f woodchoppers had trimmed it. We threaded our way through this
thicket, all peering into the bisecting deer trails for cougar tracks
in the dust.

"Bring the dogs! Hurry!" suddenly called Jones from a thicket.

We lost no time complying, and found him standing in a trail, with his
eyes on the sand. "Take a look, boys. A good-sized male cougar passed
here last night. Hyar, Sounder, Don, Moze, come on!"

It was a nervous, excited pack of hounds. Old Jude got to Jones first,
and she sang out; then Sounder opened with his ringing bay, and before
Jones could mount, a string of yelping dogs sailed straight for the
forest.

"Ooze along, boys!" yelled Frank, wheeling Spot.

With the cowboy leading, we strung into the pines, and I found myself
behind. Presently even Wallace disappeared. I almost threw the reins at
Satan, and yelled for him to go. The result enlightened me. Like an
arrow from a bow, the black shot forward. Frank had told me of his
speed, that when he found his stride it was like riding a flying
feather to be on him. Jones, fearing he would kill me, had cautioned me
always to hold him in, which I had done. Satan stretched out with long
graceful motions; he did not turn aside for logs, but cleared them with
easy and powerful spring, and he swerved only slightly to the trees.
This latter, I saw at once, made the danger for me. It became a matter
of saving my legs and dodging branches. The imperative need of this
came to me with convincing force. I dodged a branch on one tree, only
to be caught square in the middle by a snag on another. Crack! If the
snag had not broken, Satan would have gone on riderless, and I would
have been left hanging, a pathetic and drooping monition to the risks
of the hunt. I kept ducking my head, now and then falling flat over the
pommel to avoid a limb that would have brushed me off, and hugging the
flanks of my horse with my knees. Soon I was at Wallace's heels, and
had Jones in sight. Now and then glimpses of Frank's white horse
gleamed through the trees.

We began to circle toward the south, to go up and down shallow hollows,
to find the pines thinning out; then we shot out of the forest into the
scrubby oak. Riding through this brush was the cruelest kind of work,
but Satan kept on close to the sorrel. The hollows began to get deeper,
and the ridges between them narrower. No longer could we keep a
straight course.

On the crest of one of the ridges we found Jones awaiting us.