The sight of this man at once deprived me of all farther thought of escape. I permitted my pistol arm to drop loosely by my side, and stood awaiting his advance, with the intention of surrendering ourselves up. Resistance would be vain, and could only lead to the idle spilling of blood. With this intention I remained silent, having cautioned my companion to do the same.
On first emerging from the cane-brake, the hunter did not see us. I was partially screened by the moss where I stood—Aurore entirely so. Besides, the man’s eyes were not turned in our direction. They were bent upon the ground. No doubt he had heard the reports of my pistol; but he trusted more to his tracking instincts; and, from his bent attitude. I could tell that he was trailing his own dogs—almost as one of themselves would have done!
As he neared the edge of the pond, the smell of the water reached him; and, suddenly halting, he raised his eyes and looked forward. The sight of the pond seemed to puzzle him, and his astonishment was expressed in the short sharp expression—
“Hell!”
The next moment his eyes fell upon the prostrate tree, then quickly swept along its trunk, and rested full upon me.
“Hell and scissors!” he exclaimed, “thar are ye! Whar’s my dogs?”
I stood eyeing him back, but made no reply.
“You hear, damn yer! Whar’s my dogs?”
I still remained silent.
His eyes fell upon the log. He saw the blood-spots upon the hark. He remembered the shots.