“We can shoot him when he comes up,” suggested the mountaineer.
“Seems too bad to kill the dog,” Alex observed.
“Besides all that,” Case went on, “we couldn’t hit a barn in this darkness.”
“Well,” Hank suggested, “the thing for us to do is to make for the river as fast as possible. There’s always a good many skiffs and rowboats scattered along on the Kentucky side. You see, if we can only get to the water and pack ourselves into a boat, we can sit and make faces at that hound until Kingdom Come.”
Making what speed they could through the thicket, stumbling over vines and protruding roots, the boys proceeded on their way for a very few moments. Then it became evident that the dog was only a few rods away.
“Now that’s too bad,” Hank said, “we’ve got to climb a tree, turn that bottled gas concern of yours on the dog, and put a bullet plumb through his head. I never did like to kill dogs, somehow.”
The dog came swiftly on, and it seemed to the boys as if his voice could be heard for a thousand miles. They were crouching in a thicket, preparing to vault into the branches of a great beech tree which stood near at hand, when a great commotion was heard not far away. It seemed to them that a wild hog, or a bear, or some heavy yet swift denizen of the forest, awakened from his slumber by the howling of the dog, had set out to make a swift investigation of his own.
“What was that noise?” asked Alex, clutching his new-found friend by the arm.
“Well, sir,” Hank replied, “that sounded to me like a dog going out to hold a little conversation with that hound! It ran like a dog, and, besides, I think I heard a succession of low growls as it passed us.”
“Here’s hoping he keeps the hound so well entertained that it won’t come any farther in this direction!” Case said.