“I tell you what let’s do,” cried Dick at last; “I’m not going to run myself off my legs to please him. I’ve got it!”
“I wish you’d got the donkey,” grumbled Tom. “I don’t see any fun in hunting him and nearly getting kicked over the wall.”
“Well, don’t be in a hurry,” said Dick; “I know how to manage him. Here, catch hold of this harness. I know.”
“You know!” grumbled Tom, whose side was sore from the donkey’s kick upon the collar. “What are you going to do?”
“You shall see,” cried Dick, busying himself with the wagon rope he had brought, and making a loop at one end, and then putting the other through it, so as to produce an easily running noose.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Tom.
“Hold your noise,” whispered Dick; “he’s such an artful old wretch I don’t know that he wouldn’t understand us. I’m going to make you drive him round by me, and then I’m going to throw this over his head and catch him.”
“I don’t believe you can,” cried Tom.
“Well, you’ll see. There, that’ll do. I’m ready; take the stick and make a rush at him. That will drive him round near me, and then we’ll try.”
Tom laid down the harness, took the stick and made the rush at Solomon. The latter kicked out his heels and cantered round by Dick, who threw his noose, but failed to lasso the donkey, who took refuge in another corner.