“Look, Pete. Yonder’s the east.”
“That’s our way then, zir.”
“And the sun will not be long before it’s up. It is getting light fast. Come along and find the dogs. We came up from the left; they will go right on to the right. We should have heard them if they had crossed the stream.”
“That’s right, lad. What a good—” Pete was going to say poacher, but he checked himself—“wood-man you’d have made. Forward, then. It’s all open yonder.”
A minute later they had stopped short, to see the three dogs walking across a clearing, plainly seen in the grey dawn, while to the left the stream had widened out.
It was only a momentary pause, and then the fugitives shrank back into cover, chilled to the heart by the dreadful truth.
The dogs, quite at home in the neighbouring forest, had taken them a long round, and brought them back to the plantation; and now, wearied out, they were making their way to their kennel at the back of the house and sheds.
The night’s labour seemed to have been all in vain; and Nic laid his hand upon his companion’s shoulder as he said, with a bitter sigh:
“Pete, Pete, it is hopeless. We shall never see the old home again.”