From their hiding place in the bushes they could see a man making his way rapidly up the hill. He was coming almost directly towards them. It seemed as though he must feel those burning eyes, for on the brow of the hill he stopped and looked suspiciously around him. His eyes traveled searchingly over the ground.
Suddenly there was a crash in the swamp below, followed instantly by a cry like the bleat of a frightened sheep. It so startled the tense nerves in the bushes that they surely would have been betrayed had it not affected the newcomer so much more. At that sound he threw caution to the winds and bounded down the hill, crashing through the brush like a moose.
“What was that noise?” Scott whispered.
“A deer in the snare,” Sturgis said. “Come on. Don’t make any noise unless he runs, and then after him.”
They crept stealthily down the hillside, keeping under cover as much as possible but relying mostly on the deer’s occupying the poacher’s attention. They did not have far to go, for the snare was not over a hundred yards from their hiding place. Before they had covered half the distance they could catch glimpses of Newman through the brush vainly struggling with the deer. The noose had caught it around the body just in front of the hind legs and suspended it clear of the ground. It was thrashing the air violently with its front feet and blatting in the frenzy of despair. Newman tried at first to cut its throat, but found it impossible to get past those murderous feet. He was just turning to cut a club when he saw his pursuers not over thirty yards away.
The boys in their tennis shoes had easily distanced Sturgis. When they saw that their approach was discovered they bounded ahead with an exultant shout. Each picked his own way through the swamp, and neither thought of anything save the flying figure ahead of him. They were both good runners but fear lent wings to the feet of the fugitive and he knew the swamp better than they. They fell through holes in the sphagnum and went sprawling. Had Newman stuck to the swamp he might have out-distanced them, but at the north boundary he took to the firebreak and started eastward over the ridge. The boys came out on the solid ground fifty yards behind him.
“Now we’ve got him.” Scott hissed between his teeth, and he shot away over the hard ground at a terrific pace. Greenleaf’s breath was coming in gasps, but Scott’s endurance was standing him in good stead. They closed on the poacher at every jump and were already within twenty yards of him when a frightened glance over his shoulder told him that he had no chance in the open road. He turned suddenly into the dense brush and dodged like a jack rabbit. Greenleaf caught his toe on a fallen log and went crashing out of the race.
Finding only one man behind him and that man almost within striking distance Newman turned at bay. But he was so exhausted that he could hardly stand. He waved his knife threateningly, and tried to warn Scott off, but his hot breath choked him.
He waved his knife threateningly, and tried to warn Scott off.