Honor in the Dust by Gilbert Morris

Mead Oakes. Oakes was thirteen, three years older than Stuart. He had persuaded Stuart to come with him to snare rabbits. Stuart had snared rabbits before, of course, but never on Rolf Hyde’s land, where it was clearly forbidden. He had refused at first to come with Mead, but the older boy had convinced him that there would be no danger.
    â€œOld man Hyde won’t be there, and we’re heading toward his fallow land, anyhow. Nobody will see us.”
    Against his better judgment and without telling his mother, Stuart decided it was worth the risk. The two had left early in the morning, and they had snared three fat rabbits with little trouble. Now, however, with the sun coming up, Mead said, “I guess we’d best leave. You take one rabbit and I’ll take two, since I’m the oldest.”
    â€œAll right, Mead, but what about that other snare?”
    â€œLet it go, Stuart. It’s too dangerous.”
    â€œI thought you said Mr. Hyde was gone.”
    â€œHe’s got gamekeepers, though, ain’t he? Anybody caught poaching will get the whip or be put in the stocks. Rememberwhat it was like when they put Fred Jimmerson in the stocks? He had his head sticking out, and everybody pelted him with dead rats. Somebody threw a rock and knocked his eye out. No, it ain’t worth it.”
    â€œYou go on. I’ll check and see if I got another rabbit.”
    â€œBetter not.” Mead shook his head doubtfully, then turned and made his way out of the field.
    Stuart knew exactly where the snare was, and he wriggled through the tall grass until he found it. His heart gave a lurch when he saw that there was a rabbit in the trap. He broke the neck with one expert blow of the heavy stick he carried, shoved the rabbit into his sack, and felt a sense of victory and satisfaction. He played games with himself sometimes, and now he was pretending that he was a noble knight who had overcome some fierce mythical beast. Perhaps his mind was too much on that imaginary scene, for he was not aware of the man who stood before him until he was less than five feet away.
    â€œPoacher, eh?” The speaker was a tall, heavyset man with cruel eyes and a twist to his mouth. “I know what to do with poachers. What’s your name, boy?”
    â€œStuart Winslow.”
    â€œCome along. I’ll go tell your people you’ll face a poacher charge. You know what poachers get, don’t you?”
    Stuart could not even answer, he was so terrified. The man took him by the arm and dragged him along.

    Grace watched Rolf Hyde’s eyes. They were a murky brown, and she read in them the lust that she had often seen in the eyes of men. She had heard that Hyde took advantage of his young female servants and also some of the older women at his country manor. He was a wealthy man, and now there was triumph in his look.
    â€œSo I caught him red-handed, and here’s the evidence,” hesaid, lifting the two dead hares. “I’m going to take him to the sheriff.”
    â€œPlease, Mr. Hyde, don’t do that. He’s only ten.”
    â€œThat matters little. Poaching is poaching.”
    Grace forced herself to plead. She saw that Hyde was moving closer to her. Still holding Stuart with his left hand, he reached out with his right to trace her chin and said, “Of course, maybe I could forget some of the boy’s lawbreaking—if you’d show a man some kindness.”
    Disgust swept through Grace. “There’s nothing for you here, Mr. Hyde,” she said in a determined voice.
    Hyde’s face flushed. “Then I’ll take the boy down to the sheriff.”
    Grace watched them go, helpless. “If only Claiborn were here!” But he was not. Once again he had gone to serve with a small army that was engaged in one of the innumerable wars that the Irish seemed to carry on at all times. He’d promised to return to them here, at her aunt’s farm … a