n chasing off
that way? We're after lions. Lions! understand?"

Don looked thoroughly convinced of his error, but Moze, being more
thick-headed, appeared mystified rather than hurt or frightened.

"What size shot do you use?" I asked.

"Number ten. They don't hurt much at seventy five yards," replied our
leader. "I use them as sort of a long arm. You see, the dogs must be
made to know what we're after. Ordinary means would never do in a case
like this. My idea is to break them of coyotes, wolves and deer, and
when we cross a lion trail, let them go. I'll teach them sooner than
you'd think. Only we must get where we can see what they're trailing.
Then I can tell whether to call then back or not."

The sun was gilding the rim of the desert rampart when we began the
ascent of the foothills of Buckskin. A steep trail wound zigzag up the
mountain We led our horses, as it was a long, hard climb. From time to
time, as I stopped to catch my breath I gazed away across the growing
void to the gorgeous Pink Cliffs, far above and beyond the red wall
which had seemed so high, and then out toward the desert. The irregular
ragged crack in the plain, apparently only a thread of broken ground,
was the Grand Canyon. How unutterably remote, wild, grand was that
world of red and brown, of purple pall, of vague outline!

Two thousand feet, probably, we mounted to what Frank called Little
Buckskin. In the west a copper glow, ridged with lead-colored clouds,
marked where the sun had set. The air was very thin and icy cold. At
the first clump of pinyon pines, we made dry camp. When I sat down it
was as if I had been anchored. Frank solicitously remarked that I
looked "sort of beat." Jim built a roaring fire and began getting
supper. A snow squall came on the rushing wind. The air grew colder,
and though I hugged the fire, I could not get warm. When I had
satisfied my hunger, I rolled out my sleeping-bag and crept into it. I
stretched my aching limbs and did not move again. Once I awoke,
drowsily feeling the warmth of the fire, and I heard Frank say: "He's
asleep, dead to the world!"

"He's all in," said Jones. "Riding's what did it You know how a horse
tears a man to pieces."

"Will he be able to stand it?" asked Frank, with as much solicitude as
if he were my brother. "When you get out after anythin'--well, you're
hell. An' think of the country we're goin' into. I know you've never
seen the breaks of the Siwash, but I have, an' it's t