Ben Hayle, keeper, stepped out of his rose-covered cottage in Thoreby
Wood; big, black-whiskered, dark-eyed and handsome, with the sun-tanned
look of a sturdy Englishman, his brown velveteen coat and vest and tawny
leggings setting off his stalwart form.
As he cleared the porch, he half-turned and set down his carefully kept
double-barrelled gun against the rough trellis-work; as, at the sound of
his foot, there arose from a long, moss-covered, barn-like building, a
tremendous barking and yelping.
"Now then: that'll do!" he shouted, as he walked towards the great
double door, which was dotted with the mortal remains of what he termed
"varmin"--to wit, the nailed-up bodies of stoats, weasels, hawks, owls,
magpies and jays, all set down as being the deadly enemies of the game
he reared and preserved for Mrs Rolph at The Warren. But even these
were not the most deadly enemies of the pheasants and partridges,
Thoreby Wood being haunted by sundry ne'er-do-weels who levied toll
there, in spite of all Ben Hayle's efforts and the stern repression of
the County Bench.
"May as well stick you up too," said Ben, as he took a glossy-skinned
polecat from where he had thrown it that morning, after taking it from a
trap.
He opened one of the doors, and two Gordon setters and a big black
retriever bounded out, to leap up, dance around him, and make efforts,
in dog-like fashion, to show their delight and anxiety to be at liberty
once more.
"Down, Bess! Down, Juno! Steady, Sandy! Quiet! Good dogs, then," he
cried, as he entered the barn, took a hammer from where it hung, and a
nail from a rough shelf, and with the dogs looking on after sniffing at
the polecat, as if they took human interest in the proceeding, he nailed
the unfortunate, ill-odoured little beast side by side with the last
gibbeted offender, a fine old chinchilla-coated grey rat.
"'Most a pity one can't serve Master Caleb Kent the same. Dunno,
though," he added with a chuckle. "Time was--that was years ago,
though, and nobody can't say I've done badly since. But I did hope we'd
seen the last of Master Caleb."
Ben Hayle took off his black felt hat, and gave his dark, grizzled hair
a scratch, and his face puckered up as he put away the hammer, to stand
thinking.
"No, hang him, he wouldn't dare!"
Ben walked back to the porch to take up his gun, and a look of pride
came to brighten his face, as just then a figure appeared in the porch
in the shape of Judith Hayle, a tall, dark-eyed girl of twenty,
strikingly like her father, and, as she stood framed in the entrance,
she well warranted the keeper's look of pride.
"Are you going far?"
"'Bout the usual round, my dear. Why, Judy, the place don't seem to be
the same with you back home. But it is dull for you, eh?"
"Dull, father? No," said the girl laughing.
"Oh, I dunno. After your fine ways up at The Warren with Miss Marjorie
and the missus, it must seem a big drop down to be here again."
"Don't, father. You know I was never so happy anywhere as here."
"But you are grown such a lady now; I'm 'most afraid of you."
"No you are not. I sometimes wish that Mrs Rolph had never had me at
the house."
"Why?"
"Because it makes you talk to me like that."
"Well, then, I won't say another word. There, I must be off, but--"
He hesitated as if in doubt.
"Yes, father."
"Well, I was only going to say, I see young Caleb has come back to the
village, and knowing how he once--"
"Come back, father!" cried Judith, with a look of alarm.
"Yes, I thought I'd tell you; but I don't think he'll come nigh here
again."
"Oh, no, father, I hope not," said the girl, looking thoughtfully
towards the wood, with her brows knitting.
"He'd better not," said the keeper, picking up and tapping the butt of
his gun. "Might get peppered with number six. Good-bye, my dear."
He kissed her, walked to the edge of the dense fir wood, gave a look
back at the figure by the porch, and then plunged in among the bushes
and disappeared, closely followed by the eager dogs, while Judith stood
frowning at the place where he had disappeared.
"I wish father wouldn't be so close," thought the girl. "He must know
why I'm sent back home. It wasn't my fault; I never tried; but he was
always after me. Oh, how spiteful Miss Madge did look."
She went into the cottage to stand by the well-polished grate, her hand
resting upon the mantelpiece, whose ornaments were various fittings and
articles belonging to the gamekeeper's craft, above which, resting in
well-made iron racks, were a couple of carefully cared-for guns; one an
old flint-lock fowling-piece, the other a strong single-barrel, used for
heavier work, and in which the keeper took special pride.
"Caleb," she said with a shudder, "come back! Well, I was so young
then."
As Ben Hayle went thoughtfully along the path, trying to fit into their
places certain matters which troubled him, the man of whom they had both
been thinking was near at hand, so that, as the gamekeeper was saying to
himself,--"Yes: it's because young squire come home to stay that the
missus has sent her back,"--Caleb Kent stood before him in the path, the
dogs giving the first notice of his presence by dashing forward,
uttering low growls, and slipping round the slight, dark, good-looking,
gipsy-like fellow coming in the opposite direction.
"Hallo, you, sir!" said the keeper sharply.
"And hallo, you, sir!" retorted the young man, showing his white teeth
as he thrust his hands far down in his cord breeches pockets, and, as he
stopped, passing one cord legging over the other.
"What are you doing here?"
"Looking at you, Ben Hayle. Path's free for me as it is for you. No, I
aren't got a gun in two pieces in my pockets. You needn't look. You
know how that's done."
"If I'd been you, I'd ha' stopped away altogether," said the keeper,
"and not come back here, where nobody wants you."
"Pity you weren't me. Six months' hard would have done you good once
more."
"When I get six months' imprisonment, it won't be for night poaching,
but for putting a charge of shot in you, you lunging hound. And don't
you let that tongue of yours wag so fast, young man. I'm not ashamed of
it. Everyone knows I did a bit of poaching when I was a young fool, and
did my bit in quod for that trouble with the keepers. But they know too
that, when I came out, and the captain's father come to me and said,
`Drop it, my lad, and be an honest man,' I said I would, and served him
faithful; so shut your mouth before I do it with the stock of my gun."
"All right, mate, don't be waxey. Look here:--s'pose I turn honest
too."
"You!" said the keeper, scornfully.
"Yes, me; and marry Judy."
"That'll do," cried the keeper sharply.
"No it won't, we're old sweethearts--Judy and me."
"That'll do, I say. Now, cut."
"When I like," said the man, with a sneer. "Better let me marry her;
the captain won't."
The keeper caught him by the throat.
"Will you keep that cursed tongue still!"
"No, I won't," cried the young man fiercely, and with a savage look in
his eyes. "I know, even if I have been away. I know all about it. But
I'm in that little flutter, Ben Hayle."
"Curse you! hold your tongue, will you," roared the keeper; and the dogs
began to bark fiercely as he forced the young poacher back against a
tree, but only to release him, as a quick sharp voice, called to the
dogs, which dashed up to the new-comer, leaping to be caressed.
"Hallo! what's up? You here again?"
Captain Robert Rolph, of The Warren, and of Her Majesty's 20th Dragoon
Guards, a well-set-up, athletic-looking fellow, scowled at the poacher,
and the colour came a little into his cheeks.
"Oh yes, I'm back again, master."
"Then take my advice, sir; go away again to somewhere at a distance."
The young man gave him a sidelong glance, and laughed unpleasantly.
"Look here, Caleb Kent: you're a smart-looking fellow. Go up to
Trafalgar Square. You'll find one of our sergeants there. Take the
shilling, and they'll make a man of you. You'll be in my regiment, and
I'll stand your friend."
"Thankye for nothing, captain. 'List so as to be out of your way, eh?
Not such a fool."
"Oh, very well then, only look out, sir. I'll see that Sir John Day
doesn't let you off so easily next time you're in trouble."
"Ketch me first," said the young man; and giving the pair an ugly,
unpleasant look, he walked away.
"Not me," he muttered. "I haven't done yet; wait a bit."
"No good, sir," said the keeper, looking after the young poacher till he
was out of sight. "Bad blood, sir; bad blood."
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Morning, Hayle. Er--Miss Hayle quite well?"
"Yes sir, thank you kindly," said the keeper; and then, as the captain
walked away, he trudged on through the woods, talking to himself.
"_Miss Hayle_," he said, and he turned a bit red in the face. "Well,
she is good enow for him or any man; but no, no, that would never do.
Don't be a fool, Ben, my lad: you don't want trouble to come. Trouble,"
he muttered, as he half cocked his gun, "why, I'd--bah!" he ejaculated,
cooling down; "what's the good o' thinking things like that? Better
pepper young Caleb. Damn him! he set me thinking it. Captain's right
enough. I like a man who's fond of a bit of sport."
As it happened, Captain Rolph was thinking, in a somewhat similar vein,
of poachers and dark nights, and opportunities for using a gun upon
unpleasant people. But these thoughts were pervaded, too, with bright
eyes and cheeks, and he said to himself,--
"He'd better; awkward for him if he does."
Volume 1, Chapter II.