It was a physical impossibility for us to go another step.
In a moment the low-browed villain who had charge of the hounds came galloping up on his mule, tooting signals to his dogs as he came, on the cow-horn slung from his shoulders.
He immediately discovered us, covered us with his revolver, and yelled out: "Come ashore, there, quick: you---- -- -- -- -- -- --s!" There was no help for it.

We climbed down off the knees and started towards the land.

As we neared it, the hounds became almost frantic, and it seemed as if we would be torn to pieces the moment they could reach us.

But the master dismounted and drove them back.

He was surly -- even savage--to us, but seemed in too much hurry to get back to waste any time annoying us with the dogs.