"Do you think you killed him, Henry?" asked Shif'less Sol breathlessly. "I don't know; I hope so." Behind them rose a deep bay, the trailing note of the great dog, but now it seemed more ferocious and uncanny than ever. Shif'less Sol shuddered. Tom Ross' face turned not pale, but actually white, through its many layers of tan. "Henry," said Shif'less Sol, "I never knowed you to miss at that range afore." The eyes of the two met again and each asked a question of the other. "I think I was careless, Sol," said Henry. His voice shook a little. "I hope so," said Shif'less Sol, whose mind was veering more and more toward the belief of Tom Ross, "but I'd like pow'ful well to put a bullet through that animal myself. Them awful wolf howls o' his hit on my nerves, they do." The chance of the shiftless one came presently. He, too, saw among the bushes the long dark body, the massive pointed head and the glittering eyes. He fired as quickly as Henry had done. Then came that silence, followed in a few minutes by the deep and sinister baying note of the great hound. "I reckon I fired too quick, too," said Shif'less Sol. But the hands that grasped his rifle were damp and cold. "'Tain't no use," said Tom Ross in a tone of absolute conviction. "I've seen you and Henry fire afore at harder targets than that, an' hit 'em every time. You hit this one, too." "Then why didn't we kill the brute?" exclaimed Henry. "'Cause lead wuzn't meant to kill him. Your bullets went right through him an' never hurt him." Henry forced a laugh. "Pshaw, Tom," he said. "Don't talk such foolishness.'" "I never talked solider sense in my life," said Ross. Henry and Shif'less Sol reloaded their rifles as they ran, and both were deeply troubled. In all their experience of every kind of danger they had met nothing so sinister as this, nothing so likely to turn the courage of a brave man. Twice sharpshooters who never missed had missed a good target. Or could there be anything in the words of Tom Ross? They left the warriors some distance behind again and paused for another rest, until the terrible hound should once more bring the pursuers near. All five were much shaken, but Tom Ross as usual in these intervals turned his back upon the others, and began to work with his hunting knife. Henry, as he drew deep breaths of fresh air into his lungs, noticed that the sun was obscured. Many clouds were coming up from the southwest, and there was a damp touch in the air. The wind was rising. "Looks as if a storm was coming," he said. "It ought to help us." But Tom Ross solemnly shook his head. "It might throw off the warriors," he said, "but not the dog. Hark, don't you hear him again?" They did hear. The deep booming note, sinister to the last degree, came clearly to their ears.