ven North Hollow with its
regular beaten runway failed to win a murmur from the pack.

"Spread out," said Jones, "and look for tracks. I'll keep the center
and hold in the hounds."

Signalling occasionally to one another we crossed almost the breadth
of the cedar forest to its western end, where the open sage flats
inclined to the rim. In one of those flats I came upon a broken sage
bush, the grass being thick thereabout. I discovered no track but
dismounted and scrutinized the surroundings carefully. A heavy body
had been dragged across the sage, crushing it. The ends of broken
bushes were green, the leaves showed bruises.

I began to feel like Don when he scented game. Leading my mustang I
slowly proceeded across the open, guided by an occasional down-trodden
bush or tuft of grass. As I neared the cedars again Foxie snorted.
Under the first tree I found a ghastly bunch of red bones, a spread of
grayish hairs and a split skull. The bones, were yet wet; two long doe
ears were still warm. Then I saw big lion tracks in the dust and even
a well pressed imprint of a lion's body where he had rolled or lain.

The two yells I sent ringing into the forest were productive of
interesting results. Answers came from near and far. Then, what with
my calling and the replies, the forest rang so steadily with shrill
cries that the echoes had no chance to follow.

An elephant in the jungle could not have caused more crashing and
breaking of brush than did Emett as he made his way to me. He arrived
from the forest just as Jim galloped across the flat. Mutely I held up
the two long ears.

"Get on your horse!" cried Jim after one quick glance at the spread of
bones and hair.

It was well he said that, for I might have been left behind. I ran to
Foxie and vaulted upon him. A flash of yellow appeared among the sage
and a string of yelps split the air.

"It's Don!" yelled Jim.

Well we knew that. What a sight to see him running straight for us! He
passed, a savage yellow wolf in his ferocity, and disappeared like a
gleam under the gloomy cedars.

We spurred after him. The other hounds sped by. Jones closed in on us
from the left, and in a few minutes we were strung out behind Emett,
fighting the branches, dodging and swerving, hugging the saddle, and
always sending out our sharp yells.

The race was furious but short. The three of us coming up together
found Emett dismounted on the extreme end of West Point.

"The hounds have