For a second or two the red eyes and gaping jaws made even Avery's brave heart quail.

But she stood her ground, ordering them back with breathless insistence.

They must have thought her a maniac, she reflected afterwards.

At the time she fully expected to be torn in pieces, and was actually surprised when they suddenly parted and swept round the hut, encircling it with deep-mouthed baying.
The huntsman, arriving on the scene, found her white-faced but still determined, still firmly propping the shutter in place with the weight of her body.

He called the hounds to order with hoarse oaths and furious crackings of the whip, and as he did so the rest of the field began to arrive, a laughing, trampling crowd of sportsmen who dropped into staring, astounded silence as they reached the scene.
And then the huntsman addressed Avery with sardonic affability.
"P'r'aps now, miss, you'd be good enough to step aside and let the 'ounds attend to business." But Avery, with eyes that blazed in her pale face, made scathing answer.
"You shan't kill the poor brute like a rat in a trap.