“Bad cess to the thing; but I’m afther belavin’ that I’ve gone an’ twisted me ankle so bad that ’tis mesilf that can’t put the same to the ground; and that manes a long time before we say camp agin, so it do,” grumbled the trapper.
Somehow Bob began to feel a little anxiety, as though he scented new difficulties looming up ahead.
CHAPTER XVI
THE FIGURES AGAINST THE SKY
“This is what I call hard luck,” remarked Sandy, as he dropped his bundle of deer meat close to where the trapper sat upon the ground, rubbing his ankle.
“It is that same, by the token,” grumbled Pat. “Av yees give me a hand, byes, it’s mesilf will thry to sthand up, and say how well I can walk.”
Willingly each of the lads took hold of an arm, and assisted him to gain an upright position; but, when Pat started bravely to walk, he made a sorry mess of it. He was a game fellow, however, and would not be dismayed.
“Sure, it may pass away afther I’ve given the ould thing a little exercise, like, and av yees say the worrd we’ll pick up our packs and do be goin’ on our way, rejoicin’ becase it’s no worrse. What if I’d broke me nick—that would have been a nice pickle for a man to be in!”
He even insisted on carrying his share of the venison, though Bob protested; but Pat was a stubborn man.