The Belton yellow dog! Nothing was left for them but speedy flight. What a watchful animal that was!
“Leg it!” ordered Ned.
At the instant of the accident to Hal, Ned had been fingering a sphere of unusual fatness. Now with a jerk he wrenched it from its stem, and hugging it in his arms put his command into practice. He “legged it.” So did Hal.
All sense of direction was lost to them; they remembered not which was north or which was west; their sole thought was to escape the attack of the yellow dog. Off to the left they dashed, dimly believing that they were heading for the ravine.
“Look out for the barbed wire!” gasped Hal.
But they met with no fence, where they expected. Crunch, crash, stumble and plunge, through the vines, out from the vines, and into a clump of raspberry bushes! Cracky! How those bushes punished them! Yet on they ploughed, each for himself, Ned clasping his melon, and the yellow dog yelping in their wake.
Out from amidst the raspberries—and suddenly Ned was hurled backward for a complete somersault! A wire fence, fortunately not barbed, had caught him fiercely, raising a huge welt across his chest and another across his knees.
“Hurt you?” panted Hal, alarmed, bringing up just in time.
“Not much,” panted Ned.
With a rush they overcame the fence. Their hope lay in motion on and on, until that dog was safely behind.