The onslaught
of Emett and his desert charger stirred a fear in me that checked
admiration.
"Hounds running wild," he yelled, and the dark shadows of the cedars
claimed him again.
A hundred yards within the forest we came again upon Emett,
dismounted, searching the ground. Moze and Sounder were with him,
apparently at fault. Suddenly Moze left the little glade and venting
his sullen, quick bark, disappeared under the trees. Sounder sat on
his haunches and yelped.
"Now what the hell is wrong?" growled Jones tumbling off his saddle.
"Shore something is," said Jim, also dismounting.
"Here's a lion track," interposed Emett.
"Ha! and here's another," cried Jones, in great satisfaction. "That's
the trail we were on, and here's another crossing it at right angles.
Both are fresh: one isn't fifteen minutes old. Don and Jude have split
one way and Moze another. By George! that's great of Sounder to hang
fire!"
"Put him on the fresh trail," said Jim, vaulting into his saddle.
Jones complied, with the result that we saw Sounder start off on the
trail Moze had taken. All of us got in some pretty hard riding, and
managed to stay within earshot of Sounder. We crossed a canyon, and
presently reached another which, from its depth, must have been Middle
Canyon. Sounder did not climb the opposite slope, so we followed the
rim.
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