At the shot he uttered a loud, moaning grunt and plunged forward at a heavy gallop, while I raced obliquely down the hill to cut him off.

After going a few hundred feet he reached a laurel thicket, some thirty yards broad, and two or three times as long which he did not leave.

I ran up to the edge and there halted, not liking to venture into the mass of twisted, close-growing stems and glossy foliage.

Moreover, as I halted, I head him utter a peculiar, savage kind of whine from the heart of the brush.

Accordingly, I began to skirt the edge, standing on tiptoe and gazing earnestly to see if I could not catch a glimpse of his hide.