"No, I don't, Peter Grant," replied Horace, who was losing his patience: "I never was here before. Humph! I thought you could find your way with your eyes shut."
"Turn and go t'other way, then," said Peter, adding a wicked word I cannot repeat.
"I will," replied Horace, coolly: "if I'd known you used such swearing words I never'd have come!"
"Hollo, there!" shouted Peter, a few moments after, "I'll keep with you, and risk it, cap'n."
"Come on, then," returned Horace, who was glad of Peter's company just now, little as he liked him. "Where's our baskets?" said he, stopping short.
"Sure enough," cried Peter; "but we can't go back now."
They had not gone far when they were startled by a cry from Pincher, a sharp cry of pain. He stood stock still, his brown eyes almost starting from their sockets with agony and fear. It proved that he had stumbled upon a fox-trap which was concealed under some dry twigs, and his right fore-paw was caught fast.
Here was a dilemma. The boys tried with all their might to set poor Pincher free; but it seemed as if they only made matters worse.
"What an old nuisance of a dog!" cried Peter; "just as we'd got to goin' on the right road."
"Be still, Peter Grant! Hush your mouth! If you say a word against my dog you'll catch it. Poor little Pincher!" said Horace, patting him gently and laying his cheek down close to his face.