Doggy Dick, on being discharged by General Harding, in a short time
succeeded in obtaining another and similar situation. It was on an
estate bordering that of the General, whose cover came within a field or
two of meeting with those of his neighbour. This gentleman was a city
magnate, by name Whibley, who, having accumulated a fortune by sharp
trading on the Stock Exchange, had purchased the estate in question, and
commenced playing squire on an extensive scale.
Between the old officer and the newcomer there was no cordiality; on the
contrary, some coolness. General Harding had an instinctive contempt
for the vulgar ostentation usually exhibited by these social upstarts,
who must needs ride to the parish church in a carriage and pair, though
their residence be but three hundred yards from the churchyard gate. Of
this class was the gentleman in question.
In addition to the dissimilarity of tastes between a retired officer and
a retired stockbroker, a dispute had early occurred between them, about
rights of game belonging to a strip of waste that stretched triangularly
between their respective properties.
It was a trifling affair, but well calculated to increase their mutual
coolness; which at length ended in a hostility--silent, but understood.
To this, perhaps, more than any professional merit, was Doggy Dick
indebted for his promotion to be head keeper of the Whibley preserves;
just the course which a _parvenu_ would take for the satisfaction of his
spite.
On that same year, when the shooting season came round, the young
Hardings discovered a scarcity of game in their father's preserves. The
General did not often go gunning himself, and would not have noticed
this falling off; neither, perhaps, would Nigel; but Henry, who was
passionately fond of field sports, at once perceived that there was a
thinner stock of pheasants than on the preceding season. All the more
surprising to him, because it was a good year for game generally, and
pheasants in particular. The Whibley covers were swarming with them;
and they were reported plentiful in the country around.
It became a question whether General Harding's gamekeeper had properly
attended to his trust. No poaching had been reported, except some
trifling cases of boys, who had been detected stealing eggs in the
hatching season. But this had not occurred on a scale sufficient to
account for the scarcity of the game.
Besides, the new gamekeeper, who was reported one of the best, had been
provided with a fall set of watchers; and, on the Whibley side, there
was a staff not so strong, with Doggy Dick at their head.
While reflecting on this, it occurred to Mr Henry Harding that
something might have been done to attract the pheasants across to the
Whibley covers. Perhaps a better lay of feed had been there provided
for them?
He knew that neither Doggy Dick nor his master owed any good-will
towards him or his father; and a trick of this kind would be compatible
with the character of the stockbroker.
Still, there was nothing in it--beyond a certain discourtesy; and it
only made it necessary that some steps should be taken to create a
counter attraction for the game. Patches of buck wheat were sown here
and there, and other favourite pheasant's food was liberally laid
through the covers.
On the following season the result was the same, or worse--the strong,
whirring wing was sparingly heard among the Harding preserves. Even
partridges had become scarce in the Swedes and stubble; while on the
Whibley property both were in abundance.
The General's gamekeeper, when taken to task, admitted that, during the
breeding season, he had found several pheasants' nests rifled of their
eggs. He could not account for it. There was no one ever seen in the
covers, except occasionally the keepers from the neighbouring estate.
But of course _they_ would not do such a thing as steal eggs.
"Indeed," thought Henry Harding, "I'm not so sure of that. On the
contrary, it appears to be the only way to account for our scarcity of
game."
He communicated these thoughts to his father; and Whibley's keepers were
forbidden the range. It was deemed discourteous, and widened the breach
between the _ci-devant_ soldier and the retired stockbroker.
Another breeding season came round, and the young Hardings were at home
for the Easter holidays. It was at this time of the year that the chief
damage appeared to have been done to the game on the estate.
No amount of winter poaching can cause such havoc in a preserve, as that
arising from the destruction, or abstraction, of the eggs. A farmer's
boy may do greater damage in one day than the most incorrigible gang of
poachers in a month, with all their nets, traps, guns, and other
appliances to boot.
Knowing this, the Harding covers were this year still more carefully
watched--additional men being employed. A goodly number of nests was
noted, and a better produce expected.
But although the future seemed fair, Henry Harding was not satisfied
with the past. He chafed at his disappointment on the two preceding
seasons, and was determined on discovering the cause. For this purpose
he adopted an expedient.
On a certain day a holiday was given to the keepers on the Harding
estate, which included the watchers as well. It was fixed for the date
of some races, held about ten miles off. The General's drag was granted
for taking them to the race-course. The holiday was promised a week in
advance; so that the fact might become known to the keepers of the
adjoining estate.
The race day came; the drag rattled off, loaded with half a score of men
in coats of velveteen. They were the keepers and watchers. For that
day the Harding preserves were left to take care of themselves--a fine
opportunity for poachers.
So a stranger might have thought, but not Henry Harding. Just before
the drag drove off, he was seen to enter the covers, carrying a Malacca
cane, and take his way towards their farther side, where they were
bounded by the estate of the stockbroker. He walked quietly, almost
stealthily, through the copses. A poacher could not have proceeded with
greater caution. Between the two preserves there was a strip of common
land--the waste already alluded to as having caused contention. Near
its edge stood an ancient elm, swathed in ivy. In its first fork,
amidst the green festoons, Henry Harding ensconced himself; took a cigar
out of his case; lit it; and commenced smoking.
The position he had chosen was excellent for his purpose. On one side
it commanded a view of the waste. No one could cross from Whibley to
Harding without being seen. On the other, it overlooked a broad expanse
of the Harding covers--known to be a favourite haunt of pheasants, and
one of their noted places of nesting.
The watcher kept his perch for a considerable time, without discovering
anything to reward him for his vigilance. He smoked one cigar, then
another, and was half-way through the third. His patience was becoming
exhausted, to say nothing of the irksomeness of his seat on the
corrugated elm. He began to think that his suspicions--hitherto
directed against Doggy Dick--were without foundation. He even reasoned
about their injustice. After all, Doggy might not be so bad as he had
deemed him.
Speak of the fiend, and he is near; think of him, and he is not far off.
So was it in the case of Doggy Dick. As the stump of Henry's third
cigar was burnt within an inch of his teeth, Whibley's head keeper hove
in sight. He was first seen standing on the edge of the Whibley cover,
his ill-favoured face protruding stealthily through a screen of
"witheys." In this position he stood for some time, reconnoitring the
ground. Then, stepping out, silent and cat-like, he made his way across
the neutral territory, and plunged into the Harding preserves.
Henry scanned him with the eye of a lynx, or detective. There was now
the prospect of something to reward him for his long watching, and the
strain of sitting upon the elm.
As was expected, Doggy took his way across the open expanse, where
several nests had been "noted." He still kept to his cat-like tread--
crouching, and now and then looking suspiciously around him.
This did not hinder him from flushing a pheasant. One rose with a
sonorous whirr; while another went fluttering along the sward as if both
its wings had been broken.
The hen looked as if Doggy might have covered her with his hat, or
killed her with a stick. He did not attempt to do either; but, bending
over the forsaken nest, he took out the eggs, and carefully deposited
them in his game-bag!
Out of the same bag he took something, which Henry saw him scatter over
the ground in the neighbourhood of the nest. This done, he walked on in
search of another.
"Come," thought Henry, "one brood is enough to be sacrificed in this
sort of way--enough for my purpose."
Throwing away the stump of his cigar, he dropped down from the tree, and
rushed after the nest-robber.
Doggy saw him, and attempted to escape to the Whibley covers. But
before he could cross the fence, the fingers of his pursuer were tightly
clutched upon the collar of his velveteen coat; and he came to the
ground, crushing the eggs within his game-bag. This being turned inside
out, the spilt yolks and shattered shells gave proof of the plunder he
had committed.
Henry Harding was at this time a strapping youth, with strength and
spirit inherited from his soldier father. Moreover, he was acting with
right on his side.
The keeper had neither his weight nor his inches, and was further
enfeebled by his sense of wrong-doing. Under these circumstances, he
saw the absurdity of making resistance. He made none; but permitted the
irate youth to cudgel him with the Malacca cane until every bone in his
body seemed about to be shattered like the egg-shells late carried in
his game-bag.
"Now, you thief!" cried young Harding, when his passion was nearly
spent. "You can go back to Mr Whibley's covers, and hatch whatever
plot may suit you and your snob of a master, but no more of my
pheasants' eggs."
Doggy did not dare to make reply, lest it should tempt a fresh
application of the cudgel. Clambering over the fence, he hobbled back
across the common, and hid himself among the hazels of the Whibley
preserves.
Turning towards the plundered nest, Henry Harding examined the ground in
its proximity. He discovered a scattering of buckwheat, that had been
steeped in some sweet-smelling liquid. It was the same he had seen
Doggy distribute over the sward.
He collected a quantity in his kerchief, and carried it home. On
analysis it proved to be poison!
Though there was no trial instituted, the story, with all its details,
soon became known in the neighbourhood. Doggy Dick knew better than to
bring an action for assault; and the Hardings were satisfied with the
punishment that had been already administered to their disgraced keeper.
As for the retired stockbroker, he had no alternative but discharge his
ill-conditioned servant, who from that time became notorious as the most
adroit poacher in the parish.
The submissiveness with which he had received the castigation
administered by Henry Harding seemed afterwards to have been a source of
regret to him: for in future encounters of a similar kind he proved
himself a desperate and dangerous assailant--so dangerous that, in a
conflict with one of General Harding's watchers, occurring about a year
from that time, he inflicted a severe wound upon the man, resulting in
his death. He saved his own neck from the halter by making his escape
out of the country; and though traced to Boulogne, and thence to
Marseilles--in the company of some jockeys who were taking English
horses to Italy--he finally eluded justice by hiding himself in some
corner of that classic land, then covered by a network of petty states;
most of them not only obstructive to justice, but corrupt in their
administration.