“Guess you’re right, Thad,” muttered Step Hen, who at least was never so hard to convince as Bumpus; and quick to see the point at the same time.
“Then again,” resumed the other, pushing his advantage vigorously, as every wide-awake scout should always do; “from the fact that none of us seem to have sensed what Tom Smith has plainly heard; it shows, not only that his hearing is better than ours, but that the sounds, whatever they may be, come from a distance.”
Hardly had Thad said this than some of the boys, upon straining their hearing to the utmost, believed they caught certain sounds; or else the wind happened to pick up a little just then, bringing them closer.
“Oh! Thad, was that a wolf; and do they have such things down here in Louisiana?” burst out Bumpus, before any one else could speak.
Giraffe laughed harshly.
“Tell the poor little innocent, Thad, the difference between a baying hound and his first cousin lupus, the wolf,” he observed, with a lofty air that was calculated to quite crush the fat scout, but did nothing of the kind.
“That’s what it is, boys, a baying hound!” Thad told them; “and there, you can hear it louder than before, which would seem to indicate either that the breeze is getting stronger right along, or else the dog is heading this way.”
“What was that the guide was saying a while ago about the sheriff borrowing a couple of hounds from some other parish to use down here?” Davy wanted to know.
“Bloodhounds, more’n likely,” added Step Hen, with his eyes widening, as though the possibilities conjured up by this suggestion thrilled him to the core.
“Well, here’s our good guide waiting for us to join him,” said Thad; “and just as like as not he may have something to tell us, for there seems to be a puzzled look on his face.”