“Oh, no,” returned Bates. “We won’t give up our expedition yet, now that we have come this far. I am afraid I had better not try to walk any farther myself, but you two can go on and get the pheasants. You won’t be gone more than half an hour, I suppose, and then you can come back to me and give me a hand home. I’ll just sit here and wait for you.”
At first we were very much opposed to this course, but Bates insisting, we at length agreed to go on, and accordingly, taking with us the game-bag, and leaving him propped up with his back against the gate, we hurried off.
We soon spotted the young fir-tree, the position of which Bates had carefully described to us, and there, sure enough, were the pheasants; we could see them, like dark blotches, against the sky.
“You take the first shot,” whispered Percy.
Choosing the lowest bird, that its fall might not disturb the others, I let fly, and down it came with hardly a flutter. Percy then took a shot, with equal success. We placed the two birds at the foot of the tree, and were stooping to pull out the arrows, when we were suddenly pounced upon from behind, and a voice in my ear, a voice strangely familiar, said:
“These are your poachers, Keeper, caught in the act. Sir Anthony will give you a five-pound note for this, you may depend.”
“Thanks to you, sir,” said the keeper, who was holding Percy by the collar. “Bring the young gent along; they’ll spend the rest of the night in the lock-up.”
My assailant transferred his grip to my collar, and I was then able to turn my head and look at him. It was Bates.
“What are you up to, Bates?” I exclaimed, giving him a dig in the stomach with my elbow. “What do you mean by calling us poachers? You know perfectly well we are not poaching.”
“Oh, yes, you are, though,” replied Bates, with a complacent snigger. “Are they not, Keeper?”