Part 57 (1/2)
”No,” said Joe, after a pause.
”Don't be so stupid! You can--Listen!”
They held their breath, and plainly now came the barking of a dog.
”There!” cried Gwyn. ”Here, here, here!” and he whistled before listening again, when there was the pattering of the dog's nails on the rocky floor, and almost directly after Grip bounded up to them.
”Ah, we mustn't have any more of that, old fellow,” cried Gwyn, seizing the dog's collar, and patting him. ”Get on, you old rascal; can't you see we've only got two legs apiece to your four?”
The dog strained to be off again, barking excitedly; but Gwyn held on while their neckerchiefs were tied together, and then fastened to the dog's collar.
”Now, then, forward once more. Come on, Joe, you must carry the lanthorn and walk by his head. Steady, stupid! We can't run. Walk, will you? Now, then, forward for home.”
The dog barked and went off panting, with his tongue out and glistening in the light as the red end was curled, and he strained hard, as if bound to drag as much as he could behind him, while the boys' spirits steadily rose as their confidence in the dog's knowledge of the way back began to increase.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
TOO EAGER BY HALF.
”Think the candle will last, Jolly?” said Gwyn, after they had progressed for some time and the lanthorn door was opened.
”Plenty--yes,” said Joe.
”Wish I knew there was enough and to spare,” said Gwyn.
”Why?”
”Because I'd have a bite off the end. I'm so faint and hungry, it's quite horrible.”
”Horrid!” exclaimed Joe.
”Not it. Nothing's horrid when you're starving. But I don't suppose it's very far as the crow flies.”
”Crows don't fly in tin mines,” said Joe, who was in better spirits now.
”Well, then, in a straight line.”
”I don't believe there's a straight line in the place.”
”I say, don't chop logic, Jolly, and don't--I say, look here, Grip, steady! don't pull a fellow's arm off!” interpolated Gwyn, for the dog tugged heavily at the neckerchiefs. ”Look here, Joe, old chap, do talk gently to me, for I'm so hungry that I feel quite vicious, and just as if I could bite. Ah, would you get away! Steady, sir! We want to get home as badly as you do--for 'hoozza! we're homeward bound--bound; hoozza, we're homeward bound!'” sang the boy wildly.
”Don't you holloa till you're out of the wood.”
”I wasn't holloaing,” cried Gwyn, with hysterical merriment. ”I was singing, only you've no ear for music.”
”Not for such music as that. Hark at the echoes!--they sound just like howls.”
”All right, but don't talk about getting out of the wood when we're like moles underground.”