The Vast Abyss

“Give it to me,” growled Pete, “or I’ll half smash yer.”

“You touch me if you dare!” cried Tom fiercely.

“Bravo! ciss! Have it out!” cried Sam, clapping his hands and hissing, with the effect of bringing the dog trotting up, after doing a little hunting on its own account.

“You give me that bit of string back, or I’ll set the dog at yer,” cried Pete.

“I shall give it to Captain Ranson’s keeper,” cried Tom; and Pete took a step forward.

“Fetch him then, boy!” cried Pete, clapping his hands, and a fray seemed imminent, when Tom unclasped the hands he had clenched, rushed away a few yards, and Sam stood staring, ready to cheer Pete on to give his cousin a good hiding as he mentally termed it, for his cousin seemed to him to have shown the white feather and run.

Then he grasped the reason. Tom had not gone many yards, and was dancing and stamping about in the middle of some smoke rising from among the dead furze, and where for a few moments a dull flame rose amidst a faint crackling, as the fire began to get hold.

“Here, Sam! Pete!” he shouted, “come and help.”

But Sam glanced at his bright Oxford shoes and well-cut trousers, and stood fast, while a malignant grin began to spread over Pete Warboys’ face, as the dog cowered shivering behind him, with its thin tail tucked between its legs.

Pete thrust both hands down into his pockets, but did not stir to help, and Tom, after stamping out the fire in one place, had to dash to another; this being repeated again and again in the exciting moments. Then he mastered it, and a faint smoke and some blackened furze was all that was left of what, if left to itself, would have been a great common fire.

“All out?” said Sam, as his cousin came up hot and panting. “Why, what a fuss about nothing.”

“Fuss!” cried Tom excitedly; “why, if it had been left five minutes the fir-wood must have caught.”

“Bah! green wood won’t burn.”

“Oh, won’t it?” cried Pete. “It just will. Here, you give me my bit o’ string, or I shall go and say I see yer set the furze alight o’ purpose.”

“Go and say so then,” cried Tom. “No one will believe you. Come along, Sam.”

Tom gave one more look at the blackened furze, and then turned to his cousin.

“Look here,” he said; “you bear witness that this fire is quite out.”

“Oh, yes; it’s out,” said Sam.

“And that Pete Warboys showed us a box of matches.”

“Yes, but what of that?”

“Why this,” said Tom; “if the fire breaks out again, it will be because this fellow has set it alight.”

Pete’s features contracted, and without another word he slouched away into the wood and disappeared, followed by his dog.

“I say, you hit him there, Tom,” said Sam, with a laugh. “Think he would have done it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, a bit of a bonfire wouldn’t have done much harm.”

“What!” cried Tom, looking at his cousin aghast. “Why, hundreds of acres of fir-trees might have been burnt. Uncle said there was a small patch burned one year, and there is so much turpentine in the trees, that they roared away like a furnace, and if they had not stood alone, the mischief would have been terrible.”

“Then you think that chap had set the furze alight before we came.”

“No, I don’t,” cried Tom sharply, “for I saw you throw a burning wax-match amongst them, only I was so stupid I never thought of going to tread upon it.”

“Yes, you always were precious chuckle-headed,” cried Sam, with a laugh. “But I don’t believe it was my match. If it had gone on burning, and there had been a row, I should have laid the blame on him.”

Tom gave him a quick look and said nothing, but thought a good deal.

Sam noticed the look, and naturally divined his cousin’s thoughts.

“Oh,” he said, “if you want to get on in the world, it’s of no use to give yourself away. I say, who is that joskin?”

“Pete Warboys, half gipsy sort of fellow. I’ve seen him poaching. Look here, this is a wire to catch hares or rabbits with.”

Tom took out the wire noose, and held it out to his cousin.

“How do you know? that wouldn’t catch a hare.”

“It would. The gardener showed me once with a bit of string. Look here; they drive a peg into the ground if there isn’t a furze stump handy, tie the string to it, and open the wire, so as to make a ring, and set it in a hare’s run.”

“What do you mean – its hole in the ground?”

“Hares don’t make holes in ground, but run through the same openings in hedges or amongst the furze and heath. You can see where they have beaten the grass and stuff down. Then the poachers put the wire ring upright, the hares run through, and drag the noose tight, and the more they struggle, the faster they are.”

“Oh, that’s it, is it? I never lived in the country. Here, catch hold. No, Stop; let’s set it, and try and catch one.”

Tom stared.

“I say,” he cried; “why I read all about that in The Justice of the Peace, – don’t you know that it’s punishable?”

“Of course for the joskins, but they wouldn’t say anything to a gentleman who did it for experiment.”

Tom laughed.

“I shouldn’t like a keeper to catch me doing it.”

“I said a gentleman,” said Sam coolly. “So that’s a young poacher, is it?”

“Yes, and I thought it was a pity for you to give him money.”

“Oh, I always like to behave well to the lower orders and servants when I’m out on a visit,” said Sam. “Here, let’s get back.”

“Back! why, I thought we were going for a long walk,” cried Tom.

“Well, we’ve had one. Suppose we went further, you cannot get a cab home, I suppose?”

“No,” said Tom quietly, and with a faint smile. “You couldn’t get any cabs here.”