The Last of the Plainsmen 



distance, then crouched flat to leap, was as easy to 

 read as if it had been told in print. The leaps and 

 bounds were beyond belief. The longest leap on a 

 level measured eighteen and one-half feet. Jones 

 trailed a half-grown cougar, which in turn was trail 

 ing a big elk. He found where the cougar had struck 

 his game, had clung for many rods, to be dashed off 

 by the low limb of a spruce tree. The imprint of 

 the body of the cougar was a foot deep in the snow ; 

 blood and tufts of hair covered the place. But there 

 was no sign of the cougar renewing the chase. 



In rare cases cougars would refuse to run, or take 

 to trees. One day Jones followed the hounds, eight 

 in number, to come on a huge Tom holding the whole 

 pack at bay. He walked to and fro, lashing his tail 

 from side to side, and when Jones dashed up, he 

 coolly climbed a tree. Jones shot the cougar, which, 

 in falling, struck one of the hounds, crippling him. 

 This hound would never approach a tree after this 

 incident, believing probably that the cougar had 

 sprung upon him. 



Usually the hounds chased their quarry into a tree 

 long before Jones rode up. It was always desirable 

 to kill the animal with the first shot. If the cougar 

 was wounded, and fell or jumped among the dogs, 

 there was sure to be a terrible fight, and the best dogs 

 always received serious injuries, if they were not 



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