CHAPTER XXI.
HUNTED BY BLOODHOUNDS.
For one moment we gazed at each other blankly, helplessly.
As the reader knows, we had foreseen the possibility of an organized pursuit. We had never thought, however—at least I had not—that the blow would fall so soon.
The pirates had quickly recovered from their panic.
Had we been aware of the fact that, on reaching the creek, they had encountered the chief, who had just returned from his cruise, we should not have been so surprised.
“To the forest, to the forest!” cried Ned; “it’s our only chance of safety!”
We turned and fled.
Fortunately the ground was clearer of obstructions than it had been. In fact, we were close to the boundary-line of vegetation once more.
We glanced back, but could see no sign of our pursuers. There was no mistaking the fact, however, that the bloodhounds were giving tongue, and were doubtless upon our trail. The human cries had ceased. The volcano was now doing us another service. Through the darkened atmosphere it would be impossible for the chasing pirates to see us till they were quite close.
But those awful dogs with their deadly scent! I could not doubt that they would track us down long, long before we could reach the coast. And even if we succeeded in gaining the seaboard first, the chances were a hundred to one against our finding any sort of boat—at any rate a friendly boat.