of having put the hounds on his trail, each one of them
was willing and eager to take advantage of the fact that the
hounds were on his trail. Already he had been shot at once and he
knew that he would be shot at again if he should be driven where
a hunter was hidden.

The ground was damp and scent always lies best on damp ground.
This made it easy for the hounds to follow him with their
wonderful noses. Lightfoot tried every trick he could think of to
make those hounds lose the scent.

"If only I could make them lose it long enough for me to get a
little rest, it would help," panted Lightfoot, as he paused for
just an instant to listen to the baying of the hounds.

But he couldn't. They allowed him no rest. He was becoming very,
very tired. He could no longer bound lightly over fallen logs or
brush, as he had done at first. His lungs ached as he panted for
breath. He realized that even though he should escape the hunters
he would meet an even more terrible death unless he could get rid
of those hounds. There would come a time when he would have to stop.
Then those hounds would catch up with him and tear him to pieces.

It was then that he remembered the Big River. He turned towards it.
It was his only chance and he knew it. Straight through the
Green Forest, out across the Green Meadows to the bank of the Big
River, Lightfoot ran. For just a second he paused to look behind.
The hounds were almost at his heels. Lightfoot hesitated
no longer but plunged into the Big River and began to swim.
On the banks the hounds stopped and bayed their disappointment,