But at the farther side the dogs were close upon him. He was obliged to climb a certain low tree, where he had often sat dangling his legs and swinging in the branches while he allowed Prissy to read to him.
The dogs were soon underneath, and he could see them leaping upward with snapping white teeth which gleamed unpleasantly through the darkness. But their furious barking was promptly answered. Hugh John could hear a heavy tread approaching among the dense foliage of the trees. A dark form suddenly appeared in the glade and poised something at its shoulder.—Flash! There came a deafening report, the thresh of leaden drops, a howl of pain from the dogs, and both of them took their way back towards the town with not a few bird shot in their flanks.
Hugh John's heart stood still as the dark figure advanced. He feared it might prove to be his father. Instead it was Tom Cannon, and the brave scout on the tree heaved a sigh of relief.
"Who's up there?" cried the under-keeper gruffly; "come down this moment and show yourself, you dirty poacher, or by Heaven I'll shoot you sitting!"
"All right, Tom, I'm coming as fast as I can," said Hugh John, beginning to clamber down.
"Heavens and earth, Master Hugh—what be you doing here? Whatever will master say?"
"He won't say anything, for he won't know, Tom Cannon." said Hugh John confidently.
"Oh yes, he will," said the keeper. "I won't have you bringing a pack of dogs into my covers at twelve of the clock—blow me if I will!"
"Well, you won't tell my father, anyway!" said Hugh John calmly, dusting himself as well as he could.
"And why not?" asked the keeper indignantly.