"He's got short stumpy legs, Billy, but terrible claws. Rip a dog open like winkin'."
"And pooty sharp teeth too, I reckon?"
"I should jest say. Wouldn't like 'm try 'em in my leg."
"See you've got 'm in the old dog-kennel," remarked Billy, as they came in sight of the stable yard.
"It's a strong chain that, you know," replied Dick, evasively. "Bruno, the old boarhound that died, couldn't break it."
"Guess the chain'll hold the badger all right. But I can't see nothink of 'm in that there dog-hutch. I'll want ter have 'm out, Dick, in the open."
"You'd best take care, Billy," cried Dick, as his companion laid hold of the chain. "Remember his claws."
"Oh! I'm not 'feard, you bet," replied Billy, loftily. "It needs somethin' more'n a badger to skeer me. Besides, he can't scratch or bite much through my leggin's."
"Mind, Billy," continued Dick, with an intensely anxious look on his face. "I've warned ye. Don't ye come a hollerin' an' a blamin' me, if he takes a bit out of yer leg."
"Poof! You keep back if ye'r fright'ned. Let me alone. I'll soon yank 'm inter daylight." And Billy made ready to haul at the chain. "Come out o' that, ye brute," he cried. "Yo! ho! out ye come!" And he pulled with all his might.