CHAPTER XIV
The Second Night of Liberty
"Going to make a fight for it?" asked Detroit calmly.
Hamerton shrugged his shoulders.
"Hardly," he replied. "I don't believe in kicking up a fuss when we're cornered with no chance of escape. Mind you, if there were any possibility I'd fight tooth and nail. But there is not. We've had our fling, and I suppose we must pay the piper. Luckily those brutes can't get to us."
"I cotton to it," agreed the American. "I look upon it as a sort of Thanksgiving Day—a few hours of real enjoyment and then days of hard graft to follow."
Both men relapsed into silence, and gloomily watched the progress of events.
On came the hounds, the mob of excited Germans at their heels. Then the animals lost the scent—that is, if they ever picked it up—for turning abruptly they made their way across to the other side of the incline. Hamerton and his companion had never been near that part of the ground.
Round and round went the bloodhounds, sniffing and baying. Shouts of encouragement from their masters failed to meet with the response that they desired. Presently one of the large beasts raised its head and opened wide its mouth. The fugitives could see the sharp white teeth and the red, frothing tongue of the brute as it gave vent to a prodigious howl.
Then, followed by the rest of the hounds, the animal retraced its steps until it gained the summit of the slope. Here the baffled trackers stood still for a brief interval. All inducements to get the dogs to take up the scent failed, and dejectedly their masters led them back to the kennels.