“Track. Follow spoor,” said Chicory proudly.
“Oh, ye followed his spoor, did ye?” said Dinny. “Very well thin, it’s going to be a bright moonlight night, so ye can follow his spoor, and tak’ me wid ye.”
Chicory nodded eagerly, and in the course of the evening he came and beckoned to Dinny, who took the Snider, and put the cartridges in his pocket.
“Where are you going, Dinny?” said his master.
“Shure, jist for a bit o’ pleasure, sor,” he replied.
“Well, look out for the lions,” said Dick maliciously.
“Shure I niver thought o’ the lines,” muttered Dinny, “and they goo out a-walking av a night. I’d better shtay at home. Bother!” he cried angrily. “Shure the young masther did it to frecken me, and it’ll take a braver boy than him to do it anyhow.”
So Dinny marched off, and following Chicory, the boy led him at once over a rugged mountainous hill, and then into a part of the forest that was particularly dark, save where the moon, pretty well at its full, threw long paths of light between the trees.
Enjoining silence, the boy went cautiously forward, threading his way through the dark forest, till he halted beside a fallen monarch of the woods, a huge tree of such enormous proportions, that its gnarled trunk and branches completely stopped further progress; for it formed a stout barrier breast high, over which a man could fire at anything crossing the moonlit glade beyond.
The shape of the tree was such that a branch like a second trunk ran almost parallel to the main trunk, arching over the head of whoever used the old tree for a breastwork, and forming an additional protection should the occupant of the breastwork be attacked by any large animal.