MALABAR. 47 



Then he shot the buck through the window, and went out 

 to bring it in. Just at that moment up galloped one of 

 the keepers or, possibly, Michael Turnor himself. "Who 

 fired that shot ? " he asked sharply. " Didn't you meet 

 anybody ? " " Well, I heard the gun as I was shaving," 

 was the answer, " and ran out to see ; but the rascal must 

 have gone." Such was Malabar's zeal in trying to find 

 the offender, that he was given some of the venison 

 for his pains. " But it was a near shave," he said after- 

 wards ; " in another minute I should have had the buck 

 on my back." 



The other story is a horrible one. The man who lived 

 in the cottage, whether Malabar or not is uncertain, had 

 just finished dressing a buck which he had killed, and the 

 huge oven at the back of the house was ready heated for 

 baking pasties. The door of the oven was in the house. 

 It is turned into a window now, and the oven itself is 

 pulled down. Hearing a bloodhound coming, and knowing 

 that he must be caught red-handed, the man snatched up 

 a smockfrock, and, opening the cottage door, awaited the 

 hound's coming. No sooner was the latter inside than 

 the door was slammed to, the dog was enveloped in the 

 smockfrock, and pushed bodily into the oven, where 

 the flames and smoke soon ended the poor brute's sufferings. 

 When the keepers came up they asked the man, who was 

 standing at the door of his cottage, whether he had seen 

 the dog. " He came baying by here ten minutes ago," he 

 said, " but I have not heard him since." No suspicion 

 fell on him, and he lived to tell the story afterwards. 



The Turnors had all been Jacobites to the backbone, 

 drinking right heartily to the king, over a bowl of water 

 under the rose ; but by Michael's time any chance the 

 Stuarts had ever had was hopelessly gone, and he was 

 well content to serve the powers that be in the persons of 

 ■George HI. and George IV. A j^ropos of the latter there 

 is rather a good anecdote. His Majesty's ranger was a 

 crack shot ; in fact, it is said that he never missed a deer. 

 One day a noble buck dashed across a glade, and Turnor 



