"A sweet shot, Tom," responded Forester, "a sweet pretty shot, if there had only been one word of truth in it, which there is not--don't answer me, you old thief--shut up instantly, and get your traps; for we've done feeding, and you've done lying for the present, at least I hope so--and now we'll out, and see whether you've poached up all the game in the country." "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. "What mun Ay do wi' t' horses, Sur?" asked Tim, touching his castor as he spoke. "Take them home, to be sure," replied Harry, "and meet us with them under the oak tree, close to Mr. Wisner's house, at five o'clock this evening." "Nay! nay! Sur!" answered Tim, with a broad grin, eager to see the sport, and hating to be sent so unceremoniously home, "that winna do, I'm thinking--who'll hug t' gam bag, and carry t' bottles, and make t' loonchun ready; that winna do, Sur niver. If you ple-ease, Sur, Ay'll pit oop t' horses i' Measter Minthorne's barn here, and shak' doon a bite o' hay tull 'em, and so gang on wi' you, and carry t' bag whaile four o' t' clock, and then awa back and hitch oop, and draive doon to t' aik tree!" "I understand, Tim," said his master, laughing; "I understand right well! you want to see the sport." "Ayse oophaud it!" grinned Timothy, seeing at once that he should gain his point. "Well! well! I don't care about it; will Minthorne let us put up the beasts in his barn, Tom?"