Presently we heard it coming—and coming on the jump, too; yes, and down both sides of the stream. Louder—louder—next minute it swelled swiftly up into a roar of shoutings, barkings, tramplings, and swept by like a cyclone.
“I was afraid that the overhanging branch would suggest something to them,” said I, “but I don’t mind the disappointment. Come, my liege, it were well that we make good use of our time. We’ve flanked them. Dark is coming on, presently. If we can cross the stream and get a good start, and borrow a couple of horses from somebody’s pasture to use for a few hours, we shall be safe enough.”
We started down, and got nearly to the lowest limb, when we seemed to hear the hunt returning. We stopped to listen.
“Yes,” said I, “they’re baffled, they’ve given it up, they’re on their way home. We will climb back to our roost again, and let them go by.”
So we climbed back. The king listened a moment and said:
“They still search—I wit the sign. We did best to abide.”
He was right. He knew more about hunting than I did. The noise approached steadily, but not with a rush. The king said:
“They reason that we were advantaged by no parlous start of them, and being on foot are as yet no mighty way from where we took the water.”
“Yes, sire, that is about it, I am afraid, though I was hoping better things.”
