“Course I will!”
“But—suppose the rebs are close be
hind ?”
“That’s hardly likely. But the bushes are
thick here. They can’t see far. I’ll fire
when the do ggets near, then you must
knife him. Say—is your grit good?”
“Good enough for that—now.” Oscar’s
ATLANTA. GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 2, 1894.
courage had revived when he felt sure of
Zimri’s sincerity and aid.
The two then crouched behind the log.
The sounds drew rapidly nearer, until the
sides of the ravine rang with the long
drawn notes. All around was the forest,
climbing the steep spurs of the mountain.
The undergrowth at the bottom of the ra
vine, up which the hound was trailing, was
of a character that brought the brute within
thirty yards before the boys could see it
clearly. Suddenly the dog paused, with
raised head and sniffing nostril. Then rose
a swift, short echoing yow-ow-ow-ow, unlike
the previous long-drawn bay. Zim took a
careful sight along the musket barrel that
rested across the log.
“He’s seen us!” exclaimed the boy. “Now
—when I fire you make ready for a rush.”
A second later a sharp report rang out.
Oscar, knife in hand, and followed by Zim
with his gun clubbed, leaped over the log
and ran towards the hound which had
reared backward, uttering a shrill yell of
pain. Whittaker drew the knife deeply
across its throat, while Zim made matters
sure with a crashing blow over the animal's
skull. Its dying throes were not yet ended
when Zim drew his companion away.
“We must get away from here, afore the
men come up,” said he. “And we mustn’t
be long about it, either. - '
He picked up the ground hog, and Oscar
the pail of berries. Then he appeared to
reflect hurriedly.
