“Hallo, here!” he shouted, in his stentorian voice; “drop that ar’ carpet-sack.”
As quick as thought, Tom started to his feet, and made an effort to leap over the robber; but it so happened that the latter arose to a sitting posture at the same moment, and this brought his head and Tom’s feet in violent contact. The result was that one fell heavily back upon his blanket, while the other flew headlong through the air and out at the door as if he had been thrown from a catapult. It was plain that Luke Redman had the worst of it, for he lay motionless where he had fallen, while Tom, who had clung manfully to the valise, was on his feet again almost as soon as he touched the ground.
“Now, Joe, we’ve got work before us,” said he, hurriedly. “We can’t get our horses, and consequently we must trust to our heels.”
While Tom was putting on his boots—I never saw a boy get into a pair in less time than he did on that occasion—I looked toward the camp-fire and saw that he was right when he said that we must abandon the idea of escaping by the aid of our horses. The Indians had been awakened by Luke Redman’s voice, and were hurrying toward us. In order to reach our nags, we would be obliged to pass directly through their ranks, and that was something we were not foolish enough to attempt.
“Give me one of the guns, Joe, and keep close behind me,” said Tom, who seemed to know just what ought to be done. “Watch the dogs, and don’t let them come too close.”
The Swamp Dragoons, who had been aroused by this time, were not long in finding out what was going on. Some of them hurried to the corner where they had left their guns, while Barney thrust his head out of the door and shouted for his hounds.
“Hi! hi!” he yelled. “Take ’em, you rascals! Here, Nero! here, Growler!”
Tom and I were not standing idle all this while. The instant he was fairly into his boots we commenced our flight; but although we made the very best use of our legs, we did not reach the cane in time to escape discovery by the hounds. They were quick to respond to the calls of their master. A hoarse yelp sounded behind us, and looking over my shoulder, I saw the dogs advancing in a body, Growler and Nero leading the way.
CHAPTER XVI.
OUR STRATAGEM.
I have always thought that, next to a hunting-horn, there is no music in the world equal to that of a pack of staunch hounds in full cry, nor a prettier sight to be seen than they present while flying over the ground, almost with the rapidity of thought.