“If that’s the case,” said the gratified Jim, “there is a much better chance than I suspected for us—”
“Hark!”
The peculiar cry of the hound at that moment rang out on the autumn air sharp, clear, and distinct.
“He has struck a scent as sure as you’re born!” exclaimed Bob.
CHAPTER XXI—“HELP! HELP!”
“Take your stations,” added Bob Budd, excitedly; “we’re going to have the tallest kind of fun; I’ll stay here, and you—”
But his friends did not wait for further directions. Tom Wagstaff sprang up, gun in hand, and went threshing among the trees and through the undergrowth toward the path on the left (as they faced the mountain ridge), while Jim McGovern was equally prompt in hurrying to the trail on the right.
Within a few seconds after the first baying of the hound fell upon their ears Bob Budd found himself alone.
“They’re such lunkheads,” he said to himself, “that the two together don’t know enough to hit the side of a barn ten feet off. I hope the deer will take the middle path so that I can show them how the thing is done, which reminds me that it is time to take another drink.”
Meanwhile the dog Hero was getting in his work in brilliant style.