That was music. It seemed as if a thrill went over every nerve among them, at the cry of the excited hound, as he fully caught the scent, and "opened on it."
"There'll be a run now, Vosh."
"Not up the mountain."
"No, we won't follow yet. If they turn him, he'll come this way."
"Or down the hollow."
"No lake for him now."
"He can run on this crust."
"Yes, but he can't pick his own course with the dogs behind him."
Comments followed thick and fast, as the eager sportsmen pushed onward. It seemed to the boys a good time to do some running, if they could but know in what direction to go; but Vosh and the deacon were carefully studying what they called "the lay of the land."
Ahead of them, they knew, was a bold, steep mountain, such as no deer would climb. Half a mile to the right was the road to Mink Lake; and to the left and behind them the woods were open, with a fair amount of "running-room."