imprisonment--Markum’s evidence being so clear and convincing, that such an issue became inevitable. As the gamekeeper left the court, a tall, gipsy-looking fellow came up to him, and muttered in his car, “You’ll live to repent this day’s work, Master Keeper; look to yourself one of these dark nights.” “Look to _yourself_ if I catch you on our ground,” was Markum’s contemptuous rejoinder; “there’s enough oakum to pick in H-------- gaol for Tom and you too.” “Who is that fellow,” inquired Coverdale, as the man, perceiving that the keeper’s reply was beginning to attract attention, turned away with a scowl. “That be Jack Hargrave, Mr. Coverdale, sir,” returned Markum; “brother along o’ Tom, as we’ve give twelve months to; and sarve ’im right, a poachin’, thievin’ wagrant.” “Is this fellow a poacher also?” asked Harry. “That is he then,” was the reply; “a reg’lur bred un, and as deep a hand as ever set a snare, only he’s so ‘wide o’,’ that it’s not so easy to nab the warmint; but I’ll be down upon ’im yet, for all his threatenings. He’s bin heard to swear he’ll put a charge o’ shot under my veskit some o’ these nights; he’d better not, though, or he may find there’s two can play at that game.” “No violence, my good fellow, no violence; it’s not a light thing to shed the blood of a fellow-creature--besides, there’s a quiet way of managing these affairs. I shall warn the police to keep an eye on that man Hargrave; he looks dangerous; and you may as well put on another watcher, it won’t do to be shorthanded just now.” So saying, Coverdale turned away, and was soon deep in conversation with the inspector of the mounted rural police; after which, refusing to make one of a jovial party who were about to dine with Tom Rattleworth, and were tolerably certain to remain playing whist, and imbibing strong liquors till the small hours should be again upon the increase, he drove home to his solitary mansion.