"
As she said it she caught sight of someone, a man in leggings and shabby
clothes and with a gun over his shoulder, evidently an under keeper. He
was a big, rather rough-looking fellow, but as he lurched out into
the open from a wood Betty saw that she could reach him if she passed
through a narrow gate a few yards away and walked quickly.
He was slouching along, his head drooping and his broad shoulders
expressing the definite antipodes of good spirits. Betty studied his
back as she strode after him, her conclusion being that he was perhaps
not a good-humoured man to approach at any time, and that this was by
ill luck one of his less fortunate hours.
"Wait a moment, if you please," her clear, mellow voice flung out after
him when she was within hearing distance. "I want to speak to you,
keeper."
He turned with an air of far from pleased surprise. The afternoon
sun was in his eyes and made him scowl. For a moment he did not see
distinctly who was approaching him, but he had at once recognised a
certain cool tone of command in the voice whose suddenness had roused
him from a black mood. A few steps brought them to close quarters, and
when he found himself looking into the eyes of his pursuer he made
a movement as if to lift his cap, then checking himself, touched it,
keeper fashion.
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