158 LOSING THE SCENT. 



keep close to me. Listen to the peculiar voice of the 

 dogs as they come near the brute. It is the key of Sol. 

 I recognize it, and yet, certainly, it is not a stag which 

 they are following ; of that I am sure. Everything leads 

 me to think that it is a cat. Beware of that prostrate 

 trunk. Well leapt, doctor ! Well leapt also, Monsieur 

 le Frangais ! " 



Obedient to the command of our leader, we halted our 

 horses before another bit of jungle, bordered on one side 



"THE CAT HAD HOISTED HIMSELF UP A TREE." 



by a reedy marsh. It was composed of dwarf palms, 

 oaks, cedars, and carob-trees interlaced with lianas and 

 wild vines. At intervals a gap was found, through 

 which we hoped to discover the animal. Each chose 

 his place, with his eye on the watch, and his gun to his 

 shoulder. 



Meanwhile, the ardour of the dogs had relaxed, and it 

 seemed as if they had lost the scent. The whipper-in 

 brought them back to the first track, and then made 



