CHAPTER III
GUNS IN THE NIGHT
Time sped swiftly for the young miner and his sweetheart, and Daniel told his friend Prowse, as a piece of extraordinary information, that he had killed nothing that ran, or swam, or flew, for the space of three weeks. Seeing that these innocent days formed part of the month of September, the greatness of the occasion may be judged. Every moment of the man’s leisure was spent at Hangman’s Hut; and once he took a whole holiday and went with Minnie to Plymouth, that he might spend ten pounds on furniture. He also purchased a ready-made suit of grey cloth spotted with yellow, which seemed well adapted for his wedding day. It proved too small in the back, but Daniel insisted on buying it, and Minnie promised to let out the shoulders.
Then came the night before his wedding, and the young man looked round his new home and reflected that he would not enter it again until he came with a wife on his arm. Mrs Beer had proved of precious worth during these preparations, and now all was ready. Even the little evening meal that would greet Minnie on her arrival had been prepared. A cold tongue, a cold fowl, two big red lettuces from Johnny Beer’s garden, cakes, a bottle of pale ale, and other delicacies were laid in. Groceries and stores had been secured; and many small matters destined to surprise and delight the housewife were in their places; for, unknown to Minnie, Daniel had spent five pounds—the gift of his mother—and the money represented numerous useful household contrivances.
It began to grow dusk when young Sweetland’s work was done. Then the ruling passion had play with him and an enterprise long since planned occupied his attention for the rest of his last bachelor night. It was now October.
“A brace of pheasants would look mighty fine in Minnie’s larder,” thought Dan, “an’ there they shall be afore I go home to-night.”
He had some vague idea of giving up his dishonest sport after marriage, but in his heart he knew that no such thing would happen.
Much talk of poaching was in the air at Moretonhampstead about this season, and raids and rumours of raids at Middlecott and elsewhere kept the keepers anxious and wakeful; but no sensation marked the opening of the season, though Matthew Sweetland had secret troubles which he only imparted to his second in command, a young and zealous man called Adam Thorpe. Birds had gone and there were marks in the preserves that told ugly tales to skilled eyes; but Sweetland failed to bring the evil-doers to justice, and a cloud presently rose between his subordinate and himself. For Thorpe did not hesitate to declare that the headkeeper’s own son was responsible. With all his soul Daniel’s father resented this suspicion, and yet too well he knew the other had just grounds for it. Once only the father taxed Daniel, and the younger man fell into a rage and reminded old Sweetland how, long ago, he had sworn upon his oath never to enter Middlecott preserves.
“You ought to know me better than think it,” he said bitterly. “Be I what I may, you’ve no just right to hold me an oath-breaker; an’ if I meet that blustering fool, Thorpe, I’ll mark him so’s he’ll carry my anger to the grave. Any fool could hoodwink him. He walks by night like an elephant. There’s no fun in taking Middlecott pheasants. Anyway I never have, an’ never will.”