As we did so, a loud yell rent the air, and reverberated amid the sturdy boles of the forest-trees.
Simultaneously we all caught sight of a man, who had suddenly appeared on the summit of a cliff-like rock some little distance from the outskirts of the forest. He was not too far, however, for us to recognize both his features and his figure.
It was the chief.
As we gazed at him in a sort of fascinated way, another individual also sprang upon the rock.
It was Miguel.
CHAPTER XXII.
A FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND.
An exclamation of mingled astonishment and alarm burst from our lips simultaneously.
The chief, then, had returned—unknown to us—and was himself heading the pursuit. Small chance of escape, indeed, had we under these circumstances.
To my surprise, Ned’s calm demeanour vanished in a moment. He seemed to be seized with a sudden frenzy of passion, and to utterly ignore the dictates of prudence. It was the sight of Miguel, I suppose, that provoked this outburst of anger.
Our pursuers could not see us as we crouched among the underwood.