We floundered on for a considerable distance, and then emerged on the bank, wet and dripping, and listening intently for any sounds of pursuit. They seemed to have almost died away, but an occasional yell arose from some apparently distant spot in the forest.
Ned was in high feather.
“Well, I didn’t expect to succeed as well as that,” he observed, “for I thought to a dead certainty they’d twig what we was about, and follow down-stream. What a lot of owls they must be!”
“They may discover their mistake at any moment,” said the gunner. “Let’s make tracks for the sea-shore as hard as we can pelt.”
No sooner said than done! Following the downward course of the stream, we once more took to our heels and dashed off over the broken ground, rather handicapped now by our dripping garments and soaked shoes.
We had run about a quarter of a mile, and were inwardly congratulating ourselves on our good fortune, when the blood was almost frozen in my veins by hearing the unmistakable bay of a bloodhound in our rear. So near us was the ponderous beast that we could hear it forcing its way through the underwood as it followed on our spoor.
To my utter amazement Ned seemed pleased at an occurrence which seemed to me to sound our death-knell.
“Good luck! We must swarm a tree!” he cried. “Here’s one will do first-rate.”
I do not know if the gunner felt as bewildered as I did at this fresh strategy of my coxswain. At any rate he said nothing, but signed to me to scramble up the tree Ned had pointed out, the branches of which most fortunately hung low down.
To sailors the feat was a mere trifle, and before many seconds had elapsed we were all three ensconced in a sort of leafy bower, about fifteen feet from the ground.