Roald Dahl - Man from the South

Claud was staring at me.

'And they'd never catch us either. We'd simply walk through the woods, dropping a few raisins here and there as we went, and even if the keepers were watching us, they wouldn't notice anything.'

'Gordon,' he said, 'if this thing works, it will revolutionize poaching.'

'I'm glad to hear it.'

'How many pills have you got left?' he asked.

'Forty-nine. There were fifty in the bottle, and I've only used one.'

'Forty-nine's not enough. We want at least two hundred.'

'Are you mad?' I cried.

He walked slowly away and stood by the door with his back to me, looking at the sky. 'Two hundred at least,' he said quietly. 'It's not worth doing it unless we have two hundred.'

What is it now, I wondered. What's he trying to do?

'This is almost the last chance we have before the season starts,' he said.

'I couldn't possibly get any more.'

'You wouldn't want us to come back empty-handed, would you?'

'But why so many?'

Claud looked at me. 'Why not?' he said gently. 'Do you have any objections?'

My God, I thought suddenly. He wants to wreck Mr Victor Hazel's opening-day shooting-party.

Mr Hazel's party took place on the first of October every year and it was a very famous event. Gentlemen, some with noble titles and some who were just very rich, came long distances, with their dogs and their wives, and all day long the noise of the shooting rolled across the valley. There were always enough pheasants for everyone; each summer the woods were filled with dozens and dozens of young birds at great expense, but to Mr Victor Hazel it was worth every penny of it. He became, if only for a few hours, a big man in a little world.

'You get us two hundred of those pills,' Claud said, 'and then it'll be worth doing.'

'I can't,' I said. 'Why couldn't we divide one pill among four raisins?'

'But would a quarter of a pill be strong enough for each bird?'

'Work it out for yourself. It's all done by body weight. You'd be giving it about twenty times more than is necessary.'

'Then we'll quarter the amount,' he said, rubbing his hands together. He paused and then thought for a moment. 'We'll have one hundred and ninety-six raisins!'

'Do you realize what that means?' I said. 'They'll take hours to prepare.'

'It doesn't matter!' he cried. 'We'll go tomorrow instead. We'll put the raisins in water overnight and then we'll have all morning and afternoon to get them ready.'

And that was exactly what we did.

Now, twenty-four hours later, we were on our way. We had been walking steadily for about forty minutes, and we were nearing the point where the path curved round to the right and ran along the top of the hill towards the big woods where the pheasants lived. We were about two kilometres away.

'I don't suppose these keepers might be carrying guns?' I asked.

'All keepers carry guns,' Claud said.

I had been afraid of that.

'It's mostly for the foxes,' he added.

'Ah.'

'Of course, they sometimes shoot at a poacher.'

'You're joking.'

'They only do it from behind - when you're running away. They like to shoot you in the legs at about fifty metres.'

'They can't do that!' I cried. 'It's a criminal offence!'

'So is poaching,' Claud said.

We walked on for a while in silence. The sun was low on our right now, and the road was in shadow.

We had reached the top of the hill and now we could see the woods ahead of us, large and dark, with the sun going down behind the trees.

'You'd better let me have those raisins,' Claud said.

I gave him the bag, and he put it gently into his trouser pocket.

'No talking when we're inside,' he said. 'Just follow me and try not to break any branches.'

Five minutes later we were there. The path ran right up to the wood itself and then went round the edge of it for about three hundred metres, with only a few bushes in between. Claud slipped through the bushes on his hands and knees and I followed.

It was cool and dark inside the wood. No sunlight came in at all.

'This is frightening,' I said.

'Sh-h-h!'

Claud was very nervous. He was walking just ahead of me. He kept his head moving all the time and his eyes were looking from side to side, searching for danger. I tried doing the same, but I soon began to imagine a keeper behind every tree, so I gave it up.

Then a patch of sky appeared ahead of us in the roof of the forest, and I knew this must be the feeding grounds.

We were now advancing quickly, running from tree to tree and stopping and waiting and listening and running on again, and then at last we knelt safely behind a big tree, right on the edge of the feeding grounds, and Claud smiled and pointed through the branches at the pheasants.

The place was absolutely full of birds. There must have been two hundred of them at least.

'Do you see what I mean?' Claud whispered.

It was an amazing sight - a poacher's dream. And how close they were! Some of them were not more than ten steps from where we were kneeling. They were brown and so fat that their feathers almost brushed the ground as they walked. I glanced at Claud. His big cow-like face showed his pleasure. The mouth was slightly open, and there was a kind of dream-like look in his eyes as he stared at the pheasants.

There was a long pause. The birds made a strange noise as they moved about among the dead leaves.

'Ah-ha,' Claud said softly a minute later. 'Do you see the keeper?'

'Where?'

'Over on the other side, standing by that big tree. Look carefully.'

'Good heavens!'

'It's all right. He can't see us.'

We knelt close to the ground, watching the keeper. He was a small man with a cap on his head and a gun under his arm. He never moved. He was like a little post standing there.

'Let's go,' I whispered.

The keeper's face was shadowed by his cap, but it seemed to me that he was looking directly at us.

'I'm not staying here,' I said.

'Sh-h-h!' Claud said.

Slowly, never taking his eyes off the keeper, he reached into his pocket and brought out a single raisin. He placed it in his right hand and then quickly threw it high into the air. I watched it as it went over the bushes, and I saw it land within a metre of two birds standing together beside an old tree. Both birds turned their heads at the drop of the raisin. Then one of them jumped over and ate it quickly.

I glanced up at the keeper. He hadn't moved.

Claud threw a second raisin; then a third, and a fourth and a fifth. At this point I saw the keeper turn his head away to look at the woods behind him. Quickly, Claud pulled the paper bag out of his pocket. With a great movement of the arm he threw the whole handful high over the bushes. They fell softly like raindrops on dry leaves. Every pheasant in the place must have heard them fall. There was a noise of wings and a rush to find the raisins. The birds were eating all of them madly.

'Follow me,' Claud whispered. 'And keep down.' He started moving away quickly on his hands and knees, under cover of the bushes.

I went after him, and we went along like this for about a hundred metres.

'Now run!' Claud said.

We got to our feet and ran, and a few minutes later we came out through the bushes into the open safety of the path.

'It went wonderfully,' Claud said, breathing heavily. 'Didn't it go absolutely wonderfully?' His big face was red. 'In another five minutes, it'll be completely dark inside the woods, and that keeper will be going off home to his supper.'

'I think I'll go, too,' I said.

'You're a great poacher,' Claud said. He sat down on the grass bank and lit a cigarette.

The sun had set now and the sky was a pale blue, faintly coloured with yellow. In the wood behind us, the shadows and the spaces between the trees were turning from grey to black.