The Trail 



can t say if she passed here last night. Don won t 

 take the trail. Try Moze.&quot; 



I led Moze to the big, round imprint, and put his 

 nose down into it. The old hound sniffed and 

 sniffed, then lost interest. 



&quot;Cold!&quot; ejaculated Jones. &quot;No go. Try 

 Sounder. Come, old boy, youVe the nose for it.&quot; 



He urged the relucant hound forward. Sounder 

 needed not to be shown the trail; he stuck his nose 

 in it, and stood very quiet for a long moment; then 

 he quivered slightly, raised his nose and sought the 



&amp;lt;t track. Step by step he went slowly, doubtfully. 

 . Jl at once his tail wagged stiffly. 



&quot; Look at that ! &quot; cried Jones in delight. &quot; He s 

 c.ught a scent when the others couldn t. Hyah, 

 Moze, get back. Keep Moze and Don back; give 

 him room.&quot; 



Slowly Sounder paced up the ravine, as carefully 

 as if he were traveling on thin ice. He passed the 

 dusty, open trail to a scaly ground with little bits 

 of grass, and he kept on. 



We were electrified to hear him give vent to a deep 

 bugle-blast note of eagerness. 



&quot; By George, he s got it, boys ! &quot; exclaimed Jones, 

 as he lifted the stubborn, struggling hound off the 

 trail. &quot; I know that bay. ft means a lion passed 

 here this morning. And we ll #et him up as sure 



87 





