but did not move.
In the Northwest, he had now and then caught a jack-rabbit by carefully
marking its hiding-place, but had not seen it afterwards until he
nearly trod upon the crouching animal. It was comforting to remember
that his pursuers had not watched him drop behind the rushes.
"Hae ye seen aught, Jock?" the keeper near him called, and Foster was
conscious of keen relief.
"Naething ava," answered the other. "If he went doon the burn, he's
no' come oot."
"He's no' there; ye would ha' seen him if he'd headed back."
There was silence for a moment or two and Foster heard the water bubble
in the moss as the man moved his foot. The fellow would tread upon him
if he took a few steps in the right direction, but his mackintosh was
much the color of the withered grass and his face and hands were hidden.
Then the man on the wall remarked in a thoughtful tone: "I'm no' quite
sure he went ower the dyke. Ye see, I was kin' o' staggered by the
clout on the head, and he might ha' slippit oot by the gate."
"It will be Lang Pate, of course."
"Just him," agreed the other. "He was near enough to reach me with his
stick and the light no' that bad. Besides, wha' else would it be?"
Foster, seeing that he had escaped notice, felt amused. Long Pete was
suspected and therefore judged guilty; the keeper's last argument
banished doubt.
"My heid's sair," the man resumed. "We'll look if they've gone doon
the glen, and then tak' the road if ye'll row up the net."
The other crossed the field and Foster lay still until he heard him
climb the wall and afterwards made for a hole that led into the road.
Somewhat to his surprise, he found that he had brought the partridges.
He followed the road quietly, keeping in the shadow of a dyke, although
he thought the gamekeepers had gone the other way, and on turning a
corner came upon the poachers lurking behind a thorn bush.
"We thought they had caught ye," one remarked.
"I suppose you were anxious about it, because you were afraid I might
put them on your track."
"I canna say ye're altogether wrang, but whaur are they the noo?"
"Looking for you in the glen, I believe. But which of you is Long
Pete?"
The man he had met first said it was his name, and Foster resumed:
"Then I imagine the fellow with the gun means to declare that you
struck him."
"He would!" Pete remarked, grinning. "Weel, it's lucky I hae twa three
friends wha'll show that I couldna' ha' been
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