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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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Headpiece from Chums, 26 August 1916
YOUNG Billy Godwin, coming in one evening from his work at the village shop, found his brother Kit busily engaged in doctoring a retriever that was suffering from canker.
Billy watched in silence while Kit trimmed away the hair from the inside of the dog's ears and carefully worked in some boracic powder. It was not until his brother had finished the operation that he spoke.
"I was in Taviton to-day," he remarked.
Kit, aware that Billy had some information up his sleeve, but which would come none the quicker for questioning, waited.
"I was getting some stuff from the station," continued Billy. "Seth Atherton was up there."
He paused, but Kit did not speak.
"Seth got a big package out of the goods," said Billy. "Wrapped in brown paper it was, but the paper was torn at one end, and I saw what was inside."
"Nets?" suggested Kit.
Billy nodded sagely.
"Long nets," he added.
"And Seth's a pal of Sim Lagden," remarked Kit; "and there's a good moon next week. Two and two make four, Billy, and I'm obliged to you for the information."
Billy nodded again.
"Yes, you'd better keep your eyes lifting," he said. "Of course, they may be going to tackle some other place, but there's a good head of rabbits on Cleave, and seeing the way Sim feels towards you, Kit, he'll likely favour you with his kind attentions."
Kit chuckled softly.
"Two to one, it's Cleave, Billy." Then more thoughtfully: "But you know we have two biggish warrens, Foxton and Huckworthy. And there's nearly a mile between them. I'd give something to know which Sim's got in his mind's eye."
"Huckworthy would be a sight easier to net," said Billy.
"That's true; but there are more rabbits at Foxton," Kit answered.
"They'd get all they could carry at Huckworthy," reasoned Billy. "For another thing, the road is closer to Huckworthy. They'll be sure to have a cart, and they won't want to carry the rabbits too far."
"I believe you're right, Billy," replied Kit. "Anyhow, it's Huckworthy I'll watch. By Jove! if I can only catch Sim actually at it, it will be the best day's work I shall have done since I got the job as keeper. He's more trouble to me than all the rest put together."
Their mother's, voice was heard at the door calling them in to supper, and the two walked off quickly together.
During the next few days Kit would have given a good deal to be able to duplicate himself. He would have gone to Squire Corynton, his employer, and asked him for a helper for a week, if there had been any chance of getting one. But every able-bodied man on the estate or in the village had joined up long ago, and it was out of the question to get hold of anyone fit for the job of night watching.
Kit, who was busy all day, found it very hard work to sit up at night as well. He was not yet seventeen, and a youngster of that age needs more sleep than a grown man.
Monday and Tuesday nights he was out until midnight, lying doggo in a little thorn clump above Huckworthy warren. Both nights were clear and suitable for that most deadly form of poaching, "long-netting," but no one came to disturb the solitude of his night watch, nor did anyone visit the farther warren of Foxton.
By Wednesday evening Kit felt deadly dull and heavy.
"You ought to stay home and get a proper night's sleep," said his mother gravely, as she noticed how red and strained his eyes looked.
He shook his head.
"One more night, mother. This ought to be the last, for if they don't come to-night there will hardly be light enough to-morrow."
She knew it was no use remonstrating. Kit had his duty to do, and would do it till he dropped.
That night he did very nearly drop. In other words, he had hardly settled down in his little ambush among the thorn trees when, in spite of all his efforts, he fell sound asleep.
It was the moon shining through a gap in the foliage, full in his face, that roused him, and he started up with a muttered exclamation and glanced at his watch.
It was close on eleven. He was very vexed with himself. For nearly two hours he had slept, almost time enough to allow the poachers to finish their job and get away.
He crept to the edge of his hiding-place and peered out. It was a beautiful night, and the moon, three days past the full, shed its clear light over the sleeping country-side.
Rabbits feed on moonlight nights, and that is why poachers choose such a night for "long netting." The nets are run along between the buries and the open grazing ground. Then the men round them up, and as they bolt for their holes they are caught in scores in the loose softly out of the coppice and disappeared into the ditch, along which he moved cautiously. Kit's heart beat rapidly, but he did not move. He had no intention of doing so until the rest appeared upon the scene. It would take three men at least to handle the nets and then drive up the rabbits.
The man passed down the ditch. Kit caught sight of his head two or three times; then he vanished. Kit waited and waited, but there was no sign of anyone else. He began to grow puzzled. Still time went on, and it was nearly midnight. Kit became very uneasy. He could not, for the life of him, understand what was happening. If this man had been one of Sim's gang, the rest would certainly have appeared by this time, and the nets would have been set.
"Kit! Kit!"
The sharp whisper came from behind, and he started round. To his amazement there was fourteen-year-old Billy standing close to him, under the dark shadow of the thorns.
"They're at Foxton," said Billy curtly; "been there some time too."
"Rotten luck!" growled Kit as he picked up his gun and sprang to his feet. "How do you know, Billy?"
"Thought I'd have a look. Slipped out after mother was in bed, made a round, and spotted 'em at work."
"Any chance of catching 'em?" asked Kit sharply.
"Pretty slim. They'd got the nets set when I saw 'em. They'll have made their haul by now."
Kit bit his lip. It was maddening, indeed, to have wasted his time like this. He saw it all now. Suspecting, perhaps knowing, that he was watching Huckworthy, the wily Sim had sent on one of his gang just to pretend that the raid was going to be at Huckworthy. Meantime, he and the rest had been hard at work at Foxton. By this time they had probably finished and got off with a hundred or more rabbits.
Without another word he hurried on in the direction of Foxton. Fast as he went, Billy, who, for his age, was a rare good runner, kept right at his heels. Down into the valley they went, up the opposite hill, then the two melted into a thick coppice and glided like shadows through the undergrowth.
IT was not much more than ten minutes from leaving Huckworthy when Kit was peering over a hedge into an open gorsy pasture that sloped down towards a lane, and which ran through the valley about three hundred yards away.
One glance was enough.
"Too late!" he mattered. "They've gone!"
Gone they had, but there was plenty of trace of what had been going on. The moonlight showed trampled marks and tufts of fur in plenty all along in front of the hedge.
"'Sh!" said Billy suddenly. "What's that?"
The two remained perfectly quiet, listening. Next moment a queer grunting, panting sound came from the road below.
"A car!" exclaimed Billy.
"A car, sure enough!" replied Kit; "and only just getting under way."
"She's a queer old bus, by the sound of her," said Billy quickly; "and she'll be pretty well loaded up with four men and all those rabbits."
"Then there's a chance yet," Kit said. "That is, if they're going to Taviton." And before Billy could answer he was racing away to the left, keeping down the inner side of the hedge.
The lane, he knew, made a wide curve all around the base of the hill, and by taking a cut across country he could reach it just before it entered the main road. The distance he had to cover was considerably less than half that which the car would have to travel, and if she was so heavily loaded as he expected, there was quite a chance that he might be able to cut into the lane ahead.
Reaching the end of the wood he hurled himself up the bank, forced his way through the hedge, then, leaping down the far side, threw concealment to the winds, and ran at top speed over the open slope beyond. He went at such a pace that Billy, though he was doing all he knew, was left a long way in the rear.
To his right Kit could plainly hear the car chugging along the lane. She was apparently some old single-cylinder affair, for you could hear her a mile away. At the same time she was clearly getting up speed, for the thump of the engine sounded louder every moment.
Kit was blowing hard by the time he had reached the hedge at the bottom of the field. It was a thick, stiff quickset, and there was no gap of any sort. As he paused an instant to find the weakest place the car came round the curve to the right, not two hundred yards away.
Kit fairly hurled himself at the hedge. He left a good portion of his clothes and not a few fragments of skin among the thorns, but he got through—that was the main thing—and dropped down into the deep and narrow lane some fifty yards ahead of the car.
Gun in hand, he sprang into the middle of the road.
"Stop!" he shouted at the top of his voice. "Stop!"
He saw tho man at the wheel pause uncertainly. Then he heard Sim Lagden's voice.
"Keep on, Seth! Keep on! It's that there cub of a keeper. Drive on over him if he won't get o' the light."
"Stop!" roared Kit again, and then had just time to leap out of the way as the car came straight at him.
A burst of ribald jeers and laughter came from the car, and filled Kit's cup to overflowing. For once in his life he really lost his temper and, springing back into the road, began to run furiously after the car.
"Hi! here's a race!" came Sim's jeering voice "Go it, Godwin! You'll catch us if you runs fast enough. Go a bit easy, Seth. Don't take too much advantage o' that there engine o' yours."
"'E, wants a lift," cried another occupant of the car. "Stop 'er, Seth, and pick 'im up. 'E's lost 'is breath, pore dear. Can't you 'ear 'im panting?"
Now the lane, just before it reached the road, climbed a short but steep hill, and the car, as has been mentioned, was of ancient date and possessed of only one cylinder. Seth Atherton, who was driving, changed down to second, and tried to rush the hill. Under ordinary circumstances this manoeuvre would probably have been successful enough. But Seth had not calculated, or perhaps had forgotten the very heavy load behind him. Four men and some three hundredweight of rabbits are quite enough for any four-cylinder car.
At any rate, half-way up the slope the engine began to kick ominously, and Seth hastily put out his clutch and dropped to lowest gear.
Kit, at the moment, was a little more than a hundred yards behind, but the speed of the old car on lowest gear was not more than three miles an hour, and he began to gain rapidly.
So rapidly that the storm of jeers ceased abruptly, and he heard Sim calling to Seth to "Shove her along a bit faster."
Seth had already got his throttle open to its widest, and the ancient engine was making almost as much noise as an aeroplane.
Kit, with lips set tightly and head well up, ran on doggedly, and every moment decreased the distance between himself and the car.
But the car was nearing the top of the rise, and once on the main road she would turn downhill, and be out of reach in a few moments. It was a question of seconds whether he would or would not catch up before the poachers reached the top.
Sim's jeers had changed to threats.
"You keep your distance, young Godwin. You keep back or I'll blooming well hurt you," he shouted angrily.
Kit's lungs were aching, his heart was pounding, his legs felt like lead. He had come over a mile and a half at top speed, and now this last burst uphill, he felt, was finishing him. He was not thirty paces behind the car, and yet in spite of his best efforts could get no nearer.
The car was now almost at the top of the rise. He made one final spurt, but it was just too late. Seth jerked her on to second with a horrible grating of gears, and Kit saw that all his efforts had been wasted.
It was at this moment that Sim suddenly sprang to his feet, and, picking up something from the bottom of the tonneau, hurled it at Kit with all his might.
It was a good shot. The missile—it was a dead rabbit—caught the keeper full in the chest.
"Something for your supper, keeper," shouted Sim sarcastically.
It was the last straw. Kit pulled up short and brought his gun to his shoulder.
The car was just in the act of turning the corner into the main road when he fired both barrels. The crash of the double report echoed far across the sleeping countryside, and was immediately followed by a third report almost equally loud. Two charges of No. 5 shot are apt to make a hash of a cover at such close quarters, and the third report was caused by the bursting of the near-side back tyre of the motor.
The car swerved violently and skidded. Seth tried his best to straighten up, but utterly failed.
Next moment she had literally skated across the road, and bumping, indeed almost rearing, over the narrow strip of turf, turned over on her side into the ditch.
FOR a moment Kit stood quite still, horrified at what he had done. Then a chorus of very healthy yells and shrieks reassured him. At any rate, no one was killed. Still, it was more than likely that some of Sim's crew were damaged, and he ran up hastily.
"Anyone hurt?" he asked.
"Hurt, you—!" Sim Lagden's language, as he struggled to his feet, will not bear cold print. "Hurt! I'll soon show you who's going to be hurt!" he yelled, and, mad with rage, made a furious rush at Kit.
Kit was panting with his long run. He realised, with most unpleasant clearness, that he was in no shape for a rough-and-tumble with Sim, who was years older than he, and at least a head taller.
He sprang aside and just avoided the fellow's swinging arms.
"No use trying that game!" he panted. "It will only be the worse for you in the long run."
"Your run won't be very long!" snarled Lagden, and, spinning round, made a vicious kick at Kit's stomach.
If the heavy boot had got home it is probable that Sim's prophecy would have come only too true. But Kit, knowing by previous experience Sim invariably fought foul, made a quick grab at the other's foot and caught it. The result was that Sim measured his length on the hard road, with a thud that knocked all the wind and all the fight out of him.
So far, so good, but Kit had not much leisure to congratulate himself on his success. Two others of the gang had by this time extricated, themselves from the wreck, and, breathing threats and slaughter, were coming at him.
Against such odds Kit did the only thing possible. Seizing his gun by the barrels he swung it around his head.
"Keep off!" he shouted. "Keep off, or it will be the worse for you."
The precious pair, one of whom was Seth Atherton, a tall, sandy-haired man with a vicious dissipated face, saw he meant business, and pulled up. Seth turned and whispered something swiftly to the other. Then the two swung apart.
Kit realised that they meant to attack him from opposite sides. He retreated rapidly so as to get his back to the hedge, but before he could do so Seth stooped, swiftly and picked, up a large stone.
He made a motion to throw it, Kit ducked to escape it, and as he did so a stone thrown by the second man caught him on the head and bowled him over.
"Got him!" cried Seth in triumph. "Now, you dirty brat, we'll teach you what it means to interfere with chaps like us."
He ran at Kit and dealt him a heavy kick in the side, and was just about to repeat the dose when there came a totally unexpected interruption.
Round the corner, out of the lane, tore a small boy, who, without uttering a single word, made a flying leap on to Seth Atherton's back.
Seth, being on one leg at the moment, was totally unable to withstand the sudden shock. He swayed forward, with arms outspread, tripped over Kit's prostrate body, and fell face downwards into the road.
Billy Godwin did not give him a chance to rise. Seizing him deftly by the back of his neck with both hands, he thumped his head on the hard road with all the force at his command. A sort of gasping croak came from Seth's throat, and he lay unpleasantly still.
Seth's companion, staggered at the sudden onslaught, had at first retreated. Now, seeing that the new arrival was only a boy, he regained his courage sufficiently to come back and tackle Billy. His threats, as he came, were lurid.
Billy, quite undisturbed by these very hard words, sprang to his feet and quickly picked up Kit's gun. As the fellow came at him, instead of swinging the gun, he made a quick jab forward, bayonet fashion. This manoeuvre took his assailant completely by surprise, and so did the gun barrels, which met his body with painful force on a level with the third button of his waistcoat.
He staggered back, and before he could attack again, Billy, advancing briskly, swung the gun underhanded. This time the poacher got the butt—got it just under the chin, and with such force as seemed to loosen every tooth in his head. He reeled over backwards, and subsequent proceedings interested him no more.
The poacher got the butt—got it just under the chin
Billy chuckled grimly, and turned to Kit. Kit was sitting up looking rather dazed, and holding one hand to his head, which was bleeding freely.
"Well done, Billy!" he said admiringly.
"I thought they'd finished you," said Billy, with a gruffness that concealed his real feelings.
"Not quite! That stone only gave me a scrape. Seth's boot did more damage."
"The brute!" said Billy viciously. "I'll bet his head's worse than yours, anyway."
"Where did you learn bayonet exercise, Billy?" asked Kit, as he picked himself up.
"Poulton showed me," replied Billy shortly. "He's an old soldier. But what about these chaps?" he added, looking round at the three on the ground. The fourth seemed to have quietly disappeared.
"Tie 'em up, and fetch Wicks, the constable," said Kit, pulling a length of cord from his pocket.
Billy nodded.
"That's the ticket. Give me some string. I want to try tying their thumbs behind their backs. It's another dodge Poulton showed me. You stay still," he added, "and get your wind back."
Kit was only too glad to do so. His side was hurting abominably, and Billy finished the job to his satisfaction. When it was done he and Kit started for home. It was about all that Kit could do to get there, and it was Billy who went on for the policeman. Before morning Sim and his two companions were under lock and key, and the fourth was caught next day.
Kit and Billy were, of course, the chief witnesses, and the bench said nice things of them both. Moreover, the squire handed over to them the nets and also a quarter of the money received from the sale of the poached rabbits.
In all they were more than four pounds in pocket.
"But that isn't the best of it," said Kit with a smile to Billy. "Sim Lagden is in prison for six weeks, and I'm going to have two nights in bed."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.