So saying, Coverdale rode forward to cut off the poacher’s retreat, while the policeman, putting spurs to his horse, and drawing his cutlass, dashed up to the fellow, and seized him by the collar. Overawed by the gleaming weapon, and exhausted by his previous exertions, the unfortunate Jim Fags (_alias_ Winkey) attempted no resistance; and the policeman availed himself of his pusillanimity to produce the handcuffs, and dextrously secure his prisoner. He was thus engaged when Coverdale, who was walking his horse quietly towards them, suddenly caught sight of what, at the first glance, appeared to him only the stump of a tree, but on closer inspection proved to be the figure of a man, crouching under the shadow of the gravel-pit, while, at the moment in which Coverdale first perceived him, he was taking a deliberate aim with a short gun at the unconscious patrol. For a moment the policeman’s life hung upon a thread; but a slight movement of the horse brought the unfortunate Winkey’s head into the line of fire, and his accomplice lowered his piece, and slightly altered his position, while he took fresh aim. The opportunity was not to be lost--quick as thought Coverdale rose in his stirrups, and with the full force of his muscular arm hurled the constable’s staff, which he had retained the whole evening, at the head of the kneeling figure. Fortunately for the policeman, the missile took effect, and, stunned by the force of the blow, Jack Hargrave (for he it was) measured his length upon the turf, discharging the gun harmlessly as he fell. Before he could regain his feet, Giles and the dog (who, but for his muzzle, would have torn the poacher to pieces) were upon him. In less than two hours from that time both the culprits were safely lodged in H-------- gaol. CHAPTER XXVIII.--ALICE SUCCOURS THE DISTRESSED.