“Not if we can help it!” exclaimed Bob, angrily. “That cabin will burn as well as the shooting-box did!”
“But we don't want to do too much of that sort of work,” answered Lester. “We may get the settlement aroused, and that wouldn't suit us. I'd rather steal the birds, wouldn't you?”
Bob replied that he would, but hinted that if they attempted it they might have a bigger job on their hands than they had bargained for. In the first place, there were Don's hounds.
“But we braved them once—that was on the night we borrowed Don's boat to go up and burn his shooting-box—and we are not afraid to do it again,” said Lester. “We didn't alarm them then.”
Bob acknowledged the fact, but said he was afraid they might not be so lucky the next time. And even if they succeeded in breaking into the cabin without arousing the dogs, how were they to carry away a hundred live quails? The only thing they could do would be to put them in bags, and it was probable that half of them would die for want of air before they could get them home. They would be obliged to make two or three trips to the cabin in order to secure them all, and each time they would run the risk of being discovered by the hounds.
While the two friends were talking these matters over, they were walking slowly toward the place where they had left their horses. Having mounted, they started for home again, and the very first person they saw when they rode out of the woods into the road was David Evans, who had just been up to the shop to restore the pointer to his owner.
“There he is!” said Bob, in a low whisper. “He is dressed up in his best, too.”
“Best!” sneered Lester. “Why, I wouldn't be seen at work in the fields in such clothes as those!”
“Nor in any other, I guess. They are the best he can afford,” said Bob, who had some soft spots in his heart, if he was a bad boy, “and I don't believe in making fun of him.”
“You believe in cheating him out of a nice little sum of money though, if you can,” retorted Lester.