"The young brat!" snarled Uric. "Wait till I get down! I won’t do a thing to him—not a thing! Oh, I’ll make him sick! If I can get my hands on his old gun I’ll shoot his dog, too!"
Then the dog growled fiercely, as if understanding Uric’s words.
"You mongrel!" grated Scudder. "If I can——"
He twisted about in another attempt to get hold of the limb, but again his efforts caused his trousers to give a little, with an ominous sound, and he quickly desisted from the trial.
"The boy’ll bring a ladder pretty quick," he said. "I can’t stand it hanging here much longer! My head is beginning to feel dreadfully bad."
The dog sat down beneath the tree, licking its jaws and turning its eyes upward toward the dangling figure.
It was a long and tedious wait for the return of the boy, but at last Uric heard him coming through the bushes.
"Hurry up!" cried Scudder.
"Be there in a minute," was the answer.
"Did you bring the ladder?"