346 The Poacher. 



up. The battle was a sharp one, but the keepers, as usual, got the 

 best of it. Three poachers were taken ; the rest escaped, and 

 among them our helper. His hat, however, had been knocked off 

 in the melee, and the head keeper secured it. He read the man's 

 name in it, and next morning rode over to see if we could identify 

 it. There was, of course, no trouble to do this. The man never 

 came back to us, nor did we hear of him again till one evening, 

 about two years after, I pulled up on the box of the old Regulator, 

 at the Three Cups in Aldersgate-street. To my surprise, I recog- 

 nised in the slovenly cad that came out to stand at the horses' heads 

 (for we only stopped there a few minutes) our quondam stable- 

 man. I offered to take him back, for he was a rare good man with 

 horses ; but he would not come into the country again, and I never 

 heard anything more of him. 



It was nearly dark before I reached the village, and there was 

 something cheery in the ruddy blaze of light which shot across the 

 road from the blacksmith's forge, and the clang of his hammer, as I 

 approached it. I stopped and called the man out, for I wanted to 

 speak to him about " four removes " next morning ; and as I looked 

 in through the open door, I saw the shop was full, as usual, and I 

 recognised four or five of the poachers whom I knew well. One 

 was just unscrewing a short gun-barrel, which he thrust into his 

 pocket as I pulled up. He was a very civil, decent young fellow, 

 and came out to hold my horse while I spoke to the blacksmith. 

 He was followed by a little half-starved lurching cur, which never 

 left his heels, and which, as a mute dog for driving hares into the 

 nets, was invaluable to the gang. As I got on my horse, he asked 

 me in a low tone if I wanted a hare or a brace of " long-tails " in 

 the morning ; and I told him " they had better look out, for that 

 Johnson was expecting them." He laughed, and said "they knew 

 it, but that they wanted game that night, and game they would 

 have." This was the last conversation I ever had with that poor 

 fellow, for he was dead before morning. Of course Bill Hammer- 

 ton was in the shop, apparently engaged in heating some wire at 

 the blacksmith's fire, no doubt for snares. 



