“Bah! What of that?” cried the lad breathlessly. “Here, Ram, go back to the castle, and get me a good crossbow and some bolts.”
“Going to shoot ’em, master?” cried Nick excitedly. “Well done, you!”
“If I can hit them,” said the lad. “What have they found there—a lamb?”
“Lamb?” cried Nick. “Hor, hor, hoh! You are a rum one, sir. Lamb, eh? I call un a wolf cub.”
“Wolf cub? Oh!” cried Ralph excitedly; and the disappointment about the lead was forgotten, the crossbow too.
“Come on, sir, this way. Right atop, and you’ll be able to look down on un just above the big birds’ nest. He was after the young birds.”
“Then that accounts for the ravens flying about so.”
“Yes, sir, that’s it. We was getting close to the stone quarry, when Ram, he says: ‘What’s them there birds scrawking about like that there for?’ he says.”
“Summut arter the young uns,” I says: “and we went to where we could look, and there was a young wolf cub, getting slowly down. Let’s fetch the young squire,” I says; “and we come after you, for I thought you’d like to have the killing on him.”
“Yes, of course, Nick; but I have no bow. I can’t reach him with my sword, can I?”