Terry was agitated, but not so much so as his friend.
"Why, my dear boy, it's not so bad as that," he said feelingly; "do ye not moind that whin the gintlemen go to trappin' and huntin' they turn the horses loose to graze? The spalpeens have coom along and run off with the same."
"Do you think so?" asked Fred, looking up yearningly for the grain of comfort that his companion was able to give.
"I don't think so; I know so; if the gintlemen took the bastes into the cabin and slipt with the same ivery night, as me rilatives do with their pigs in Ireland, why ye might think that they had suffered before the Winnebagos tuk thim away; but they have snaaked up where the animals was grazin', jumped onto their backs and rid off."
This view of the case was so reasonable, that Fred rallied and half smiled at his own faintheartedness. He stood erect and drew a deep breath of satisfaction.
"I believe you are right, but it strikes me that such thieves would have stolen all instead of half the horses."
"They've lift the ither three for their frinds that I make no doubt will be along to take thim, if they haven't done so now."
"You know that the loss of a horse is considered almost as bad as the loss of a man in this part of the world."
"Sometimes he amounts to a good deal more, as me mither—"
Terry paused in his remarks, for just then Fred uttered a warning—"Sh!" to signify that something was in the path in front. The next moment, he ran several paces to the right and sheltered himself behind a tree, Terry being only a few seconds behind him.