He's got a den somewhere down in the swamp, and he may be coming home this way.

Besides, it'll take us all our time, now, to get home before dark.

I guess there's no use keeping the dogs any longer.

We'll just let them go." So saying, Don let the black dogs go free, but after a little skirmishing through the open beech woods, the dogs appeared to lose all interest in the expedition, and kept close to Don's heels.
Fido, on the other hand, followed, ranging the woods on either side, cheerfully interested in scaring up rabbits, ground-hogs, and squirrels.
He had never known the rapture of bringing down big game, and so was content with whatever came his way.
At length the hunters reached the main trail where their paths separated; but a little of the swamp still remained, and on the other side was the open clearing.
"This is your best way," said Don, pointing out the path to Hughie.

"We had bad luck to-day, but we'll try again.