His pursuers had now gained upon him, and when he looked around he found himself hemmed in, or nearly so.

Speed of foot was everything; but, what was worst of all, with reference to his ultimate escape, four other dogs were making their way up the mountains--dogs to which he was a stranger, and he knew right well that they would hunt him with all the deadly instincts of blood.

They were, however, far in the distance, and he felt little apprehension from them.

Be this as it may, he bounded off accompanied by his faithful friends, and not less than twenty shots were fired after him, none of which touched him.

The number of his pursuers, dogs included, almost made his heart sink; and would have done so, but that he was probably desperate and reckless of life.