A COUGAR HUNT 23 



For two or three hours we rode through the 

 woods and along the rim of the canyon. Then 

 the hounds struck a cold trail and began to 

 puzzle it out. They went slowly along to one 

 of the deep, precipice-hemmed gorges which 

 from time to time break the upper cliff wall of 

 the canyon; and after some busy nose-work 

 they plunged into its depths. We led our horses 

 to the bottom, slipping, sliding, and pitching, 

 and clambered, panting and gasping, up the 

 other side. Then we galloped along the rim. 

 Far below us we could at times hear the hounds. 

 One of them was a bitch, with a squealing voice. 

 The other dogs were under the first cliffs, work 

 ing out a trail, which was evidently growing 

 fresher. Much farther down we could hear the 

 squealing of the bitch, apparently on another 

 trail. However, the trails came together, and 

 the shrill yelps of the bitch were drowned in 

 the deeper-toned chorus of the other hounds, 

 as the fierce intensity of the cry told that the 

 game was at last roused. Soon they had the 

 cougar treed. Like the first, it was in a pine 

 at the foot of the steep slope, just above the ver 

 milion cliff wall. We scrambled down to the 

 beast, a big male, and Archie broke its neck; 

 in such a position it was advisable to kill it 

 outright, as, if it struggled at all, it was likely 



