The woods yielded to
open grass, and again they merged into scattered scrub, through which
it was difficult to track their quarry. Up hill, down dale, over
hummock, through hollow. Once more through the dark aisles of aged
pine woods. And always northward.
Time had no place in the woman's mind. Excitement, hope, doubt. These
occupied her to the full. And above all purpose reigned.
Twice she drew up to within shot. But she refrained. She was herself
as breathless as her quarry, and the shot would probably have been
wasted. Besides, those pauses of the poor hunted beast carried their
own significance to her practised mind. Its limping was sore, and now
its stumblings were becoming more and more frequent.
They had passed an open stretch, a mere cup surrounded by sharp-rising,
pine-clad hills. They entered woods on the northernmost slope, and
began a climb so severe that pursuer and pursued were brought to a
sheer scramble. The toil was terrific, but Effie's pony, bred of the
tough prairie fibre, clawed up with indomitable courage and endurance.
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