At last they worked through the coppice, and there was an open wood. The trees were large, but far apart, and no escape possible that way. And now with the hound's bay mingled a score of voices hooping and hallooing. “The whole village is out after us,” said Martin. “I care not,” said Gerard. “Listen, Martin. I have made the track smooth to the dog, but rough to the men, that we may deal with them apart. Thus the hound will gain on the men, and as soon as he comes out of the coppice we must kill him.” “The hound? There are more than one.” “I hear but one.” “Ay! but one speaks, the others run mute; but let the leading hound lose the scent, then another shall give tongue. There will be two dogs, at least, or devils in dog's hides.” “Then we must kill two instead of one. The moment they are dead, into the coppice again, and go right back.” “That is a good thought, Gerard,” said Martin, plucking up heart. “Hush! the men are in the wood.” Gerard now gave his orders in a whisper. “Stand you with your bow by the side of the coppice--there, in the ditch. I will go but a few yards to yon oak-tree, and hide behind it; the dogs will follow me, and, as they come out, shoot as many as you can, the rest will I brain as they come round the tree.” Martin's eye flashed. They took up their places. The hooping and hallooing came closer and closer, and soon even the rustling of the young wood was heard, and every now and then the unerring bloodhound gave a single bay. It was terrible! the branches rustling nearer and nearer, and the inevitable struggle for life and death coming on minute by minute, and that death-knell leading it. A trembling hand was laid on Gerard's shoulder. It made him start violently, strung up as he was. “Martin says if we are forced to part company, make for that high ash-tree we came in by.” “Yes! yes! yes! but go back for Heaven's sake! don't come here, all out in the open!” She ran back towards Martin; but, ere she could get to him, suddenly a huge dog burst out of the coppice, and stood erect a moment. Margaret cowered with fear, but he never noticed her. Scent was to him what sight is to us. He lowered his nose an instant, and the next moment, with an awful yell, sprang straight at Gerard's tree and rolled head-over-heels dead as a stone, literally spitted with an arrow from the bow that twanged beside the coppice in Martin's hand. That same moment out came another hound and smelt his dead comrade. Gerald rushed out at him; but ere he could use his cudgel, a streak of white lightning seemed to strike the hound, and he grovelled in the dust, wounded desperately, but not killed, and howling piteously.