Neil had a lot on his mind. He was worried about the strange noises and smells in the woods at night. He was worried about what was killing badgers and pheasants. He was worried about poachers and those who might be after the red kites. He was uneasy about Joe Linsey and his gun. If only Jeff was back at work. He’d know what to do. Neil needed some advice. He decided to go round to see Jeff.
A cold wind swept across the fields. It was already dark when Neil left work, with a pale moon peeping above the trees. He knew Jeff would say rain was coming. It was another of his sayings:
‘Pale moon does rain, red moon does blow,
White moon does neither rain nor snow.’
Sure enough, it was the moon that Jeff first spoke about.
‘On Friday you’ll be able to work all night, my lad. It’s Hunter’s Moon. The brightest moon of the year. She’ll be a beauty, too. We’re in for a frosty spell after a drop of rain, and a nasty old wind tonight.’
Jeff was pale and still in pain. Even so, he wanted to know all about the jobs Neil had been doing.
‘I hope you’re ready for the big shoot at the weekend. We’ve got to give them good sport this season. This is our last chance.’
Jeff had a lot of money worries lately. He’d had to sell a lot of his sheep. His face showed the strain as he spoke softly, with a slight tremble in his voice.
‘You’ll take care, won’t you, Neil?
“Beware the nights of Hunter’s Moon,
When all beasts dance to another tune.”
‘That’s an old saying round here. But this year it’s Hallowe’en as well. Take care.’
Neil had never heard Jeff speak like this before. There was a different look in his eyes. Neil felt sorry for him as he lay there looking weak and in pain. Maybe he shouldn’t worry Jeff about anything else. He clearly had enough on his mind. But it was Jeff who first spoke about the panther.
‘Have you seen any sign of this big cat on the loose? It’s all the gossip again. I wish I was back on my feet to sort things out. But I tell you; you need to be on the alert, Neil. My bit of wood has rich pickings. Kites, badgers, our pheasants. A good poacher could strip the lot and be a few grand the richer. But that’s not all …’
Before Jeff could finish, the room burst with a deafening crash – as a brick smashed through the window. Glass fell like rain around them. The log fire roared as an icy blast ripped at the curtains.
Neil rushed to pick up the brick. It was wrapped in paper with three words on it in large letters.
There were more letters on the back.
And they were scrawled in what looked like blood.