With a cry that thrills man and dog but does not daunt the quarry he calls on Vixen and Nell to seize the badger, and stooping the instant its attention seems occupied by the terriers, he tries to seize its tail. Quick as lightning the supple creature, shaking off the dogs, turns on him, just missing his hand as suddenly withdrawn. Fired by failure and desperate from the nearness of the brake now scarce two yards away, Andrew renews the attempt, and this time getting a firm grip of the tail lifts the heavy beast clear of the ground, totters and staggers under the weight, but by an effort recovers his balance and holds his prize at arm’s length. Then raising it above the mouth of the canvas bag which Sir Bevil and the keeper are holding open with trembling fingers, he twirls the writhing, snapping brute round and round, and plunges it into the sack. It was the work of a few seconds, but the exertion brought the sweat to the Earthstopper’s face.
“Bravo, Andrew,” shouts the Squire, who with the others had been looking on breathlessly, “very neatly done: twice I was afraid he’d got you.” After tying the mouth of the sack, the keeper slung the badger on his back and made for the wagonette. The rest of the party, with the exception of Sir Bevil, Trevaskis and Shellal, returned to the Cairn to collect their belongings. Though it was dusk, they succeeded in recovering everything except the tongs, which were afterwards found by the exploring party. Lights were already twinkling in the windows of the farmhouse as they descended the hill; and before they entered the yard, Ned had lit the lamps of the carriage, where they found him standing guard over the badger, locked up in the boot.
“A good day’s sport, Andrew,” said the Squire as he put on his coat which the Earthstopper had brought him.
“A grand finish, sir; but a very poor start.”
The next minute Shellal brought out the horse which he had been saddling by the light of the stable lantern and held it for the Squire to mount. After a cheery “good night, sir,” from the miners, whom he had liberally rewarded, Sir Bevil hurried home along the dark lanes as light-hearted as a schoolboy, tossing a crown-piece through the open door of the toll-house as he galloped past.