The Trail 



round ahead of us. Jones finally succeeded in getting 

 him back. 



&quot; Come in hyah ! You measly rabbit dogs ! What 

 do you mean chasing off that way? We re after 

 lions. Lions ! understand ?&quot; 



Don looked thoroughly convinced of his error, but 

 Moze, being more thick-headed, appeared mystified 

 rather than hurt or frightened. 



&quot; What size shot do you use? &quot; I asked. 



&quot; Number ten. They don t hurt much at seventy- 

 five yards,&quot; replied our leader. &quot; I use them as sort 

 of a long arm. You see, the dogs must be made to 

 know what we re after. Ordinary means would never 

 do in a case like this. My idea is to break them off 

 coyotes, wolves and deer, and when we cross a lion 

 trail, let them go. I ll teach them sooner than you d 

 think. Only we must get where we can see what 

 they re trailing. Then I can tell whether to call them 

 back or not.&quot; 



The sun was gilding the rim of the desert ramparts 

 when we began the ascent of the foothills of Buck 

 skin. A steep trail wound zigzag up the mountain. 

 We led our horses, as it was a long, hard climb. 

 From time to time, as I stopped to catch my breath, 

 I gazed away across the growing void to the gorgeous 

 Pink Cliffs, far above and beyond the red wall which 

 had seemed so high, and then out toward the desert. 



79 



