"Did ye ever hear anything like hit on this yearth!" Dennis cried.
Every dog was opening now at the top of his voice at regular intervals,
the swing and leap of their bodies over the brush and around the trees
registering in each stirring note.
Again Tom gave a shout of approval.
The sound of the leader's voice suddenly flattened and faded.
"By Gum!" the old hunter cried, "they've left the woods, struck that
field an' makin' for the creek! Ye won't need that axe ter-night,
Dennis."
"Why?"
"Wait an' see!" was the short answer.
They hurried from the woods and had scarcely reached the edge of the
field when suddenly old Boney's cry stopped short and in a moment the
others were silent.
"Good Lord, they've lost it!" Dennis groaned.
And then came the quick, sharp, fierce bark of the leader announcing
that the quarry had been located.
Tom gave a yell of triumph and started on a run for the spot.
"Up one o' them big sycamores in the edge o' that water I'll bet!"
Dennis wailed.
"You'll need no axe," was the older man's short comment.
They pushed their way rapidly through the cane to the banks of the creek
and found the dogs scratching with might and main straight down into the
sand about ten feet from the water's edge.
"Well, I'll be doggoned," Dennis cried, "if I ever seed anything like
that afore! They've gone plum crazy.
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