“Well, we had our rifles loaded,” said Biff pointedly.
This silenced Chet, as he did not care to start any discussion concerning his failure to load the rifle when he started out on a fox-hunt.
The boys started back toward the village, carrying the dead bodies of the four-legged chicken thieves with them. When Amos Grice saw them enter the store he was almost speechless with amazement.
“Back already?” he exclaimed. “What did you do to that dog of mine? He come back here howlin’ his head off and he went and hid under the woodshed and I ain’t been able to get him out.”
“He found the foxes,” explained Frank gravely.
“One of them nipped his nose,” added Joe.
“And why are you lads back so soon? Can’t catch foxes by just goin’ out for half an hour or so,” declared Amos, wagging his head. “It’s an all-day job, often.”
“Come on outside,” invited Chet proudly, as though he had been personally responsible for the success of the hunt.
Amos Grice went outside and when he saw the two foxes lying in the snow, he rubbed his spectacles, as though he thought his eyes were playing him false.
“I wouldn’t have believed it!” he said, at last. “I wouldn’t have believed it! And yet I can see ’em lyin’ there, with my own eyes. If this don’t beat the Dutch!”