“Never mind. Remember my crest and motto—doubled fist for determination, and ‘Never despair.’”
“Who’s going to despair over a big tooth?” cried Dyke, holding on to the pincers with both hands, giving a good wrench, and tearing out the tusk. “That’s got him. Phew! it was a job. I say, they’ll look well as curiosities.”
“Yes, they’re a fine set,” said Emson, taking out his little double glass, and beginning slowly to sweep the plain.
“See anything?” asked Dyke, as he rose to his feet, and put the hammer, chisel, and pincers in a leather case buckled behind his saddle, and washed his hands, drily, in sand.
“Not yet.”
“Oh, do see something! We must get a buck of some kind to take home with us.”
“Yes, we ought to get something, or Jack will forsake us because we are starving him; and take away his wife. You’ll have to cook then, little un.”
“Won’t matter, if there’s nothing to cook,” said Dyke sharply. “But, I say, Joe, you do think we are getting on better with the birds? Only two chicks have died since we took home those eggs.”
“Only two,” said Emson, rather bitterly. “That’s one a week. Easily calculate how long we shall be in getting to the end of our stock.”
“I say, what about your motto? Who’s looking on the black side?”