But even as she listened her heart suddenly went wild. What if the hounds had somehow gotten scent of them and were coming their way? How terrible that would be! They were sure to be great, gaunt, vicious beasts.
In the darkness it was impossible to tell what direction they were taking. Aided by her heightened imagination, she fancied the sound of their rush through the bushes growing louder, seemed to catch more plainly their hoarse breathing.
Wildly she strained her eyes in the dark, searching for a tree that she might climb, but in vain. The trees were either too large, with branches twenty feet in air, or too slender to bear her weight. In her wild terror she was about to flee when again Patience whispered:
“There they go!”
“Who?” Marion whispered back.
“The men. They are all alike—hounds and mountain men. They can’t stand the call of a coon. Oh, thank God! Our chance is coming. See!”
As she looked toward the cabin Marion did see. Not alone did she see the men, but saw their faces plainly. By the glaring light of a burning pine knot held aloft by one of the men, faces of three tall, gaunt, stubby-whiskered men were silhouetted against the shadows of night.
“Know them?” Marion whispered as they disappeared behind a clump of trees.
“Narry a one.”
“I guess that’s all of them,” Patience whispered a moment later. “Away, now, for little Hallie. We’ll have to take a chance. C’mon, and remember—not a sound. Not a snap of a twig, not a breath!”