Following the Lowland Wolf I0 ; 



ones already discomfited, as it had been literally a run- 

 away from the start. The ground was hard ; it had not 

 been ploughed for several years, so afforded the horses 

 a vantage ground, and a number rapidly closed in on 

 the hounds. The master, mounted on a fine sorrel, 

 " Del Sur," was riding directly behind the dogs, his eye 

 gleaming with pride at their movements, their splendid 

 action. Near him were four or five riders, careful not 

 to overrun even a slow dog, giving them the field. The 

 pace was furious, and over three miles of level country 

 stretched away to the Mission Hills, the home of the 

 coyote. He must be run down before they are reached. 

 All this time, or since the coyote has dashed out of the 

 arroyo, the dogs have been running " on orders." They 

 have lost sight of the game, but the master of the 

 hounds has the wolf in his eye, a gray spot shooting 

 along like the wind, and he directs them, the hounds 

 with wonderful prescience taking the direction of his 

 horse and turning as he shouts. 



The hunt is now stretched out over half a mile. The 

 sun has emerged from vermilion clouds, and is flooding 

 the valley of San Gabriel with light, illumining the lofty 

 snow-caps with ineffable glory ; while all along the range 

 a crimson light is stealing, and deep purple shadows 

 are creeping into the canons like weird spectres of the 

 night that fear the light of day. 



A shout from the master of the hounds, the dogs 

 sight the game, and, still silent, stretch out, working 

 like machines. If you are well to the fore you will 



