Tom laid about him with the butt end of his rifle, and, being a strong young fellow, dead and dying foxes were soon lying all round him.
The rest of the pack drew back a little way, only to come on again, yelping and yelling more than ever.

Poor Tom's wrists were dripping with blood, for he had been bitten in many places.

He thought it was all over now, yet he meant to fight to the last.
But help was at hand, for the next moment Briton bounded into the centre of the spiteful pack, and the savage beasts fled in every direction.
What a happy meeting that was! The mastiff led Tom back over the hills, and in an hour's time he was safe and sound at the cave.
Pansy wept with delight, and Aralia bound up Tom's wrists.

He made very light of the bites, however.
There were many pieces of old black wood in the cave, so Frank collected them and lit a fire; and when it was quite clear, the rabbit was roasted, and everybody made a splendid dinner.
Then Tom told them all he had seen; and, after a night's rest, they all started off the next morning for the lake and the island, taking the skins and rugs with them.

They reached the long ridge of rocks and crossed over.