s lion tracks, imprinted in the mantle of snow. From here
the trail led off northeast.

"Darn me!" ejaculated Jones. "The big critter came right into camp; he
scented our lions, and raised up on this log to look over."

Wheeling, he started for camp on the trot. Emett and I kept even
with him. Words were superfluous. We knew what was coming. A
made--to--order lion trail could not have equalled the one right in
the back yard of our camp.

"Saddle up!" said Jones, with the sharp inflection of words that had
come to thrill me. "Jim, Old Sultan has taken a look at us since break
of day."

I got into my chaps, rammed my little automatic into its saddle
holster and mounted. Foxie seemed to want to go. The hounds came out
of their sheds and yawned, looking at us knowingly. Emett spoke a word
to the Navajo, and then we were trotting down through the forest. The
sun had broken out warm, causing water to drip off the snow laden
pines. The three of us rode close behind Jones, who spoke low and
sternly to the hounds.

What an opportunity to watch Don! I wondered how soon he would catch
the scent of the trail. He led the pack as usual and kept to a
leisurely dog--trot. When within twenty yards of the fallen log, he
stopped for an instant and held up his head, though without exhibiting
any suspicion or uneasiness.

The wind blew strong at our backs, a circumstance that probably
kept Don so long in ignorance of the trail. A few yards further on,
however, he stopped and raised his fine head. He lowered it and
trotted on only to stop again. His easy air of satisfaction with
the morning suddenly vanished. His savage hunting instinct awakened
through some channel to raise the short yellow hair on his neck and
shoulders and make it stand stiff. He stood undecided with warily
shifting nose, then jumped forward with a yelp. Another jump brought
another sharp cry from him. Sounder, close behind, echoed the yelp.
Jude began to whine. Then Don, with a wild howl, leaped ten feet to
alight on the lion trail and to break into wonderfully rapid flight.
The seven other hounds, bunched in a black and yellow group, tore
after him filling the forest with their wild uproar.

Emett's horse bounded as I have seen a great racer leave the post, and
his desert brothers, loving wild bursts of speed, needing no spur,
kept their noses even with his flanks. The soft snow, not too deep,
rather facilitated than impeded this wild movement, and the open
fo