A large gang of poachers, who had come down from London by rail, had been devastating all the covers round, to stock the London markets by the first of October, and intended, as Tregarva had discovered, to pay Mr. Lavington’s preserves a visit that night. They didn’t care for country justices, not they. Weren’t all their fines paid by highly respectable game-dealers at the West end? They owned three dog-carts among them; a parcel by railway would bring them down bail to any amount; they tossed their money away at the public-houses, like gentlemen; thanks to the Game Laws, their profits ran high, and when they had swept the country pretty clean of game, why, they would just finish off the season by a stray highway robbery or two, and vanish into Babylon and their native night.
Such was Harry Verney’s information as he strutted about the courtyard waiting for the squire’s orders.
‘But they’ve put their nose into a furze-bush, Muster Smith, they have. We’ve got our posse-commontaturs, fourteen men, sir, as’ll play the whole vale to cricket, and whap them; and every one’ll fight, for they’re half poachers themselves, you see’ (and Harry winked and chuckled); ‘and they can’t abide no interlopers to come down and take the sport out of their mouths.’
‘But are you sure they’ll come to-night?’
‘That ’ere Paul says so. Wonder how he found out—some of his underhand, colloguing, Methodist ways, I’ll warrant. I seed him preaching to that ’ere Crawy, three or four times when he ought to have hauled him up. He consorts with them poachers, sir, uncommon. I hope he ben’t one himself, that’s all.’
‘Nonsense, Harry!’
‘Oh? Eh? Don’t say old Harry don’t know nothing, that’s all. I’ve fixed his flint, anyhow.’
‘Ah! Smith!’ shouted the squire out of his study window, with a cheerful and appropriate oath. ‘The very man I wanted to see! You must lead these keepers for me to-night. They always fight better with a gentleman among them. Breeding tells, you know—breeding tells.’
Lancelot felt a strong disgust at the occupation, but he was under too many obligations to the squire to refuse.
‘Ay, I knew you were game,’ said the old man. ‘And you’ll find it capital fun. I used to think it so, I know, when I was young. Many a shindy have I had here in my uncle’s time, under the very windows, before the chase was disparked, when the fellows used to come down after the deer.’