Much talk of poaching was in the air at Moretonhampstead about this season, and raids and rumours of raids at Middlecott and elsewhere kept the keepers anxious and wakeful; but no sensation marked the opening of the season, though Matthew Sweetland had secret troubles which he only imparted to his second in command, a young and zealous man called Adam Thorpe. Birds had gone and there were marks in the preserves that told ugly tales to skilled eyes; but Sweetland failed to bring the evil-doers to justice, and a cloud presently rose between his subordinate and himself. For Thorpe did not hesitate to declare that the headkeeper’s own son was responsible. With all his soul Daniel’s father resented this suspicion, and yet too well he knew the other had just grounds for it. Once only the father taxed Daniel, and the younger man fell into a rage and reminded old Sweetland how, long ago, he had sworn upon his oath never to enter Middlecott preserves. “You ought to know me better than think it,” he said bitterly. “Be I what I may, you’ve no just right to hold me an oath-breaker; an’ if I meet that blustering fool, Thorpe, I’ll mark him so’s he’ll carry my anger to the grave. Any fool could hoodwink him. He walks by night like an elephant. There’s no fun in taking Middlecott pheasants. Anyway I never have, an’ never will.” But the preserves at Westcombe, Daniel regarded differently. They extended under Hameldon on the skirt of the Moor; and this night he meant to visit them and kill a bird or two. The moon would rise presently, and he knew where the pheasants roosted quite as well as the keeper who had bred them. In the one spare room of Hangman’s Hut were possessions of the young couple not yet arranged. Here stood the two little tin boxes that held all Minnie’s possessions; and various parcels and packages belonging to Daniel were also piled together in the chamber. A certain square wooden case was locked, and now, lighting a candle and pulling down the window-blind, Dan opened it. Not a few highly suspicious objects appeared. There were nets and wires here, with night-lines and a variety of mysterious things whose uses were known to the owner only. None other had ever set eyes upon them. A long black weapon of heavy metal lay at the bottom of the box, and this the poacher drew forth. Then he oiled it, pumped it, and loaded it. The thing was an air gun, powerful enough to destroy ground game at fifty yards. For a moment, however, Dan hesitated between this engine and another. Among his property was a neat yellow leather case with D.S. painted in black letters upon it. Within reposed the gun that Henry Vivian had given his friend as a wedding present. The owner hesitated between these weapons. His inclination was towards the fowling-piece; his instinct turned him to the silent air-gun.