They crossed a field, and Niven's shoeless foot did not greatly embarrass him until they crawled through a hedge into recent ploughing, while as they plodded over it the growling of the dog drew nearer.
"Come on!" gasped Appleby. "She has got him loose at last."
The beast was close at hand when another hedge rose up blackly against the sky before them, and Niven swung off a little towards an oak that grew out of it.
"It's a horrible brute, but it can't climb a tree. I'm going for the oak," he said.
Appleby grasped his shoulder. "Jimmy could," he said. "Go on, and try if you can pull one of those stakes in the gap up."
In another minute Niven was tearing out a thick stake, and felt a little happier when he saw the end of it was sharpened, while Appleby had clawed up a big clod of stiff clay from the ploughing.
"He's only a cur, any way, and I think there's a stone in it," he said.
They could now dimly see the dog, and it was evident that it saw them, for it stopped, and then commenced to work round sideways in their direction, growling as though a little disconcerted by their waiting.
"It's an ugly beast," said Niven, whose heart was in his mouth. "It would get us if we ran."
"We're not going to run," said Appleby quietly, though his voice was a trifle hoarse. "Howl at him, Chriss."