84 The Confessions of a Poacher. 



of my companions as clever a poacher, and 

 as decent and quiet a man as need be. I saw 

 him on the night previous to the morning of 

 his death, though he did not see me. It was 

 a night at the end of October. The winds 

 had stripped the leaves from the trees, and 

 the dripping branches stood starkly against the 

 sky. I was on the high road with a vehicle, 

 when plashes of rain began to descend, and a 

 low muttering came from out the dull leaden 

 clouds. As the darkness increased, occasional 

 flashes tore zig-zag across the sky, and the rain 

 set to a dead pour. The lightning only served 

 to increase the darkness. I could just see the 

 mare's steaming shoulders butting away in 

 front, and her sensitive ears alternately pricked 

 out on the track. The pitchy darkness in- 

 creased, I gave the mare her head, and let the 

 reins hang loosely on her neck. The lightning 

 was terrible, the thunder almost continuous, 

 when the mare came to a dead stop. I got 

 down from the trap and found her trembling 

 violently, with perspiration pouring down 

 her flanks. All her gear was white with 



