ON A PARTRIDGE BEAT 19 



business. Another second, and a great rolling cloud 

 of smoke enveloped the figure of the man. Then 

 came a bang. Two poachers, perhaps, with one trap, 

 I thought. Whoever the man was, he had now got 

 clear of the smoke-fog, and was coming towards me. 

 Nothing could be better, I thought, and kept my 

 cover. The mysterious man turned out to be none 

 other than old B. Waiting till he was within a yard 

 of me, I asked without any warning, and in the 

 gruffest of official tones, what he was up to. ' I 

 b'lieve I've killed the old gentleman/ said old B. 

 in an unusually guttural voice, so soon as he 

 recovered from the surprise of seeing me. He 

 explained his cryptic reply, and went on his way, 

 while I went and put things straight. Old B. had 

 spotted the black cat in the hedge, and being * set- 

 up,' he let drive at it ; then, his superstition (luckily 

 for me) got the better of his curiosity, and he came 

 on without inspecting the cat. It was not till years 

 afterwards that he knew the cat was in my trap 

 when he shot it. 



It was a mercy that foxes did not worry me in 

 this first season of working up a run-down shoot. 

 I had to preserve foxes as well as game. Their 

 absence probably was due to the same cause as 

 that of game the preceding period of comparative 

 anarchy. To dig out a litter of cubs and sell them 

 for ten shillings each is a far more profitable and 

 less risky venture than to poach for a few rabbits. 



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