"Ain't I, that's all?" said the almost breathless Mr. Grubb, "I'm almost dead."
"Dead!—nonsense—to be sure, you may say as how you're off the hooks! and precious glad you ought to be."
"Gracious me! Spriggs, don't joke; it might ha' bin werry serious," said Mr. Grubb, with a most melancholy shake of the head:—"Do let's get out o' this wile place."
"Vy, vat the dickins!" exclaimed Spriggs, "you ain't sewed up yet, are you?"
"No," replied Grubb, forcing a smile in spite of himself, "I vish I vos, Spriggs; for I 've got a terrible rent here!" delicately indicating the position of the fracture.
And hereupon the two friends resolving to make no further attempt at bush-ranging, made as precipitate a retreat as the tangled nature of the preserve permitted.
CHAPTER IV.
Shooting a Bird, and putting Shot into a Calf!
Shooting a Bird, and putting Shot into a Calf!