The full-throated baying of a hound. Men, far in the valleys below Stone Mountain, looked up, and listened, wondering. But those on the mountain heard and understood: Dan Hodges was being run to earth.
The clew offered by the wet place on the cliff had sufficed for the three men who accompanied the stag-hound. They had marked the spot carefully in memory by its distance from a certain stunted pine growing above it and a rift in the precipice to one side. Then they had ascended a furlong to the north, where the ascent was gradual and broken. When they had made sure that they were at the proper level, they searched for an approach to the desired ledge. The dog found the scent by the tunnel, but Brant did not loose the animal. Stone's eyes caught traces of where a bowlder had been moved. A little more searching revealed the opening covered by the stone, which they rolled aside.
"But he's not there, now," Brant declared, as he restrained the eager dog. "Jack is wild to be off, and he wouldn't take a back track."
Uncle Dick, eager to make sure, would have attempted the passage, but Stone interposed.
"I'll go," he declared. "It's my right--my prisoner, you know. Anyhow, it'll be a snug-enough fit for me, and I'm smaller than you, Uncle Dick."
The old man grudgingly admitted the fact, and made way for the marshal. In five minutes, Stone was back.
"Nobody there," he announced.
"Then it's up to Jack," Brant exclaimed, and slipped the leash.
The hound shot forward in full cry. The men hurried after at top speed. Almost immediately, the dog vanished among the thickets. There came a clatter of sliding stones, as the big beast went galloping up the rise toward the crest of the mountain. The men followed as best they might, guided by the baying. Uncle Dick listened with bloodthirsty hopefulness for the crack of Zeke's rifle, which he would recognize.
The fugitive himself heard the hound's sonorous summons, and wasted breath in cursing. He cursed his potations over-night, which had led him to sleep beyond the sunrise. But for such drunken folly, he would have had the trailer hopelessly at fault. Now, at best, it would be a close race--and there was the girl to hamper and hinder. She was running at his side, obedient to the pressure of his hands. He had replaced the cowhide thong, with her hands in front of her, and with play enough for free movement. So far, she had made no resistance to his commands. But the barking of the dog would warn her. If she should turn balky-What the outlaw feared, came to pass. The hoarse baying sounded to Plutina's ears like sweetest music. The first note told her that friends were at hand for a rescue from the monster by her side. Her heart leaped in the joy of it. A new courage surged in her--courage to defy this creature that held her in thrall.