The young man on the hill-top tossed his gun over his shoulder and called his two silvery-coated dogs to heel; then he started to descend the slope, the November sunlight dancing on the polished gun-barrels. Down through the scrubby thickets he strode; burr and thorn scraped his canvas jacket, blackberry-vines caught at elbow and knee. With an unfeigned scowl he kept his eyes on Jocelyn, who was still pottering on the stream's bank, but when Jocelyn heard him come crackling through the stubble and looked up the scowl faded, leaving Gordon's face unpleasantly placid. "Good-morning, Jocelyn," said the young man, stepping briskly to the bank of the stream; "I want a word or two with you." "Words are cheap," said Jocelyn, sitting up on his haunches; "how many will you have, Mr. Gordon?" "I want you," said Gordon, slowly emphasizing each word, "to stop your depredations on my property, once and for all." Squatting there on the dead grass, Jocelyn eyed him sullenly without replying. "Do you understand?" said Gordon, sharply. "Well, what's the trouble now--" began Jocelyn, but Gordon cut him short. "Trouble! You've shot out every swale along Brier Brook! There isn't a partridge left between here and the lake! And it's a shabby business, Jocelyn--a shabby business." He flung his fowling-piece into the hollow of his left arm and began to walk up and down the bank. "This is my land," he said, "and I want no tenants. There were a dozen farms on the property when it came to me; I gave every tenant a year's lease, rent free, and when they moved out I gave them their houses to take down and rebuild outside of my boundary-lines. Do you know any other man who would do as much?" Jocelyn was silent. "As for you," continued Gordon, "you were left in that house because your wife's grave is there at your very threshold. You have your house free, you pay no rent for the land, you cut your wood without payment. My gardener has supplied you with seed, but you never cultivate the land; my manager has sent you cows, but you sell them." "One died," muttered Jocelyn. "Yes--with a cut throat," replied Gordon. "See here, Jocelyn, I don't expect gratitude or civility from you, but I do expect you to stop robbing me!" "Robbing!" repeated Jocelyn, angrily, rising to his feet. "Yes, robbing! My land is posted, warning people not to shoot or fish or cut trees. The land, the game, and the forests are mine, and you have no more right to kill a bird or cut a tree on my property than I have to enter your house and steal your shoes!" Gordon's face was flushed now, and he came and stood squarely in front of Jocelyn. "You rob me," he said, "and you break not only my own private rules, but also the State laws. You shoot for the market, and it's a dirty, contemptible thing to do!"