“Arn’t you goin’ hover to ’em?”
“What? Shellal go over there? No, no, my son, not for the best dunkey this side New Brudge. Theer diggin’ again: hear ’em do ee? Bra’ fuss about an auld badger, semmin’ to me.”
Yes, they are digging again. The Earthstopper has taken a pick, and with his shirt-sleeves tucked up, is working away with a will, whilst one of the miners shovels the soil back, and keeps the hole open to enable the dog to breathe. The badger retreats as the sappers advance, and unfortunately the earth extends farther in than the Earthstopper imagined; but that is a trifling matter, as every stroke of the pick is bringing him nearer to the prize. It is only a question of time. The Squire leans against a huge rock, just behind the workers, holding the tongs in one hand, and pulling his moustache with the other. Every sound in the savage fray can now be heard, and at times the excitement is intense. Once the badger charges the dog to the mouth of the hole, and would have shown itself, but that the indomitable Turk pushes home the counter attack, and drives his foe right back to the corner of its earth. For half an hour longer the fight lasts, and at the end of it the dog comes out exhausted. For once the bull terrier has had as much fighting as it cared for but, though its under jaw is scored with wounds, its panting shows that its exhaustion is due rather to the stifling, dust-laden atmosphere in which the unequal struggle has been carried on.
But where is the other terrier? why is not Nell at hand to engage the badger and prevent him from digging his way farther in? Unpardonable over-sight! There can be no excuse. Squire and Earthstopper must have known that “fighting Turk,” as he was called, could not last very long against the badger in that cramped, suffocating hole. “Look sharp and fetch Nell,” says Sir Bevil. “She should have been here”—and would have been, had he but given the word. The keeper has no difficulty in getting Turk to follow him across the mirky cave, but what a time he is, getting the terrier up to the dimly-lighted tunnel from which Shellal and the coachman have already withdrawn. Hurry man! What an age he is, making his way along the level! A child would crawl faster. Every second is of the utmost value. The instant the terrier came out of the earth, the badger, most formidable of all sappers, began to dig his way farther in, gaining at every stroke of his powerful claws on Andrew and the miner. Then the Earthstopper, impelled by a curiosity excusable perhaps, but certainly ill-timed, drops his pick, believing he has hit upon a means of seeing whether the creature before him is really the white badger or not. Taking the shovel from the miner, he sticks a piece of candle on the end of it and pushes it into the earth as far as his arm allows. Then he peers into the hole. Better that he had kept on with the pick instead of wasting his time! Not a glimpse does he get of the creature. The flame burns feebly in the stifling air, and through the dust he can barely discern the heaped-up soil behind which the badger has effectually concealed itself since the terrier came out. He hears the untiring beast working away with the power and regularity of a machine, though he sees not a hair of it; but where are his quick, faultless eyes that he fails to descry that bit of furze root amidst the soil? It would, at least, have warned him that the badger is near the surface. As he withdraws the light he sees to his dismay that a big boulder arches over the hole, a little way in, rendering further digging impracticable. “I’m afeerd we shall lose un after all, sir,” says he turning his face towards Sir Bevil.
“Lose him, lose him, why? why lose him, my man?”
“We’ve got into hard ground, sir, the rocks have closed in like the walls of a drain, nawthin’ but a drill and dynamite can get through this cappin’ stone,” and the sound as he strikes it with the iron of the shovel reaches Sir Bevil’s ears above the pounding of the indefatigable creature within, and makes painful discord to the music of the badger’s claws. “Halloo!” says the astonished Earthstopper as he withdraws the shovel; for at this instant a current of fresh air fans his heated face, the noise from the earth almost immediately ceases, and he realises—what he had known happen but once before—that the badger has dug his way through to the open. “He’s broke out, sir,” says he excitedly, as he jumps to his feet. Seizing a candle he hurries with Sir Bevil and the miners across the cave, climbs the wall of it, and crawls along the tunnel into the trench. In a twinkling he reaches the surface and rushes in frantic haste round the rocks, shouting as he runs, “Loose the dogs, loose the dogs.”
On the other side of the Cairn he expects to get a glimpse of the badger hurrying down the rugged hill at its best pace. But when he gets there, no sign of fugitive, white or grey, meets his disappointed gaze. Climbing a rock he looks down on the somewhat sparse brake, his eyes searching the motionless furze and waving bents to detect by tell-tale movements of bush or withered grass the whereabouts of the quarry. If it is stealing away under their shelter, the cover keeps its secret well. From its unresponsive surface the Earthstopper gleans no inkling of its presence, and with surprise, so quickly have the hours sped, sees that the gathering shadows are stealing over the base of the sunlight slope. Suddenly with a wild scream he leaps from the rock into the stunted furze and plunges through it like one possessed. It was only the snapping of a brittle stick he had heard, but it was enough; it betrayed the whereabouts of the heavy beast that had unwisely dwelt near the Cairn until it heard the hue and cry raised by the Earthstopper.
Attracted by Andrew’s scream, Vixen and Nell fly to him, and getting on the line of the badger soon overtake it. “Where’s the badger?” shouts Sir Bevil as he and the others come tearing down the hill. No need is there of other answer than Vixen’s yell to tell him where badger and dogs are keeping up a running fight by that big boulder half-way down the slope. All eyes are riveted on the spot, but till now only the terriers have seen the creature. A somewhat barren patch lies right ahead of where the bushes are being violently shaken. Has the badger slackened its pace that it seems so tantalisingly long in reaching the edge of the furze? . . .
“ ’Tes, ’tes the whi——, the white wan, sure ’nuf, sir, and a beety,” cries the Earthstopper, as the clean-cut head projects beyond the bush.
“What a grand beast! but how are we to secure him?”