"They're there," said Horace; "not a yard away. Now who's going to reach in and pull 'em out?"
Macgregor volunteered at once; he crept up to the hole and cautiously thrust in his arm. There was a sound of scrambling inside and a sharp squeal. Mac, with a strained expression on his face, groped about with his hand inside the hole.
When he withdrew his arm, there was blood on his hand, but he held by the neck a little jet-black animal with a bushy tail, as large as a kitten.
"Open the cage—quick!" he cried.
Fred held the door up, and Mac dropped the cub in. For a moment the animal rushed from side to side, and then crouched trembling in a corner.
"Nipped me on the thumb," said Mac, examining his hand. "They've got teeth like needles. But the old one doesn't seem to be there now, and I can easily get the rest."
He fished the second out without being bitten, and caged it safely. But his hold on the third cub could not have been very secure, for the little creature managed by struggling frantically to squirm out of his hand. It turned over in the air, landed on its four feet, and darted swiftly away.
The boys shouted in dismay. Fred flung himself sprawling upon the cub; but it evaded him like lightning, and bolted into the undergrowth. It would have been useless to pursue it.
The boys were greatly chagrined.
"It was my fault," said Peter, in disgust. "But it can't be helped now, and there's another to come out."