"
"Well, it be gettin' late for sartain," answered Tom, "and that'll save
your little wax skin for the time; but see, jest see, boy, if I doesn't
sarve you out, now, afore sundown!"
"Which way shall we beat, Tom," asked Harry, as he changed his riding
boots for heavy shooting shoes and leggins; "which course to-day?"
"Why, Timothy's gittin' out the wagon, and we'll drive up the old road
round the ridge, and so strike in by Minthorne's, and take them ridges
down, and so across the hill--there's some big stubbles there, and nice
thick brush holes along the fence sides, and the boys does tell us there
be one or two big bevies--but, cuss them, they will lie!--and over back
of Gin'ral Bertolf's barns, and so acrost the road, and round the upper
eend of the big pond, and down the long swamp into Hell hole, and Tim
can meet us with the wagon at five o'clock, under Bill Wisner's white
oak--does that suit you?"
"Excellently well, Tom," replied Harry, "I could not have cut a better
day's work out myself, if I had tried. Well, all the traps are in, and
the dogs, Timothy, is it not so?"
"Ey! ey! Sur," shouted that worthy from without, "all in, this
half-hour, and all roight!"
"Light your cigars then, quick, and let us start--hurrah!"
Within two minutes, they were all seated, Fat Tom in the post of honor
by Harry's side upon the driving box, the Commodore and Frank, with
Timothy, on the back seat, and off they rattled--ten miles an hour
without the whip, up hill and down dale all alike, for they had but
three miles to go, and that was gone in double quick time.
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