gleaming eyes; then the cruel teeth snapped with the sudden bite, and
the woodland tragedy ended.

On the spot I conceived an antipathy toward lions. It was born of the
frightful spectacle of what had once been a glossy, prancing mustang,
of the mute, sickening proof of the survival of the fittest, of the law
that levels life.

Upon telling my camp-fellows about my discovery, Jones and Wallace
walked out to see it, while Jim told me the wolf I had seen was a
"lofer," one of the giant buffalo wolves of Buckskin; and if I would
watch the carcass in the mornings and evenings, I would "shore as hell
get a plunk at him."

White pine burned in a beautiful, clear blue flame, with no smoke; and
in the center of the campfire left a golden heart. But Jones would not
have any sitting up, and hustled us off to bed, saying we would be
"blamed" glad of it in about fifteen hours. I crawled into my
sleeping-bag, made a hood of my Navajo blanket, and peeping from under
it, watched the fire and the flickering shadows. The blaze burned down
rapidly. Then the stars blinked. Arizona stars would be moons in any
other State! How serene, peaceful, august, infinite and wonderfully
bright! No breeze stirred the pines. The clear tinkle of the cowbells
on the hobbled horses rang from near and distant parts of the forest.
The prosaic bell of the meadow and the pasture brook, here, in this
environment, jingled out different notes, as clear, sweet, musical as
silver bells.

CHAPTER 12.

OLD TOM

At daybreak our leader routed us out. The frost mantled the ground so
heavily that it looked like snow, and the rare atmosphere bit like the
breath of winter. The forest stood solemn and gray; the canyon lay
wrapped in vapory slumber.

Hot biscuits and coffee, with a chop or two of the delicious Persian
lamb meat, put a less Spartan tinge on the morning, and gave Wallace
and me more strength--we needed not incentive to leave the fire, hustle
our saddles on the horses and get in line with our impatient leader.
The hounds scampered over the frost, shoving their noses at the tufts
of grass and bluebells. Lawson and Jim remained in camp; the rest of us
trooped southwest.

A mile or so in that direction, the forest of pine ended abruptly, and
a wide belt of low, scrubby old trees, breast high to a horse, fringed
the rim of the canyon and appeared to broaden out and grow wavy
southward. The edge of the forest was as dark and regular as if a band
o