ODDS AND ENDS 283 
In the matter of poaching cats nothing was to be 
gained by letting one barrel know what the other 
had shot. One summer evening I was making my 
way along a cart-way between one of my woods 
and the high wall of the garden belonging to the 
‘big house.’ Facing a double door in the wall was 
a ride through the wood, and just as I got opposite 
the ride a non-local cat began to cross it about 
thirty yards up. I bowled the cat over, and went 
up the ride to remove it. Just as I reached the 
spot where the cat lay I heard someone opening the 
garden door. The head-gardener appeared about 
a fifth of a second after I had chucked the cat into 
the stuff and fished from my pocket a nice young 
rabbit, which, luckily, I had shot that evening half a 
mile away. I strolled down the ride towards the 
gardener, legging the rabbit on my way. Having 
remarked, as I smoothed the fur of its back with 
the blade of my knife, that it was a fine ‘ young un’ 
for the time of year, 1 asked him to save me the 
trouble of carrying it home. I disposed of the cat 
later on. 
A very old keeper friend, who seldom missed 
a walked-up bird, performed the following feat. 
Having to get some birds, he set out with an old 
pointer for a large turnip-field. He fired at thirteen 
single birds in succession, winged them all, and his 
pointer gathered them all. The largest proportion 
of runners I ever saw manufactured was ten out 
