"I came this morning by the thunder-wood tree," said Aaron. "Hide in the grass near there, and when they pass come charging after them."
The dogs came nearer and nearer, and the Swamp could hear Mr. Simmons cheering them on. As for Mr. Simmons, he was sure of one thing—the dogs were trailing either a wildcat or a runaway. He had never trained them not to follow the scent of a wildcat, and he now regretted it; for his keen ear, alive to differences that would not attract the attention of those who had never made a study of the temperament of dogs, detected a more savage note in their cry than he was accustomed to hear. Nor did his ear deceive him. Sound was following the scent of Aaron, but his companions were trailing Rambler, who had accompanied Aaron, and this fact gave a fiercer twang to their cry.
When Aaron was going from Gossett's to the river landing, Rambler was not trotting at his heels, but scenting ahead, sometimes far to the right and at other times far to the left. But in going from the river to the Swamp it was otherwise. Rambler had to hold his head high to prevent Aaron's heel from striking him on the under jaw. His scent lay with that of the Son of Ben Ali.
For that reason Mr. Simmons was puzzled by the peculiar cry of the dogs. He had trained them not to follow the scent of hares, coons, and foxes, and if they were not trailing a runaway he knew, or thought he knew, that they must be chasing a wildcat. Pluto, the crop-eared catch dog, galloped by his master's horse. He was a fierce-looking brute, but Mr. Simmons knew that he would be no match for a wildcat.
IN THE SWAMP
When the dogs entered the Swamp Mr. Simmons tried to follow, but he soon found his way barred by the undergrowth, by the trailing vines, the bending trees, the rank canes. He must needs leave his horse or lead it when he entered the Swamp. He chose to do neither, but sat in his saddle and waited, Pluto waiting with him, ready to go in when the word was given.
When the hounds entered the Swamp they were in full cry. They struggled through the vines, the briers, and the canes, and splashed through the spreading arms of the lagoon. Suddenly they ceased to cry. Then Mr. Simmons heard a strange snarling and snapping, an ominous crashing, fierce snorting, and then howls and screams of pain from his hounds.