"Our pursuers are all soldiers," continued Rodney, "and under almost any other circumstances I believe they would let us off easy; but the way they're fixed, they've got to do their duty or be reported. They are bound to come back to the house and put out the hounds——"
"And they've done it," said Dick Graham, coming to a sudden standstill and turning one ear toward the house. "There! Do you hear it?"
All this while the fugitives had been making the best progress they could through the woods, but now they stopped and listened intently. Yes, they could hear it plainly enough; not a single bugle note like that which had attracted Dick Graham's attention, but a whole chorus of eager yelps, proving that all the hounds had taken up the trail.
"This is going to be the tightest squeak we've had yet," observed Ben. "How many of them are there in the party?"
"About six hounds, I should say, and twice as many men," replied Rodney. "Enough altogether to make running easier than fighting. Dick, take this bottle, and don't use it until I say the word."
"What's in it?" inquired the corporal.
"Turpentine; and if the dogs get a good sniff of it, it will spoil their scenting powers for quite a while. The trouble is it evaporates quickly, and Dick mustn't use it until the hounds are close to us."
Dick fell back to the rear and Rodney set off on a keen run, directing his course toward a little bayou which he knew he would find a mile or so in advance. But fast as they went, the hounds came on at a swifter pace, their sonorous yelps grew louder every minute, and presently the encouraging shouts of the soldiers mingled with them.
"Oh, don't I wish I had enlisted in the infantry," puffed Ben, who followed close at Rodney's heels. "Such a tramp as we have had wouldn't be anything to a foot soldier, but it's death on a cavalryman."
"The hounds are now following Dick's trail and mine across the field," said Rodney. "They'll come on faster when they pick up yours, for they will recognize it on the instant."