I was moving to the entrance to find out what was going on when something fairly shot into the hole, knocking me back to its farthest end. When I had picked myself up, there was Cob lying panting, almost too much exhausted to speak. ‘They’re after us, Scud!’ he gasped at last. ‘Who? What?’ ‘The keeper and a boy. They’ve shot three of us already, and I’m frightened to death about Hazel. I was away from home and couldn’t get back. I saw three dead bodies.’ Here a gruff human voice broke in from below. ‘Where’s the dratted little beggar got to? I seed him jump into this here oak. He can’t be far off.’ ‘He’s sure to be in one of the holes in the trunk,’ replied more sharply pitched tones which I recognized at once as those of the high-collared boy whose mark I still bore in the shape of a shot hole in one ear. ‘Climb up, Tompkins, and see.’ ‘Climb! Thank’ee, sir. I wasn’t engaged to break my neck climbing trees—not at my age. Tell you what, sir. I’ll go on with the gun. You can wait here quietly, and after a bit he’s sure to come out, and then you can shoot him.’ ‘All right,’ answered the boy, and we plainly heard Tompkins stamping off. Cob was crazy to get away and go in search of his wife and family, but the boy below, who had about as much idea of woodcraft as a frog has of flying, made such a noise moving from one foot to the other, breathing hard and shifting his rifle about, that even a hedgehog would have known better than to take the chances of showing himself. His patience was about on a par with his other performances, for in less than five minutes he became tired of waiting, and moved off after the keeper. But we heard no more shots. Bad news spreads like magic in a wood, and by this time every squirrel of the forty or fifty who inhabited our coppice was snug under cover, and it would have taken better eyes than those of Ginger or his young friend to find us. After another half hour or so we heard the far gate slam to, and knew that danger was over—at least, for the present. Then Cob went off as hard as his legs would carry him, and later on I was delighted to hear that he had found Hazel and his two young ones quite safe and unhurt. To say that we were furious at this wanton massacre is to put our feelings very mildly. From time out of mind the lives of the squirrels on the Hall estate had been sacred, and except when trespassing louts—such as those who had caused the death of my father—had attacked us we had lived safe and happy from one generation to another.