"Arrah now, an' wasn't that done nicely?" exclaimed Tim, in great exultation, as he ran up to the animal with his knife.
"Are you going to dress it?"
"Yis; an' do yez gather what sticks an' stuff ye can, an' we'll have him cooked in a jiffy."
Howard set about it, for he understood the wisdom of providing themselves with food in the prosecution of this hunt, which in all probability would employ them for some time to come.
"Now, I will give the signal," said he, when his work was completed. "If he is within hearing he will answer it."
"Yis; do your bist, while I pays my respects to this gintleman, an' do ye do the listenin' while ye are about it, for I'm so taken up with this job that I haven't the time to attend to that aither."
Howard strained his cheeks nearly to bursting, and completely exhausted himself in giving forth those ringing screeches which seem to come natural to all school-boys, and are made by uniting the ends of two fingers, inserting them between the lips, and blowing with all the might.
He listened—listened—listened—and then repeated the signal with a desperate fierceness that left him no strength at all; but all in vain—the echoes died away among the rocks and hills, but no answer came back.
"It's no use," remarked Tim O'Rooney, who despite what he had said was listening as earnestly as his young friend.
"The youngster don't hear us. We've got to make a hunt through this old place, and afore we begins it we'll take something for the stomach's sake."