Had they got him?
No; for the dogs were in full pursuit once more, probably on the fugitive’s scent, and faintly heard there were shouts as of some one urging the pack on.
How long what followed took Nic never knew, for he was listening, intensely excited, and agitated as to whether he should go or stay, when the thought came that perhaps the dogs were on his scent; but he cast that idea away as foolish, for he had been mounted nearly all the time.
Then all at once, as the hounds were evidently coming nearer and the shouts plainer, Nic felt that he must sit out the affair and hear what had happened; when Sorrel drew a deep breath, there was a heavy breathing, and a man came on at a steady trot straight for the shadow in which Nic sat, so that the next moment he was upon him.
“Back, for your life!” came hoarsely, as the man raised his arm.
“Leather!”
“You here!” panted the convict. “But quick—they’re after us. Canter right away.”
As he spoke he took a firm grip of the nag’s mane, and as it sprang off ran easily by its side, the docile beast making straight for home.
For some minutes they went on like this, with the sounds growing fainter; and then the convict broke the silence.
“Master Nic,” he whispered, “I am innocent, my lad. I did not use the axe. That ruffian struck me with the fork handle till my manhood revolted against it, and I knocked him down with my fist, boy—my fist.”