The favourite place for our shooting expeditions was the Cross-roads Spinney, a triangular piece of ground of eight or nine acres, well covered with trees, which lay about two miles from the village. It belonged to nobody, or rather, being claimed by Sir Anthony and by the Parish, it had for many years lain in Chancery; a state of affairs which suited us very well, for, while the lawsuit dragged along, we boys appropriated the place for our own happy hunting-ground. Bordering as it did upon Sir Anthony’s best game-preserve, it was a source of great annoyance to the old Baronet that the title could not be settled, for many a pheasant flew over the wall to roost in the spinney, and very seldom did it ever fly back again; somebody was sure to get it. Then, too, the gypsies would frequently encamp there, to Sir Anthony’s great disgust; for, with him and his keepers, “gypsy” and “poacher” were synonymous terms.
This spinney was not far from Hengist’s Castle, and the belief that the poachers who were just now giving so much trouble were harbouring in the ruins, kept all the keepers on the alert, not only in the hope of laying hands on the culprits, but of discovering their hiding-place.
One evening in April, Percy and I were returning from a shooting expedition, bearing our spoils, one rabbit each, in our hands, when we were overtaken by one of our school-fellows,—Bates, senior, by name,—with whom, though there were no active hostilities between us, we had long been “at outs.” We did not like him, and he returned the compliment.
That I may not do him an injustice, I must explain that Bates had some reason for his antipathy. He was an orphan, his affairs being managed by a crusty old lawyer in London, whose idea of the proper discharge of the duties of a guardian was confined to the remitting of so much money to his ward every three months—more money than a boy ought to have at command—and in taking no further notice of him until next quarter-day came round. Bates was thus in a manner thrown upon the world to follow his own bent, and, unfortunately for him, his bent had one very serious twist in it,—he was a born gambler.
Old Moseley was aware of his pupil’s proclivities. He had found him out once in a horse-racing transaction whereby Bates had lost a considerable sum of money, and had warned him that at the next offence he would have to leave the school; a warning which seemed to have had the desired effect, for during some months thereafter Bates desisted.
One day, however, Percy and I, ranging the woods in search of birds’-nests, came suddenly upon Bates and a stranger seated on the ground with a handkerchief spread between them, shaking dice for shillings. The disconcerted gambler, when he saw he was discovered, sprang to his feet and advanced upon us with a threatening air, but, though he was three years older and three inches taller than either of us, Percy and I were not afraid of him, and Bates, knowing, probably, that we were a pair hard to beat,—which I think I may assert without risking the charge of bragging,—thought better of it, and, changing his manner, invited us to join the game—an invitation we promptly declined. He then fell to begging us to say nothing about it. This we promised—with a reservation.
“Look here, Bates,” said Percy, who was usually the spokesman for the pair; “of course we won’t say anything about it. Why should we? But if old Moseley asks us any questions we are not going to tell him any lies.”
I nodded my head in approval. Bates, who seemed to regard such scruples as absurd, tried in vain to argue us out of this resolution, and was obliged finally to content himself with the assurance we had given him.
To have been defied by two boys younger than himself was bad enough; to be at the mercy of their possibly indiscreet tongues was worse. From that time forth, fearing that the incident might come to light, Bates, all unsuspected by us, set his wits to work to oust us from the school, if possible, and by a curious, roundabout course he succeeded at last, though in a manner he could hardly have expected, and with results he was very far from anticipating.
Since the occurrence of the dice-shaking incident Percy and I had held no intercourse with him, and we were therefore somewhat surprised and quite well please when Bates, overtaking us that evening, checked his pace and spoke to us.