“Well, Masser Charle, s’pose we lie hid durin’ the day, an’ track him after night? The ole dog sure take up the scent for good twenty-four hours to come. There’s a bunch of trees out yonner, that’ll give us a hidin’ place; an’ if the thieves go past this way, we sure see ’em. They no see us there.”
“But if they go past, it will be all over. I could have little hope of finding him alone. Along with them he would—”
Clancy speaks as if in soliloquy.
Abruptly changing tone, he continues:—
“No, Jupe; we must go on, now. I’ll take the risk, if you’re not afraid to follow me.”
“Masser Charle, I ain’t afraid. I’se told you I follow you anywhere—to death if you need me die. I’se tell you that over again.”
“And again thanks, my faithful friend! We won’t talk of death, till we’ve come up with Dick Darke. Then you shall see it one way or other. He, or I, hasn’t many hours to live. Come, Brasfort! you’re wanted once more.”
Saying this, he lets the hound ahead, still keeping hold of the cord.
Before long, Brasfort shows signs that he has again caught scent. His ears crisp up, while his whole body quivers along the spinal column from neck to tail. There is a streak of the bloodhound in the animal; and never did dog of this kind make after a man, who more deserved hunting by a hound.