As the hound was in mid-air he swung the machete with all his might and struck straight at the ugly head.

The heavy blade crashed through the skull and the dog fell dead without a sound.

Another which leaped also, but not so far, received a deep cut across the shoulder.

It fell back and retreated with the others among the cypresses, where the unwounded dogs watched with red eyes the formidable figure on the rocks.
But Ned did not remain on the tumulus more than a few minutes longer.
When he sprang down the dogs growled, but he shook the machete until it glittered in the moonlight.

With howls of terror they fled, while he resumed his journey in the other direction.
Near morning he came into country which seemed to him very wild.