In a moment there came a great snarling and growling from a thicket not far away, accompanied by such a thumping and beating on the ground as the boys had not heard in many a day. The baying of the hound ceased entirely, and in a moment only low choking pants of suffering were heard.
“I’ll tell you what it is, boys!” the mountaineer exclaimed, excitedly, “that thing that went through here is either a bulldog or a wild hog. He’s mixing it with the hound right now, and we may as well go and see the scrap.”
Alex used his flashlight now without reproof. The three pressed swiftly forward, the sounds of conflict growing clearer as they advanced. Directly they came to a great patch of bushes, from the center of which the commotion came.
In spite of the protests of the others, Alex pushed his way into the jungle and turned his searchlight on two objects struggling desperately on the ground. The next moment they heard his voice crying out joyfully:
“It’s Captain Joe! It’s Captain Joe!” he said.
“What has he done to the hound?” asked Case.
“Who’s Captain Joe?” demanded the mountaineer.
Alex answered the two questions by dragging the white bulldog out of the thicket by the collar. His jaws were smeared with blood, and he limped slightly on one fore leg.
“Captain Joe,” Alex replied, “is the gamiest bulldog that ever lived, and there ain’t enough left of that hound to bait a trap with.
“Where did the bulldog come from?” demanded Hank.