r friends, while their lives, what are
they? All this and a great deal more passed swiftly through our minds
as we sat with drawn swords, soothing our trembling horses as best we
might, and waiting for the coming of the hounds.

Nor had we long to wait. Another long, deep, thunderous bay sounded
in our ears, followed by a profound silence, broken only by the quick
shivering breathing of the horses. Then suddenly, and noiselessly, a
great tawny brute, with its black muzzle to the earth, and its overhung
cheeks napping on either side, sprang into the band of moonlight between
the rocks, and on into the shadow beyond. It never paused or swerved for
an instant, but pursued its course straight onwards without a glance
to right or to left. Close behind it came a second, and behind that a
third, all of enormous size, and looking even larger and more terrible
than they were in the dim shifting light. Like the first, they took no
notice of our presence, but bounded on along the trail left by Decimus
Saxon.

The first and second I let pass, for I hardly realised that they so
completely overlooked us. When the third, however, sprang out into the
moonlight, I drew my right-hand pistol from its holster, and resting
its long barrel across my left forearm, I fired at it as it passed. The
bullet struck the mark, for the brute gave a fierce howl of rage and
pain, but true to the scent it never turned or swerved. Lockarby fired
also as it disappeared among the brushwood, but with no apparent effect.
So swiftly and so noiselessly did the great hounds pass, that they might
have been grim silent spirits of the night, the phantom dogs of Herne
the hunter, but for that one fierce yelp which followed my shot.

'What brutes!' my companion ejaculated; 'what shall we do, Micah?'

'They have clearly been laid on Saxon's trail,' said I. 'We must follow
them up, or they will be too many for him. Can you hear anything of our
pursuers?'

'Nothing.'

'They have given up the chase, then, and let the dogs loose as a last
resource. Doubtless the creatures are trained to return to the town. But
we must push on, Reuben, if we are to help our companion.'

'One more spurt, then, little Dido,' cried Reuben; 'can you muster
strength for one more? Nay, I have not the heart to put spurs to you. If
you can do it, I know you will.'

The brave mare snorted, as though she understood her riders words, and
stretched her weary limbs into a gallop. So stoutly di