They had been captured, with two hundred others, at the battle of Vicksburg, and had escaped while being taken into Texas.

They had accomplished, perhaps, half a dozen miles from the place where they met, when the breeze bore to their ears a sound that made Frank turn as pale as death, and tremble as though suddenly seized with a fit of the ague.

They all heard it; but he was the only one who knew what it was.
"What ish dat, ony how ?" coolly inquired the captain.
Before Frank could reply, the fearful sound was repeated, faint and far off, but still nearer than before.
"Merciful heavens!" ejaculated the major, who now understood their situation; "is it possible you don't know what that sound is?
_It is the cry of a blood-hound!_" "Oh, yah!" exclaimed the captain, as though the idea had suddenly come into his head, "I did think it vas a dorg." "Push ahead now, boys, for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed the major.

"Push ahead as fast as possible." The captain evidently did not comprehend the danger of their situation; but Frank and the major knew that their lives depended upon the next few moments.

Oh, how thankful was Frank that he was not alone! He now knew the meaning of Pomp's warning; and the dreadful sound had so unnerved him, that it was with great difficulty he could keep on his way.