The Last of the Plainsmen 



Jones stooped over the place I designated, to jerk 

 up with reddening face, and as he flung himself into 

 the saddle roared out : &quot; After Sounder ! Old Tom ! 

 Old Tom! Old Tom!&quot; 



We all heard Sounder, and at the moment of 

 Jones s discovery, Moze got the scent and plunged 

 ahead of us. 



&quot; Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! &quot; yelled the Colonel. Frank 

 sent Spot forward like a white streak. Sounder 

 called to us in irresistible bays, which Moze 

 answered, and then crippled Jude bayed in baffled, 

 impotent distress. 



The atmosphere was charged with that lion. As 

 if by magic, the excitation communicated itself to all, 

 and men, horses and dogs acted in accord. The ride 

 through the forest had been a jaunt. This was a 

 steeplechase, a mad, heedless, perilous, glorious race. 

 And we had for a pacemaker a cowboy mounted on a 

 tireless mustang. 



Always it seemed to me, while the wind rushed, the 

 brush whipped, I saw Frank far ahead, sitting his 

 saddle as if glued there, holding his reins loosely 

 forward. To see him ride so was a beautiful sight. 

 Jones let out his Comanche yell at every dozen jumps, 

 and Wallace sent back a thrilling &quot; Waa-hoo-o ! &quot; 

 In the excitement I had again checked my horse, and 

 when I remembered, and loosed the bridle, how the 



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