Two minutes later the hounds, with a great crash, burst out of the forest, followed at a short interval by half a dozen horsemen.
"Curse this brimstone! It has ruined the scent," I heard Griscelli say, as the hounds threw up their heads and came to a dead stop.

"If I had thought those _ladrones_ would run hither I would not have given them twenty minutes, much less forty.

But they cannot be far off; depend upon it, they are hiding somewhere .-- _Por Dios_, Sheba has it! Good dog! Hark to Sheba! Forward, forward!" It was true.

One of the hounds had hit off the line, then followed another and another, and soon the entire pack was once more in full cry.

But the scent was very bad, and seemed to grow worse; there was a check every few yards, and when they got to the brook (which had as many turns and twists as a coiled rope), they were completely at fault.