“Here’s blood,” said Charlie, who had gone to the gap in the fence; “here’s blood all over this log, where he bled getting over.”
“Look here,” said John, holding up the gun; “only look at the stock.”
“That’s where he bit it,” said Joe; “he was mad, and so he bit the thing that hurt him.”
“I don’t blame him,” said Charlie, “if he got all that buck shot and those balls in him.”
“I guess he’s hurt bad; he’s got some of ’em in him.”
“Let’s go right after him this minute: we’ll have him.”
“Not so fast, my boy; we’ll have some breakfast first; we may have to follow him miles.”
Breakfast was soon despatched. Joe loaded up the big gun, gave John his own rifle, and Charlie an old Queen’s arm that belonged to Henry.
“There’s been two of ’em in the corn, I know as well as I want to,” said Joe. They were able to track him by the blood and a peculiar mark like a scratch on the leaves, and wherever the ground was soft.
“He must have one leg broke or hurt,” said Joe: “see there! every little while he drags it.”