"It's no use, they'll follow us up every time," said Mark.
An hour went by and still the hounds kept their position under the trees. Once in a while one would place his forepaws on the tree and look up savagely and wistfully.
"I really believe they'd like to make a meal of us," said Bob, with a shiver. "Say, this is getting to California with a vengeance!"
"Never despair!" answered Mark, hopefully. "I must say I'm growing sleepy."
"I'm sleepy myself, but I'm not going to sleep and fall off the tree just yet."
Two hours more went by and all was now pitch-dark around them. Finding a rotten limb the boys broke it into pieces and hurled the sticks at the bloodhounds, which brought forth more baying and more snapping of teeth.
"They don't mind the sticks any more than straws," declared Bob. "They are too tough to be hurt that way."
"Hark!" said his companion. "I thought I heard somebody calling."
"There goes one of the dogs," said Bob, who chanced to be looking downward. "I guess somebody must have called him!"
"Let us shout again."