Mr Todds, who was at my elbow, murmured his approval of his superior's language, but gave a superstitious shiver at the same moment. And then once more we opened out, and tramped through the wood, till regularly beaten out; and, without having heard another shot or seen a single enemy, we reluctantly retraced our steps to the Priory. The next morning, at breakfast, the parlour-maid again announced Browsem--for my uncle abjures men-servants in the house--and the keeper, looking puzzled and long-faced, appeared at the door. "Now, then," sputtered my uncle, "have you caught them?" "They cleared Sandy Plants last night, sir," growled the man. "Who? what?" cried my uncle, upsetting his coffee. "Some on 'em--Ruddles's, I s'pose," said Browsem. "Don't b'leeve there's a tail left out'er scores," said the man. "There, go down and wait, and I'll come directly after breakfast." But to all intents and purposes my uncle had finished his breakfast, for nothing more would he touch, while his face grew purple with rage. Gout--everything--was forgotten for the time; and half an hour after, Browsem was pointing out the signs of the havoc made on the preceding night in the fir-plantation. Here and there lay feathers, spots of blood, gun-wads; and many a trunk was scarred and flayed with shot. In one place, where the trees were largest, the poachers seemed to have been burning sulphur beneath the boughs, while twice over we came upon wounded pheasants, and one dead--hung high up in the stubbly branches, where it had caught. My uncle looked furious, and then turning in the direction of the scene of the last night's adventures, he strode off, and we followed in silence. On reaching the wood, we very soon found, from the trampled underwood and broken twigs, traces of our chase; but the birds seemed plentiful, and no feathers or blood-stains were to be found. "They didn't get many here, at all events," muttered my uncle. Both Browsem and Todds shook their heads at me, and looked ghosts. "Strange thing, though," muttered my uncle. "What do you think of it, Browsem?" The keeper screwed up his face, and said nothing. "Confound you for a donkey!" ejaculated the irascible old gentleman. "What Tom-fool rubbish you men do believe. Hullo! though, here's a wad;" and he stooped and picked up a wadding evidently cut out of an old beaver hat. "That don't look ghostly, at all events; does it, booby?" Browsem only screwed up his phiz a little tighter. "Why, tut, tut, tut! Come here, Dick!" shouted the old gentleman, excitedly. "We've been done, my lad; and they've cleared out the plantation while we were racing up and down here." I followed the old gentleman to one of the openings where we had stopped together the night before, when Todds, who was close behind, suddenly gave a grunt, and stooping down, picked up a half-empty horn powder-flask. "That's Ruddles's, I'd swear," growled Browsem.