made, and Don Pierre insisted
that we return to the ranch. Uncle Lance protested against wasting the
remainder of the day, but the courteous Creole urged that the ground
would be in fine condition for hunting at least a week longer; this hunt
he declared was merely preliminary--to break the pack together and give
them a taste of the chase before attacking the cougar. "Ah," said Don
Pierre, with a deprecating shrug of the shoulders, "you have nothing to
hurry you home. I come by your rancho an' stay one hol' week. You
come by mine, al' time hurry. Sacre! Let de li'l dogs rest, an' in de
mornin', mebbe we hunt de cougar. Ah, Meester Lance, we must haff de
pack fresh for him. By Gar, he was one dam' wil' fellow. Mek one two
pass, so. Biff! two dog dead."

Uncle Lance yielded, and we rode back to the ranch. The next morning our
party included the three daughters of our host. Don Pierre led the way
on a roan stallion, and after two hours' riding we crossed the San
Miguel to the north of his ranch. A few miles beyond we entered some
chalky hills, interspersed with white chaparral thickets which were just
bursting into bloom, with a fragrance that was almost intoxicating.
Under the direction of our host, we started to beat a long chain of
these thickets, and were shortly rewarded by hearing the pack give
mouth. The quarry kept to the cover of the thickets for several miles,
impeding the chase until the last covert in the chain was reached, where
a fight occurred with the lead hound. Don Pierre was the first to reach
the scene, and caught several glimpses of a monster puma as he slunk
away through the Brazil brush, leaving one of the Don's favorite hounds
lacerated to the bone. But the pack passed on, and, lifting the wounded
dog to a vaquero's saddle, we followed, lustily shouting to the hounds.

The spoor now turned down the San Miguel, and the pace was such that
it took hard riding to keep within hearing. Mr. Vaux and Uncle Lance
usually held the lead, the remainder of the party, including the girls,
bringing up the rear. The chase continued down stream for fully an hour,
until we encountered some heavy timber on the main Frio, our course
having carried us several miles to the north of the McLeod ranch. Some
distance below the juncture with the San Miguel the river made a large
horseshoe, embracing nearly a thousand acres, which was covered with a
dense growth of ash, pecan, and cypress. The trail led into this jungle,
cir