He was soon answered. The men, followed by the dog, filed along the log and vanished in the thicket.
A few moments passed, and they did not reappear. Walter began to descend, when he suddenly stopped and listened keenly. Katie, below, saw him change color and look anxious.
She wondered as she watched him, looking and listening alternately, his bold, dashing air being changed to one of anxiety. His hand was placed to his ear to facilitate his hearing, and, with head slightly bent, he remained entirely motionless.
“I thought so—curse this delay!” she heard him mutter. Then he came scrambling down, hand under hand. Alighting by her side, he caught her arm, and hoarsely asked:
“Are you quite strong? can you run?”
“Oh, yes, Walter. Oh, you frighten me! Let us go at once—I know something is wrong.”
“Ay!” he said, starting off at a round pace toward the place where he had left the settlers; “something is wrong.”
“Please tell me, Walter. If I know the danger I am sure I can fly faster. What alarms you?”
“Alarms me?” he said. “Ay! I am not ashamed to own it. Listen! Two miles away are our friends. It will take us a good half-hour to reach them through this cursed, nasty swamp. Meanwhile, behind us is a terrible enemy—the keenest, bloodthirstiest trailer in the world. In ten minutes he will be on this very spot—for he is on our trail!”
He laid his hand on her arm. Just then arose, behind, a round, rich, melodious sound, swelling gracefully, then dying away. He raised his hand.