A hurdle was brought by some of the villagers, and upon this the ill-fated Badger was placed; he was then carried into the farmhouse, not, however, before the constable had taken the precaution to handcuff him, for he was known to that astute officer as a ruffian of no common order. He was, however, run to earth, having been, in a manner of speaking, hunted down by a woman. A doctor was sent for, who bandaged his wound, which, although severe, was not likely to prove mortal――certainly not unless some unfavourable symptons set in. While all this clatter had been going on, Charles Peace had contrived to conceal himself in a neighbouring coppice, from which he durst not emerge while the village folk were prowling about. When Gregson was conveyed into the house the majority of the villagers wheeled off; at the same time Jarvis, however, was still endeavouring [Sidenote: No. 2.] to trace out the Badger’s companions. He came too near to the coppice where Peace was concealed to be at all pleasant to a gentleman of his retiring habits, so Peace was fain to avail himself of a neighbouring hedge, on the other side of which he crept along on all fours. [Illustration: THE “BRISTOL BADGER” SHOT BY JANE RYAN.] Having gone some considerable distance by this means of progressive, he imagined that he was out of sight, and betook himself to the open field, across which he ran at the top of his speed. His movements were however not unobserved by Jarvis. The latter caught Mr. John Ashbrook by the leg. The farmer was mounted on his bay mare, and said: “There goes one of them; ride down the lane and intercept his flight, while I run across the field. We shall have him yet.” The farmer needed no second bidding. He rode at the hedge which skirted the lane. With one stroke from the long corded whip, and one cry from the rider’s lips, the gallant animal bounded over the hedge like a flying deer. “Wouldn’t ’a brushed a fly off the top twig,” exclaimed Ashbrook, triumphantly. “Now, for my gentleman. Dall it, if this won’t turn an eventful night, especially if I catch that rascal.” While the farmer was riding down the lane, Jarvis and several others were in hot pursuit of the fugitive. Peace became aware, much to his discomfiture, that every movement he made was plainly visible to his pursuers, and he deeply regretted having taken to the open field. He ran his hardest, and had the satisfaction of getting into the lane before any of the pursuing party had even reached the field. Ashbrook, as he was trotting down the lane, saw the fugitive jump through a gap in the hedge. The farmer urged on his steed, being now under the full impression that the capture of Peace was reduced to a certainty. In a brief space of time he came within a hundred yards of the enemy. “I’ve got him now!” exclaimed the farmer. “He’s mine as sure as my name’s Jack Ashbrook.” But there’s an old adage “that it is as well not to reckon your chickens before they are hatched.”