"But it’s against the law all the same; and I mean to catch this poaching scoundrel red-handed, if I can," was the young man’s answer. "Come, Hector, you must know perfectly well where they put out the scringe-nets. What’s this place before us now?" "It’s the Camus Mhor, sir," said Hector, "in there towards the land." "Well, is it any use scringeing in this bay?" the young man demanded. "There’s the mouth of the burn that comes down by the plantation," was the reply. "Very well, take us there!" Fred Stanley said, impatiently. "Those fellows must be somewhere; and I’ll bet you they’re not far off. I must say, Hector, you don’t seem particularly anxious to get hold of them. Are there any of them friends of yours?" Hector did not answer this taunt. He merely said— "It is a dark night, sir, to make any one out." And then they went on again, but with caution; for besides the danger of breaking a leg among the rocks, they knew that the yawning gulfs of the sea were by their side. Hector led the way, Fred Stanley coming next, Meredyth—with muttered grumblings—bringing up the rear. In this wise they followed the inward bend of the bay, until the keeper leapt from the rocks into a drifted mass of seaweed: they were at the corner of the semi-circular beach. Suddenly Fred Stanley caught Hector’s arm, and held him for a second. "Do you hear that?" he said, in an eager whisper. "They are there—right ahead of us—fire a shot at them, Hector!—give them a peppering—give their coats a dusting!" "Oh, no, sir," said the serious-mannered keeper, "I cannot do that. But I will go forward and challenge them. When you get to know who they are, then you will apply for a summons afterwards." "Come on, then!—come along!" the young man said, and he began to run—stumbling over seaweed, stones, and shingle—but guided by the subdued commotion in front of him. All at once that scuffle ceased. There was another sound—slight and yet distinct: it was the hurried dip of oars. Nay, was not that the "loom" of a boat, not twenty yards away from them—the dark hull receding from the land? "Here, Hector!" the young man cried—furious that his prey had just escaped him. "Fire, man!—give them a charge!—give the thieving scoundrels a dose of shot amongst them!" Hector made no answer to this appeal. He called aloud— "Who are you? Whose is that boat?" There was no word in reply—only the slight sound of the dipping oars. Fred Stanley caught at the gun; but the keeper held it away from him. "No, sir, no," he said gravely. "We must keep within the law, whatever they do." "Yes—and now they’re off—and laughing at us!" the young man angrily exclaimed. And then he said: "Do you mean to tell me you don’t know who these men are? Do you mean to tell me you don’t know quite well that it is Ross of Heimra who is in that boat?" "I am not thinking that, sir," Hector answered slowly.