“Help me!” cried Frank. For the time being he seemed to be fairly paralyzed with terror.
“Jump into the tree!” returned Bob, quickly.
The tree he mentioned stood but a few feet away. The lower limbs were not far from eight feet from the ground and almost directly over Frank’s head.
With a desperate spring the young man caught one of the limbs and drew himself up just as one of the blood-hounds reached the spot where he had been standing.
Baffled, the hound let out a deep growl and then stood up on his hind legs, followed by his mate.
Then Bob thought of the pistol he carried and produced it.
Crack! Bob pulled the trigger of the pistol and one of the blood-hounds fell back, shot through the heart.
“Here, stop that!” roared Raymond, from the door-way of the barn.
“I told you to keep them chained,” returned the youth as coolly as he could. “Better call the other one in.”
The second hound turned at the shot, and backed several paces. Then he looked at his mate as though surprised at what had happened.