Roald Dahl - Man from the South

'How long does a sleeping pill take to work?' Claud asked.

'Look out!' I said. 'There's someone coming.'

The man had appeared silently and suddenly out of the half-darkness, and he was only thirty metres away when I saw him.

'Another keeper,' Claud said.

We both looked at the keeper as he came down the road towards us. He had a gun under his arm, and there was a black dog walking at his feet. He stopped when he was a few steps away, and the dog stopped with him and stayed behind him, watching us through the keeper's legs.

'Good evening,' Claud said in a nice friendly way.

This one was a tall man of about forty with quick eyes and hard, dangerous hands.

'I know you,' he said softly, coming closer. 'I know both of you.'

Claud did not answer this.

'You're from the petrol station, right?' His lips were thin and dry. 'You're Cubbage and Hawes and you're from the petrol station on the main road. Right? Get out.'

Claud sat on the bank, smoking his cigarette and looking at the keeper's feet.

'Go on,' the man said. 'Get out.'

'This is a public road,' Claud said. 'Please go away.'

The keeper moved the gun from his left arm to his right. 'You're waiting,' he said, 'to commit a criminal act. I could have you arrested for that.'

'No, you couldn't,' Claud said.

All this made me rather nervous.

'I've been watching you for some time,' the keeper said, looking at Claud.

'It's getting late,' I said. 'Shall we go on?'

Claud threw away his cigarette and got slowly to his feet. 'All right,' he said. Let's go.'

We wandered off down the road, the way we had come, leaving him standing there, and soon the man was out of sight in the half-darkness behind us.

'That's the head keeper,' said Claud. 'His name is Rabbetts.'

'Let's get out of here,' I said.

'Come in here,' Claud said.

There was a gate on our left leading into a field, and we climbed over it and sat down behind the bushes.

'Mr Rabbetts is also due for his supper,' Claud said. 'You mustn't worry about him.'

We sat quietly behind the bushes, waiting for the keeper to walk past us on his way home.

'Here he is,' Claud whispered. 'Don't move.'

The keeper came softly along the road with the dog walking beside him, and we watched them through the bushes as they went by.

'He won't be coming back tonight,' Claud said.

'How do you know that?'

'A keeper never waits for you in a wood if he knows where you live. He goes to your house, hides and watches for you to come back.'

'That's worse.'

'No, it isn't. Not if you put what you've poached somewhere else before you go home. He can't do anything then.'

'What about the other one - the one in the feeding grounds?'

'He's gone, too.'

'You can't be sure of that.'

'I've been watching these men for months, Gordon. Honestly, I know all their habits. There's no danger.'

A few minutes later, I followed Claud back into the wood. It was dark in there now, and very silent, and we moved cautiously forward.

'Here's where we threw the raisins,' Claud said.

I looked through the bushes. The area was illuminated by the moonlight.

'You're quite sure the keeper's gone?'

'I know he's gone.'

I could just see Claud's face under his cap, the pale lips, and the large eyes with excitement dancing in each of them.

'Are they asleep?' I asked.

'Yes. In the branches.'

'Where?'

'All around. They don't go far.'

'What do we do next?'

'We stay here and wait. I brought you a light,' he added, and he handed me one of those small pocket torches shaped like a pen. 'You may need it.'

We stood there for a long time, waiting for something to happen.

'I've just had a thought,' I said. 'If a bird can keep its balance on a branch when it's asleep, then surely there's no reason why the pills should make it fall down.'

Claud looked at me quickly.

'It's not dead,' I said. 'It's still only sleeping.'

'It's drugged,' Claud said.

'But that's just a deeper sort of sleep.'

There was a silence.

'We should have tried it first with chickens,' Claud said. 'My father would have done that.'

'Your father was clever,' I said.

At that moment there came a soft thump from the woods.

'Hey!' I said.

'Sh-h-h!'

We stood listening.

Thump! 'There's another!'

It was a heavy sound, as if a small bag of sand had been dropped from about shoulder height.

Thump! 'They're pheasants!' I cried.

'Wait!'

'I'm sure they're pheasants.'

Thump! Thump!

'You're right!'

We ran back into the wood.

'Where were they?' I asked.

'Over here! Two of them were over here!'

'I thought they were this way.'

'Keep looking!' Claud shouted. 'They can't be far.'

We searched for about another minute.

'Here's one!' he called out.

When I got to him, he was holding a wonderful bird in both hands. We looked at it closely with our torches.

'It's unconscious,' Claud said. 'It's still alive. I can feel its heart.'

Thump! 'There's another,' he cried.

Thump! Thump! 'Two more!'

Thump!

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

Thump! Thump!

All around us, pheasants were starting to rain down out of the trees. We began to rush around madly in the dark, sweeping the ground with our lights.

Thump! Thump! Thump! This lot fell almost on top of me. I was right under the tree as they came down, and I found all three of them immediately. They were warm, the feathers wonderfully soft in my hands.

'Where shall I put them?' I called out. I was holding them by the legs.

'Lay them here, Gordon! Just pile them there where it's light.'

Claud was standing with the moonlight streaming down all over him and a great bunch of pheasants in each hand. His face was bright, his eyes big and bright and wonderful, and he was staring like a child who has just discovered that the whole world is made of chocolate.

Thump!

Thump! Thump!

'I don't like it,' I said. 'It's too many.'

'It's beautiful!' he cried, and he threw down the birds he was carrying and ran off to look for more.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

Thump!

It was easy to find them now. There were one or two lying under every tree. I quickly collected six more, three in each hand, and ran back and threw them with the others. Then six more. Then six more after that. And still they kept falling.

Claud was madly happy. He was rushing about under the trees. I could see the beam of his light waving around in the dark, and each time he found a bird, he gave a little cry of pleasure.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

'Mr Victor Hazel ought to hear this!'

'Don't shout,' I said. 'There might be keepers.'

For three or four minutes, the pheasants kept on falling. Then suddenly they stopped.

'Keep searching!' Claud shouted. 'There are a lot more on the ground.'

'Don't you think we ought to stop?'

'No,' he said.

We went on searching. We looked under every tree within a hundred metres of the feeding grounds - north, south, east and west - and I think we found most of them. At the collecting point there was a very big pile of pheasants.

'It's wonderful,' Claud said. 'It's wonderful.' He was staring at them in a kind of dream.

'We'd better just take half a dozen each and get out quickly,' I said.

'I would like to count them, Gordon.'

'There's no time for that.'

'I must count them.'

'No,' I said. 'Come on.'

'One, two, three, four ...' He began counting them very carefully, picking up each bird and laying it down gently to one side. The moon was directly above now and everything was illuminated.

'I'm not standing around here like this,' I said. I walked back a few steps and hid myself in the shadows, waiting for him to finish.