As it happened, Mr. Simmons didn't take dinner at home that day, nor did he return to Gossett's at the time he appointed.
He called his dogs and turned his horse's head up stream. He followed the course of the river for a mile or more, and then bore away from it. While he was riding along, lost in his reflections, he suddenly heard Sound giving tongue far ahead. That sagacious dog had unexpectedly hit on Aaron's trail, and he lost no time in announcing the fact as loudly as he could. Mr. Simmons was very much surprised.
"If that blamed dog is fooling me this time I'll feel like killing him," he remarked to himself. The rest of the dogs joined in, and they were all soon footing it merrily in the direction of the big swamp.
The blue falcon, circling high in the air, suddenly closed her wings and dropped into the leafy bosom of the Swamp. This was the first messenger. That red joker, the Fox Squirrel, had heard the wailing cry of the hounds, and scampered down the big pine. Halfway down he made a flying leap into the live oak, and then from tree to tree he went running, scrambling, jumping.
But let him go never so fast, the blue falcon was before him, and let the blue falcon swoop never so swiftly, the message was before her. For the White Grunter had ears. Ooft! he had heard the same wailing sound when the hounds were after him before he was old enough to know what his tusks were for. And Rambler had ears. In fact, the Swamp itself had ears, and for a few moments it held its breath (as the saying is) and listened. Listened intently,—and then quietly, cautiously, and serenely began to dispose of its forces. Near the big poplar Aaron had a pile of stones. They had been selected to fit his hand; they were not too large nor too small; they were not too light nor too heavy. This pile of stones was Aaron's ammunition, and he took his stand by it.
The White Pig rose slowly from his bed of mud, where he had been wallowing, and shook himself. Then he scratched himself by rubbing his side against a beech-tree. The Brindle Steer slowly dragged himself through the canes and tall grass, and came to Aaron's tree, where he paused with such a loud sigh that Rambler jumped away.
"It is the track dogs," he said.
"Yes; I'm sorry," replied Aaron. "When the big black dog comes stand aside and leave him to me."
"Gooft! not if it's the one that chewed my ear," remarked the White Pig.