“No matter; I’m going to see the end of it now. You won’t leave me to go on alone!”
“O no. If you are bound to go on, I shall stick to you.”
Frank immediately set off on the trail, which turned suddenly to the left, and led toward a ravine. After running a short distance, he said:
“These last fellows that joined them are not Indians, Harry, because they didn’t step in each other’s tracks.”
The trail led directly through the gully, and up the other side; and while the boys were climbing up the bank, they heard the angry barking of dogs, followed by the report of a gun, and a yell that made their blood run cold. Harry immediately drew back, but Frank kept on; and when he reached the top of the bank, he saw a sight that filled him with horror, and which disturbed his sleep for many a night afterward.
But let us now return to Archie and George, whom we left starting out with their hounds.
When they reached the bottom, through which the creek ran, they found Sport standing over a fox-trail; and, at his master’s command, he at once set off upon it, followed by Lightfoot, while the boys struck off through the woods toward a ridge which they knew the fox would be certain to follow. They reached it just as the hounds passed; and were about to start off again, when they were startled by the crack of two rifles in rapid succession, accompanied by a howl of anguish. The baying of the hound ceased, and, the next moment, Lightfoot came running back, and took refuge behind his master.
“What’s the matter, I wonder?” inquired Archie, in alarm.
“Somebody has shot Sport,” answered George, as the howls of pain continued to come from the part of the woods where the shots had been heard.
“Sport shot!” repeated Archie, indignantly. “I won’t stand that, you know. Come on; let’s see who it was.”