and branches thereafter in succession. Duane climbed until he got above
the enshrouding belt of blackness. A pale gray mist hung above the
brake, and through it shone a line of dim lights. Duane decided these
were bonfires made along the bluff to render his escape more difficult
on that side. Away round in the direction he thought was north he
imagined he saw more fires, but, as the mist was thick, he could not be
sure. While he sat there pondering the matter, listening for the hounds,
the mist and the gloom on one side lightened; and this side he concluded
was east and meant that dawn was near. Satisfying himself on this score,
he descended to the first branch of the tree.

His situation now, though still critical, did not appear to be so
hopeless as it had been. The hounds would soon close in on him, and
he would kill them or drive them away. It was beyond the bounds of
possibility that any men could have followed running hounds through that
brake in the night. The thing that worried Duane was the fact of the
bonfires. He had gathered from the words of one of his pursuers that the
brake was a kind of trap, and he began to believe there was only one way
out of it, and that was along the bank where he had entered, and where
obviously all night long his pursuers had kept fires burning. Further
conjecture on this point, however, was interrupted by a crashing in the
willows and the rapid patter of feet.

Underneath Duane lay a gray, foggy obscurity. He could not see the
ground, nor any object but the black trunk of the tree. Sight would
not be needed to tell him when the pack arrived. With a pattering rush
through the willows the hounds reached the tree; and then high above
crash of brush and thud of heavy paws rose a hideous clamor. Duane's
pursuers far off to the south would hear that and know what it meant.
And at daybreak, perhaps before, they would take a short cut across the
brake, guided by the baying of hounds that had treed their quarry.

It wanted only a few moments, however, till Duane could distinguish the
vague forms of the hounds in the gray shadow below. Still he waited. He
had no shots to spare. And he knew how to treat bloodhounds. Gradually
the obscurity lightened, and at length Duane had good enough sight of
the hounds for his purpose. His first shot killed the huge brute leader
of the pack. Then, with unerring shots, he crippled several others. That
stopped the baying. Piercing howls arose. The pack