He took his pipe out of his mouth, rammed it down fiercely with his thumb, and put it in his pocket.
"Look out!" exclaimed Patton with a start.
A whistle!--clear and distinct--from the opposite side of the hollow.
Then a man's figure, black and motionless an instant on the whitened down, with a black speck beside it; lastly, another figure higher up along the hill, in quick motion towards the first, with other specks behind it.

The poachers instantly understood that it was Westall--whose particular beat lay in this part of the estate--signalling to his night watcher, Charlie Dynes, and that the two men would be on them in no time.

It was the work of a few seconds to efface as far as possible the traces of their raid, to drag some thick and trailing brambles which hung near over the mouth of the hole where there had been digging, to catch up the ferrets and game, and to bid Hurd's lurcher to come to heel.

The two men crawled up the ditch with their burdens as far away to leeward as they could get from the track by which the keepers would cross the field.

The ditch was deeply overgrown, and when the approaching voices warned them to lie close, they crouched under a dense thicket of brambles and overhanging bushes, afraid of nothing but the noses of the keepers' dogs.
Dogs and men, however, passed unsuspecting.
"Hold still!" said Hurd, checking Patton's first attempt to move.