22 A BOOK-LOVER'S HOLIDAYS 



couple of hundred yards on, the hounds put 

 him up another tree. Thither we went. 



It was a wild sight. The maddened hounds 

 bayed at the foot of the pine. Above them, in 

 the lower branches, stood the big horse-killing 

 cat, the destroyer of the deer, the lord of stealthy 

 murder, facing his doom with a heart both 

 craven and cruel. Almost beneath him the 

 vermilion cHflFs fell sheer a thousand feet with- 

 out a break. Behind him lay the Grand Can- 

 yon in its awful and desolate majesty. 



Nicholas shot true. With his neck broken, 

 the cougar fell from the tree, and the body was 

 clutched by Uncle Jim and Archie before it could 

 roll over the cliff — while I experienced a mo- 

 ment's lively doubt as to whether all three might 

 not waltz into the abyss together. Cautiously 

 we dragged him along the rim to another tree, 

 where we skinned him. Then, after a hard 

 pull out of the canyon, we rejoined the horses; 

 rain came on; and, while the storm pelted 

 against our slickers and down-drawn slouch- 

 hats, we rode back to our water-drenched 

 camp. 



On our second day of success only three of 

 us went out — Uncle Jim, Archie, and I. Un- 

 fortunately, Quentin's horse went lame that 

 morning, and he had to stay with the pack-train. 



