The Trail 



the breeze. The delicate, almost stealthy sounds, 

 the action of my horse, the waiting drove my heart 

 to extra work. The breeze quickened and fanned my 

 cheek, and borne upon it came the faint and far-away 

 bay of a hound. It came again and again, each time 

 nearer. Then on a stronger puff of wind rang the 

 clear, deep, mellow call that had given Sounder his 

 beautiful name. Never it seemed had I heard music 

 so blood-stirring. Sounder was on the trail of some 

 thing, and he had it headed my way. Satan heard, 

 shot up his long ears, and tried to go ahead; but I 

 restrained and soothed him into quiet. 



Long moments I sat there, with the poignant con 

 sciousness of the wildness of the scene, of the signifi 

 cant rattling of the stones and of the bell-tongued 

 hound baying incessantly, sending warm joy through 

 my veins, the absorption in sensations new, yielding 

 only to the hunting instinct when Satan snorted and 

 quivered. Again the deep-toned bay rang into the 

 silence with its stirring thrill of life. And a sharp 

 rattling of stones just above brought another snort 

 from Satan. 



Across an open space in the pinons a gray form 

 flashed. I leaped off Satan and knelt to get a better 

 view under the trees. I soon made out another deer 

 passing along the base of the cliff. Mounting again, 

 I rode up to the cliff to wait for Sounder. 



95 



