a small
charge of powder in his fowling-piece, that, being so near, he might not
shatter the birds, and because the noise of the report would be much
less; walking under an oak-tree he soon discovered the round black
masses which the bodies of the roosting pheasants presented between

him and the sky, and raising his piece, he fired; a heavy bound on the
earth near his feet followed the discharge; Joey then slipped forward
and put the pheasant into his bag; another and another shot, and every
shot brought an increase to Joey's load. Seventeen were already in it
when Mum gave a low growl. This was the signal for people being near.
Rushbrook snapped his finger; the dog came forward to his side, and
stood motionless, with ears and tail erect. In a minute's time was heard
the rustling of branches as the party forced their way through the
underwood. Rushbrook stood still, waiting the signal from Mum, for
the dog had been taught, if the parties advancing had another dog with
them, always to raise his fore-feet up to Rushbrook's knees, but not
otherwise; Mum made no such sign, and then Rushbrook lay down in
the brushwood, his motions being closely followed by his son and his
dog.
Voices in whispers were now heard, and the forms of two