“This sport is really exciting and noble!” exclaimed Glenn, as the deep and melodious intonations of Ringwood and Jowler fell upon his ear. “Excellent! excellent!” replied Boone, listening intently, and pausing suddenly, as the discharge of a gun in the direction of the hills sounded through the woods. “He has reached the standers,” remarked Glenn, reining up his steed at Boone’s side. “No; it was one of our men who has not followed him in all his deviations,” replied Boone, still marking the notes of the hounds. “I doubt not our company is sufficiently scattered in every direction through the forest to force him into the hills very speedily, if, indeed, that shot was not fatal,” remarked Glenn. “He is not hurt—perhaps it was not fired at him, but at a bird—nor will he yet leave the woods,” said Boone, still listening to the hounds. “He comes!” he exclaimed a moment after, with marks of joy in his face; “he will make a grand circle before quitting the lowland.” And now the dogs could be heard more distinctly, as if they were gradually approaching the place from which they first started. “If you will remain here,” continued Boone, “it is quite likely you will have a shot as he makes his final push for the hills.” “Then here will I remain,” replied Glenn; and fixing himself firmly in the saddle, resolved to await the coming of Bruin, having every confidence in the intimation of his friend. Boone selected a position a few hundred paces distant, with a view of permitting Glenn to have the first fire.