ned a rifle, and bullets fired
from a distance began to patter around Harry and his horse. The
riflemen were too far away to be reached with the shotgun, and it seemed
inevitable to him that in time a bullet would strike him. He was truly
the fox, and he knew that nothing could save him but forest.

It was in his favor that the country was so broken and wooded so heavily,
and fixing his eyes on trees a half-mile ahead he raced for them.
If none of this yelling pack dragged him down he felt sure that he might
escape again in the forest. The trees swiftly came nearer, but the shots
on either flank increased. More than ever he felt like the fox with the
hounds all about him, and just one slender chance to reach the burrow
ahead.

He felt his horse shake and knew that he had been hit. Yet the brave
animal ran on as well as ever, despite the triumphant shout behind,
which showed that he must be leaving a trail of blood. But the woods,
thick and inviting, were near, and he believed that he would reach them.
The horse shook again, much more violently than before, and then fell to
his knees. Harry leaped off, still clutching the shotgun, just as the
brave animal fell over on his side and began to breathe out his life.

He heard again that shout of triumph, but he was one who never gave up.
He had alighted easily on his feet. The trees were not more than fifteen
yards away and he disappeared among them as bullets clipped bark and
twigs about him.

He breathed a deep sigh of thankfulness when he entered the forest.
It was so dense, and there was so much undergrowth that the horsemen
could not follow him there. If they came on foot, and spread out,
as they must, to hunt him, he had the double-barreled shotgun and it
was a deadly weapon. The fox had suddenly become the panther, alert,
powerful, armed with claws that killed.

Harry went deep into the thickets before he sat down. He had no doubt
that they would follow him, but at present he was out of their sight and
hearing. He felt a mixture of elation and sadness, elation over his
temporary escape, and sadness over the loss of his gallant horse.
But one could not dwell long on regrets at such a time, and, advancing a
little farther, he sat down among the densest bushes that he could find
with the shotgun across his knees.

Now Harry saw that the horse had really done all that it was possible
for him to do. He had brought him to the wood, and within he would have