moony night? Birds will fly, as
Nature meant 'em; and, again, it may be just a wild bird, as never came
out of no boughten egg at all, but belonged to the country, like his
father and his grandfather afore him. And so 'tis common property, same as
the land did ought to be, and if I be clever enough to catch 'un and kill
'un--why, so much the better for me! All for free trade you see I was. And
in a poacher that must be the point of view. But time and chance play all
manner of funny pranks with a man; and time and chance it were that turned
me from this dangerous walk of life into what I be now. The way of it was
simple enough, in a manner of speaking, yet I'm sure no such thing
happened afore, or be like to hap again.

Woodcotes was a very great estate on the brink o' Dartmoor. In fact, the
covers crept up the hills as far as the fierce winds would let 'em; and
they was cold woods up over--cold and rocky and better liked by the foxes
than the pheasants. But the birds done very well half a mile lower down,
and the river that run through Woodcotes carried a lot of salmon at the
proper time. A ten-pound fish was no wonder, and more'n one twenty-pounder
have left it in my memory.

I was twenty-five on the night this tale begins--twenty-five year old, and
a proper night-hawk of a chap, as loved the hours of darkness and gloried
in the shedding of blood. Sport was in my veins, so to say, handed down
from father to son, for my grandfather had been a gamekeeper, and my
father a water-bailiff, and my uncle--my father's brother--a huntsman.
That was the line of life I'd thirsted for, or even to go for a jockey.
But Nature weren't of the same mind. I growed six foot tall afore I was
seventeen--my mother's family was all whackers--and so riding was out of
the question, and I went on the land and worked behind the horses instead
of on 'em.

Well, the river ran very suent through the water-meadows below my village,
and there was wonnerful fine stickles and reaches for trout, and proper
deep pools for salmon. And on a fine night in June, with the moonlight
bright as day, I was down beside it a bit after one o'clock, busy about a
little matter of night-lines. I meant to make an experiment, too, because
I'd read in a book how the salmon will come up to stare if you hold a
bright light over 'em. They'll goggle up at you and get dazed by the
light, and then you can spear 'em as easy as picking blackberries. 'Twas
news to me, but a thing