Having satisfied myself that the balloon was more quiet than the hound, discretion preached an out-door discourse as to being the better part of valour, and I assented by making up my mind to experimentalise with sleep. A ballast bag or two were now filled with hedge-row gatherings to be used as pillows.
I stretched myself nearly at full length in the car and went earnestly in for a doze. I believe, too, that the first stage of it was duly entered upon, when voices in the distance were indistinctly heard through the wicker-work.
I sprang up, casting aside the curtains of oiled silk, and listened attentively. Yes, there were men in the next field, they had doubtless seen and followed the balloon; to welcome them would be most expedient.
“Hallo there! here I am and the balloon as well.”
No sooner had I delivered this piece of information than I heard a voice say, “Hush!” Receding footsteps in an irregular stampede followed, and I was left in wonderment as to what it all meant.
I came to the conclusion that a gang of poachers were in the neighbourhood, and that I had disturbed their operations at the very outset.
After shouting again and again, I heard no more of the strange voices or footsteps; I determined upon again sallying forth, but this time in the opposite direction, when I armed myself with the liberating iron, a powerful weapon, and, if used dexterously, far more to be dreaded than a policeman’s truncheon.
Having again deposited another white stone in the lane opposite the gate, I walked for at least a mile, when I came to a village green having a pond at one side and cottages in the distance.
It had struck eleven o’clock when I heard some men approaching, and although they were not exactly steady still I was glad to meet with anyone for information’s sake, and for assistance in the packing up.
“Here my man, be good enough to inform me what place this is, I am a stranger and require assistance.”