oomed out like the report of heavy
artillery, but no answering shot rewarded me. There was no alternative
save to wander along the canyon and through the cedars until I found
my companions. This I began to do, disgusted with my awkwardness in
losing them. Turning Foxie westward I had scarcely gotten under way
when Don came trotting toward me.

"Hello, old boy!" I called. Don appeared as happy to see me as I was
to see him. He flopped down on the ground; his dripping tongue rolled
as he panted; covered with dust and flecked with light froth he surely
looked to be a tired hound.

"All in, eh Don!" I said dismounting. "Well, we'll rest awhile." Then
I discovered blood on his nose, which I found to have come from a deep
scratch. "A--ah! been pushing a lion too hard this morning? Got your
nose scratched, didn't you? You great, crazy hound, don't you know
some day you'll chase your last lion?"

Don wagged his tail as if to say he knew it all very well. I wet my
handkerchief from my canteen and started to wash the blood and dust
from his nose, when he whined and licked my fingers.

"Thirsty?" I asked, sitting down beside him. Denting the top of my hat
I poured in as much water as it would hold and gave him to drink. Four
times he emptied my improvised cup before he was satisfied. Then with
a sigh of relief he lay down again.

The three of us rested there for perhaps half an hour, Don and I
sitting quietly on the wall of the canyon, while Foxie browsed on
occasional tufts of grass. During that time the hound never raised his
sleek, dark head, which showed conclusively the nature of the silence.
And now that I had company--as good company as any hunter ever had--I
was once more contented.

Don got up, at length of his own volition and with a wag of his tail
set off westward along the rim. Remounting my mustang I kept as close
to Don's heels as the rough going permitted. The hound, however,
showed no disposition to hurry, and I let him have his way without a
word.

We came out in the notch of the great amphitheater or curve we had
named the Bay, and I saw again the downward slope, the bold steps, the
color and depth below.

I was just about to yell a signal cry when I saw Don, with hair rising
stiff, run forward. He took a dozen jumps, then yelping broke down the
steep, yellow and green gorge. He disappeared before I knew what had
happened.

Shortly I found a lion track, freshly made, leading down. I believed
I could