CHAPTER IX: HARRY VERNEY HEARS HIS LAST SHOT FIRED.
The day after the Lavingtons' return, when Lancelot walked up to the Priory with a fluttering heart to inquire after all parties, and see one, he found the squire in a great state of excitement.
A large gang of poachers, who had come down from London by rail, had been devastating all the covers round, to stock the London markets by the first of October, and intended, as Tregarva had discovered, to pay Mr.Lavington's preserves a visit that night.

They didn't care for country justices, not they.

Weren't all their fines paid by highly respectable game-dealers at the West end?
They owned three dog-carts among them; a parcel by railway would bring them down bail to any amount; they tossed their money away at the public- houses, like gentlemen; thanks to the Game Laws, their profits ran high, and when they had swept the country pretty clean of game, why, they would just finish off the season by a stray highway robbery or two, and vanish into Babylon and their native night.
Such was Harry Verney's information as he strutted about the courtyard waiting for the squire's orders.
'But they've put their nose into a furze-bush, Muster Smith, they have.

We've got our posse-commontaturs, fourteen men, sir, as'll play the whole vale to cricket, and whap them; and every one'll fight, for they're half poachers themselves, you see' (and Harry winked and chuckled); 'and they can't abide no interlopers to come down and take the sport out of their mouths.' 'But are you sure they'll come to-night ?' 'That 'ere Paul says so.

Wonder how he found out--some of his underhand, colloguing, Methodist ways, I'll warrant.