“Ay, sir, Squire Thornby’s men. ’Tis his wood, yon enclosure. Here on the Foxwell land a fellow is safe enough, so long as it be only a rabbit or pheasant now and then. Sure the more fool I for not thinking of that when you appeared—I might ’a’ known the Foxwell people would never stop a man them Thornby keepers was down upon.”
“Then the shot I heard awhile ago was fired at you by the Thornby keepers?”
“No need to speak of that, sir. If so be you heard a shot, why, you heard it, and there’s an end.” While he spoke, the man fingered with the flap of a well-stuffed pocket in his coat. “How I knew it was the Thornby people was by their voices, sir, whereby I saw fit to run. Not that I’m afeard of e’er a body of them all, but I hold it ’ud be fool’s work to shorten my own life or another man’s. And right glad I be to know I didn’t shorten your honour’s, especially now I see what sort of gentleman your honour is.”
“’Twould have been an odd twist of luck indeed,” returned Everell, good-humouredly. “I am much in your own case, friend: far from desiring to trip up another man, I must look to it that I’m not tripped up myself. My fellow-feeling at present is with the fox rather than the hounds.”
“Then belike you are seeking cover hereabouts?” inquired the poacher, in a tone of friendly interest.
“At all events, I wish to remain in this neighbourhood a few days, without encountering a great degree of publicity. I say as much to an honest rogue like yourself—I mightn’t be as free with a more respectable man.”
“You’re not far wrong there, sir,” replied the fellow, not at all displeased, but, on the contrary, gratified at the justice done him. “I don’t ask to know anything; I have secrets enough of my own. But if I can be of any small service, in the way of information about the lay o’ the land or such a matter—for I see you’re a stranger hereabouts, and I know these parts well—better than they know me, by a great deal—why, then, I’m your servant to command. But, if not, I’ll bid ye good night and safe lying wherever you may lodge.”
“Oh, as for that, I lodge at the ale-house in the village, for to-night, at least. I told the landlord I would ride on to-morrow; I shall have to find some pretext for staying.”
“Well, sir, you know your own wishes—but ’tis not the most private place, that there ale-house, and they be inquisitive folk, them in the village.”
“What other lodging would you recommend?” asked Everell, for the first time seriously awake to the curiosity that his presence must arouse in so remote a place. “I certainly desire to go and come unobserved: I have no mind that my motions should be watched and discussed.”