“Listen!” she breathed.
“Wha—what is it?”
“The hounds! They’re baying!”
“They’ve been baying for a long time.”
“It—it’s different now. They’ve got our scent. They’re on our trail. C’mon! We’ve got to go fast!”
“Where to?”
“I don’t know, but come on!”
* * * * * * * *
What was happening during all this time at the head of Laurel Branch beyond the natural gateway? Had old Job and his followers discovered that little Hallie had been stolen? And were they hot on the trail of the kidnappers? Would they arrive in time to save the little captive and her brave deliverers?
They had indeed discovered their loss and were mourning it bitterly. As old Job sat in the chimney corner reading his well worn Bible, from time to time a tear fell upon the faded pages. But the search had not begun; might not begin for several days. Such are the slow and silent ways of mountain folks. Besides, no clew had been left for them to follow. The kidnappers had entered the valley on foot. Fortune had favored them. It was during the excitement over the narrowly averted raid by Ransom Turner’s men that they had slipped into the cabin and had carried away the sleeping child.