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Updated: May 28, 2025
"Because Dave will be so savage. Next time we go over to his place he'll send us back, and then there'll be no more fun at the duck 'coy, and no netting and shooting." "Oh, I say, Tom, what a fellow you are! Now is Dave Gittan the man to look sour at anybody who takes him half a pound of powder? Why, he'll smile till his mouth's open and his eyes shut, and take us anywhere."
"We know him now, and we only want to run him down." "Know him, father?" "Yes, boy. It was Dave Gittan." "Nonsense!" Dick burst into a laugh. "Why, father, his place was burned too!" "Yes, boy, to throw us off the scent the scoundrel! but we shall have him now."
"He'll get up the sand-hills, father." "If he knows in time, my boy; but Dave Gittan has no place to flee to." "He has his little boat, father; and Chip would warn him if he has gone to bed. I know what he'd do then." "What, my lad?" "Pole himself along to John Warren and fetch him off, and come on to the Toft."
Mr Marston was laughing over it the other day, and saying that all the romance had gone out of our profession now there was no chance of getting shot." "Weer he, now?" said Hickathrift wonderingly. "Think of a man liking to be shot at!" "Oh, he does not like to be shot at, Hicky! By the way, though, who was it shot Dave Gittan? Come, now, you know."
Dick and Tom went down to the wheelwright's again next day to chat over old times fishing, shooting, the netting at the decoy, and the like; and heard how John Warren had lately died, a venerable old man, who confessed at last how he had helped Dave Gittan in some of the outrages when the drain was made, because he hated it, and said it would ruin honest men.
A strange sense of shock and horror came over Dick as he now seemed to realise, for the first time, that he was one of a party engaged in hunting down Dave Gittan, the man who had always been to him as a friend, the companion of endless excursions over the mere; and his heart sank within him as he glanced round in search of an opportunity to land and get away from the horrible pursuit.
Dave Gittan chipped away at the flint just as the ancient hunters toiled to make the arrow-heads with which they shot the animals which supplied them with food and clothing, the flint-knives with which they skinned and cut up the beasts, and the round sharp-edged scrapers with which they removed the fat and adhering flesh as they dressed and tanned the skins to make them fit to wear.
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