OH, SHOOT! 



We left camp at four o'clock, while it was 

 still so dark that a man needed a lantern to 

 blow his nose, and at nine o'clock Pot-hound 

 let out a deep boom. The young dogs nearly 

 upset him in their desire to corroborate his 

 discovery and to split credit for it. It was a 

 cold trail, however, and they quickly overran 

 it. After this false start they returned for 

 a consultation ; then they followed the veteran, 

 who set off at a moderate pace. Pot will not 

 be hurried, nor will he permit himself to be 

 discouraged. 



"It's a lion," Ambrose announced, "and 

 he's in the game bag." 



During the next three hours we witnessed 

 the most wonderful, the most uncanny ex- 

 hibition of canine sagacity I have ever beheld. 

 The trail was evidently hours old, and it had 

 been made by a hunting cougar, for it me- 

 andered aimlessly. It ran into and out of 

 draws; it took us far back into the forest, 

 then out again to the edge of the chasm. 



Meanwhile, the sun was bright, the heat 

 was intense, and the scent was becoming ever 

 more difficult to follow. We sat our horses 

 for perhaps a quarter of an hour at a time 

 while the dogs worked a space no larger than 



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