"Don't touch me! Don't! don't!"
"Oh, tell me what is the matter!" Jack implored.
"I don't know! My left hand's caught in something! Oh, what shall I do? It's like something biting me! Don't touch it! If I move it's worse!"
"Let me see what it is!"
"You can't! Yes, take the matches from my pocket, and strike a light! Oh, Jack, quickly, quickly!"
Jack obeyed as fast as his trembling fingers allow him. After several vain attempts he succeeded in lighting a wax match, the sight which met his eyes turned him sick with horror. Theodore was leaning against the hedge with his left hand caught between the iron teeth of a fox-gin. The boys saw it was hopeless their trying to open the trap, for the least movement gave Theodore agonising pain. The iron chain attached to the gin was firmly secured to a stake, and no efforts on their part could unfasten it. Poor Theodore's hand was bleeding, and the pain he was suffering was turning him faint and dizzy.
"Oh, Jack!" he moaned, "what shall I do? Do you think I shall die?"
"No, no, Theo. Is it hurting you dreadfully?"
"Oh, yes!" Theodore assented with a bitter wail, which went to Jack's heart. "Oh, I wish father was here! Oh, Jack, can't you ask God to send some one to help us? And I'll ask Him too!"
Jack put his arms around his brother, whilst together in their despair they called upon their Father in heaven. Theodore's voice was growing weaker and weaker, but the feeling of faintness was deadening all sensation of pain. He lay against the hedge motionless when Jack removed his arms from around him, and gave no reply to his stepbrother's frightened request that he would speak to him.