, and in a very short time were in the lane where Bob
Hopley's lodge stood.

"He's off somewhere at the other side of the estate," whispered Lomax,
"and they've watched him go. I say, don't you boys come near if there's
a row."

"Hist! Who's that?" said a familiar voice out of the darkness.
"Father?"

"No, my dear, it isn't your father."

"Oh, Mr Lomax, what shall I do? Father's been over to Hastings to-day,
and hasn't come back. There's a gang of poachers clearing the Long
Spinney, and it will break his heart. I thought it was him come back.
There--there they go again."

For there were several reports of guns not very far away.

"I don't know what to do," said Lomax; "I've got plenty of fight in me,
and I'm ready to charge down on them, but they'll be too much for one."

"I'll come with you, and bring father's gun."

"But you mustn't use it, my girl. If we could frighten them somehow.
Come on, and let's try. I know--we'll all go close up and shout."

"They won't mind that," said Polly; but we went on in the darkness so
quickly and quietly, that we were soon alongside a black plantation of
Scotch fir-trees, in time to hear two more shots, and the heavy thuds of
falling bodies.

"Now, are you ready?" whispered Lomax.

"Yes," we said, but at that moment a figure darted by us, and entered
the black wood.

"One of them," said Lomax. "Let's holloa, all the same."

But, before we had drawn breath for the shout, there was a yell, a dull
sound as of a stick striking a gun-barrel, then a crashing of the lower
branches, cries, blows, and a loud voice calling to the poachers to give
in.

"Why, it's father got back," cried Polly Hopley. "Oh, Mr Lomax, go and
help, or they'll kill him!"

The old sergeant's mettle was roused, and he dashed into the wood,
while, with every pulse throbbing with excitement, we boys followed the
direction taken, finding that the poachers were evidently retreating,
from the sounds growing farther away.

Then all at once there was the sharp report of a gun, followed by a wild
shriek.

"It's father! They've shot him!" cried Polly, who, unknown to us, was
close behind. "Run, run!"

We pressed on. It was impossible to run in the darkness, and as we
hurried along, a voice cried just in front,--

"You've shot my mate. Take that!"

At almost the same time came a sharp rap, a loud report, and then a
heavy, dull blow.

"Father, father!" shrieked Polly, as we heard the rust