le in spite of himself, "I vish I vos,
Spriggs; for I 've got a terrible rent here!" delicately indicating the
position of the fracture.

And hereupon the two friends resolving to make no further attempt at
bush-ranging, made as precipitate a retreat as the tangled nature of the
preserve permitted.

CHAPTER IV.

Shooting a Bird, and putting Shot into a Calf!

"On'y think ven ve thought o' getting into a preserve--that ve got into a
pickle," said Sprigg, still chuckling over their last adventure.

"Hush!" cried Grubb, laying his hand upon his arm--"see that bird hopping
there?"

"Ve'll soon make him hop the twig, and no mistake," remarked Spriggs.

"There he goes into the 'edge to get his dinner, I s'pose."

"Looking for a 'edge-stake, I dare say," said the facetious Spriggs.

"Now for it!" cried Grubb! "pitch into him!" and drawing his trigger he
accidentally knocked off the bird, while Spriggs discharged the contents
of his gun through the hedge.

"Hit summat at last!" exclaimed the delighted Grubb, scampering towards
the thorny barrier, and clambering up, he peeped into an adjoining
garden.

"Will you have the goodness to hand me that little bird I've just shot
off your 'edge," said he to a gardener, who was leaning on his spade and
holding his right leg in his hand.

"You fool," cried the horticulturist, "you've done a precious job--You've
shot me right in the leg--O dear! O dear! how it pains!"

"I'm werry sorry--take the bird for your pains," replied Grubb, and
apprehending another pig in a poke, he bobbed down and retreated as fast
as his legs could carry him.

"Vot's frightened you?" demanded Spriggs, trotting off beside his chum,
"You ain't done nothing, have you?"

"On'y shot a man, that's all."

"The devil!"

"It's true--and there'll be the devil to pay if ve're cotched, I can tell
you--'Vy the gardener vill swear as it's a reg'lar plant!--and there
von't be no damages at all, if so be he says he can't do no work, and is
obleeged to keep his bed--so mizzle!" With the imaginary noises of a hot
pursuit at their heels, they leaped hedge, ditch, and style without
daring to cast a look behind them--and it was not until they had put two
good miles of cultivated land between them and the spot of their
unfortunate exploit that they ventured to wheel about and breathe again.

"Vell, if this 'ere ain't a rum go!"--said Spriggs--"in four shots--ve've
killed a pig--knocked the life out o' o