“Oh, of course, I know,” said Ben. “I don’t want you to get into any scrape, of course, lad. Come back into my room. Those clothes won’t suit you: you must put on some of mine. We can slip out again, and my sister won’t see you.”
In a short time, Ben and James stole out with their guns and shot-belts and powder-flasks.
“It is not near home,” whispered Ben.
“That’s a good thing,” answered James; but they spoke very little.
They had walked two miles when they fell in with three men, who seemed to know Ben well; and soon after that they met three more. All went on together. James found that they were going into the park of a gentleman who very strictly preserved his game and had several gamekeepers.
“Even if they meet us, they won’t dare to attack us; and if they do, we can take very good care of ourselves,” said Ben.
The party of poachers were in search of pheasants, of which there were a great many in the park. They knocked over one after the other, till each man was well loaded. James soon began to take a pleasure in the sport, and killed as many as the rest.
They had begun to talk of going home, all well pleased with their night’s work, when, as they were within fifty yards of the place where they were to leave the park, they found themselves face to face with four keepers.
“Stand back, and let us pass!” cried Ben Page. “We don’t want to say anything to you, and you shall not say anything to us.”
“That won’t do, young man,” said the principal keeper; “you must give up all the game you have shot, and let us know your names.”