"No," Ventnor grinned ruefully. "No, they certainly
weren't. Maybe we drifted into their preserves by a way
they don't know. Maybe they've found another way out.
I'm sure I don't know. But I DO know what I saw."

"The noises, Martin," I said, for his description of these
had been the description of those we had heard in the
blue valley. "Have you heard them since?"

"Yes," he answered, hesitating oddly.

"And you think those--those soldiers you saw are still
hunting for you?"

"Haven't a doubt of it," he replied more cheerfully.
"They didn't look like chaps who would give up a hunt
easily--at least not a hunt for such novel, interesting, and
therefore desirable and delectable game as we must have
appeared to them."

"Martin," I said decisively, "where's your pony? We'll try
the hollow again, at once. There's Ruth--and we'd never
be able to hold back such numbers as you've described."

"You feel strong enough to try it?"