With a pattering rush through the willows the hounds reached the tree; and then high above crash of brush and thud of heavy paws rose a hideous clamor.

Duane's pursuers far off to the south would hear that and know what it meant.
And at daybreak, perhaps before, they would take a short cut across the brake, guided by the baying of hounds that had treed their quarry.
It wanted only a few moments, however, till Duane could distinguish the vague forms of the hounds in the gray shadow below.

Still he waited.

He had no shots to spare.

And he knew how to treat bloodhounds.