“Have you got any bullets or slugs?”
“Yes, lots. Why? Have you a gun?”
“Yes, you just bet! I've got our gun. What did you think I was going to do? Put salt on his tail? I've got it down the lane.”
“All right, you wait there for me.”
“Don't be long,” said Hughie, slipping away.
It was half an hour before Don appeared with the gun and the dogs.
“What in the world kept you? I thought you were never coming,” said Hughie, impatiently.
“I tell you it's no easy thing to get away with mother on hand, but it's all right. Here's your bullets and slugs. I've brought some bannocks and cheese. We don't know when we'll get home. We'll pick up the track in your brule. Does any one know you're going?”
“No, only Fusie. He wanted to come, but I wouldn't have it. Fusie gets so excited.” Hughie's calmness was not phenomenal. He could hardly stand still for two consecutive seconds.
“Well, let's go,” and Don set off on a trot, with one of the black dogs in leash and the other following, and after him came Hughie running lightly.