They had gone about half the two miles which would have placed them in comparative safety, when it became only too evident they must halt and make a stand against the dog. He was now quite near, being only four hundred yards behind. The rapid pace at which he was coming proved it was their only resort—to stand and fight.
A good opportunity presented itself, and Walter, seeing it, availed himself of it.
Near by, a knoll rose abruptly, in fact, horizontally. Before it, and encircling one side of it, myriads of tough, matted grape-vines were hung, forming an impenetrable barrier—at least sufficient to repel the entrance of a man.
Walter drew his bowie, and after working energetically, soon had the satisfaction of making an entrance sufficient to enable him to pass through, which he did, followed by Katie, who bore herself admirably. Then hauling and bending the leafy vines, he soon closed the entrance so it would not be detected.
It was a rare place for a stand, and had Walter a dozen men with him, he might have withstood a hundred. Behind him rose the knoll abruptly; before him was a leafy, green, impenetrable wall of tough, obstinate, fibrous grape-vine, so thick and leafy that persons before it could not see through it.
But Walter had only his arm and weapons to depend on, and they might fail. Still he spoke hopefully and encouragingly to Katie, and hoped for the best.
On came the dog—quite near. They could hear the bushes rustle as he darted through them, and at intervals out swelled the sonorous bay—“Hong, hong!”
Walter gently put Katie away from him.
“I want room to work in,” he said, drawing his knife.
His good rifle was at his shoulder at a full cock, aimed through the wall; in his trigger-hand he clutched the bowie-knife. Should the former fail (as in all probability it would, owing to the thick underwood) he could make a determined battle with the blade.