The very turf was aglow; two of the horses had broken loose and were careering madly about; the others were tugging wildly at their lariats.
Meanwhile Griscelli and his companions, followed by the hounds, were making desperate haste to get back to the trail and reach the valley of stones.

But the road was rough, and in attempting to take short cuts several of them came to grief.

Two fell into a deep pool and had to be fished out.

Griscelli put his foot into one of the boiling springs, and, judging from the loud outcry he made, got badly scalded.
By the time the hunters were clear of the moor the loose horses had disappeared in the forest, and the trees on either side of the trail were festooned with flames.

Then there was mounting in hot haste, and the riders, led by Griscelli (the two dismounted men holding on to their stirrup leathers), and followed by the howling and terrified hounds, tore off at the top of their speed.
"They are gone, and I don't think they will be in any hurry to come back," said Carmen, as he scrambled out of the pool.